The Northern Tyrant [Game Of Thrones]

"A bastard—Bear me a bastard!"

"..."

"W-What?"

Wenda stammered, gawking at the towering man before her, covered in blood from head to toe, blood of her own band of bandits.

"Aye, bear me a bastard." The man repeated the same outrageous request. "I'm Wylis of Winterfell, victor of the tourney at Harrenhal, breaker of royal teeth. Every man's got a dream, they say. Mine's just a bit... different. I'm strong enough to earn my glory. But what I truly want—well, it's a whole brood of sons and daughters to call my own."

Wenda's brows creased. She almost forgot that the massive sword still hung at her neck. "Fuck, you filthy goat! Go find a wife if you're so desperate!"

"In essence you're right, but how many sons and daughters can a single woman give birth for me? So, the perfect answer is to find myself a lot of willing ladies. Of course, I won't be forceful, or demanding. It must be a mutually agreed agreement. After all, I'm asking for nine months of your life and your womb—It's a lot, I know. So I will be paying you and taking care of you for those nine months—"

"Seven hells, shut your bloody trap! I never said I'd do a damn thing! D'you even listen to your own prattle?"

Wylis awkwardly nodded and looked at the woman for good. Common sense said that he should just kill her, take her head, and be done with it. But on another look, ignoring that scar on her left cheek, she had a pretty face, young, strong, not one of those pampered beauties. She looked fit, similar to Lyanna's height, and had pretty nice, wide hips; Perfect, he felt. Besides, no other woman would agree to his request, not unless he became an actual knight.

But Wenda was… even below him in status. A bandit. Sure, he didn't want to force it, so he just hoped she'd accept his offer willingly. He was desperate to get some lifespan back, and she was desperate to turn her life around, he hoped.

"So, what will it be then?" Wylis asked, with a half-smile.

"We don't have to rush. Might be wise to take our time—to get to know one another proper. You could come along while I hunt down bandits. Hell, you might even point me toward a few names."

"Let me guess, you'll kill me if I don't agree?" Wenda asked with a scoff. "Go on then, may as well have your way with me too while you're at it and be done with it."

"Ugh, I'm drenched in sweat." Grunting, Wylis took off the boxy helmet he was wearing and threw it away, revealing his face for the first time.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Look, I'm meant to kill you—bring a hundred bandit heads to the King. And you're the chief of the lot. I'm losing more by letting you live than by ending you. But here's a thought: I'll spare you for now. You'll come with me—no promises you have to help. I'll deal with the bandits myself. If, while we're on the road, you feel like playing along, we can talk about it."

That entire time, Wenda kept staring at the man in pure confusion. She had met outrageous men before. She had met rapists before. She had met the worst of the worst men. Yet, she couldn't understand which category Wylis belonged to.

"So I'm going to die either way?"

"If all else fails, I'd sooner end you than force myself where I'm not wanted. It's a clear-cut thing, no messing about. I want a child, and if you don't, there's no point. But tell me, don't you ever want one? Look me in the eye and tell me you'd rather it be another man's seed, not mine," Wylis said plainly, with a crooked, honest smile.

In silence, Wenda looked at Wylis' face, taking a good, measured look this time.

Other than his towering height, he did look very well-built and then there was his face. He was no Prince Rhaegar that she had seen once. But he wasn't that far off either. Besides, that face and that body combined made him a perfect partner if the goal was just to sire strong children who wouldn't just be strong but also good-looking.

Still, she was no noble lady nor a broodmare. She was Wenda the White Fawn, a legendary member of the Kingswood Brotherhood. But the six-foot-long, heavy sword hovering near her neck was too big of a reality to ignore.

"And what's to say I won't escape, or kill you when you're asleep?" Wenda asked him with a sneering expression.

Wylis smirked, easing his blade back. "Because sticking with me's the smartest gamble you'll ever make. I'm not just asking you to carry a babe—I'm offering a way out. No more running from the King's dogs. A clean start. Stick with me, and you won't just survive—you'll thrive. You'll have a place in what I'm building."

"And what are you building?"

Wylis shrugged at that and extended his hand to her. "See it for yourself."

From the moment he had received that Tyrant's Squire magic, he knew what his future was going to be like. It was impossible to be intimate and romantic with all the women like he was with Lyanna. It was foolish to expect that. The best he could do was treat them with respect, and make them happy with whatever they desired, as long as it was within his capabilities.

Similarly, he already knew he would never fall for a woman like Wenda, nor ever love her. But what he could give her was his friendship, and himself as a support system for her to start a new, clean life.

As sick as it sounded, the price was to bear him a child.

"Right then—I'll give it a week." Wenda hauled herself up, wincing from every bruise that she had sustained from falling time and time again. "If I don't speak by week's end, don't wait on me. Don't ask either. Just do it, end me—quick, quiet. I'd rather not know the sword's coming."

She was no saintly woman. She was a bandit and a murderer. But Wylis nodded because that was the least he could do.

"Fine by me, Wenda."

She eyed him as she finally stood normally. Back then, she was running so she didn't get to size him up properly. Now, even after standing to her full height, she felt minuscule, her head merely reaching till his chest, and she was in boots.

But his face… It was rather easy on the eye.

It was intimidating to her. But she was no weakling.

"Don't expect me to give you any names."

"That's alright. Let's go to King's Landing. I'll check some other names with the Gold Cloaks."

Instantly, Wenda's face soured, and she stepped away from him. She was known around those parts, and even more so in King's Landing. Her scar, although not deep, made her face memorable and easy to recognize.

"Five—I know five more bandit camps in Crownlands."

Wylis chuckled and sheathed his sword on his back, the only place he could hold that massive blade. Then, he gestured back towards the way they had come from.

"Let's grab our horses then."

The entire time, Wenda eyed the man with fury. It wasn't easy to swallow such a heavy loss. But even without the sword, she feared the big man. His hands alone were enough to engulf her head and mash it like a fruit.

In the end, she hoped to buy time. As for what, she was yet to plan.

####

"Mmm… Damn you, Wylis!"

Lyanna Stark rolled and twisted in the bed, and before long, she realized it was already morning. She looked out the window and cursed the man who had made her so miserable. It wasn't about sex. Well, a little, but the major issue was that she felt extremely bored. There was nothing to do, nobody to tease, jest with, or just… be herself with.

Wylis had never been away from Winterfell before. If anything, it was she who used to join her family on some occasions when visiting nearby houses. Now, with Wylis gone for good, she felt firsthand withdrawal symptoms. She was addicted to Wylis' presence, his nonchalant behavior, his bulky existence, and above all, his beliefs. The man never mistreated her, and never made her feel like a weak lady. He called her out on her mistakes, never went easy during their training spars, and even beat her up on occasions.

She missed that friendly banter and that cock—She didn't want to accept that last part. But sleeping while hugging that massive pillow Wylis had made her did make her miss him more. It had been a month since he'd been gone and she'd returned home, and she felt lethargic, uninterested in everything, and constantly annoyed at everyone.

As days went by and Brandon's wedding with Catelyn Tully came closer, she felt scared for herself as her wedding with Robert would be next.

"At least you could have written me a missive."

She groaned while pulling herself out of the bed. But she knew it was impossible. Letters were a privilege that only nobles could enjoy. Ravens were not accessible for Wylis, and hiring a messenger was risky as the letter may contain sensitive bits.

Lyanna pulled herself to a bucket of water and wiped her face clean. She looked at her face in the mirror, eyes looking puffy as if she'd just cried. She hadn't, but they looked that way. Sighing, she grabbed the wet cloth and wiped her arms and legs as well before donning a casual grey and white gown. She spent most of her daytime either practicing archery or reading the books inside Wylis' abode he'd made at the stables.

But just when she opened the door of her chamber, a female servant was waiting for her.

"My Lady, Lord Stark wishes to see you when you wake up."

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