Solomon?

  The sounds of seagulls and waves crashing against a cliffside were his first introduction to Storm's End.

  Taking that salt-stained air into his lungs, John felt a small smile slowly come together. Tonight was either going to be a disappointment or… something else, and not knowing made it all the more exhilarating.

  Solomon, he corrected after a moment. Even in the privacy of his mind he had to remind himself to stay in character.

  "I'll admit it's not half as comely as Highgarden, but it always makes for an intimidating sight when I see it," Renly said to his side.

  The man with his mercurial eyes and easy smiles wasn't always the easiest to read, but compared to keeping tabs on a certain dynamic duo so as to make sure they didn't go and do something spectacularly stupid because the mood struck them, well…

  "I'll have to visit Highgarden to see for myself."

  Renly laughed. "Why, we can leave as soon as my brother grows bored and returns to King's Landing." He turned to the dashing knight on his other side. "Your family would not mind, surely?"

  The Knight of Flowers was a more prickly sort, but before Renly he was much like a kitten. He nodded, his brown curls bouncing around. "Not at all. Escaping my father would be harder; he would insist we stay for seven feasts, and that would be the least of it."

  "Yes, you would be lucky if you left Highgarden only half a stone heavier," Renly added with a softer chuckle. "It's no surprise that Mace Tyrell is so much man with how sumptuous the fare is."

  A polite way of saying he was fat as fuck.

  "What are you three whispering about!" a voice boomed. They were forced to make way for a hulking beast of a stallion, upon which sat Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, and half a dozen more titles. Or as Solomon affectionately liked to call him, Bobby B.

  "Brother!" Renly called out. "Storm's End is yours!"

  The equally hulking beast of a man just grunted in acknowledgement. "Come, Renly. We should pay our respects to Father." He then thundered off in the direction of the castle, one half of the dynamic duo and Barristan the Bold hot on his heels, the sunset making them appear more red than white.

  The younger brother turned to him with a sigh. "Duty calls, it would seem. We shall speak again at the feast tomorrow eve, Solomon."

  Watching them go, he gave the neck of his own mount a gentle pat. Annabelle was a sweet horse, a white mare that didn't give him too much trouble.

  As the procession arrived in the courtyard and he handed her reins over to a freckled stable boy, Solomon approached the monstrosity of a carriage. The dregs of the Kingsguard already there gave him the side eye but otherwise made no comment, while the Lannister guards would not even look his way. They were all Cersei's creatures through and through.

  He placed another smile on his lips as the carriage door was thrown open by none other than the dumbest little shit this side of Westeros.

  Joffrey immediately sent a petulant look at the knights standing guard. "Ser Meryn, take me to my father."

  The sour-faced knight hesitated and looked to Cersei as she followed her son. "You know I would prefer we all first took supper together, my sweet Joff."

  "Father said—"

  "Tomorrow," she interrupted. "The hour is late, and the king has matters of the realm to take care of."

  Solomon tried not to seem too bored already, and a swarm of people soon followed, servants and ladies-in-waiting and what have you. Tommen and Myrcella were giving their older brother nervous glances as he glared at nothing in particular.

  "Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, if you would lead the way," Cersei commanded softly.

  As they began to move, she stuck behind to join him, her domineering expression quickly fleeing into something more nervous. "Has everything been prepared?"

  "Tonight at midnight. Let no one hear you."

  Cersei nodded seriously, her golden hair bobbing. "And you're certain that this will work?"

  "Have I given you reason to doubt me?" he asked, looking down into her big green eyes.

  "You haven't," she whispered back.

  "Mmm, and you are an excellent judge of character, Your Grace. You need only steel your will, and in nine months time the curse Maggy had spun will be nothing but a terrible memory."

  Cersei gave him a radiant smile, hanging on his every word like it was a lifeline, or every lie he should say. She was so easy to lead on that a better man might have been ashamed.

  "Until tonight," Solomon whispered in her ear once they were inside.

  One of the servants led him to his rooms inside the sprawling castle, ones that were apparently richly furnished and twice the size of his accommodations at the Red Keep. Renly's doing, he assumed.

  What few belongings he had had already been brought up, though he let them be in favor of the mirror he saw.

  Gone were his stage clothes, replaced with the best Lannister gold could buy. Which, admittedly, wasn't bad, and the seamstress was a kind old woman he got on with nicely, but it was just another part of him that had been replaced.

  Still, he had already done this song and dance. This world was missing a thousand and one things, but there was one thing it had that his old one didn't.

  Sweeping nearer to the bed, he retrieved from within his clothes something very old, almost threadbare. It was a new addition to the things he normally kept on his person, alongside his smartphone whose battery he knew would one day run dry, a lighter, and a deck of cards.

  Though he supposed the deck of cards was also new, seeing as his second life had started in the Narrow Sea.

  Back to what was in his hands, Varys had given it to him the night before they left King's Landing, supposedly having been procured from a merchant out of Volantis. The first fruits of their little arrangement, though he would still be keeping an eye out for kids crawling out of the shadows with knives in their hands.

  It had belonged to one very fucked up individual, with a moral compass that could be described as yes. There was nuance to the ritualism presented, but it more or less came down to magic as sacrifice and sacrifice as magic.

  Finding where he left off, Solomon hungrily began devouring its pages again. He hadn't questioned how he knew High Valyrian anymore than he questioned how he knew the Common Tongue.

  He had his already numerous existential crises to thank for that.

  The sketches were the hardest to swallow. The text was clinical, not unlike reading a chemistry textbook, but the oh-so helpful visualizations Gaelaerys had included weren't exactly cutesy pictures of molecules…

  And he understood the purpose. It wasn't some half-baked riddle, but an exploration into what parts of a man had the most value when it came to sacrifice. How much could you take from someone without taking their life, and so what was left was the value of a life. Gaelaerys never showed a hint of remorse for any of it, only lamenting having to rediscover all of this again, as Valyria of old supposedly already had it down to an exact science.

  He'd been at it for some time now, glancing at one of the shrinking candles. God, he missed electricity.

  Slipping it back into its hiding place, he swept over to retrieve a few things. There was a certain pageantry to what he had in mind.

  He gave himself one final once-over in front of the mirror, shrouded as he was now in deeply yellow robes that were sleek enough to still be comfortable. While none of them were likely to get the joke, that wasn't important. It had pizzaz, and that's what was important.

  Taking the taller of the candles, he navigated the dark and quiet hallways of the castle to where he had seen the godswood earlier.

  The dirt and grass soon shifted beneath his feet as he walked between the trees. It didn't take him long to find the heart tree; the weirwood was hard to miss with its white bark and leaves as red as blood. There was a massive face carved into it, wearing a solemn expression.

  He would have to wait for Cersei, it seemed.

  Planting the candle into the dirt, he stepped closer. He knew there was magic in these trees, and there might even be a certain someone watching him right now.

  He was feeling tempted to give a cheeky wave when the sound of footsteps drew his eyes, Cersei sneaking into the clearing with a torch in her hands. As he asked, she had on a gorgeous white gown that went perfectly with her golden curls. For all her faults, of which there were many, she was still one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he had known his way around the internet.

  "Your Grace," he greeted with a bow. It cost him nothing to put her at ease.

  "Solomon," she whispered back. Her eyes shifted to the weirwood with its face, and he saw her shiver. "Casterly Rock has a heart tree as well. Mother was fond of reading there, but I always felt a stranger…"

  "No harm will come to you in my presence." His words had her shuffling closer, revealing a dainty crown atop her head, as well as a great cloak with a snarling lion thrown over her shoulders. They were both important additions, or so he had convinced her. "Whenever you are ready."

  Cersei took a deep breath as she continued to stare into the solemn face of the weirwood. "I'll have the last laugh yet, you ugly toad."

  "This will require a certain element of humility," he commented. "You're asking the old gods to intercede on your behalf."

  He didn't know if someone like Cersei really had it in her to be well and truly humble, but she was rocking an expression of contrition now, and that would have to do.

  "There are a few ways to get their attention," he continued after a quiet moment. "The most straightforward I think would be a tithe of blood."

  Solomon retrieved a knife from his robes, one tightly wrapped in a white cloth. He'd already sterilized it earlier, as perishing from a self-inflicted infection wouldn't be a good look, even compared with getting shot by a mugger because he decided to say something clever.

  Cersei took it from him when offered, furrowing her brows as she seemed to muster her courage. Then with a hiss and grit teeth, she sliced across the tip of her pinky, her blood beginning to drip and seep into the earth.

  She licked her lips nervously. "What now? Is it enough?"

  There was power in blood, and whose blood it was also mattered. The blood of a queen, who also just so happened to be a daughter of a line of kings, would have more weight to it than the blood of a hundred men from Flea Bottom. Unfortunately, it seemed even that was only worth so much. Maybe a queer wind that shook the branches and leaves at most.

  Solomon held his hand out for the knife back, and she was eager to return it. He may have also given her a slightly unhinged smile as he proceeded to do the same to one of his own fingers, but she seemed to like that.

  With a woman like her, maybe that shouldn't surprise.

  He turned to the solemn face of the weirwood tree as his blood soaked into the earth. He expected even less from himself, but…

  "Never…" the wind seemed to whisper "...born."

  His heart beat faster at the words. There was always the possibility that something might happen, but seeing it was something else entirely.

  He sucked on his bleeding finger as he wondered what to say.

  "Neverborn…" the wind sounded again, louder.

  With how pale Cersei had become, he supposed she had heard it as well. Now just to pretend that it was exactly what he planned…

  "Hear me gods of stream and stone." The shadows seemed to darken and deepen at his words, and Solomon smiled like a madman in its face. It was a rush. "I beseech you on behalf of this queen who wishes to change her fate."

  There was a pause until the whispers returned with a vengeance.

  "Incestuous whore…"

  "Brotherfucker…"

  "A mother to abominations…"

  Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. And with every hurled insult, Cersei had drawn even closer to him, almost clinging to the yellow he was smothered in.

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  "All true," he admitted to her chagrin. "But she wants to make amends. Name your price."

  "More… blood. Yours…"

  He caught Cersei's eyes, scared and pleading in equal measure. It would be a simple thing to hold over her head, so he sighed and sliced two more of his fingers open.

  He watched quietly as more and more of his blood hit the dirt, only wincing slightly when the wind caused the wounds to sting unpleasantly.

  The whispers continued, but clearer this time, and with a hint of mischief. "We see what you plan. We accept."

  "Wunderbar!" He turned back to Cersei, the smile still on his lips like he had expected every word. "I should warn you that a pact you strike with the old gods is not one easily broken, Your Grace. I wouldn't suggest trying to cheat them, as Maggy's curse will seem a gentle summer's breeze in comparison."

  It might even be true, but with someone like Cersei Lannister, it needed to be said.

  "I understand," she whispered quietly as she huddled even closer to him. "I'll do anything you ask, Solomon. Just please… stay and keep us safe. You will want for nothing."

  Maybe he had pushed too hard on how much she needed him…

  "It is my child you will give birth to, Cersei, and you will be nothing but the perfect mother, yes?" He toyed with one of her golden curls as he stared into her eyes.

  "Yess," she hissed back. He found it amusing just how hot and bothered this was making her. "They will be strong. Beautiful. They'll have your gift."

  He saw no reason to disabuse her of that notion. "Then let your cloak fall to the ground so I might give you mine."

  He was even beginning to sound more like the locals.

  Cersei wasn't surprised, but she bit her lip still. "Am I not already wed?"

  "Did you wed him 'fore a heart tree?" She shook her head no. "Then they do not care. Not that you have much cared either." He gave her hair a tug, and that only seemed to turn her on more, her thighs rubbing together.

  Taking a step back after, she sent him a come hither smile as she let her red cloak fall, pooling on the ground like blood.

  From within his robes he pulled a cloak just as yellow, and Cersei turned to let him put it around her shoulders almost eagerly. But he also had his own twist on things to add.

  He had two rings made, one for her and one for him. "As long as you wear it, the curse will falter," he spun for her. "As long as you wear it, you are safe."

  Cersei held a dainty hand out for him, pulling back a white sleeve. It was a simple thing of gold that he placed on her finger, gold that might have even been mined beneath Casterly Rock, and she did the same for him.

  "Should we say any vows?" she asked.

  He honestly didn't know what vows were said here, but there was an easy answer that would satisfy her.

  "The old gods don't have priests. The words we've shared are enough."

  There was a laugh in the wind at his words, but also something hungry. "A wedding… needs a bedding…"

  Cersei didn't even wait for him to start them off, immediately molding her slender figure to his and meeting his eyes. He responded in kind, holding her around her waist as he kissed her pouty lips.

  It was the beginning of the end to this whole debauched ritual.

  Her hands went to the sash that held his robes together, pulling it away as she kept her eyes on him. He hissed when one of her hands slipped even further, that dainty hand wrapping around a certain something, or trying to.

  The funny look she gave him was one he loved. There were two things he had been blessed with, his wits and his dick, and he hadn't had much opportunity to show off the second until now.

  "Why don't you get on your knees and show me the depths of your determination, Your Grace. And your gratitude." He pressed his thumb against her lips, toying with them. Saying that to a queen, a crown on her head and everything, it was fun.

  And better still was seeing her fall to her knees, using the cloak she discarded to keep from touching the dirt.

  He expected to encounter at least some protest from her, but beyond maybe a faint distaste for the act itself, she quickly worked to free him, staring at it for a moment once it was hanging heavy between his legs. Her hands were cool, and her nails tickled him slightly as she tried to wrangle him to point at her.

  That's when he made another cheeky comment. "Kiss it."

  Those big green eyes of hers stared at him under the mix of moonlight and torchlight like emeralds, and again she obeyed, gracing a royal kiss to the head in an altogether depraved manner. He couldn't help a small groan as she smeared her lips with his precum, watching it stick to them like a thread as she pulled back.

  He chuckled as she wiped away at it.

  "Did you enjoy that, Husband?" she asked him shamelessly. Maybe for a time it wouldn't be so bad to forget what she was and just enjoy the moment.

  "I did. But you'll need to try harder than that if you mean to have my seed," he teased.

  Her golden brows furrowed again as she almost went cross-eyed in an attempt to take her chosen opponent in. Then she neared closer still and opened wide, mouthing it. He watched as she quickly got into the motions, bobbing her head up and down as her curls bounced.

  It wasn't bad, but she could tell nobody had ever pushed her to do more.

  "I think you can burden yourself with more of it," he husked. "Show me."

  There were whispers and laughter still as Cersei showed a hint of doubt, but they were unintelligible. She mustered her courage again and ventured deeper, her eyes growing teary as she soon gagged.

  He was tempted to try and fuck her pretty face properly, but he didn't want to spook her, no matter how nice it would feel to lodge himself into her throat completely.

  He threaded his fingers in her curls instead as she started bobbing on his dick again, making all these funny sounds as she took too much from time to time. Her crown was slightly askew now, improper, and maybe that was what helped him remember what he was here to do.

  He slipped out of her mouth with a lurid pop as he gave her curls another tug. "Lie back."

  Cersei was more kitten than lioness now, hiking her skirts up to her hips and showing off her healthy thighs, until finally she bared her pussy, crowned with hair just as golden as on her head. The needy queen didn't even seem to care about the dirt and grass beneath her.

  He was upon her soon enough.

  She made a mewling sound as he placed the tip of the proverbial spear to her folds, trying to pull him into her. He obliged her, of course, her eyes popping open at his sheer girth. Still, she didn't utter even a peep of protest, but instead… "You'll find no sweeter cunt than mine," she insisted.

  There was more laughter at her words, and more insults, but either she didn't hear or didn't care.

  Instead she pulled him in even deeper with her legs, and pulled him into another kiss for good measure. If she was trying to make him lose his cool, it was working.

  He groaned as he slowly but surely sheathed himself inside her, teasing her slender neck with his teeth as her fingers tussled into his hair. "Oogh… oogh… oooogh…" she sounded into his ear as he began to fuck her properly.

  She was on the taller side for a woman, so maybe he shouldn't be too surprised to see her take it all, or close enough. "You'll not be fucking your brother any longer," he whispered into her ear, and she nodded jerkily. "They'll know. I'll know."

  Her brother will be angry, of course, at Robert, at himself for not stopping it, but also at her. Opportunity to dig his hooks even deeper into the heroic psychopath.

  "Spill your seed in me, Husband," she pleaded with him, but he wasn't there just yet.

  "That's up to you. You said I'll find no sweeter cunt than yours," he repeated with a soft chuckle.

  He felt his movements inside her slow as she somehow tightened further, and she caught his eyes again. "Enjoy everything I have to offer."

  "As you wish." He found some leverage as he really started laying into her, producing a song as old as time. The mewling lion queen was so fucking wet that he might even be ruining her for other men completely.

  Or at least that's what he liked to think, and who was going to judge him within the sanctity of his own mind?

  It was hard to understand what she was saying now as she mewled and groaned and whimpered under his ministrations, and he was close to reaching his own peak. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her tight as he pounded the everloving fuck out of her pussy.

  And finally, after a dozen strokes more, he was at the precipice.

  "Take it all, Your Grace."

  Maybe there was a hint of mockery to it, but she didn't seem to mind too much, squealing in his ear as she came again. "Oooooooooooooooooghhhh—"

  He was hot on her heels, seeing stars as he emptied his balls into her. He never had any children, so there was a rush to it that was hard to describe. Something primal.

  His breathing started to slow as he finished, and the dark laughter all around them had ebbed, but something stranger happened. He was suddenly someplace else, staring down at a girl and a boy. It didn't take him long to find the similarities.

  They were his, twins, and they were playing in the very same godswood.

  His heart skipped a beat when his daughter's green eyes caught his, or it would have if he had a heart here. She quirked her head curiously before he felt himself pulled far and further north. It was a place where everything was white except the sky, and there the dead walked by the thousands.

  His best guess? Bloodraven was showing him what he already knew. That the Long Night was coming, and he had arrived just in time to see it.

  Assuming he didn't get himself killed beforehand. Always a possibility with how his schemes had schemes now.

  It all unceremoniously came to a close, leaving him back in his body with a lioness rubbing her creamy thighs against his. He sighed as he felt the last of it empty inside her, though he was loath to get off of her with how comfortable she felt.

  "It's done," he whispered in her ear again.

  "I can feel it," she told him, a surprisingly content smile on her lips.

  "It will be twins, a boy and a girl. I have seen it."

  It would be unfortunate if Bloodraven or the old gods were fucking with him, but it seemed like the thing to say.

  Cersei tightened up again at his words. "What did they look like?"

  "My hair, though the girl had your eyes."

  "Mmm," she hummed happily. "To think I'd have twins…"

  It was admittedly a funny coincidence… if it was a coincidence at all.

  Allowing himself to finally fall onto his back with another sigh, he stared up at the stars for a time as she snuggled into his side. He was starting to get used to how different they all looked, even the moon.

  He caught her eyes drooping sleepily, and as much as he wanted to let it happen, it wouldn't do to be caught in the godswood like this.

  He roused her with a rough kiss, and after he stood to make himself presentable. She whimpered softly as he helped her stand, white trickling down her legs.

  "We shouldn't return together," he commented.

  Wiping some drool off her lips with her sleeve, she nodded, carefully retrieving her torch. Then she stole another kiss before smoothing out her skirts and fleeing the scene on shaky knees.

  It was not an unpleasant sight, he could admit.

  Leaning down to pluck the cloak and makeshift bed she had abandoned from the ground, his eyes found the weirwood again, and he paused. The face had changed.

  Solomon moved closer, wondering if his eyes were playing a trick on him in the dark of night, but no. Gone was the solemn face, replaced by a laughing face instead, one almost unhinged. That might cause some gossip on its own, assuming it stayed.

  Still, what could he do, demand a tree stop laughing? He just gave it a thumbs-up before he left.

  What a fucking night…