The lists were alive with the sound of clashing wood and the cries of squires. Dust rose from the churned earth as boys older than him stumbled and collided, poleaxes swinging, clanging off shields. Artys adjusted the grip on his blunted poleaxe, the weight familiar, the balance perfect. Eleven years old, yet already as tall as any of them, he moved with a calm certainty the others lacked.
The horn sounded, and chaos erupted. Some boys lunged recklessly, others tried to block and retreat. Artys didn't hesitate—he advanced, watching openings, striking with precision. One Stormlander squire, broad-shouldered and angry, came at him with a wild swing. Artys pivoted, the axe catching the boy's pole, sending him sprawling. Another squire charged, but Artys stepped aside, his strike ringing against the boy's shield and second strike with butt of his pole axe to his head knocked the squire out cold.
Sweat and dirt clung to him, but his mind was sharp. He had already bested every squire in his path, each one bigger and older than him, yet none had the timing, strength, or control he possessed. It was impossible for normal humans to fight him even if westerosi were stronger than the real world humans, The serum made the contest pointless . He simply practiced his style and put on a show for the crowd .
By the time the dust cleared, only three others remained standing—Loras Tyrell, the third son from Highgarden, tall and wiry with a ruthless edge; Wylde, a Stormlander with the kind of stubborn strength that could bruise bones; and another squire from the Riverlands , known for his speed and tenacity. Artys circled, eyes scanning, listening to their breathing, noting the angles they preferred, the weakness in their guard.
When the horn blew again, signaling the start of the final four, Artys smiled inwardly. This was no longer a test of brute force—it was a test of wits, reflex, and patience. Loras came at him first, a diagonal strike aiming to knock him off balance. Artys met it with a steady counter, his poleaxe absorbing the force and redirecting it. Wylde lunged next, slower than expected. Artys sidestepped and caught him across the chest with the haft, sending him stumbling.
The Vale squire darted in, fast as a shadow, but Artys was ready. A sharp twist, a tap to his opponent's midsection, and the boy staggered back, conceding the point.
Now only Loras remained. Artys knew he had to be careful. Tyrell's swings were calculated, fast, and meant to break his guard. The two circled, watching, probing, striking in short bursts. Dust rose around them like smoke from a fire. Artys ducked a high swing, drove the poleaxe forward, and tapped Loras's shoulder plate. Again, a feint; Loras lunged, Artys sidestepped and pushed with the haft to unbalance him.
The horn sounded, and Artys stepped back, poleaxe raised. Loras lowered his weapon, conceding with a grunt. He was breathing hard, his pride bruised, but he nodded in acknowledgment. Artys's was nonchalant about the victory. He was using only a fraction of his power and speed just to keep things interesting. After all the crowds did not like one sided beatdowns . Had this been a real battle he would have killed them all in minutes and not broken a sweat.
The clamor of the melee had barely died down, the other squires nursing bruises and pride alike, when Artys spotted Littlefinger waiting near the edge of the lists. The gold purses from yesterday's archery contest and today's melee sat heavy in his satchel, already sorted and accounted for.
"Ah, the victorious squire," Littlefinger said, a sly tilt to his smile as he gestured for Artys to approach. "I trust the odds worked in your favor?"
Artys inclined his head, keeping his expression light, masking the sharp calculations behind his calm demeanor. "They did. Everyone underestimated me. As always."
Littlefinger's eyes gleamed. "And some lost far more than they expected." He chuckled softly. "Fortune favors the clever. And in your case, the strong."
Artys allowed a small, easy smile. "I've learned to place my bets where knowledge and skill overlap."
"You have a rare mind for someone so young," Littlefinger said, voice low, almost conspiratorial. "I must admit, I enjoy being part of your schemes. Simple enough, profitable enough… yet subtle, so none suspect your hand."
Artys's smile didn't falter, though he weighed the words carefully. Petyr Baelish had no armies, no lands—no real power—but he had influence. Dangerous, if underestimated. Artys had long learned to see the man for what he was: slick, clever, useful, and far too clever to trust completely.
"I hope you have what i am owed Lord Baelish," Artys said, his tone amiable but firm. "I assume the coin is ready?"
Littlefinger produced several heavy purses, clinking as he set them before Artys. "As promised the rest in Bank of Hightower as agreed upon. And I hear your father has no objection to your ventures?"
Artys picked up the largest purse, counting quickly in his head while making it seem casual. "He encourages prudence and… initiative. I think he would approve, so long as no one is harmed in the process."
Littlefinger inclined his head, giving a subtle smirk. "The young lord is most wise. It's always a pleasure doing business with you."
Artys's smile was careful, courteous, even warm. "Likewise, Lord Baelish. Let us hope fortune continues to favor us both."
He walked away, purses secure, already planning how to invest the winnings. Ships for the Vale, A new inns in the Riverlands and another in King landing and a new brothel for Chataya to manage. Littlefinger was useful, but he would always remain a man to watch, too slick by half. Yet for now, Artys played the game on the surface: amiable, trustworthy, unassuming. Beneath it he was calculated and prepared.
After paying his respects to the King and suffering his embrace, he returned to his chambers, bathed, and waited for nightfall. Once the hour of the Bat had come, Artys exited the Hand's Tower through the secret passages and made his way to Chataya's. He did not call for her; he merely lit the lamp near the window. In a few minutes, with a clacking sound, the door opened and Chataya was there in all her glory.
R18
"My brave falcon, I heard you won the squires' melee with ease," she said in the Summer Tongue. She poured honeyed lemon water into a silver goblet and brought it to him.
"I did, my lady. Would you be so kind as to tend to my wounds?" Artys asked suggestively.
She smiled and slid herself onto his lap, gently beginning to grind her arse into his cock while running her fingers through his golden hair, caressing it.
"I have acquired The Gilded Lily, my lord. It's near the docks and frequented by merchants and captains. I would also recommend that we acquire an inn named The Silver Lantern near Rhaenys' Hill."
"Yes, yes, of course. I have been of the same mind as well. And the other thing I asked for?" Artys questioned.
Chataya pulled a silver tube from within her sleeves. Artys unlocked it, and inside was information, handwritten in a small script in the language of the Summer Isles. Most was gossip, but there was some gold there as well. Investment well made, thought Artys.
"I have another gift as well for my brave lord."
R18
She left the room and came back with a girl. For a moment, Artys thought it was the Queen; the resemblance was uncanny. The girl was blindfolded with a black velvet robe covering her, under which Artys assumed she was naked. Chataya closed the door behind her and guided the girl to stand in front of Artys.
Chataya continued to speak the Summer Tongue: "I was going to present her to the King—a virgin, a girl exquisite, very much like The Gilded Lily, the brothel we have just acquired. I have trained her myself, my lord."
With a flourish, Chataya removed the velvet robe, presenting the girl in all her glory. Her smooth, pale skin glowed in the candlelight; every inch of her figure was delicate yet ripe. Her breasts were perfect handfuls, perky, firm, capped with pale pink areolas. Chataya stood behind the blonde girl and said, "Her name is Marei." Her dark eyes shimmered with sin, a wicked smile gracing her face.
Chataya licked Marei's white neck and gently ran her thumb over Marei's pink nipple. Her other hand teased the girl's sex, which was covered in pale blonde hair. Chataya's finger stroked the girl's cunt, and Marei bit her lip to swallow her gasp. The solemn face Marei had when she entered was gone; her cheeks had a beautiful pink flush. Still blindfolded, she was equal parts innocent and alluring.
Chataya asked, "Would you like to join in, my lord?" as she gently tilted Marei's head up and kissed her. Chataya's tongue pried Marei's mouth open, fished out her tongue, and sucked it down to the root while her fingers played the young woman's cunt like a harp. The girl shuddered with a gasp into Chataya's mouth. Chataya broke the kiss, thin strings of spit breaking between Marei and her.
"Bring her to me," Artys said in the Summer Tongue. He wanted to maintain his anonymity; his accent in the Common Tongue would betray his birth. Marei crawled on all fours, with Chataya guiding her by holding a fistful of blonde hair.
Artys smiled, a dark, knowing look in his eyes that only Chataya could see. He reached out and slipped the black velvet blindfold back over Marei's eyes, instantly shrouding her in darkness.
"Leave it," he commanded in the Summer Tongue. "I wish to maintain my anonymity for a time. She doesn't speak the summer tongue, does she?"
Chataya shook her head, her hand smoothing the velvet over Marei's cheek. "Not a word of it, my lord. She is a girl of the Crownlands. She only understands what I tell her in the Common Tongue."
"Good," Artys said, settling back against the pillows. He reached down and undid the fastenings of his clothes, freeing himself with a soft sigh of relief. He then motioned for Chataya to bring Marei closer.
Chataya nudged the blindfolded girl forward. "Attend to him, sweetling ," she murmured in the Common Tongue, her tone soft but absolute.
Marei lowered her head, her movements hesitant but obedient. With the darkness protecting her, her other senses seemed to sharpen; she relied on Chataya's gentle pressure on her shoulders and the heat radiating from the man above her. She located him, and her lips, soft and warm, closed around him.
A deep, pleasurable moan escaped Artys's throat. He leaned his head back, his fingers tangling in Marei's silken hair—a familiar, possessive gesture.
"You have trained her well, my lady," he whispered to Chataya in the Summer Tongue, his voice already thickening with pleasure, his eyes half-closed.
Chataya leaned over him, her own smile predatory. She pressed a soft kiss to his ear. "I choose my investments with care, my falcon. Her innocence is a fragile thing ,she can read and is good with numbers . Tell me, are you pleased with this gift for your chambers, away from the prying eyes of the King's Court?"
Artys shifted on the bed, pulling Marei's head back just enough to create a rhythmic, demanding pressure.
"The investment is exquisite," he rasped, still using the Summer Tongue. "Secure The Silver Lantern. The more quiet places we own near the Hill, the better. And speak to me of everything the scroll contained ."
Chataya began to speak, her voice a low, seductive counterpoint to the sounds of Marei's ministrations. She described hushed rumours and whispered indiscretions, while Marei, blind and oblivious, continued her devoted service, working harder as Artys's pleasure deepened.
He reached a hand down to stroke Marei's neck, the smooth, pale skin a sharp contrast to the velvet of the blindfold. "Faster," he commanded, his voice a low, urgent rasp. The girl obeyed instantly, her efforts intensifying as Artys lost himself in both the pleasure she delivered and the dangerous secrets Chataya revealed.
As Chataya finished relaying a particularly juicy piece of court gossip, Artys gave a low growl of satisfaction, both from the news and the intensity of Marei's efforts.
"Enough secrets for a moment, my lady," Artys said, his voice husky in the Summer Tongue. He gripped Marei's shoulders and gently pulled her up until she was kneeling before him, still blindfolded and breathless. "I find I need more than one servant for this appetite."
Chataya smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with anticipation. "As you wish, my falcon. I have waited patiently to tend to you."
She shifted, gliding over the bed until she was positioned behind Marei. With a graceful movement, she settled the young girl back against her own chest, holding her captive in a warm, knowing embrace. Chataya took control of the rhythm, guiding Marei's head back down to him with a firm, practiced hand.
Simultaneously, Chataya leaned forward. She licked the sweet residue of the honeyed lemon water from Artys's lips, her tongue tracing the line of his mouth. Her hands descended, one resting possessively on Marei's hip, and the other tracing patterns across Artys's chest, before moving lower.
"The Gilded Lily will be our quiet haven, my lord," Chataya murmured into his ear, her voice a low, seductive hum in the Summer Tongue.
Her fingers found him, sliding down his shaft to tease his balls. The combined sensations—Marei's mouth working expertly under Chataya's guidance, and Chataya's own clever hands and intimate murmuring—pushed Artys past the point of restraint. He was lost in the feel of the two women, one an innocent instrument, the other a masterful conductor, both serving his desires.
He tightened his grip on Chataya's shoulder, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the waves of pleasure intensified, washing away the tension of his day and the weight of his secrets.
"Now, my lady," he strained, speaking the final command in a throaty roar of the Summer Tongue. "Now!"
He reached his peak with a shuddering groan that echoed slightly in the quiet chamber. A moment later, Marei felt the warmth against her face, then the soft guidance of Chataya's hands pulling her back.
Artys lay back, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under Chataya's caress. He waited a few moments for the world to settle.
"She is a truly intoxicating prize," he eventually murmured in the Summer Tongue. "Now, my lady, it is time for the final initiation."
Chataya nodded, her dark eyes glittering with wicked anticipation. She pulled a small flask of warm oil from the bedside table. She held Marei against her, speaking softly in the Common Tongue, giving the girl comfort and instructions.
"You have been so brave, Marei. Now, your lord wishes you to be fully initiated into his service. It will hurt for only a moment, Trust me."
She began to coat her fingers generously with the oil, then slid her hand between Marei's thighs, applying the warmth to the girl's tight entrance. Marei gasped softly, her blindfolded face flushing scarlet as she felt the unfamiliar intrusion.
Artys watched, a dark intensity in his gaze. He shifted, pulling Marei over him until she straddled his hips, her knees pressed into the mattress. Chataya supported the girl's small waist from behind, her body a comforting anchor.
" claim her, my lord," Chataya whispered in the Summer Tongue, her lips near his ear.
Artys reached up, finding the soft skin of Marei's inner thigh. He took a steadying breath, then, guided by Chataya's subtle pressure, he drove upward, plunging into the girl's inexperienced flesh.
Marei's scream was muffled, lost in the black velvet that covered her eyes. Her back arched violently against Chataya's chest, her hands clawing at the sheets. A single tear escaped from beneath the blindfold, tracing a wet path down her cheek.
Chataya held her fast, whispering soothing nonsense into her hair in the Common Tongue, rocking her gently through the momentary pain. Artys froze, waiting patiently for the girl to settle around him.
The shock subsided quickly, replaced by a dull ache and the slow, growing awareness of him filling her. The tension drained out of Marei's body, replaced by a soft submission.
Artys waited a moment longer, then began to move, slowly at first, his eyes fixed on Marei's tear-stained, blindfolded face and the blood that now marked her pale skin and the white linen sheets.
"She will only be yours my lord" Chataya murmured to Artys, her voice laced with triumph in the Summer Tongue. "She is yours to do with as you please."
Artys gave a low, feral sound of satisfaction and began to move with more urgency, initiating the girl fully into her new world.
Chataya smiled, her eyes promising everything. She continued to work her magic on Marei for a few more powerful strokes, driving the girl closer to the edge, before her attention shifted back to her lord. She relinquished her hold on Marei's clitoris and instead focused both hands on Artys's hips, pressing him deeper with every thrust.
She brought her lips close to his ear again, whispering secrets and encouragement in the Summer Tongue, the intimacy of their language further isolating the blindfolded girl beneath them.
"You have been strong today, my lord, at the tourney and in your plotting. Take your release, my brave falcon. Take all of her."
Driven by her hands and her words, Artys reached a fever pitch. He gave a final, desperate cry, burying his face into the soft hair of Marei's shoulder as he emptied himself into her, his body trembling violently with the force of his climax.
Chataya held them both steady through the tremors, her own expression one of satisfied triumph. She had orchestrated the moment perfectly: her lord was pleased.