章 441: A Dragon's Due (Game of Thrones)
A/N: A Dragon's Due was a P atreon Poll Winner originally written back in 2020. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!
Themes: Submission, Rough Sex, Fucked Silly
-x-X-x-
As Margaery Tyrell is escorted into the Throne Room by a strange mixture of Gold Cloaks and Wildlings, she reflects that much has changed in a very short period of time, and it can all be laid to rest at the feet of the man who even now sits upon the Iron Throne… as well as the great, ice-white dragon that even now looms behind him.
From a very young age, Margaery had been taught how to play the game. The Tyrells had a lot of practice with the Game of Thrones, with manipulating their way into an advantageous position, no matter what happened or who won. They'd backed the Targaryens during Robert's Rebellion, starving his two younger brothers near half to death in the siege of Storm's End… and yet, when all was said and done, the Tyrells remained the ruling House of Highgarden, pledging themselves to King Robert, First of his Name.
Of course, Margaery was also fully aware that this was in part due to her grandmother's brilliance, more than any tactical acumen on the part of her father. Mace Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, was not the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms. To put it as her grandmother, Olenna Tyrell would… he was an oaf, more often than not, and had to be guided with a firm hand, lest he lead them all to ruin.
The Queen of Thorns had been Margaery's primary teacher over the years, as her mother was… not the most well-suited for the game. Olenna had made sure that Margaery understood not all men would be like her father. Be they Knights or Lords, be they Kings or Princes, not every man could be controlled like Mace could be. But that didn't mean they couldn't be controlled. It just meant one had to engage in a bit more subtlety.
As Margaery takes in the visage of Jon Snow, she wonders just how she might control him. The Northern Bastard who is obviously so much more than a bastard sits upon the Iron Throne now, having conquered Dragonstone and then King's Landing in a matter of days. His enemies lay fallow before him, and the state of the Seven Kingdoms is that of chaos in the wake of his arrival.
After all, all previous intelligence put Jon Snow on the Wall. The last any of them had heard, the young man had somehow become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and had been asking anyone who might be able to, to lend him and his order aid. Needless to say, his requests, his begging, all of it fell on deaf ears. Judging by the stone-quality of his face now, Margaery couldn't help but think Jon remembered every slight against his person. Luckily, she had never been asked directly, so she could safely say she had not paid him any personal insult in a mocking reply. Many others at court could not say the same.
It was strange to be in the throne room, after the… renovations Jon and his dragon had done to it. When he'd bored down upon King's Landing upon the back of his ancient white dragon, said by the Archmaester to be even larger than Balerion the Black Dread, Jon had not laid waste to the city proper. He had no killed hundreds of thousands of civilians and soldiers alike, had not massacred peasants and Gold Cloaks indiscriminately in the streets. He hadn't even targeted the Lannister soldiers, who upon seeing what they were up against, had ultimately fled the city rather than face him.
Instead, he'd gone straight to the Red Keep. He and his dragon had torn their way into the throne room… and accepted poor young Tommen's surrender minutes later after tearing the Kingsguard asunder, one after the other. The effects of Jon's entry into Westerosi Politics was still physically evident, even now. The throne room had not been repaired, leaving half of the Great Hall entirely open to the elements.
Margaery assumed that the new King, if that was to be his title, liked it that way. After all, with the back half of the throne room's ceiling torn away, his great white dragon had more than enough room to curl itself around it's master and the Iron Throne both. In a way, he'd already chosen his Kings guard… after all, while the dragon did not have a cloak of white, it certainly had white scales.
Regardless, Tommen's surrender had allowed for the relatively peaceful exchange of power, even if Westeros itself was still very much in chaos. One man and a dragon would perhaps be able to conquer it all, doing what even Aegon had needed his sister-wives and three dragons to accomplish. But even if Jon could secure the continent for himself, it would take time… time that Margaery fully intended to use to her advantage.
There is no herald, no one to announce her as she comes to a stop at the foot of the dais, looking up at Jon upon his throne, even as he looks back down at her. Seeing that no one else is going to speak, Margaery does what she does best… she talks, curtsying low and adopting a soft, secretive little smile that accentuates her femininity.
"Lady Margaery Tyrell, at your service your grace. I am fully prepared to pledge fealty to you, on behalf of myself and House Tyrell."
Whether her father or grandmother still lived, Margaery had no idea. The only deaths in the short-lived 'Battle' for King's Landing had been the Kingsguard… but Margaery had heard rumor that there had been executions of certain individuals since. She'd also heard rumors that Jon Snow's time at the Night's Watch ended when his brothers betrayed him and stabbed him in the back, only for a witch to bring him back to life. So… she couldn't quite say what was true and what wasn't anymore.
After a moment, Jon speaks.
"Your father has already bent the knee. You are not here to represent your House. You are here because you were King Tommen's Queen."
Ah, that information helped a great deal. Margaery curtsies again, dipping her head in apologetic acknowledgement as she smiles demurely.
"Of course, your majesty. I renounce my title as Queen, as I'm sure Tommen has renounced his title as King. I am ever a loyal daughter of House Tyrell… and House Tyrell has ever been the loyal servants of House Targaryen."
There's a moment of silence as those words pass her lips, and Margaery chances a glance up at the brooding, dark-eyed new King. Jon Snow… it seemed almost impossible that he would be of Targaryen Blood. And yet, there was the blue-eyed great white dragon curled up behind his throne that made it quite obvious he had some sort of dragon blood in him. Perhaps his mother had been of Blackfyre descent. Margaery hoped not… or at least, if it was the case, she hoped Jon didn't know. He might take offense to her words.
Rather than react in any true way, the young man who's so easily taken the Iron Throne from the grasping fingers of all those who sought it waves his hand through the air. Margaery recognizes dismissal when she sees it, and curtsies one more time, bowing quite low, before departing from the throne room. Her heart is in her throat, pounding heavily and all but ready to jump out of her chest… but she'd done it. And, judging by the glint she'd seen in those darkened grey eyes as she made eye contact right before departing… she might have accomplished even more than her own survival.
-x-X-x-
As she'd hoped, the new King calls for her within two days. He calls her, not to the throne room again, or any parlor… but to his bedchambers late at night, a great bearded Wildling of a man coming to escort her. With hair like fire, the Wildling certainly had a somewhat crazy glint to him… but he was the perfect gentleman with her, even as he brought her to Jon's rooms and left her to enter alone.
As she does so, Margaery is not surprised to find Jon seated at a table, writing out missives to be sent on Raven. He might have been raised a bastard, but he was raised a Lord Paramount's bastard… more than that, he was raised as the honorable Eddard Stark's bastard. Still, seeing him like that… Margaery hesitates for all of a moment before deciding to go through with it anyways.
Closing the door behind her and drawing Jon's eye, the beautiful young lady wastes no time in slipping her dress off of her shoulders. She watches Jon watch her, even as she strips out of her dress, letting it slide over her hips and fall the rest of the way down her pale, slender legs, pooling at her feet. Now completely naked, her supple, beautiful form on full display, Margaery steps out of the middle of her discarded garment, keeping a seductive, sultry smile on her lips, even as she sways her hips with every step she takes towards her ultimate goal.
Jon, for his part, scoots out his chair from the desk, turning it to face her… but doesn't rise. He's completely at ease in her presence, and why shouldn't he be? She's a naked girl, completely helpless, utterly defenseless. But Margaery knows better. She knows that her best weapon is her body and her ability as a woman to snare the heart of any man.
And yet, as she gets closer, her original plan, which was to pull his cock free of his britches and then crawl up into his lap to ride him to kingdom cum, fizzles and dies as she looks into his deep, dark eyes. She knows without a doubt that such a move would not endear him to her… he sees right through her; he sees what she's aiming to do.
So, at the last moment, Margaery diverts. Rather than climb onto his lap, the Reach girl does something that would have had both her grandmother and father up in arms for the lack of dignity and pride in the action… she drops into a crouch, placing her lips mere inches away from Jon's crotch as she spreads his knees apart and moves to deftly open his trousers and pulls out his cock.
Keeping her eyes focused on his face, Margaery takes him into her mouth, dutifully sucking the new King's cock right there in his bedchambers, putting every ounce of practice and technique and experience that she can call upon to work in pleasing him, in pleasuring him. She can see the mild surprise flicker in Jon's eyes for a moment, before the stoic, seemingly emotionless man sits back and simply enjoys it.
Even if his face does not change, she can tell he's enjoying it because of the way his cock reacts in her hands and mouth. His member jumps and grows thicker and harder by the moment, and Margaery is amazed and astounded to find just how big it can get, bigger than any phallus she's ever taken before, be it oral or otherwise.
Still, she does her best, even as her jaw creaks and her lips stretch wider and wider around Jon Snow's girth. The man, the dragon, whatever he is… she has to show him that she means no harm, that she will be his, if he will have her. Seven knows every other eligible bachelorette in the Seven Kingdoms will be clamoring to take her place if she cannot secure it. She might have forsaken her crown as Tommen's Queen… but that didn't mean she couldn't be Jon's.
Margaery's determined thought process is abruptly cut off by Jon's hand atop her head. He grips tightly at her hair, and for a moment she fears she will experience the indignity of being treated like a common whore as he thrusts his cock down her throat… but instead, he opts for another sort of rough treatment, pulling her back off of his cock and dragging her off out of her crouch as he rises from his chair.
He says nothing, even as he pulls her over to the bed and tosses her face first onto it. Margaery tries to flop over onto her back so she can splay her legs open and offer herself to him, but he catches her by the hips before she can and proceeds to pull her up onto her hands and knees. The Tyrell girl, as beautiful and seductive as she is, has absolutely no time to decide how she feels about this before he's simply inside of her, clearly having decided that the fellatio was foreplay enough.
Luckily for Margaery, she was smart enough to play with herself before being escorted to Jon's chambers. More than that… she'd always had a bit of a thing for rough treatment. Not pain, never pain… she couldn't stand it. But she could do rough. She could do hard. She could do fast. Jon takes her in all three ways and more, fucking her from behind with deep, penetrating thrusts into her quim as she grows wetter and wetter from the coitus.
Margaery groans and moans and mewls, at least at first, but it's not long before she's crying out, unable to contain her voice as she squeals and screams, Jon's cock ramming up against the very entrance of her womb itself, her cervix. He's fucking her like… like a savage, like a wildling would fuck his Spearwife, she imagines.
Or maybe… or maybe he's fucking her like a dragon would fuck his mate. That thought fills Margaery with a certain kind of satisfaction, and she settles on that description, that metaphor, even as Jon Snow claims her just as easily as he claimed King's Landing, even as he fucks her into his bed with great force, mounting her and not letting up until finally, he spills his seed inside of her womb.
That more than anything else leaves Margaery content and happy. If she's pregnant with the new King's child, she'll have that much more of a leg up on all the competition, after all. Jon's white, hot seed filling her belly with warmth leaves a satisfied smile on Margaery's face, even as he lays back and places an arm around her shoulders, a silent invitation to stay.
Margaery happily and somewhat greedily takes it, curling herself in close, laying her head on Jon's chest, her silken soft brunette locks tickling his naked muscles. If all he wants is a bedwarmer, then a bedwarmer Margaery can be, especially for a King with a dragon. But her ambitions are more than that, to be sure… and from bedwarmer, Margaery will reach as far as she can. She's going to be Queen, one way or another, no matter who the King ends up being.
A northern bastard with an ancient white-scaled dragon is just as good as a psychopath or a timid boy, so long as it gets her a crown.
-x-X-x-
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