The Northern Tyrant [Game Of Thrones]

Ignoring the hot, inviting scents, he passed Rhaenys' Hill and saw the distant, massive, gorgeous Red Keep, the center of power of Westeros. For him, at the moment, it was a place of dreams that he couldn't go to even if he wanted to. Well, maybe he could if he groveled to meet the King. Of course, he'd rather die than do that.

"There it is!"

At last, he arrived at the East Barracks of the City Watch. It was a wide, long building of multiple stories. There were guards standing at the gate, and other guards were coming in and out of the door.

Woosh!

Once again, as soon as he approached the barracks, the guards unsheathed their swords.

"..."

"Ah! Aren't you Wylis?"

And just like that, the swords went back to their scabbards. The excited-looking Gold Cloaks chatted with him, asking him for random advice on swords or archery. Some of them boasted that they were better than him.

He ignored them and eventually gained entry.

Right away, he was surrounded by his admirers. In some ways, he felt like a famous bodybuilder in a gym from his previous life. Instead of women, it was mostly men who surrounded the bodybuilder.

Eventually, he was given what he wanted. The men were delighted to hand over the entire list to him. It made their jobs easier, after all. So why not?

And just like that, Wylis had the list of at least twenty bandits. But none of them were based inside King's Landing, so he had to go out. But he already had a decent target. It appeared that not long ago an outlaw group called the Kingswood Brotherhood was annihilated by King's decree, with Kingsguards leading the hunt themselves. The Brotherhood had dared to target nobles and even Elia Martell's carriage.

Now, although the main members and the leader of the group were gone, it was said that a few remaining members were still hiding in Kingswood with the help of the smallfolk.

If the smallfolk are helping them then I need to gain their trust first.

With that thought in mind, Wylis headed back toward the Old Gate. However, once again, he entered the Street of Silk and this time, he couldn't resist the temptation of at least trying his idea once. It was already near sunset, so he didn't see any issue in spending a night there.

Oh, Jesus, Old Gods, or maybe the Seven—Help your boy here a little.

With confidence, Wylis crouched a little to enter through the door of Chataya's brothel. It wasn't extravagant at all, but spacious enough to be expanded later on. Still very clean. Clear, polished tiles, beautiful curtains all around, nice hand-painted murals of naked women on the ceiling, and a scent so spicy and exotic. He could see why some Hand of the King dug a secret tunnel to reach it. The place was like a hidden gem.

"Y-Yes?"

Wylis stopped ogling at the naked murals and looked toward the voice. And he could swear he controlled his jaw from dropping. Chataya was tall, not really beautiful like Lyanna or Ashara, but still had a beautiful facial structure, and big eyes that were earthly colored, like sandalwood. And…

God damn!

Her hips were wide, beautifully so, perfectly complimenting her height. Then there were those big tits in that silk dress of hers. And then there was the little baby in her arms, probably a year old. Both mother and daughter's dark skin was gleaming from the nearby candles.

But as most, there was fear in Chataya's eyes.

"Greetings, my Lady," Wylis spoke with the deepest, charming voice he could muster. After all, he was about to say something outrageous. He gave her every bit of respect he could, completely opposite of what was expected from a brute of his size.

Chataya's thin, black brows rose in curiosity. "What can I do for you, Ser?"

"Not yet," he said with a smile. "But with any luck, I'll be Ser Wylis before long. Wylis of Winterfell—you may've heard the name from the tourney. I've come with a strange request, though I'd not hold it against you if you turn me away."

Now, the woman was even more curious.

Chataya smiled, her voice as smooth as silk. "I've heard requests that would turn most men's stomachs, Ser Wylis-to-be. Speak plainly. What is it you wish?"

Awkwardly, Wylis scratched his beard. He felt ashamed. "Well, I was wondering if you could give me one of your girls for a long… let's say, a year-long reservation? Exclusively?"

####

Slap!

"How dare you!"

Slap!

"Am I that cheap to you?"

Slap!

"You vile brute!"

Slap!

"Hmph! You're not even a knight!"

Chataya was sweet and very kind to him. Heck, she even offered him herself, saying honoring the body's desires and needs was an honor to her gods. But she had just given birth, and couldn't. So, she directed him to other whores, so he may ask them the fucked up question himself.

Of course, it was a big mistake.

"So… I was hoping if you would be willing to bear a bastard for me? I'll pay—"

He was never able to speak beyond those words. Every single response was a slap on his face from those beauties. Sure, the girls were scared of him so the slap was symbolic to show their rejection.

Actually, the slaps didn't hurt him at all. But the slaps did hurt his pride.

That day, he learned a lesson. A lesson about status and class difference. He was absolutely sure that if he were a lord or a high knight, all the whores would have spread their legs happily. Heck, they might have scooped his batter forcefully out of his balls to shove into their cunts.

But he, a lowborn nobody, with nothing noteworthy but his height and his tourney victory, was nothing, even to a whore.

Still, before leaving, he gave Chataya a gold Dragon for her kind consideration. He wanted to build some reputation with the fine woman after he'd just destroyed it with his dumb request.

So, to quench his sorrow, he decided to leave the city. He grabbed his horse and rode further south. He crossed Kingswood at night, hoping some bandits would attack him. But that didn't happen, and he soon reached the village of Bronzegate, the seat of House Buckler in the Stormlands. It sat at the southern edge of Kingswood, and one of the villages that was likely helping the bandits.

That night, Wylis rested at an inn.

The next morning, he went to the village's square, a small market area. There, he set up a fire, and a large pot, and then started cooking stew with a lot of meat. Once the food was done, he shouted…

"Free food for the needy! In the name of the Seven! Free food!"

Like a moth to a flame, the smallfolk, even those well-off, rushed to him.

Easy peasy.

Wylis continued his shenanigans. A day passed, and then three, and soon enough, he was the darling of the entire village. Just a giant man devoted to the worship of the Seven, feeding people from his tourney winnings. How honorable and kind of him.

And it wasn't long before he started receiving gossip. And soon, he got the one he needed.

"Pss… Do you know, the bandit hiding in the forest? They say it's the Wenda the White Fawn. She survived the King's hunting party and still steals… Oh, dear, my loud mouth."

That was enough for Wylis. His sword was sharp and ready.

####

Wenda the White Fawn once used to be famous. A proud member of the Kingswood Brotherhood. She took pride in her work, stealing from the nobles, and the smallfolk supported them. They admired her, for she stood tall, and despite the small cut mark on her left cheek, she knew she was considered a beauty.

Her light brown hair, her strong body, her strong hips. It wasn't easy. Some of the Brotherhood members tried to bed her at times, but she defeated most, and those who could defeat her didn't bother to bed her.

Young, merely twenty-one of age, she thought her life was at its peak. But then it all came crashing down when the Mad King sent his Kingsguards to hunt the Brotherhood. She fought with all she had but soon, right before her eyes, one after another, the core members of the Brotherhood fell.

Soon, it was just her. She managed to escape the hunt. But she didn't know anything but banditry at that point. And she considered herself good at it. So, she learned from the mistakes of the past. No more targeting nobles, especially the royals. Attacking Elia Martell was a dumb move.

By only stealing from merchants, and only half of their goods, she believed she bought herself some leeway. She wasn't killing anyone, after all. She reckoned they had bigger fish to catch than her.

Wooosh!

How wrong she was.

"WHO ARE YOU!"

Wenda ran as fast as she could through the dense Kingswood forest. She had bruises on her knuckles, and her sword hand swelled from clashing with that man. For a second time, she saw every member of her brotherhood get slaughtered. And this time it was worse. They were all beheaded—every single one of them. Even after being pierced through their heart, their heads were taken off.

Wooosh!

She ducked, avoiding an arrow that rapidly flew towards her.

Bam!

For some reason, she noticed how often she was falling during her escape. Every fifth step she took, she tripped and fell to the ground. Her knees, her palms, her elbows, all were bruised. She cried for the first time in years. Her dagger was gone, and her short sword was lost too. She gave the man every chance to behead her as well, but the man didn't.

"What do you want from me?" She asked in a desperate cry.

Bam!

Once again, she fell hard on the root-covered ground of the forest. It was loud, the birds, the leaves. But all she heard was her racing heart.

Crunch!

"No!" She looked to her right as she sat up and there he was. A man as tall as the heavens, shoulders as broad as the sky, his face covered with a strange, boxy helmet with only two holes for eyes and some small dots for air around the nose. It was all covered in the blood of her brotherhood members, whatever was left of it.

"Why? Why? Why are you chasing me?"

She desperately looked up at the giant man, hoping to find some answers before that humongous sword fell on her. She was prepared for it, though scared.

"A bastard—Bear me a bastard!"

"..."

"W-What?"

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