Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

Staring down at the map of Westeros for a moment, Jon lets out a low sigh as he makes his decision.
 
“You all raise excellent points… but Bellegere is right. I started out on this journey believing myself alone in this world. The instant that I discovered I had family in Essos, I went searching for it.”
 
He looks to Daenerys at that and offers his heavily pregnant khaleesi a smile. Any day now, both Daenerys and Bellegere are likely to give birth, increasing the size of his family even further.
 
“It was that decision, to go looking for my family, which led me down this path in the first place. That made me the man I am today. Without that choice, who knows where I would be? Who knows WHAT I would be. Given all of that… how can I ignore the other half of my family? How can I ignore those who raised me?”
 
Nodding decisively, his piece said, Jon points at the map, specifically to the North.
 
“We make for Winterfell, to reinforce Lady Stark.”
 
Every head in the room bows in subservient agreement with his choice, while Daenerys has a watery smile on her face, clearly remembering how he saved her, how he came for her. Jon suspects he won’t have any issues from her corner with his decision. They both understand the value of family, in the end. Bellegere, meanwhile, is also smiling at him indulgently.
 
With one final grunt, Jon delivers a hot, thick load of his seed into Kinvara’s womb. The converted Priestess moans wantonly, shuddering beneath him as she takes his cum without a single ounce of protest. Through his new senses, Jon can tell she’ll get pregnant, his seed now… super charged with virility, for lack of a better word.
 
He can also tell that if he wanted to, he could stop it. But he doesn’t want to, and so he doesn’t bother stopping it, instead secure in the knowledge that he’s knocked the former Red Priestess up right then and there in front of everyone else in the War Room.
 
The council is adjourned shortly after that, and everyone gets ready for their departure. Even with Jon’s new divine might, it’s not like it’s easy to get ready to move an entire army across an ocean. Things take time, though he’s not above using his power to… speed it up a bit. Still, in the end he actually ends up delaying for a few days more when both Daenerys and Bellegere go into labor only a week apart.
 
The Khal of Khals’ first two children are born on a warm day with a blue sky shining overhead. Daenerys gives him a boy, and Bellegere gives him a daughter. When it comes time to name them, Jon honestly isn’t too sure at first what to go with. He’s half-tempted to give the mothers leave to do the naming, because he’s never been very good at naming… well, anything or anyone.
 
But both Daenerys and Bellegere insist on him being the one to name his two firstborns. It’s important, apparently. And so, Jon goes with his heart. His firstborn son is named Ben, the namesake of his favorite Uncle… the Uncle that he actually knew as his Uncle all through his years growing up. If he has too many more boys, he’ll probably name one Ned as well, and probably another Rob too, but for now… for now, Eddard Stark’s lies are a little too fresh, even at this point.
 
And so, Ben Targaryen, Prince of the House Targaryen, is brought into this world. Jon is afraid that the name will be too simple a name for a Prince at first, but Daenerys loves it, her entire face shining with happiness once Jon tells her of his decision. Meanwhile, Bellegere’s daughter… he can only go with Lyarra. The name of a grandmother that Jon never got to meet, as well as a namesake of the mother he never got to meet either.
 
He hoped, if either of them were looking down upon him, that Lyanna and Lyarra Stark would be proud. If nothing else, the little she-wolf was quite the howler and quickly grew into her name…
 
Of course, after naming both children, Jon was gently reminded by the two mothers of his babes of something else he’d put off for far too long. Naming his dragons. He’d had three of them for how long now? And while they’d grown up big and powerful, and were completely obedient to him (especially after his divinity had become manifest) the fact that they were still nameless was a bit of a black mark, wasn’t it?
 
But Jon was already out of creativity, and so he gave the task of naming the three dragons over to Daenerys and Bellegere, refusing to take no for an answer. They would name them, or the dragons would remain nameless!
 
In the end, he’d gotten the new names of his beautiful winged creatures within a day. For the red and green dragons, Daenerys put forth the names Rhaegal and Viserion, leaving the black dragon to be named by Bellegere, which was fitting considering her former status as the Black Pearl of Braavos. In the end, Bellegere names the large black dragon Balerion come again, and Jon, amused by his own experiences with beings called Balerion, allows it all the same with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand.
 
And so, the dragons and his babes all have their names. Ben, Lyarra, Rhaegal, Viserion, and Balerion. For Jon, names are… less important, these days. As a God of Dragons and Freedom, he feels people out through their very souls, knowing them more by their essences then by the titles attached to their physical features. None can hide from his gaze behind an assumed name, none can deceive him. He knows everyone down to their very depths and finds it easier to identify them by such things.
 
But still, Jon well understands the importance of names to mortal men and women, and so leaves it be.
 
Finally, with the children declared healthy enough for it, they set off. Traveling out of Volantis with hundreds of ships and armies that will likely bring the already weakened Westeros to its knees. Or so Jon hopes.
 
Truth be told, he’s growing somewhat weary of war. It would be easier, if he could simply… take control of the Seven Kingdoms with no further bloodshed. But he doesn’t expect it to be that easy. In fact, he knows it won’t be. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be difficult. But they’re going to get it done, one way or another.
 
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Of course, traveling from Volantis to Winterfell is not a simple or direct shot. Winterfell was landlocked for one… and Volantis was on the underside of Essos for the other. Given that Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr were all still slave-holding cities and Jon had already resolved to stop his conquest of Essos and move on to Westeros, he refused to stop in any of the three for a resupply.
 
Instead, they took enough supplies aboard their armada to make their way straight past the three Free Cities, and with a little divine assistance from Jon himself, made their way into the Narrow Sea, not stopping until they reached Pentos. Thanks to him, they didn’t lose a single ship, and indeed the other ships in those waters steered well-clear of Jon and his armies, not wanting to turn the massive leviathan that was a Dothraki Naval Force in their direction.
 
The Dothraki had always been terrifying in an existential sort of way to the inhabitants of the Free Cities, but the sailors of the seas likely never thought they had to worry about such things. And to be fair, they weren’t going to be facing down ten thousand Dothraki screamers on an open field any time soon.
 
Still, the Dothraki reputation for being afraid of the ‘poison water’ and dreading sea travel was quickly falling to the wayside as Jon forced it to, as he bolstered his warriors and helped prod them along in their training as sailors and seafarers. Indeed, it likely would have been nigh impossible to get a Dothraki Army across the Narrow Sea without what he was doing, but it DEFINITELY would have been impossible for that Dothraki Army to also double as the sailors of dozens of the hundreds of ships that made up the armada.
 
But thanks to Jon, it was all too possible, and not long before they reached Pentos. The resupply in Pentos was short as the merchant lords of the city happily gave tribute to the first Dothraki Khalasar to ever come in from the bay. After that, it was on to Braavos, where Jon stopped in only to pay his respects to the Iron Bank and the Sealord and explain that he was finally making do on his promise to retake the Iron Throne and begin completing his deal with the Iron Bank.
 
Luckily, that promise got him out of Braavos just as quickly. Jon wasn’t sure he could have handled numerous meetings with bankers for days on end without doing something truly regrettable. It was fine though, they saw in him not just a potential claimant to a throne that owed them money anymore, but a King in his own right… a Conqueror, even.
 
Jon’s exploits gave him nearly as much influence and power as his manifested divinity did, and it wasn’t long before the Dragon God found himself arriving back in White Harbor once more, finally back home.
 
Of course, he’d left White Harbor on a boat to Braavos years before with nothing but his bastard name and a hundred Silver Stags to it. He was returning as a Conquering King. To say that the Northmen weren’t thrilled to see him would be an understatement. The looks he’s getting as his flagship docks in the harbor and Jon steps off of it, could freeze a man solid.
 
And yet…
 
“A-Ah! There you are my boy! There you are!”
 
And yet, there’s Lord Manderly. Jon is surprised to see the portly man has survived all the wars that have plagued the North and indeed the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. But then, after a moment of thought, he’s actually not all that surprised at all.
 
“Lord Manderly. A pleasure.”
 
“Yes, yes! We must… where is the bread? The wine?! Bring it quickly!”
 
Despite sounding jovial, Lord Manderly’s eyes are a bit wide, as if he’s afraid… which obviously, he is. Jon can sense it, can feel the undercurrent of tensions throughout White Harbor and indeed the North. Now that he’s here, actually on the continent itself, it’s become all the clearer that the Seven, the actual Gods and Goddesses themselves, are actively trying to block his senses.
 
Of course, their power is limited in the North, and so Jon reaches out towards Winterfell… only to pull back once he ascertains that Sansa is in good health and currently in good spirits. He can find out more about her and her condition when he actually sees her in the flesh again. For now…
 
“I would be happy to sup at your table, Lord Manderly. Me and my armies have come a long way.”
 
“Y-Yes… your armies…”

As wine and bread are produced, Jon bites into the loaf and drinks from the cup. No poison, which is a mark in Manderly’s favor. With that, Guest Right is observed, and the Lord of White Harbor visibly relaxes.
 
“I-I would be happy to host you, uh…”
 
As he fumbles with what to call Jon at this point, Daenerys steps forward and slides a hand into his before speaking clearly and concisely.
 
“You stand before Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protect of the Realm. Furthermore, you stand before the Khal of Khals, Breaker of Chains, Father of Freedom, Conqueror of Slaver’s Bay, Valyria, and Volantis aside. You stand before the Stallion Who Mounts the World!”
 
Sheesh, when she lists it all like that, he sounds somewhat pompous, doesn’t he? Lord Manderly, meanwhile, has gone deathly white at the revelations inherent in Daenerys’ proclamation. The Northmen filling the harbor all look positively gobsmacked as well, like they aren’t sure what to think. After a few moments of Lord Manderly trying to find his voice and failing, Jon sighs and shakes his head.
 
“I’m not here to demand your fealty, my lord.”
 
“Y-You’re not?!”
 
His abject disbelief is rather understandable, but Jon just smiles.
 
“I’m here to help, Lord Manderly. I’ve heard what befell the North, and I still very much consider it one of the places closet to my heart. Who owes fealty and loyalty to who can be decided after the North is secured, and will likely be a conversation between me and Sansa, don’t you think?”
 
A look of stark relief spreads across Lord Manderly’s face, and from how quickly the pudgy man takes the lifeline Jon is offering, Jon in turn begins to get an idea of just how the Lord of White Harbor survived all of this conflict.
 
“Y-Yes… yes! Lady Stark will certainly wish to speak with you! I-In Winterfell, more than likely! I, uh… I’m afraid White Harbor doesn’t have the accommodations for all of your men however, your uh… Your Grace?”
 
Nodding, Jon looks back at the massive fleet of ships he’s brought with him and smiles.
 
“Not to worry. My armies are ready for the cold. I’ve prepared them appropriately. We’ve also brought with us plenty of supplies, and even some things to trade from Pentos and Braavos.”
 
“Wonderful! Then it would be my honor to host you, Your Grace! A feast in your honor is appropriate, at the very least!”
 
Unable to hide his amusement over just how… accommodating Lord Manderly now was since he realized Jon would be moving on peacefully soon enough, Jon just nods and lets the Lord of White Harbor begin leading him off the dock and towards his castle.
 
The feast that takes place that night is rather unlike anything that White Harbor has ever experienced, and certainly unlike anything House Manderly has ever hosted. Jon’s Dothraki Lieutenants attend on their best behavior, but their best behavior is still fairly ruckus. Luckily, they have enough of their own women that no Northerner who doesn’t want to be included has to fear being… forced. Jon wouldn’t have allowed it anyways, and his slow reshaping of the Dothraki into a culture that wasn’t so based on rape and slavery has been paying dividends for some time now.

Regardless, more than a few adventurous Northern girls are intrigued enough to leave the Hall on the arm of a Dothraki Lieutenant, and Jon can only hope that his men don’t ruin too many cunts. While he’d certainly force the issue if any of White Harbor’s maidens wanted to come along after the night was over, it would still be better if they stayed here.
 
That all said, Jon had felt a certain woman’s eyes on him since the feast started and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going to come later that evening, once he was in his quarters. It was why he’d ultimately decided to bed down alone, leaving Daenerys and Bellegere and their handmaidens to find warmth in each other’s arms.
 
And so, as Jon laid down in a bed of furs for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have to wait long before he felt a certain presence making its way in his direction. Sure enough, his door eventually creaks open, and a nubile young woman slips inside, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown.
 
The years since they’d last seen each other had been kind enough to Wynafryd Manderly. The girl who’d sucked him off all that time ago has blossomed into a truly beautiful woman, and it makes Jon wonder why she hasn’t already been married off. As he sits up and she freezes upon the realization that he’s awake and aware and was in fact waiting for her, Jon raises an eyebrow questioningly and smiles.
 
“Come back for Round Two, Lady Manderly?”
 
Flushing with embarrassment, Wynafryd nevertheless rallies exceptionally quickly, even offering him a cheeky grin as she bats her eyelashes at him.
 
“You certainly kept me waiting for your return, Your Grace. And to think, you left a bastard and came back a King. Whatever is a little lady like me to do, if a King wants a piece of me?”
 
Jon snorts as she purposefully hikes up her nightgown, exposing her long legs and her puffy pussy lips to him. It’s obvious what she wants… the only question is, is it what he wants? He could still reject her and make his way to Dany, Bellegere, and the rest for some fun with them instead. Or he could take Wynafryd right here and now. For a one-off? Or to breed and make one of his women?
 
He did tell Lord Manderly he wasn’t here to force anyone to bend the knee… but it didn’t look like he’d be forcing Wynafryd to bend anything, if he did want to take her as his own. She was all too willing.

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