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GOT: Wolf Becomes Stag 32 - The Deep Secrets & Facing The Past
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 18:38:39 +0000 UTCRobert left King's Landing as planned. He brought only fifty men with him; even that was too much, as he initially wanted to go alone. Wearing no armor, like a man out on sightseeing, he rode fast.
Ser Barristan had also joined him at last. The old man had finally returned from Essos. It took a while for word of Robert's return to reach the old man's ears. Soon enough, Barristan stopped searching for the King and returned.
It turned out, the man had reached all the way to Qarth. It was a long ship ride back home from there. Heck, on the way, his ship was attacked by pirates. He was almost captured, but survived and eventually arrived at King's Landing. Sure enough, Ser Barristan had his own adventure.
Back in King's Landing, Robert left Tyrion in control of the ruling and coffers. And as a female companion, he'd brought along both Missandei and Rhaea. Thankfully, the two women weren't weak and knew how to ride horses in fast gallops.
"There’s an ill feeling on this road, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said quietly. "No travelers, no signs of life since Moat Cailin. We’d do well to scout ahead and not rush into a snare."
"Send the bloody scouts, Barristan. But we're not slowing down."
Ser Barristan knew when not to push it and quickly sent scouts in all directions. They were somewhere in the middle of Moat Cailin and Winterfell. They were passing through Barrowlands, a hilly area where hiding was easy for the enemies.
Robert wasn’t at all bothered by anything. There wasn't anything that could scare him anymore. Heck, he reckoned he could swim the seas better than a fish at that point. Perhaps even across the Sunset Sea.
Wars and battles were of no interest to him anymore. It was too easy to kill people even without his warhammer.
"AMBUSH!"
Ser Barristan roared suddenly, having noticed scouts rushing back with red flags raised high. The ambush was happening on both sides of the road, men dressed in rags coming out from beyond the hills.
Robert looked at the rag-tag army and sighed. They were clearly Wildlings. At least five hundred of them. It was a joke to him at that point.
"Barristan, protect the women!" Robert ordered his Kingsguards. "Podric, bring the bloody sack of stones here."
Quickly, the young squire trotted his horse to Robert's side and opened the sacks tied to his saddle.
Robert, with a grunting sigh, dug both hands into the sack and grabbed two fist-sized rocks. He wasn't enjoying himself at all. He didn't want to go North, where he'd buried the old memories. But the Wildlings had forced him.
"When… will… they fucking learn?!"
Woosh!
He threw the rocks towards the incoming ambush. Only a few of them had horses, so they were taking their sweet time to approach him, getting tired just from running.
But Robert didn't even allow that. He aimed at the faster horsemen. His control and strength were so high that the rocks broke the sound barrier, booming loudly. And then, they smashed into the chests or sides of the incoming riders.
Poof!
It was a bloody mist. The rocks were so fast and powerful that they exploded through their bodies, leaving behind massive, gaping holes.
Woosh!
After that, Robert did it faster. He grabbed rocks, threw, killed, and then repeated. He did it for the enemies on both sides and killed all the horsemen first. Then he started killing the Wildlings on foot.
While he threw and emptied the sacks, more sacks of rocks were brought to him. The fifty or so men he'd brought were more busy finding rocks around them for their King than actually focusing on the ambush.
Poof!
Blood mist was greater when he attacked those on foot. Since they were all running close to one another, a single throw often killed and injured five to ten Wildlings.
By the time the ambush neared them, their numbers were reduced to less than a hundred. They were scared, but also crazed; a do-or-die rush overcame their minds. With roaring screams, the Wildlings smashed into the well-trained Kingsguards and Baratheon soldiers.
Robert didn't have to do anything. The remaining Wildlings were slaughtered. Ill-equipped, wearing no armor, they got stabbed and sliced.
"Leave one or two of them!" Robert ordered, eyeing them. "We need answers."
Moments later, he had two Wildlings kneeling in front of him. They initially refused to kneel, but then the back of their knees were sliced, and their tendons cut
Pa!
Robert smacked a big, rough slap on the man's face first. "Name?"
"Fuck you!" the wildling spat.
Pa!
Robert slapped harder this time and knocked a few teeth, blood oozing. "I don't give a shit about killing you dimwits. It's your choice, make it painful or easy. Name?"
"Tormund Giantsbane."
"Hah! You? Giantsbane?" Robert chuckled and looked at the woman, redheaded, freckled, short, and thin. "Don't tell me the giants are the size of her?"
The woman spat towards Robert at that.
Pa!
Robert slapped her as well, holding nothing back. He knocked out most of her front teeth. "Beyond the Wall you might prance like a wild bitch, but here, you bend the knee or I break you in half. Spit all you like—means nothing. You’ve got no value, not even as a whore. No tits, arse like a board, mouth like a sewer. Seven hells, what are you proud of?"
The woman sneered, but was no longer in a state to spit or speak.
"What do you want in the South?" Robert looked back at the man. "Why cross the Wall?"
"To live, you mad fuck! We'll gut you kneelers from groin to gullet and take the whole bloody land. Heard there's fine women down south too, heard Winterfell's Lady's got a nice pair—don't worry, we'll keep 'em warm at night—"
Poof!
Robert just slapped the man with full strength and splattered his entire head like it never existed. Chunks flew away, towards the woman kneeling beside the man. Brain matter covered her face.
Robert furiously eyed the woman, panic stricken, scared of what just happened. "I’ll count to five, though I doubt you cunts know how to count. Speak—why are you crawling round my realm, or I’ll have you tied to my saddle and flogged to Winterfell. One… two… three—"
"WHITE WALKERS!"
Robert frowned and looked at Ser Barristan standing behind him.
"You're running a mummer's tale?" He asked.
"It's no mummer's tale! It's as real as it gets. The White Walkers are real, and they’re comin’. They take our dead and make 'em theirs—worse than death. The Night King’s not stoppin’ ‘til all’s cold and dead. We lost too many already, and now they fight against us. We’re not here to fight you—we’ve got a greater enemy."
"But you are," Robert said and stood up. "From what I've heard, you've burned two villages, raped and pillaged your way. If you’re fleeing White Walkers, you’ve picked a poor direction. The only thing waiting here is a quicker death. Barristan—do it clean."
"N-N-No, no—"
Slash!
Barristan was swift and slit her throat with a quick slash. A quick death for the redhead.
Robert wasted no time and climbed onto his horse. Moments later, they were riding again.
####
Robert arrived at Winterfell fairly comfortably after butchering the previous ambush. He was welcomed by Stannis and Robb Stark, the new Lord of Winterfell. It felt eerily similar to that time as the Starks were once again lined up to welcome him. Only, there was no Ned, and Bran was in a wheeled chair.
"Your Grace." Robb paid respects, and he was genuine about it. Without Robert, Winterfell wouldn't exist. "Thank you for coming here so fast."
"Had to, Robb. Wildling scum are getting bold. Jumped us near Moat Cailin. Can’t have this madness. They don’t belong on this side of the Wall." Robert declared proudly and eyed the women. He merely nodded towards Catelyn and Sansa, but hugged Arya warmly, followed by Bran and Rickard. They were his children for all he cared.
Finally, he looked at Stannis. "What's the situation?"
“They’ve split into two bands, Your Grace. Near a hundred thousand in all, but only twenty to thirty thousand are fighters. They’ve taken Last Hearth and made it their base. The other group strikes Karhold, aiming for the river port. We’ve besieged Last Hearth, and our men press the Karhold attackers from behind—caught between us and the castle. They have no way out, though they won’t give in.”
Robert nodded, thinking deeply. "Who is their leader?"
"A man called Mance Rayder. They call him the king beyond the wall."
Robert sneered, as that was akin to challenging his status. "Where is this Mance Rayder?"
"In the Last Hearth, Your Grace," Stannis answered.
"Aye, we strike there. Robb, hold the Karhold dogs—make them bleed, but don’t give ground. I’ll tear down Last Hearth myself. Not a drop of mercy—Wildlings don’t pray to our gods, don’t know our ways, don't kneel to our laws. They’d steal our daughters and burn our homes if given a chance. Either they die or crawl back North where they belong." Robert gave commands and looked at the sky. "At sunrise, we attack."
With that, all men rushed to prepare.
Robert, feeling Catelyn's eyes on him, chose not to stay. Using the excuse that the Last Hearth was distant, he and his army left that night itself after the small feast.
In the dark of the night, nearly five thousand men crossed Wolfswood, using the trees to hide their movements. The moon was bright that night, thankfully.
####
The Last Hearth wasn't a grand castle. It was the northernmost major castle of the Seven Kingdoms, ignoring the castle of the Night's Watch.
Its walls weren't that grand, and its defenses were average. The main keep inside used more wood than stone for its structure.
As Robert and his army came out of Wolfswood, they openly marched towards the castle's main gates. Once they were just at the edge of the archer's range, they stopped and waited for the morning light to improve their visibility.
"Barristan, I’ll smash the bloody gates myself. Get your lads behind me and cut down every Wildling that breathes—man, woman, I care not. The North’s got no grain for beggars. Show them mercy, and we’ll all be starving come winter." Robert barked at his Kingsguard. "I won’t stop 'til I’m in that keep with Mance Rayder crushed beneath my heel. Don’t waste time trying to catch me."
It didn't matter what the realm thought about it. Robert held nothing back. He didn't hide his strength anymore.
Paaaa!
The horns of battle were blown.
Robert started running, his warhammer in his grip. Right behind him, like an arrow, the army followed him, ready to rush into the city.
Let's end this fucking mess quickly and go back.
Woosh!
The arrows fell from the castle's walls. But Robert didn't even flinch. The arrows were too weak to penetrate his skin at that point.
"WRAAA! Follow me, lads!"
Boom!
Robert roared and rammed straight into the castle's main gate. It was massive, made of wood, and also reinforced with a second portcullis made of metal.
CLANK!
Robert smashed his hammer and, with ease, destroyed the wood and the metal gate at the same time. His strength simply destroyed the chains the portcullis was attached to above. That left the entire thing supportless, falling flat on the ground.
"BUTCHER THEM!" Robert gained entry into the castle with ease. Right behind him, his army roared and spilled inside before spreading out in groups.
The Wildlings were taken by surprise. They were confused to begin with since Robert's men didn't have any high ladders. What Robert had planned bewildered them; how would he attack? His breaking apart the castle's doors was beyond mythical.
Chaos ensued. The Wildlings rushed to grab their weapons and counter the sudden invasion. They had no time to gather up and prepare, expecting the siege to last long.
Clank!
Gaaah!
Sword strikes and cries filled the castle's inside. There were countless Wildlings inside, huddled in various buildings.
Robert never stopped. Like a raging bull, he kicked every man who came before him. Then, a giant, an actual giant of twenty or so feet in height, appeared in front of him, guarding the gates or the main keep.
"So your kind do exist!" Robert muttered and raised his warhammer high. The giant swung its massive arm, but Robert leaped in the air and smashed his hammer into the giant's head, sending it flying, battered and broken. "But not stronger than a dragon."
The next thing he knew, he had rammed through the gate of the main keep. There were a few Wildling warriors inside, but their purpose was only to paint the castle walls red.
He stormed through the corridor and soon arrived inside the large Great Hall, not as large as Winterfell, though. It was filled with women and children, and in the middle was a single man with two blonde women standing behind him, both beauties unlike any other Wildling he'd seen yet.
"You’re the king beyond the wall, are you? Bah! You look more like a flea-ridden beggar." Robert walked towards the man. Some brave wildlings did try to attack him, only to be splattered with his hammer. "Cowering like a mouse in a midden. That's your crown?"
"We aren't your enemies, King Robert." Mance Rayder spoke from his chair. It seemed his legs couldn't move.
Robert sneered and stood right in front of Mance. "It's Your Grace to you, filth. You stand against me, make no mistake. I saw no trace of Last Hearth's folk—none. That red-bearded goat Tormund said it plain—rape, fire, ruin, that’s your way."
"Believe me, we had no wish to cross your Wall, Your Grace." Mance showed fear for once. "We were driven here—by the dead. The White Walkers are no tale to scare children. They’re real, and they’re coming. With an army behind them."
"All right, let's pretend your tale holds water. You going to tell me how they plan to cross seven hundred feet of ice?"
"They are demons of ice. I'm sure they'll find a way."
Robert snorted, lifting his hammer with a grunt. "Your Wildling madness ends here. You’ve no damn business south of the Wall. You knew that well enough. Still, you came, pillaging like bloody savages. Refuge, was it? Looked more like raiding to me. You drew first blood—I'll draw the last."
"Proof!" Mance Rayder shouted. "The proof! There’s a man beyond the Wall—old as winter, eyes like he’s seen too much. Calls himself the Three-Eyed Raven. Said he’s waited for this very hour. Told me to pass this on: All the answers lie beneath where the dead sleep. Beyond the depth lost to nature. Go and seek it, and you'll find it there, Lord Stark—said it was for Lord Stark. But since the man’s no more, and you’re breathing... I’m telling you."
Robert froze. Was it a coincidence? He was, indeed, the Lord Stark, only in different flesh.
"Where is this man?"
"In a cave, beyond the fist of first men," Mance said. "He's still there. But I don't know for how long he'll remain. The dead are marching fast. Hardhome has fallen to them already. The wraiths number in the tens of thousands."
Robert thought deeply about that message. Where the dead sleep. There was only one place that came to his mind. One whose depth was lost to nature.
Stark Crypt?
It was massive, so massive that it was impossible to explore. It was wider than Winterfell itself, and went deeper than he could imagine.
Robert didn't want to accept it. But since his own existence was nothing short of divine magic, and he'd seen dragons, he was inclined to believe that the White Walkers were real. Enough tales had been told by the Old Nan to know it could be real.
"If I don't find anything, I'll see you and your Wildling scum gutted," Robert declared and retracted his hammer. "Until I return, Last Hearth will be surrounded by my men. Raise a hand to my men, and I’ll see this pile burned stone by stone."
With that, Robert turned around and left the keep. He found Ser Barristan and informed him of his decision. But he chose to ride back to Winterfell with just a handful of men, and sent half of his army there to stop the Wildlings from invading Karhold.
Without wasting time, he rode down Kingsroad. By the time he arrived at Winterfell, it was the evening of the next day.
Since Robb wasn't there, Catelyn was managing the castle. He chose not to inform her about the Crypt or the White Walkers. He wanted to be sure of it first.
Still avoiding Catelyn and feeling uneasy in the place that was once his home, he ate a modest supper quickly and retired to his bedchamber. The idea was to wait for everyone to fall asleep and then enter the crypt with Ser Barristan.
But it appeared that fate had something else planned.
####
Knock! Knock!
Robert was alone in his assigned bedchamber when the knocks came on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone.
"Enter."
The door was pushed open by the Kingsguards, and Catelyn Stark walked inside, dressed in the usual, heavy winter fur cloak. Her long red hair was left untied behind her back.
Robert had been avoiding her all that time. Never staying behind, or allowing her a chance to speak with him. But it seemed the woman chose to come directly to him this time.
A part of him wanted to stand up and pull the woman in for a tight embrace. But another part of him kept him restrained. He didn't want to intrude on Catelyn's life and make a mess out of it. He was the King now, not Lord Stark of Winterfell.
"Your Grace, forgive me if this is ill-timed."
"Never mind that, my lady. What troubles you this late at night?" Robert asked her back, getting up from the chair.
Catelyn walked into the room, closing the door behind her. She glanced at the space, the fire in the hearth burning bright, the bed made ready for sleep. Robert was dressed in a simple loose tunic and trousers. He looked far healthier than ever, akin to his prime during the days of Rebellion.
"I… I hoped to discuss the matter of Sansa with you."
Seven hells! Sansa told her? Robert cursed inside, not showing it on his face. That incident was one of the most disgraceful things to have happened to him.
"Have a seat, my Lady." Robert invited her to a set of two chairs facing each other with a small table between them.
Catelyn nodded and confidently strode forward. It felt awkward, not scary, but rather strange. The way his eyes lingered on her lacked the usual lecherous intentions. There was warmth in them, a warmth that reminded her of someone.
She sat down and watched Robert do the same before her. "Sansa told me what happened. I hold no blame for you, Your Grace. What that girl did… gods, it was madness. To poison the King and crawl into his bed."
Robert nodded firmly at that description. He'd ruined Sansa, taken her maidenhead. A right that should have only belonged to her husband. He'd stretched her, shattered her, and ruined her.
He hated to even remember that night.
"But…" Catelyn’s voice wavered just slightly as her eyes searched Robert’s face, her gaze pleading. "I worry for her, for Sansa. I had given my word to Lord Arryn—he’s a good boy, gentle-natured—but he expects a maiden bride. If the truth comes out… House Stark’s honor may not weather it. So I ask this of you, Your Grace. Take her as your second wife, lawful in the eyes of the Faith. I'm sure the Faith will allow it after Her Grace Margaery's misfortune. Sansa is young, she'll bear you—"
"Gods, no!" Robert bellowed, springing to his feet, his face dark as a storm. Myrcella was one thing. He had no memories of her from before the time before he arrived in Robert's body. But Sansa, he remembered her since the first day. "That's madness, Catelyn! Filthy, cursed madness! She's Ned's, your daughter! I see her the same, my own!"
"Yet you bedded Myrcella." Catelyn countered, back on her feet, walking to stand in front of the King to face him. "If that was no burden on your soul, then this should weigh even less. Her maidenhead is gone by your hand—at the very least, spare her the shame."
Robert, or whatever he was, still felt beholden to Ned's memories more than Roberts. The mind was more Stark, while the brutality was of Baratheon.
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't do it, Catelyn. I’ll find her a proper lord, full of titles and no sense, one who won’t care a whit for her maidenhead. But what you want? That’s a fool’s errand."
"Why, Your Grace? Just… give me a reason." She sounded desperate, helpless. "She’s young, untouched, youthful, more beautiful than I ever was. You… I remember, you once suggested that you and I wed. Is Sansa not a finer choice than I ever was?"
"Seven hells, Catelyn! Don’t speak that rot. Don’t… don’t even breathe it. I’m like her father. By the gods, no! This madness ends now. I won’t have it. I can't… Ned would’ve had my head."
"Ned is gone! He died in your city!"
"He didn't!" He snapped back at her without realizing. "I am not dead, Cat!"
"..."
Silence fell between them. Catelyn looked up at Robert's face, confused by his words.
"Seven hells, I’m done with all of it. I don't—by the gods, I’ve carried the weight till my back near snapped. My part’s played." Robert muttered, like a storm losing steam. "Cat, I didn’t die that day. Aye, they took my bloody head—but I woke up in this… this barrel of meat, buried like some hog in a crypt. I don’t know what sorcery did it, but I am Ned, your Ned, wearing the hide of Robert Baratheon."
Catelyn's eyes narrowed, her feet retreating. "I… I can understand your disinterest in accepting my request. You don't need to weave such tales, Your Grace."
Robert groaned and rubbed his face annoyingly. Of course, it was impossible to believe him. Of course, it sounded insane. It would to anyone else.
"That night, Cat, our wedding night—you were shaking like a leaf. During our bedding, your eyes were wide, staring at me, scared. Then I said, I may not be the man who was promised, my lady, but I will do my duty with warmth, respect, love, and care. I will never dishonor you. Then I crushed my lips to yours, and by the gods, you melted, eyes closed. I claimed you, you screamed my name, and Robb was made that night—The night Sansa came to be, I spotted a heart-shaped mark on your arse, left side. Kissed it like a man drunk on love. You laughed like summer and climbed atop me, hungry for more."
Catelyn's eyes wavered. The events of her wedding night weren't too hard to guess. She could imagine Robert spying on her and Ned from some hole in the wall. But Sansa was conceived in Winterfell. Robert wasn't there, not even nearby.
"You raged like a storm over Jon, but your fire cooled, and you forgave me. That night, we made Arya, and I had you till dawn. Not a wink of sleep between us—Seven hells, you wore me out! You tried something wicked that night, took me in your mouth. Cat—look at me, damn it. I'm still Ned, though this cursed shell says otherwise. Some god's cruel jape. I wanted to marry you, I suggested it back then, because I am alive, only duty-bound to the throne, not Winterfell."
Catelyn stumbled slightly and fell back into the chair. She gulped, looking exhausted. "H-How… It sounds absurd."
"I know that. My existence is more absurd, Cat." Robert said and walked to the side. He grabbed his dagger and took it out. With ease, he crushed it and squeezed it into a ball.
"I can’t die, Cat. Call it a curse, call it what you will. Lop my head off, burn me to cinders—I’ll still be breathing. Each cut makes me tougher. Strong enough to kill three bloody dragons, Cat. With these hands!"
"You had the chance to tell me… in King’s Landing, or even in Winterfell. Why didn’t you? Why keep it from me then?" Catelyn asked, slowly starting to believe that absurd story.
"Because I couldn't believe it myself. Me, Eddard bloody Stark, stomping around in Robert’s fat skin? It’s as mad as it sounds, and I lived it."
"Then why now?"
“Because I've done my duty. Patched up the bloody realm. Given it two strong sons. I’ve never said this to a soul, Cat, but I won’t lie to you now.” Robert paced closer to her and got down on his knees beside her chair. With an unsure right hand, he caressed her ashen face. “You haunted my thoughts, time and again. Winterfell did too. The life I should’ve had. I wore the crown as Robert, not Ned… but gods, with you, I wish I were Ned still.”
Catelyn's eyes grew emotional, and she found herself nestling her face into his large palm. She finally felt like she understood why his gaze felt so familiar. It felt absurd how easily she was starting to believe his story.
"What happens now?" She asked.
"None in the realm will believe me or you if we told them this absurd story. But I’ve no need to dance for their approval. Cat, I want you back, the way it was, when I had you close. At my side. I want to feel like Ned again, damn it… I want to feel like I’m home."
Catelyn reached with a hand and caressed his face just as he was. Her slender fingers caressed his beard, and her thumb hovered over his lip. The more she listened, the more she started to believe it.
It made the most sense. Why was Robert so quick to come to save Winterfell from the Ironborn? Why was Robert so crushed by what Sansa did? Why did Robert rush to stop the Wildlings? Why did Robert ask her to marry him?
"Ned… You're… my Ned?"
Robert nodded, feeling her warm hand on his skin.
"Ned… You’re… home."
She leaned in, slow and trembling. Her lips brushed his, like the first night of their wedding. Soft and delicate, barely a kiss at all, more like a breath of plush velvet on velvet. Her mouth tasted like tears and longing.
He answered it with a low groan, a primal ache from deep inside. He couldn’t say he never dreamed of her like this, in his arms once again.
His jaw clenched as if holding back years of want. His big hands rose, landing heavily on the waist of her gown, bunching the fabric in fists. He kissed her fiercely, eyes shut tight. He could feel her again. Catelyn, the only woman he ever truly burned for. The only one he’d thought he’d lost forever. And now she was here, in front of him, breathing life into a body he once was furious at.
He still felt duty-bound to Margaery and the life he’d built in King’s Landing. But that night, he felt like being a little selfish.
The kiss deepened, slow and messy. Her tongue met his, searching, rubbing shyly against his thicker one. She tasted the difference, tasted him. His tongue was stronger now, more aggressive, more possessive, but behind it was still the man she knew.
Their mouths moved like they were discovering each other again, and heat bloomed between them, thick and suffocating. Every inch of fabric started to feel like a cage, something their carnal need wanted to shed as quickly as possible.
He still loomed over her even as he knelt, her head still level with his chest. Her fingers trembled as they threaded through his hair. Despite her own height, there was over a head of difference between them now. She’d always been tall for a woman, but his size made her feel slight.
"You are my Ned," Catelyn mumbled as she pulled her delicate lips away. Tears slid from her eyes. "That kiss… I can never forget."
"Oh, my Cat!" Robert wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her lips again with absolute need.
Catelyn’s hands went to the knot of her fur cloak and tugged, almost feeling like she couldn’t do it fast enough, no longer waiting to be undressed. The thick folds fell off her shoulders, pooling around the chair like fallen snow, revealing the cling of her gown underneath. A deep red, regal thing that draped off her shoulders and hugged her body like it had been stitched by hand for her alone.
The color deepened her skin’s glow, her pale collarbones glinting in the candlelight. The fabric dipped just low enough to tease the swell of her breasts, ripe and full beneath the tight-fitting middle.
Robert’s breath paused in awe. His hands moved fast, roughly, pushing her gown down from her shoulders with little care for gentleness. The layered fabric slid past her arms, slipping off like it had never belonged there.
And then they were free, those famed, luscious tits.
His eyes widened. His mouth opened. He stopped kissing her and dove straight in, still kneeling, burying his face between her breasts.
“Mmm-Ooooh!” Catelyn gasped, fingers clutching at his thick hair as he suckled her nipple into his mouth, his stubble scraping her skin like the prickle of lust and sin. That ache bloomed right between her thighs.
Ned used to do that. It was his way of showing love. Worshiping her as if her body were a temple, devoting time to every inch of skin. But this time… it was rougher, greedier. Robert’s wildness still pulsed under the surface. His mouth latched hard, hungry, lips tugging and pulling at her swollen peaks.
He groped her tits, squeezing, kneading, molding them in both hands, as if to test whether they were real or another dream. So full and firm. Her body had changed with motherhood, but her breasts were still glorious, flawless to him. His fingers slid under their weight, his tongue flicking her nipple until she trembled.
Then Robert drew back. His mouth glistened. His heart thumped like the gallop of a warhorse before battle. Without a word, he stood tall, so tall she had to tilt her head to keep eye contact. He took her hand and tugged her up with a firm grip.
She followed without resistance, rising from the chair, and without shame, pushed her gown the rest of the way down her hips. The cloth fell around her ankles like a tempting whisper.
She stood bare before him. A goddess of womanhood, the kind men painted into legends. Her body was mature but breathtaking. Her breasts were large, full, with just the right weight to them, still perky enough to bounce with every breath. Her hips were wide, full of power and softness, shaped by childbirth and horse riding. Her belly had a gentle swell, soft and natural, only making her waist seem narrower. Her thighs were thick and womanly.
Age had touched her face, but only like the gentle sweep of an artist’s brush. Fine lines at the corners of her eyes, but they did nothing to dull her beauty. If anything, they gave her more presence. She was no maiden; she was a woman, his woman.
Their mouths crashed again. Her bare breasts flattened against his tunic, and she didn’t care that it scratched her. She moaned into his mouth, losing her breath in their kiss.
Then he pulled away and looked into her shimmering eyes. "I'm home… Cat."
He tore off his own clothes without ceremony, throwing them to the floor, piece after piece, until he was naked. He pulled her back into a kiss, body against body, her tits pressed into his hairy chest.
She willingly grabs his massive cock and starts stroking it, while his hands spread and massage her luxurious ass behind, and kissed her lips like a hungry man, digging with his tongue.
He was tall for her, taller than Ned ever was. Standing more than a head higher, he had full control over her body. And she didn't seem to mind.
Then he pushed her back on the bed until she fell, barely containing the hunger.
Her spine bounced into the softness of the bedding. The room spun around her, the firelight painting her fair skin in gold. Her hair sprawled out around her like a fan of red flame, her swells bouncing lightly with the fall, catching his gaze.
Robert climbed up without hesitation, crawling between her spread thighs, his breath already heavy. His eyes landed between her legs.
And there it was. That glorious, well-bred core. Rosy and glistening, flushed from arousal, parted ever so slightly. Still as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her, still ripe and wet with the heat of longing.
He leaned in, lips pressing against her thick inner thighs, kissing slowly, dragging his tongue along the soft flesh. His mouth left wet trails as he traveled lower, each kiss closer to her heated core, each lick making her thighs twitch.
Then he found her core, the center of her heat. His mouth met her pussy lips, and he didn’t hesitate. He dove into her pool like a man dying of thirst. The flat of his tongue spread her open, swirling over her folds with maddening circles, coaxing the slickness out of her body. With long strokes, his tongue swept through her slit, spreading her apart, tasting her, groaning low in his throat.
Her swollen bean wasn’t spared either. He wrapped his lips around it and suckled greedily, tugging and teasing it between wet flicks. His beard scratched her thighs, tickling like the sin of temptation.
“Ooooh!” Catelyn cried out, her back arching on the bed as sparks danced up her spine. Her legs quivered, thighs trying to close but held apart by the sheer width of his shoulders.
She knew that touch, that attention. That was his tongue, that was Ned, worshiping her body just the same. And yet now, it was stronger, rougher, greedier. She could hear it; hear how wet she was, the squelch of his mouth, the wet slaps of his tongue teasing her pulsing pussy.
His tongue dragged over her slit again and again, flicking her clit before plunging lower to tongue-fuck her entrance, lapping at her juices like he wanted to drink her dry. He didn’t stop. Not until her back arched, her thighs clamping around his head, her entire body buzzing with pleasure.
With a small reluctant gasp from her lips, he let go. His tongue left the scorching heat that twitched endlessly for him.
"I'll… enter… Cat." He said as he looked up, just loud enough to be heard. He could barely speak from how hard his cock throbbed. The flushed cockhead felt heavy, twitching as he hovered over her.
"Please… Ned, make me feel whole again… Oh—Gods!!"
Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Her legs fell open again. She could feel him between them, felt the hot head of his throbbing cock nudging at her soaked lower lips. Her belly fluttered with nerves and lust. His swollen tip spread her pussy lips slowly, demanding space, and she felt her petals splayed wide. He was stretching her already, and he hadn’t even pushed in.
The first push warned her just how thick he really was. Her pussy clenched down, struggling to let him in.
“Ughh…” She whimpered as the tip entered her. The thick, stinging stretch of it made her toes curl. She felt it, every vein, every ridge. Her cunt clung to him like it had a mind of its own. But she wanted it. She wanted him. Wanted to take her Ned back.
Robert looked down at her. Her tits were flattened, wide from gravity, rippling with each shift. Her hair was a mess of red around her, her lips parted, her deep, shimmering eyes reflecting his image.
He looked further down. Her flushed petals were stretched wide around his cock, parting slowly like an overstuffed sheath trying to take a sword too big for it. His cock sank in deeper, inch by inch, and her hands gripped the sheets tighter.
He started to move. His hips rolled forward, groaning as he felt her walls wrap around his cock. Inch by inch. His cock met resistance, her cunt tight around him, unused to such sheer size.
“Oooh… fuck… Seven above… Ned!” she panted, clawing at the sheets. “You’re… you’re splitting me!”
He gritted his teeth and kept moving, feeding her more cock with every plunge. Her pussy clung to him. He hadn’t even bottomed out, but it already felt like her cunt was molded to his size now. Each thrust buried more of him in, and he groaned louder, like a wild animal.
Her heat swallowed him greedily, pulling him in, hot and desperate. She whimpered louder, legs trembling as the stretch deepened. Her hips lifted off the bed, chasing the thrust. “Yes… Yes! Harder! … I need it!”
As he slowly shifted higher on top of her, her legs started to tremble, forced open so wide they started to ache. She couldn’t hold them apart anymore, so she lifted them. Using both hands to pull her legs up until her knees pressed against her own tits. Her breasts smushed up between them, forming a soft, glorious valley that swayed like a mirage.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
The wet smack of flesh echoed around them. The bed creaked violently, struggling under the force of his thrusts.
Her head lifted and she looked down, her thin lips falling open at the sight of his cock drilling down into her stretched slit. She couldn’t believe it fit, couldn’t believe she was taking it. And yet she was, drowning in the stuffed feeling, filled to the brim with his relentless, throbbing hardness.
“Ned! Fuck! Gods…yes! So deep–you’re… you’re going to shatter my womb!”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. It felt wrong. It looked like Robert, but it was Ned. Her body knew him.
Robert braced himself, palms pressing down on the undersides of her thighs, pinning them to her chest. He leaned forward, bending the stunning, mother of five in half. His own thighs locked her in place. He was almost sitting on her flawless ass now, his cock driving downward, ramming into her like a jackhammer.
Her ass bounced with every thrust, smacking against his hips with messy squelches. Her tits swayed freely left and right against her legs. The pressure was mind-numbing.
"MMmmmh… Ah, Ah… Yes, I'm coming… Oh, Ned!"
Her whole body locked up, spasming under him as her orgasm tore through her. Her toes curled high in the air. Her mouth fell open in a silent, body-seizing cry of deliverance, her eyes rolling back. Her pussy clenched violently around his cock, and her juices gushed out in waves, soaking his shaft.
He rutted her like a starving beast, pounding into her with unrelenting, downward thrusts, no rhythm needed, just primal need. Again, and again, and again, pistoning deeper into her welcoming, blooming flesh.
Her body bounced under him, breasts thrashing against her own folded knees, her breath reduced to wild, raw moans. Her cunt clung to him with soaked twitches, stretched, abused.
And then, with a final groan, it happened.
He plunged in deep and spilled himself as if molten flood, claiming his marital right. His cock jerked inside her, twitching with pulse after pulse of hot, potent cream. It filled her completely, the pressure so dizzying his vision almost went dark. But he kept going, not from his demanding lust, not from his relentless want, he just couldn’t. His body just never wanted to stop, not now, and maybe not ever.
Her pussy tried to hold it in, but it was too much. Thick globs of cream burst out around the tight seal of her cunt, spitting past her folds with every brutal, ramming thrust, squelching out like a boot stomping in a deep, wet puddle.
He kept fucking her through it, slamming into her from above, and with every thrust, more cum spilled out in frothy bubbles. It coated the rim of her ruined noble pussy, white and messy, rolling down the sweet curve of her ass. Her stretched hole looked obscene, red and ruined, her creamy juices soaking the sheets below.
Despite birthing five children, she felt like a newlywed again, shocked by the stretch, high on the tight ache. She wasn’t prepared for him. Not this version of him. He was thicker, longer, and brutish in size. Every drag of his cock scraped the walls of her deepest parts and churned the cream inside her. Every plunge introduced her to a new kind of sensation and euphoria.
“Gkh…!” He grunted louder and drove deeper still, splitting her open as if he were possessed.
Her pussy desperately sucked him back in, plunging her into cloud nine all over again.
“Aaaahhh! Oh, Ned! NED!” she cried out, her legs twitching against his shoulders, another punishing climax ripping through her. Her belly quivered, cunt clamping, her whole body spasming with release. Her mouth fell open again, and her juices sprayed out, slick, warm, and soaking his cock thoroughly.
"Oh, Cat… My love… I… I longed for you…" Robert declared.
He finally let go of her legs and let them fall, not pulling out, not even for a second. He collapsed down on top of her, burying his face in her neck, kissing the sweat-slick skin there as he lay inside her. His arms wrapped around her like he never wanted to let go again, holding her as if afraid she'd disappear, and rolled a bit to the side, easing her from his giant-like weight.
She adjusted her body, rolling slightly with him, face to face, one leg draping lazily across his waist, her other leg stretched straight along the sheets. His cock was still inside her, still warm and hard, sliding gently within her soaked, sore, creamed pussy. She leaned her face in, kissing him again, lingering.
Relaxing side by side, face to face, his hips slowly moved, stroking her from the inside out in lazy thrusts. Her cunt squelched around him with every motion, pushing out more of their combined nectar with each shallow pump. The slick sounds filled the room, filthy and intimate.
His one hand slid up her raised leg, caressing its supple flesh like a treasure. His fingers climbed higher, gripping the soft globe of her ass. Then he brushed a finger along her back entrance, stroking the tight pucker playfully.
She gasped and giggled, kissing him harder.
“Gods, you still do that…” she whispered into his mouth.
It had always been his habit, Ned’s habit. That sneaky stroke when he was buried deep inside her, teasing her star-shaped hole just to make her squirm.
She kissed him again, more desperate now. Her hand curled around his neck, the other lazily scratching his back with the tips of her nails, aimless scratches that sent a warm shiver through him.
His other arm slid under her head, thick fingers threading through her fiery hair, gripping it, tilting her head just the way he liked for deeper kisses. Their lips met again and again, tongues gliding, teeth grazing, mouths recklessly hungry.
She could feel it again. His cock moved slowly now, dragging out through her swollen folds before pushing back in. He filled her so full, she felt every throb, every twitch. Her walls squeezed him like the warm embrace of a long-lost lover.
His hand worshiped the curve of her waist, sliding up her dipping flank to knead one of her breasts, molding the soft swell as if reminding himself she was his. His other hand cradled her face, thumb stroking her cheek.
She stared into his eyes, full of lust and love. She couldn’t look away.
Every slow thrust teased her from the inside, every kiss melted her bones, every thump in his chest felt on her bosom. Her cunt pulsed with each movement, drowning in the sensation, in him.
"Cat…" Robert muttered, looking into her dreamy eyes while he still throbbed and kept sliding in and out of her loving cunt. "After this madness… Join me… In the Red Keep. Robb's old enough to rule… I need you with me."
"Oh…" Catelyn kissed her lover and smiled. "I wish for nothing else. But Sansa… I must sort her."
"I'll find her a match."
"Why not you?" She still insisted.
Robert froze his thrusts for a moment, but resumed soon enough. "She… You know why."
"Bless her… This body holds Robert's seed. Just one last sacrifice, Ned. Give Sansa the title of a queen, and have her bear royal children. There is no greater blessing for her, my love. Just once or twice, all you have to do."
Did she…?
Robert suddenly thought of something. Did Catelyn fool him? Did she fake believing that he was Ned so she could sway him to accept Sansa? It felt possible. Catelyn was always willing to do anything for her family.
But did it even matter? He had Catelyn at last. He cherished her still and wanted her with all he had. She felt like a part of him. With her in his arms, he felt whole.
His hips rolled once more, more tender, but no less urgent. He pushed himself all the way in, burying his cock to the hilt, feeling her walls part for him one last time. Having bred that cunt so many times, he went for another.
Balls deep, he released it all. His body jolted as his cock erupted again, spurting a heavy, hot flood into her waiting womb. His fat rod throbbed wildly, gushing out like a fountain of virility, pumping his baby batter spray after spray.
“Ghk…” He grunted with each spurt, holding her hips against him, fingers sinking into her flesh as his seed poured into her, soaking deep inside where only he could reach.
He kissed her, hard, possessively. Their tongues clashing, moaning into each other's mouths. His hips rocked subtly under her, fucking his release deeper and deeper.
He didn’t stop kissing her, didn’t stop touching her. His arms circled her back and pulled her up on top of himself, hugging her curvy frame to his thick, powerful chest. He wanted to keep her right there, forever. Her cunt still snug around his cock, keeping him warm.
"Mmmmmh…"
Catelyn moaned with that breathy, slow-burning sound he loved. Her body trembled on top of his chest, his cock hilt deep resting inside, twitching. A different kind of climax bloomed inside her, thick as molten gold, slow. She twitched on him, fluttering around his calming cock.
She couldn’t move. She just withered in his arms, her belly feeling heavy, her breath shallow, as if their combined release had lit a fire inside her. Her thighs shook gently, her body melting into his.
She pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in, clutching his shoulder like an anchor.
Taking deep breaths to calm himself, Robert finally rested his head back on the pillow and looked up at the ceiling. Stroking her back, he dragged his calloused fingers down her spine as his cock rested balls-deep, still buried in her, held in place by the warmth of her perfect body half draped over him.
"I'll… think about it… Cat."
He gave her the same answer he'd given Margaery about Myrcella. He wasn't sure, really. Myrcella and Sansa were both young and slender, clearly far from someone prepared to bear his fat babies.
But with a possible, magical battle incoming, he could put all those disturbing thoughts at the back of his mind.
"Please do, my love."
Quilt heavy on them, Catelyn stayed the entire night. Slept with him, her back draped with his hugging arms as he spooned her from behind.
####
"Ah! Ah! Mm–Ooooooh! Ned… Oh, Ned!"
Outside the bedchamber, the moans were audible, alongside the wet claps. The two Kingsguards standing outside, Ser Barristan himself and Sandor Clegane right beside him, could hear it all.
Awkwardly, Ser Barristan looked at his fellow Kingsguard. "They are… Remembering Lord Stark."
Sandor grunted, shaking his head. "Very passionately."
Ser Barristan almost chuckled. "Our King is a gentle, loving man. He cares for the realm."
"Clearly, his love flows deep through cunts."
"..."
Plap! Plap! Plap!
"Yes, yes, yes, yessss! Oh, Ned!"
Ser Barristan scratched his face and sighed. “You may go rest. I shall keep the watch tonight. Though truth be told, the King has little need of guards now.”
Shrugging, Sandor just left.
With that, Ser Barristan stood there more cautiously. He wasn't afraid of an attack. No, he was afraid that someone might hear the noise. If Sansa or some other Stark cub heard their mother getting her insides rearranged, a mess would ensue.
But at the same time, he couldn't help but feel impressed.
His Grace sure is a remarkable man. Even the proud, widowed Lady Stark isn't spared.
Eventually, the moans ended, and some time passed.
Creak!
"Barristan." Robert appeared out of the bedchamber with suppressed steps. "Let's move."
Ser Barristan stared at the King's face, looking fresher than ever. He expected that the man would be tired after hours of bedding rituals.
"Don't…" Robert barked. "Don't ask me anything, Barristan."
"I wouldn’t dare, Your Grace. I know well that a lady's needs weigh as heavily as a man's. The torches are prepared—let us be on our way."
____________
A/N: I'll be starting the GOT: Rasputin of Westeros after this. Nedbert's kinda lost its charm for me. I'll post the last chapter after the new fic is up and running.
Next chapter update will be GOT: The Northern Tyrant and then Marvel: Upgrading Death. I'm working on a Naruto story as well. Will post it soon.
Comments
praveen jillaboina
What is the story GOT: Rasputin of Westeros about
Caimbeul
You know I love the idea that the white walkers just can’t get past the wall, so they’re just stuck.
