Game of Thrones: Path of the Hungry Bear

Chapter 6 Esoteric Morsel

I made my most annoyed face at the door that just clanged from an armored fist. Is this my life now? Is this the life of a prince? Is nothing sacred to these people? Of course not, the sounding of keys scraping in the lock grated on my soul. In youthful rebellion, I summoned up my darkest art. 

"My prince, the King has - BY THE GODS!" Ser Arryk- I never cared for sussing out the secret of which is which and refused to play their game so I call both brother's Arryk - came through the door and caught sight of something he'd never imagined. 

The Kingsguard's eyes bulged and he audibly choked on the intake after his bellowing exclamation of shock and horror, and I found his eyes, locking his gaze with all the power of my dark purpose. We needed eye contact for this curse to land, and the googly eyed knight was too confused to look away in time and too terrified to look down for between my legs a sight of such degrading debauchery occurred capable of stealing a normal man's wits with just a glance. 

Currently I stood chest out, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, hips back, and tonight's diversion - a gloriously teat burdened half-Valyrian woman - knelt with her massive knockers wrapped around my down pointed shaft and her lips occupied in a passionate make out session with my asshole. 

In the time it takes for flint to spark off steel, by my warlord's will, I used the dark arts to bring forth my finish, and as Ser Arryk's wide eyes met mine - his confusion and embarrassment plainly shining through - I busted a fresh deluge of nut milk down her belly and on her thighs. 

"NOO!" he groaned and looked away too late. 

"This load shall forever stain your soul." I declared my perfidious deed to the world with great satisfaction, then straightened back up and stepped away from the woman, glancing back and telling her, "There are starving children in the North." 

From my luggage, I donned a thick silk robe and tide it together with a dark green sash and my sword belt. 

"Speak man." I commanded as I worked the gold plaque belt on. 

Ser Arryk gaped like a fish as his head snapped back and forth between me and the jobber. 

"Don't make me repeat myself." I spoke to both of them. 

The woman began feeding herself my seed after a brief hesitation, then found her enthusiasm for the task as Ser Arryk steadied himself and cleared his throat. 

"You've been summoned by the King, my Prince." he croaked out and turned his back on the scene before him. 

After donning some comfy slippers the knight escorted me to this grand midnight summoning. We'd returned to the Hall of Nine beset by childish ruckus, while the adults in the room loomed over them silent and tense. My father sat in the Driftwood throne, contemplating the floor and his building outburst. I espied my brother getting his hands bandaged up by our mother, looking quite like the canary that ate the cat. Across from him, stood a pack of angry children with bruising faces and bleeding noses, boot marks on their legs and bellies. Looks like these children learned a lesson in what happens when messing with big kids. 

So caught up in the children's squabbling where they all that my arrival went nigh unnoticed. Unacceptable. 

"Here we all are." I drawled, "Yet I see no wine." 

Ever had a whole room turn on you at once? I live for it. I couldn't help but chuckle at the scorn on each and every judgey face. 

"Wine? Wine!" My mother squawked, "Your brother was ambushed in the night and all you care for is your cups!" 

"Yeah." I admitted easily, "I'm either here to raise a toast to his victory or commiserate his defeat. Both of those require wine, but if all we have on hand is mead, I'll ably raise a horn." 

"Well raise a toast then, brother, raise a toast for Aemond's savaging of my sons!" Rhaenyra hissed with her battered boys clutched to her breasts. 

"I'll drink to that!" I lifted my fist in brotherly pride. 

"Enough, Aegon!" my father screamed, the withered and crippled man bursting onto the scene to lay down the law.

The King's Law. 

"I'll not let you make a mockery of this." he sneered weakly at me, "Aemond, the truth of it. Now." 

My brother shined with a confidence he'd never born prior. The boy loved duty and propriety, often seeking to deride me for my wizardry as a way to shield his fragile ego. His lack of connection with any of the dragons in the capital hollowed him out. Now fulfilled and eager, held aloft by Vhagar's wings. 

"Not everyone was happy with my claiming of Vhagar." he explained with barely contained glee as he struggled down the corners of his lips, often failing on one side or the other, and often both, "The four of them found me as I returned to the castle and called me a thief." 

"You are a thief!" one of the little girls clinging to Corlys and Rhaenys screamed. 

"Silence!" my father yelled when the cacophony of shrill voices threatened to resume. 

"If there's any decency in this place, do not subject me further to the squabbles of children without drink." I commented loudly, deriding the people participating in this event like it matters beyond Aemond claiming the greatest dragon alive.

For now. 

"Aegon!" My father now glared at me, like I was the source of this tomfoolery, then turned back to Aemond, "Continue, boy." 

Aemond preened at my rebuke, the night nothing but wins for the second son of the King, "After calling me a thief, one of the girls," He pointed to the twins, "Slapped me, and all the others soon joined, pushing and striking me, trying to wrestle me to the ground. So I struck them back, and once they were all dealt with, I left and informed Mother of what happened." 

King Viserys, frowned, then turned to Rhaenyra, awaiting the spin from his favorite child. No amount of shared interest and fatherly pride could rip away the unconditional love and spoiling favor granted to our eldest half-sibling, not even with her frequent and blatant abuse of that trust and support. My father was a broken man, his faculties tested beyond their means long ago, and he never grew under the burden. I don't blame him for it. The strength of character to soldier on despite his very body betraying him filled me with determination. 

"My sons were forced to defend themselves from vile insults-" Rhaenyra began and I cut her off.

"If there is not a servant with wine before my sister speaks again, I'll give this castle a new reason to gather and grieve!" I shouted and gripped the ringed hilt of my bastard sword, The Chimera's Wail, with my left hand. 

My threat caused all those gathered to widen their eyes and many gasps of shock and cries against me rose up as my uncle worked his way through the room, stepping around those gathered, circling towards me, and in his mind towards the opportunity to slay me before I fully come into my own. 

"You speak of insults, WOMAN!" I put some extra effort into that and years of practicing my singing voice helped me put my full chest into it, "I am the one insulted! It is I who is aggrieved! Summoned in the middle of the night, like a dog, for the squabbling of children! Who the fuck do you think I am?"

Come closer, Uncle. Make this a night worth remembering.

"Aegon! Obey!" my father roared with his full might, half as mighty as it should be, but still dignified in its own way, "How dare you threaten steel against your kin? Is your wine and bed more important to you than family? What could possibly be there to make you lose your wits like this? Ser Erryk, speak. Tell me what brought about such madness." 

"That is Ser Arryk." I corrected my father, who glared at me with hefty disdain. 

"I am Ser Erryk." The knight who summoned me answered the call of the King and took a knee, already lying, "My King, forgive me, for I cannot describe what I saw. It was unspeakable" 

He used a tone that easily carried his suffering to those listening.

"Speak, your King commands it." My father insisted and the knight obviously tried to find the words. 

"It was… unspeakable." he failed. 

"Don't be angry with him, father, he simply lacks the vocabulary to convey his experiences." I grinned down on the soiled knight, "Ser Arryk interrupted me while with lady companionship. As a sworn celibate, it is no fault of his for his inability to describe the multifarious methods of fornication."

I saw my mother with her face in her hands, and my uncle waiting for the right of way to strike, his bloodthirst running alongside his amusement at the turn in conversation. He too obviously gave no shits about the comings and goings of the brats beyond noting the power of Vhagar now in my camp. 

"You do this now, for interrupted fornication?" my father looked at me slack jawed. 

I'd signaled my intent to break Guest Rights, but am I a guest with while they withhold drink? The Velaryons are close to finding out. 

"If a man isn't willing to kill for a poke, he doesn't deserve it." I nodded to him, solemnly. 

My uncle now fully committed to his amusement, laughed loudly from behind my right shoulder, at perfect distance for a draw cut, the hilt of Dark Sister's scabbard in hand. 

"To think, Brother, that you would raise up such a son!" Daemon gleefully jeered and smirked at me, "Come now, lad, tell us which of the 'multifarious methods of fornication' did Ser Arryk interrupt."

Still kneeling, the knight muttered, "I'm Ser Erryk."

"I had her working the double shift." I revealed to the gathering.

Much to their confusion. My uncle's countenance turned contemplative as his mind performed the deviant calculus until he gasped softly, his face illuminated with licentious revelation. My father looked at his brother for clarification, yet somehow, Daemon smirked even more smugly. 

"As Ser Arryk said, this is best left unspoken." my uncle settled in satisfaction to hoard this esoteric morsel of sexual excess to himself. 

My father sighed in long suffering from his brother's antics, and now my own, turning to me with the most disappointment I've ever seen on his face. 

"Aegon…" he started with heavy brow and frown, "Tonight you've behaved with conduct unbecoming a Prince of House Targaryen, and threatened our hosts in their own home. For this act I banish you from Driftmark, you must leave with the dawn's light and not return for a period of… ten years." 

With the King's sentencing came a shanking servant. 

"Finally!" I cheered and snatched away another carafe raising it in silent toast with a wink to my brother. 

On que Rhaenyra sought to capitalize on my 'defeat' and turned our father's full frustration with the situation onto her. I merrily departed the room with my sour piss water wine, aloft my success in defending my brother's win streak this night. 

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I received a comment from a reader letting me know that he was no longer able to relate to the character because of the reveal that he gets his ass ate. It made me laugh for multiple reasons. Thank you for that, homie. Prime among them being that I'd already written most of this chapter. Second being that anyone in the audience finds Jorah relatable considering he is a straight take on barbarism devoid of any sullying tropes like Noble Savage. He's written to make the audience go 'Woah, that's brutal.' Lastly, being that Jorah's primary character trait is domination, with a secondary in derision. Perhaps I've been to subtle with it. I know in Chinese fiction they never miss out on the word domineering, but I like to think I show that to the audience to the point that no one needs to say it directly. My bad. 

Jorah is domineering as fuck. 

P.S. Mad props to that guy for giving me the motivation to get this out a day or two early. I could be playing For Honor or at the park with my kids, or letting my kids play For Honor. Instead, I type today. Cheers to you, bro-man. 

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