Game of Thrones: Path of the Hungry Bear-Chapter 93 - 19: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 7 (R-18)

Chapter 19: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 7

125

Prince Daemon Targaryen

One thunderous crack, and Prince Daemon Targaryen's delusions about his nephew shattered. He hated it, the delusions comforted him. To be fair, they barely clung to his mind throughout the sennight of sporting events and feasting, he didn't need the literal out of body experience of seeing himself flying out of the saddle after his nephew's lance shattered against his breastplate to move on from believing Aegon's prowess as a grand conspiracy. Rumor made the boy out as a demigod, making disbelief logical.

As they commonly say, feeling a hit to the chest all the way in your balls is believing, like his stones possessed greater inertia than the rest of him and tugged his sack down as he took flight. Never had he considered his perfect round and heavy testicles an impediment, for even in walking they added an extra swagger, but after feeling them tugging in a direction the rest of him isn't going sans the cradling of feminine hands added a new line of ponderance to this new raw reality he found himself in after feeling every pound of the truth on his chest.

Sometime after he realized that he wasn't dead, but before his balls and brain stopped rattling round in their containers he managed to mutter out, "Sword."

No one besides himself heard his faint cry, so after he worked himself back to his feet he called out again, this time shouting with the full power of his bruised chest, "Sword!"

This time his second heard him and brought him out Dark Sister after he picked up his heater shield - painted black with a red three headed dragon -off the ground.

"Prince Daemon wishes to continue with a contest of arms!" bellowed the crier, a man with hefty lungs to be heard with all the cheering going about.

A man might think Daemon crazed for requesting a duel with his nephew, the man who won the melee so handily he looked like the only full grown man in the arena, beating down untrained boys instead of the best warriors of Westeros. Perhaps the fall did more damage to his head than he noticed, but the Rogue Prince trusted two things above all others, the dragon Caraxes - a beast so fearsome he contended for the title of greatest dragon of the age against the much older and larger Vhagar - and Dark Sister in his hand. He felt power traveling from the hilt of his ancestral sword up his arm, soothing his body, metaphorically, but it felt a powerful metaphor, like invincibility.

He'd been the greatest swordsman in Westeros, and thus world wide, since before Aegon was even born. The defeat to Cole didn't count as the cunt cheated, hitting him in the back as he celebrated his victory over the downed man. Fucking Dornish mongrel. Daemon decided that if today was the day for his delusions to come to an end, then let them come to such an end that he never may ask himself, 'What if?'.

Aegon came down his zorse the biggest mountain of muscle and metal Daemon ever saw. The boy stood a hand past seven feet, and weighed thirty stone lean outside his wargear. Arms bigger round than his uncle's thighs, thighs that looked bigger round than his uncle's waist. Chest like an aurochs, shoulders like boulders, hands like bear paws, dressed in thick wool, riveted chain, lambskin backed steel gilt grotesquely with silver and gold - the decorations all skulls and suffering. The pauldrons and gorget like a golden rampart, the horned helm like a demon rising over the walls. His hands carried his Valyrian Steel sword and shield, the latter bore the golden three headed dragon of his cadet House, the latter hard to keep track of as it undulated seven times along its blade length making its profile more difficult to follow with the eye like a straight edge sword. The dark ripples of magical steel formed a mosaic of seven stars along mirror silver blade, as if a personal provocation to him.

His nephew looked unassailable as he strode across the lane to him, and Daemon found the will to break that image, running at the boy ready to put his every advantage to use. The Rogue Prince possessed a unique sense of balance and gifted athleticism that remained strong even past forty namedays. The combination allowed him to generate power from awkward and overextended positions, a nasty surprise for his enemies only made nastier by his precise wrist control of Dark Sister, able to easily change angles mid strike to slip under defenses.

Aegon parried his uncle's first strike with Chimera's Wail, the ringing of magical steel filling their ears. Daemon felt like his sword bounced off a stone wall, perhaps worse for the enchanted sharpness would at least bite into stone, but he smiled as he bounced off and entered into bad posture for a follow up, but follow up he did with great strength behind it. He felt glee as he angled the blade around Aegon's, practically feeling the coming contact already, when suddenly he felt as if a galloping horse ran into him, and his feet left the earth and his eyes found the substance rapidly closing in on him. He cradled his head in his arms and groaned on impact. He scrambled to get his nephew in his field of view and saw the boy nearly atop him. He raised his shield and felt a great force drive it down. He looked at his shield briefly and saw the point of Aegon's kite shield driven through it completely, now resting against the decorative black scales of his armor. Any hope of getting Dark sister into play ended when the tip of a sword filled his vision.

"Good fight." his nephew, spoke, then lifted the sword and shield away.

Daemon collected himself and rose to his feet as Aegon stepped back, then growled, "I didn't yield!"

"I hoped you'd say that."

Aegon's words filled Daemon with a sudden dread that overcame his the crying of his bruised body and even more bruised ego. He barely got Dark Sister between the wavy blade and himself, no longer able to put what little reliance he had on the shield after its structural integrity no longer remained intact. He had to shuffle his feet to absorb the blow as it felt less like a sword and more like a hammer on the receiving end.

Daemon danced, his footwork and the indestructibility of Dark Sister keeping him in the fight as his rage mounted. Aegon attacked him with a pace that looked completely casual, but maintained a constant pressure that kept him just on the end of the range of the much bigger fighter. As frustration mounted, Daemon saw a chance to dart in and attack. He thrust his sword high, up and over the lazily held shield.

Once again the older fighter felt victory nearing, then Aegon dropped low and caught the lunging Daemon on his kite shield, and in a feat of strength and mockery flipped the charging man up and over him, the massive fighter spinning around to smack the falling man with the flat of his blade on the helmet.

"Wow. Good fight. Good fight." his nephew chuckled at his expense and his ears rang and his body screamed at him to stop.

While Daemon collected himself, his nephew stabbed his sword in the ground and used the edge of his shield like a bench, slowly clapping his armored hands. He continued the nonverbal insult until his uncle caught his wind once again and struggled once more to his feet. The pair squared off once again, one completely fresh and at ease, the other shaking with fatigue and pain as the crowd booed him. Daemon swallowed the bitter feeling of inadequacy being so outclassed in his own field of expertise, and settled in to do his duty. Aegon needed to die, and he'd never get a better chance to do so again, not while his brother still lived and reigned.

If Aegon was some lay-about slob, a drunken loser, he'd never enter Daemon's mind, especially not as a threat, but before him stood the finest man in the world. How he loathed admitting that. His brother somehow fathered on the Hightower chit pure Valyrian supremacy. It disgusted him to no end, the idea of anyone in his family able to achieve completion with an Andal, but somehow the sullying of their family line created this monstrously gifted boy, and there is no way a boy this great will allow his inheritance to pass to a woman.

He needed the boy to become arrogant with the beating, and present an opening for Dark Sister to thrust into an armpit or the groin, one thrust to secure his future dominion. If he failed, it would be up to Caraxys to secure the throne. How he wished the world worked like the ignoramuses think it does. How he wished he could simply solve all his problems with a visit to a specific temple in Braavos, drop some gold off and let his problems disappear.

The Faceless Men don't work like that. The price of a man's life to them, is whatever is a price so dear to the purchasing party that they will never consider returning as a customer again, added to a fee that scales exponentially with difficulty. Even if Daemon somehow managed to afford it, the Faceless Men don't work on the customer's schedule, and simply guarantee that they are the victims future cause of death. Sometime, somewhere, somehow. They could wait till Aegon lived to see a hundred then strangle him in his sleep, mission accomplished, not at all caring that the customer is long since dead.

None of Daemon's contacts stood a chance of taking Aegon off the board. Assassinations are hard to pull off to begin with, and Aegon lives far from their sphere of influence in a castle he knows nothing about, protected by people ardently against his cause, served by people terrified of the man. Trying to get information out of the staff in the Blue Keep is like asking them if they'd like to be burned to death, or drowned. One maid went quite hysterical when he cornered her, and he nearly had to fight his way out of the situation when the household knights arrived. Aegon helmed a tight ship, and would do well on the Iron Throne. All the more reason to take the beating and wait for his chance. And take a beating he did, waiting for Aegon's mockery to open him up to a killing blow. And he waited, and he waited, and he waited until they hauled him off the field on a stretcher.

"Good fight." he heard his nephew let out one final jeer as they carried his battered body away.

His countering quip sounded no different than a pained moan, and Daemon felt his eyes welling up in shame. He failed. He never saw an opening. His body gave out before his nephews amusement, and the great Rogue Prince served as nothing more than a training dummy for the Young Dragon. How he hated that title the people foisted on Aegon. The Young Dragon, the future of the House of the Dragon. A future he failed to safeguard against him. Daemon passed out with that failure hanging heavily in his mind.

-Rhaenyra Targaryen-

"The damage looks worse than it is." the cheery middle aged maester of the Blue Keep announced to the room full of concerned royals in his healing ward of the castle, "Prince Aegon is a master of beating men half to death, so unless the Prince came into the bout with pre existing injuries or illnesses, then there is little to worry about. He shall make a full recovery within three moons, but should be able to travel and tend to himself within a fortnight."

"Three moons?" asked the King with a tone of shock, "Why so long?"

"It is merely a matter of age, your grace." the man explained with a kindly smile to the king, "Prince Daemon is no longer a young man, and the body's recovery slows as we age, a night of drinking may have once seen us up in the morning and about our business in our youth, but now sees us terribly ill even two days hence. Though Aegon gave him no grievous wound with his sword, the multiple falls for a man his age is simply dreadful, and he will likely need to stay abed while his back heals. Fortunately the blood of the dragon burns bright in him, and his back isn't completely blown out from such a heavy pounding."

The king nodded his masked and crowned head and commanded, "Do all you can to see him recover quickly."

"As you command, your grace." he bowed to the king and went back to his work, treating the various highborn with elite enough status to reside in the castle's healing ward.

They already called it the Great Tourney of Dragonsreach, and many knights and lords put their health and safety on the line for chivalry, glory, and gold. Remarkably few men died, though she attributed that to Aegon's domination. Few men wanted to give their lives competing for second place prizes. The tourney structure allowed far more men to leave it with something to show for their efforts, even if the 'bronze' level prizes mostly amounted to the value of travel costs.

The feasting, the music, the dancing, the plays, and circus shows all combined to create a spectacle beyond any Rhaenyra remembered, all held in the idyllic lands of Dragonsreach. Perfect weather, perfect landscapes, perfect architecture. It all carved itself into the hearts of the visitors as if they'd been given a glimpse of the heavens here on the earth. She chided herself for the small part of her that felt grateful to Daemon for getting so injured that they needed to extend their stay. No small part of her never wanted to leave, return to dreary Dragonstone, her future the much lesser Red Keep.

After remaining an appropriate amount of time with her sleeping husband, the crown princess navigated to her favorite location in Blue Keep to soak away the stress built up watching Daemon take a bloody beating for the sake of his fragile pride. In the royal floor of the castle existed an exquisite palatial bath filled with piped water from mineral rich hot springs. No wonder Helaena became so beautiful in such a place, already within less than a sennight she noticed her skin feeling softer, and her hair more lustrous.

She waited a time in the changing room for the servants to attend her, a pair maids always awaiting visitors since her arrival, but none came. Eventually she handled undressing by herself, an annoying and tedious affair, and she'd alert her brother to the negligence of the staff when next she saw him. Full bereft her gay tourney garments, she pushed open the door to the baths, and heard exactly why the serving girls where not at their positions.

"Oh! OOHH! OOHHOOOHHOOO!" a woman squealed in ecstasy, "You are so magical!"

Rhaenyra thought to give the women a piece of her mind, boldly entering, then freezing when seeing her half brother's impossibly broad back rising out of the pool, a pair of slender legs failing to lock around his wide hips as his hips and ass rocked back and forth with such power that waters below splashed out of the sides of the massive bath. The attendant not currently occupied sprawled out on the edge of the bath, her jaw slack and her eyes rolled back in her head. She couldn't look away, completely enchanted by the sight of Aegon's muscles rippling under his skin. Finally he stopped his efforts as the woman let out the most animalistic moan she'd ever heard, and the legs finally gave up their attempts to lock around his hips.

"It's not enough." her brother growled, the sound sending shivers down her spine and flexing throughout her soaking cunt.

He rested the fucked unconscious servant across another edge of the bath and looked at the statuary of the founders of their dynasty briefly before turning and locking eyes with her. If her presence surprised him, he didn't show it, instead he fixed her with the most intense stare she'd ever seen, and it felt as if her field of vision narrowed until only he filled her sight. They remained still, silent, staring at each other for an unknown amount of time, until finally he spoke.

"How bout it then?"

She couldn't find the words, but a half nod was all he needed. Her brother rose out of the bath, and approached, towering over her, his tower the first thing to come in contact with her, poking her sternum then sliding up the valley of her breasts till it rested against her face by the time he came close enough to lift her. Two massive hands engulfed her ass cheeks, pulling them wide and taking her into the air. She hadn't felt a mans hands dominate her ass since Luke's birth, the weight she gained stubbornly clinging to her backside making even Harwin's hands not enough. Aegon teased her holes with his finger tips while completely enveloping her cheeks. It felt divine to feel small again in the embrace of a man.

Rhaenyra's delight broke when she felt the head of Aegon's massive cock pressing against her vulva, realizing that he was about to drop her onto the biggest rod she'd ever seen. She needed to say something, to stop him before he brutishly tore her pussy apart, instead she simply moaned much like the previous woman the moment he pushed his member into her, stretching and filling her up like never before. It defied sense. Such a huge object should wound her, but instead all she felt was incredible satisfaction as she sunk inch by delectable inch inside her.

Her face twisted in shock when she felt her cunt snuggly embrace the base of his cock. She didn't understand how this could possibly be, both Harwin and Daemon could reach spots too deep and cause her pain in certain positions, but now all she felt was pleasure. Rather than give her time to speculate or question him, Aegon began rolling his hips powerfully, his hands on her cheeks pulling her back down as if the pull of the earth was not enough. Up and down he bounced her on his enormous phallus, and any thought of pain left her mind and not even two minutes into the experience she felt herself reaching a medium intensity peak, and other not even a minute later, then a huge climax flowed by rapid small peaks that built into another world shattering orgasm.

"Congratulations. Your having a girl." Aegon spoke, making no sense to her, but she smiled as he spined her around on his cock, his huge hands on her stomach and chest supporting her as he began railing her from behind with her feet dangling in the air.

She found it less pleasurable than the previous fucking, but still loved every second of it until he'd had enough and carried her on his cock up to the waterfalls coming out of the sculpted dragon's mouths, setting her back on a semi-smooth shelf at the foot of the ancestors' statues. He grabbed her behind the knees and hiked her legs up higher than she ever remembered getting them, something about the intense fucking make her more flexible. She expected his massive body to weigh heavily on her, but instead he framed himself perfectly to slam his cock down into her without crushing her against the hard stone and his harder muscles. In this position he easily brought her to climax over and over, his cock stroking the fullness of her cunt and seemingly beyond in ways that drove all thoughts but of him out of her mind. She felt him erupt inside her again, feeling intense pride at the volume and intensity of his orgasm.

He pulled back and out of her well fucked cunt, and she felt both relieved and disappointed that this incredible sexual encounter was at an end. Relieved that she hadn't passed out like the servants did, proud of her superiority both in status and womanhood. She expected him to help her up and down from this perilous footing, but instead he seemed to pin her legs farther back, bringing her cunt and ass up. She didn't understand why he needed to pull out for this until she felt his cockhead pushing lower down than her cunt.

Her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened.

"Aego---woooaaaaahhhh!" she let out a bestial moan as her brother impaled his cock up her ass under the watchful stone eyes of their ancestors.

She wanted to say something, but the alien sensation of her brother plowing her butthole filled her mind with a haze that only intensified when he began twisting the huge pink tips of her massive breasts. How did he keep himself from weighing down on her and thrusting without his arms providing a frame, she didn't understand. All she knew was that he now assaulted her with intense pleasure from her tits and her ass. Soon she felt something building, something global across her whole body. Slow and steady it built up until it exploded and she felt completely adrift upon a sea of pleasure, her mind pulled in by the currents deeper and deeper.

She finally came to her senses some time later, in a bed. She saw Aegon next to her, not holding her, but atop another woman. She saw her sister, her face twisting with pleasure, her purple eyes looking back at her. She'd have felt a fury in a similar position, but Helaena smiled at her and reached out a hand, taking hers.

They'd never felt more like sisters before.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh we doing it Targaryen style here bois. I don't think anyone's ever dogged on Daemon better than this Chapter. I don't even hat the guy, but we end up beating his ass and cucking him on the same day in a sensible fic with no mind control or equally stupid shit going on, just proper build up, pay off, and call backs. Glory to me and to my house!

You can support me and my family at

ko-fi.com/jmanm