A new morning dawned on Nordhavn. In the topmost spire, inside the king's room, heavy moans filled the entire room as Rickard plowed through Meilin with an almost religious fervor. Both of them were covered in sweat, unbeknownst as to how long they had been going at it for while gasping, moaning, groaning and shouting like a pair of wild animals mating.
Suddenly Meilin wrapped her legs around Rickard's wide waist and arms around his neck while her back arched at an impossible angle. Her massive breasts pressed flat against his hairy chest as Rickard sunk his teeth deep into his queen's neck, his eyes shut as the two peaked.
Not rushing to take it out, he let himself perched on top of Meilin as he began to kiss all the bruises he had given her over the course of past few hours. Rickard sucked at Meilin's left tit like a child who was left unattended for a whole day while Meilin ran her hands lovingly through his thick hair.
She could feel his seed inside her, warming her already warm insides as she kept her legs interlocked, not wanting to spill away. She was still young, only 39 rotations old. She wanted to bless her king husband with another child, a son, preferably.
A light giggle escaped her lips as Rickard noisily kept alternating between sucking her breasts. "My lord, you become unrecognizable in bed. I sometimes wonder, is this the real you?" She spoke without a hint of tease in her tone as she watched him. It made her urge to have more stronger, but she was well aware of the numbness in her thighs and legs and the duties that need to be tended to.
The Hall can't have both its King and Queen of Cups absent.
Rickard lifted his head from her breast. His storm-grey and cruel eyes softened to something almost boyish as the fierce king melted away until only the man who belonged utterly to her remained. His lips shone as a thin strand of saliva broke as he spoke, voice rough from hours of nonstop sex.
"The real me?" he echoed with a faint, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifted a little, still buried deep and hard inside her as though even the thought of leaving her body was unbearable.
"This is the only real me, Mei. Out there—" he tilted his head toward the heavy oak doors, beyond which awaited the cold Hall, colder men and coldest decisions, waiting to be made "—out there I wear iron and ice because I must. But here... here I am only yours. Greedy and helpless. Starving for you. Just like any other commoner child."
He lowered his forehead to rest against hers, breathing her in like a child seeking comfort after a nightmare. One large hand slid up her side, cupping the heavy breast he had been lavishing moments ago as his thumb brushed the swollen nipple tenderly.
"Ahn~" Meilin moaned before cupping his face. "We have matters to attend. As much as I would love for you to cripple me for the rest of the day, I am afraid that The Descent is upon us. We need to make preparations as soon as possible." She advised.
"I could stay like this forever," Rickard murmured, ignoring what she had said. "Buried in you, mouth on you, listening to your heartbeat and your childhood stories. Nordhavn can wait. Let the cups spill over and the banners rot. I care for none of it when you are warm beneath me."
Meilin giggled once again. "I have told you my stories a thousand times."
"And I'd listen to it a thousand times again." He smiled as he lifted his hips, pulling out. The wet squelch was almost audible as he felt the warmth vanish. Rickard groaned low in his throat as he slid free, the sound almost wounded like a boy forced to leave the only place he ever felt safe in.
His release spilled between her thighs as Meilin bit her lips, immediately sliding one hand down to cup her sex, fingers pressing gently to keep as much of Rickard inside her as possible and avoid spillage.
Seeing this, Rickard chuckled and reached down to trace a lazy circle on her lower belly. "Careful now, my lady. We can scarcely afford another mouth to feed. The treasury's coffers groan enough with the three we already have."
The words were meant as gentle teasing, the sort they often traded in these quiet moments, but Meilin's smile faltered and so did Rickard's, mirroring Meilin's. It was like a dormant wound had suddenly split open for both of them. The amused ambiance suddenly died out.
Not wanting to affect the mood of his wife, Rickard gathered her in an instant against him as his powerful arms folded around her. He pressed his face into the damp curve of her neck, breathing her in, and slipped one thick arm beneath her head so she could rest against his bicep like a pillow.
His body curved around hers, chest to her chest and legs tangled. The lost warmth of their joining was now replaced by the furnace of his skin.
"Forgive me," he murmured against her ear, lips brushing the small bruises he had left there. "I spoke without thought."
Meilin's enchanting green eyes looked at him as their mouths found each other easily and softly. When they parted, her fingers traced the scar that ran along his chest.
After a moment, she spoke. "Do you know?"
"No. You tell me."
Meilin smiled. It was humor from her lord husband's side, no matter how dry it was. However, it was always enough to make her smile. "The people are... unusually enthusiastic this Descent. The offerings have already begun piling in the lower yards. They chant louder than I remember in seasons past."
Rickard noticed something was off. "Mei." His voice was soft, but it carried the same quiet command he used in the Hall when he would brook no evasion. "Tell me what troubles you."
She hesitated and her lips opened and closed like a fluttering Bloodfly, but soon she sealed them shut. A few moments later, a sighed escaped her lips. "It is only... Gregan. He has no rune yet, my lord. And his sword work is still... unpolished.
The Scrouging Squad rides deepest into the Corrupted Lands. If The Descent is as fierce as usual..." She trailed off, fingers tightening against his chest. "Could you not... keep him from the vanguard this once? Place him with the reserve, or the supply train. Anywhere but the Scrouging Team."
Rickard's arms tightened around her involuntarily, the boyish softness all but gone from his eyes. For a long moment he was silent as his jaw worked while staring over her shoulder at the dying embers in the hearth.
"You know what it would mean," he said at last, voice low. "The men would whisper, they already do."
"Oh please, Rickard, the men will never stop whispering. That is what they do!" She retorted aggressively.
Not taking any effect, Rickard kept talking. "I thought the boy would have some shame and happily participate, but it turns out he needs his mother to bribe his lord father with sex to exclude him."
Meilin pushed herself away from his grasp. The perpetually cruel look in Rickard's eyes disappeared for a fleeting moment, and once again, he looked like a boy who had just had his first heartbreak at her actions. "His name is Gregan. And he is just as much as your son, as he is mine. Address him as Gregan, not 'boy'. And how could even think that I tried to bribe you with...intimacy?"
Rickard heaved a deep breath. At that moment, Meilin realized that she was no longer talking to Rickard Holt, but rather Lord of Nordhavn. She huffed and pulled the blanket up to her chin and sank deep into the bed.
Rickard stood up and got off the bed. He was a mountain of a man with bulging muscles, standing at around 2.03m and weighed near eighteen stone. All of his body was as tight as a fully drawn bow and his manhood flailed around near half-length of his thigh as he took out a new shirt, a leather waistcoat and heavy black furs and wore it all.
He spared not a single glance at Meilin during this time. Before he could reach out for "Holt" in the corner of the room, he picked up a few clothes from another chest. They were a woman's clothes. He stuffed them inside the burning hot blankets that Meilin was buried inside.
Before leaving, he stopped at the door. Without looking back, he spoke. "I will think on it. But I can scarce think anything of honor worthy of a Holt, that will keep him from the deepest peril without marking him coward. But I make no promises yet, Mei. Only that I will not spend our son lightly."
Meilin did not reply and instead covered her head. Not getting a reply from her queen wife, Rickard took off, Holt strapped to him as the door closed shut behind him. Meilin groaned as she threw a cushion at the door. "Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!"
After a few moments, a man came running towards her room. Hodor was a meek eunuch who was appointed by Rickard to take care of Meilin's every need.
"Y-Yes, m-my lady... how may I s-ser-serve you...?"
"Food. Lots of it. Right now."
*****
Meilin heaved a sigh of relief as she scraped the last smear of cream from the bowl and set it aside. It was rare for her to eat without her children or her lord husband at table, but her legs were still limp from the night's barbaric railing, and Rickard's stubbornness. Alone, she could indulge without restraint.
She also sometimes indulged in this practice as it allowed her to eat all she wanted, without any decorum. She needed not to worry about what others would say about her un-lady like gestures and the requirement to maintain a perfect figure.
Served on a wooden table with small legs on her bed laid empty plates and bowls that contained iceroot and saltfish chowder with extra cream, a small blood-sausage braise on the side, and a hot wedge of the mushroom bake.
Meilin, behind her veil of the most beautiful woman of Nordhavn and the Queen of Cups, was secretly a glutton. She had been one ever since her early days, however, she was never caught or disciplined over it since she had an equally potent metabolism. Only her wet-nurse Ling knew about it and had constantly drilled etiquettes into her.
The amount of meat in her dishes was low. It was understandable since the entire kingdom had been running low on meat for some time now, and now even vegetables began to grow scarce. Food was one of the primary reasons why Nordhavn had decided to make a descend.
Although she was not sure why Tianqiu and the other floating islands had decided to do so as well. Usually, the pre-planned descents were only four times during one rotation. Those four descents were something all four kingdoms had to adhere to. During these times—the start of each season—the Corrupted Ones would absentmindedly reproduce.
Once she was done eating, Meilin had Hodor take the bedtable away. She took to the washroom and washed herself with the warm spring water. While Nordhavn was a floating island, it had a lot of springs, and Castle Holt was built on a lot of these springs.
One of the benefits of being the King and Queen was having your own private spring inside the washroom. Despite the biting cold, there was never a lack of warm water. By this time Meilin's personal maid, Frida, had arrived. She helped clean the damp smell of sweat and semen from her.
Frida was a girl of 13 rotations when she was brought into the newly wed Meilin's service. At that time, Meilin was a girl of 15 rotations herself. She was a short and chubby woman with long and round face with black hair and black eyes, making her look quite unattractive. However, she was the best friend of Meilin in Nordhavn. Frida had stayed unmarried; however, she had a child of 20 rotations.
As she wiped the grime off of Meilin's underarms, chest, groin, legs, back and feet, she then helped her dry and then helped her in her clothes. For today, Meilin had decided to not wear Eastern clothes as today was a special day.
Only one day remained in the Descent. And this was not the time to be the proud daughter of Tianqiu. Today, she was going to act every bit of the Queen of Cups that Nordhavn deserved. It wasn't that she disliked Nordhavn's ways, but rather she was simply mirroring Rickard's own rigid pride, pointlessly.
However, Rickard did not care about such things, so it was mostly in vain.
Today, the dress Frida selected for Meilin, as per the customs of Nord's former queens, was a deep black wool, a fitted bodice hugging her ribs and waist, wide sleeves edged in dark suede and layered skirts falling in heavy folds for ease of movement.
A high neckline rose to her throat as the silver embroidery across her chest glinted like frost on obsidian. Where her usual Tianqiu silks favored low, wide necklines that framed and uplifted the generous swell of her breasts, this gown bound them tightly back, pressing the soft curves flat beneath the warm wool.
Frida fastened the last silver penannular brooch at Meilin's shoulder, letting the heavy white wolf-fur cloak settle like fresh snow across her back.
"There, my lady, all done." Frida spoke in a croaky voice as she smiled at Meilin.
Meilin examined herself. Other than her face and hands, not a single portion of her skin was visible. The Eastern people were used to showing a lot of their skin, so the dresses here sometimes suffocated her, however, Meilin had grown used to it by now.
"Thank you, Frida, as always." She spoke happily and flashed a beautiful, pearly smile at her.
Frida quickly folded the sheets on the bed and then the clothes of King and Queen which were scattered in every corner of the room. "Hodor!" She shouted.
The meek eunuch came running before picking the extremely heavy fur blankets and clothes all in one fell swoop before running away. Hodor was like the wind, he came and went with a surprising grace. Since he was a eunuch, he was not allowed to hold a sword, but Meilin always thought that he would've made a good assassin.
Frida picked up a bottle of perfume and dropped a few drops on her hand and smelled it. The smell was strong, but it was not enchanting. "This should do for the occasion, my lady."
Meilin, who was lost in her thoughts, snapped back. "I trust you, Frida. Whatever you choose."
She then sprinkled a few drops behind Meilin's ears, her wrists and then her neck. Once that was done, she held the Lady by her arms and made her twist around and twirl, checking if Meilin had any problems in swift movements or not.
After confirming that there were no issues, Frida walked silently to the corner and picked up a dagger. Walking towards Meilin, she bent down and picked the layered skirt up and holstered the knife against her thigh.
After that, Frida was excused for the rest of the day. While being good friends, Meilin understood that today was not the time for gossips, so she did not talk more than necessary with her. Of course, Frida, who was trained as a child, understood the intention and spoke no more than the necessary amount.
Once Frida was gone, Meilin called for Hodor and he and a member of Black Swords escorted her to The Hall. The hall still smelled of pines, just as usual. The three Masters were seated in their respected seats on either side of King Rickard, while leaving a place for the Queen.
Suddenly, the man clad in an all-black armor of the Black Sword raised his voice. His voice had a magical quality to it which made the heart of multiple people tremble in fear. "Atteeeentioooon! The Beloved of Nordhavn, Queen of Cups, Moon of the Realm, Meilin Holt is arriving!"
Suddenly, the ministers of various departments, the common folks, squires, knights, Maesters, Theon and Lyanna Holt in the common sitting place; all stood up and slightly bowed their heads.
Meilin didn't really like this, but she had gotten used to it. Besides, the man from Black Sword had either an empty head or was deaf, since whatever Meilin would say to him would gather no reaction from him. She even once hurled a metal pot at his helmed head, but he just stood there, like an unmovable object.
Meilin nodded her head, and everyone sat back down. As she walked towards the empty seat, Theon and Lyanna who were dressed in all black leathers and grey furs stepped up and kissed the back of their queen mother's hand one-by-one.
Once that was done, she made her way to the left of Rickard. She sat down, pressing down on her lip. The pain in her thighs was still present, the act of sitting down or standing up made her legs feel like they had been grinded to mush.
After Meilin was seated, she greeted Maester Garrick first who was the closest to her. To her husband's other side was the crone, Maester Grace and to her side was oldest and meekest Maester Bryndel. He was told many times by the Lord and Lady to retire; however, he refused to take up on that offer. The hermit was a scarce boy of 20 rotations when he first arrived in Castle Holt.
He had seen Lord Rickard take birth, served his father Lord Brandon and for a single year his father before him, Lord Theon. He was also the one who had helped the queens plan and deliver their children.
Maester Garrick was well versed in the art of war, however, in the past his abilities were put to no use since the four islands, despite having some sorts of bad blood, never reached the point of an all-out war. However, with the recent developments, he was gaining more favors from the king.
Maester Grace was an apprentice to Maester Bryndel. She was well versed in the art of medicine making, but most of her time was spent serving as someone who would entertain the young lordlings and ladylings.
Once the entire commotion had died down, Rickard cleared his throat. Even this simple act felt like a booming thunder in the Hall. He scanned the Hall and then looked at Meilin with a questioning look.
"Can't we excuse him?" Meilin spoke in a low tone, enough for only Rickard to hear.
"He is to leave tomorrow, so no." Rickard waved his hand and a shadow flickered. Then, as if a ghost had just appeared and disappeared for the smallest fraction of a second, something moved out of the Hall.
One of the Black Swords, Meilin had noticed. She was a little bitter since Rickard had not heeded to her plead and had ended up deciding to send Gregan anyways, however, she knew this was bound to happen. Her lord husband was too stubborn for his own good, and no matter what happened, he would always stick by it, regardless of his love for his queen wife.
After a few minutes, the youngest child—Gregan Holt arrived in the Hall. He did not spare a glance at anyone, as he knew that people would sneer at him for running away from the head of Duncan—the offender who had killed a child. Instead of looking around too much, he merely bowed slightly towards his lord father and lady mother before walking away.
Once he sat down, Lyanna perched right next to him, their shoulders touching. She did not talk to him, however, reluctantly, Gregan found some semblance of peace being right next to her. Theon was now alone as he stared at the two siblings with a cold look in his eyes, however, inwardly, he was happy that Lyanna had taken the initiative to console their cowardly brother.
Had their mother been someone from Nordhavn, they would've chewed each other to death by now, but the soft and warm nature of Meilin had turned her children into something more socially acceptable.
Right after Gregan sat down, the doors of the Hall were burst open as people from all over Nordhavn—from all over the capital—Holt—to be specific—had gathered here. Their king was, after all, going to give his customary sermon before the descent that was due in a day.
Different voices carrying all sorts of emotions filled the area.
Suddenly, the Great Hall of Castle Holt fell silent the moment King Rickard rose from the black oak throne. The firelight caught on the silver runes worked into his mail and his dominating frame stretched long across the wolf-pelts strewn upon the stone floor made every person shut their mouths and focus solely on their lord.
Other than the people placing cannisters of ale and big wooden mugs, no one dared to move.
Rickard stepped forward, his boots ringing on the dais until he stood at the edge where all could see the storm in his cruel grey eyes. "Tomorrow, we descend."
A low murmur rose again.
"Tomorrow, we ride into the Corrupted Lands where the Corrupted Ones breed and the wind cuts flesh from bone. Tomorrow many of us will bleed. Some of us will not return." His voice grew deeper and harder until the people present seemed to shake. "But we shall prevail. We always prevail. For we are Nordhavn, and Nordhavn remembers its own."
He lifted one black-gloved fist. "Remember. All Are Fed, All Are Remembered, as is the motto of House Holt.
Whatever herds we drive back, whatever flesh we tear from the lowlands, whatever grain and salt and silver we seize; by ancient custom it shall be divided true and equal.
Noble and common, highborn and low, king and kitchen boy; every mouth shall taste plenty, every hearth shall burn bright. This I swear by the gods, present and unpresent, by the ice beneath us and the sky above."
A roar answered him as fists pounded on tables, feet stomped on the ground and blades in their hilts hammered against wooden shields. Rickard raised a hollow horn of a Donphan filled with dark northern ale.
"However, yet, before we ride, we drink to the dead." His gaze swept the hall until it settled on a broad-shouldered lord in seashell cloak—Harlon Hull. His face was stone. "To young Harry Hull, taken too soon. And to Duncan Waters, who met the judgement blade without plea or coward's tear, as a true man of Nordhavn should."
He lifted the horn higher.
"As by the old customs, no son of this island shall carry hate against his brother into the next world, lest his soul wander frozen and forgotten for eternity. Let resentment die here, tonight."
Slowly, solemnly, every man and woman in the hall filled their cups and raised it. Harlon Hull was last, and his hand was trembling as he raised his own cup. Together they drank, to Harry Hull, and to Duncan who slew him.
When the horn was lowered, Rickard's voice cut the mourning quiet once more.
"My people, one other danger remains this time. Word comes that Tianqiu's dogs ride with us on this Descent."
People wanted to say something, but everyone stayed quiet. It was not a secret that the Queen in the North was from the east, a Tianqiu resident.
Before Rickard or the crowd could say anything, Queen Meilin rose beside the king. The combination of colors in the wool and fur cloaked her snugly. At that moment, she was not looking to her husband. She was looking only towards the hall.
"Today, right now, I speak not as the daughter of Tianqiu," she said, and her voice, though softer than Rickard's, carried to the farthest shadow. "I speak as your Queen of the North, bone of your bone, blood of your blood. If any man of the floating isles, so much as thinks ill of Nordhavn's sons and daughters, strike him down where he stands. Let the crows feast on Eastern arrogance beside the Corrupted."
For a heartbeat the hall, even the Maesters, and Meilin's children looked shocked and utterly silent. They had never expected their mother, someone who valued her roots so much, to say something like this. However, just as a crazy and cruel grin appeared on Rickard and Theon's face, everyone erupted.
Blades crashed against shields, boots stamped the stone, voices rose in a savage, joyous thunder that shook the very pillars that supported the high ceiling of the Hall.
"GLORY TO THE KING!
GLORY TO THE QUEEN!
NORDHAVN! NORDHAVN! NORDHAVN!"
The roar rolled on and on, until the pet hounds and wolves threw back their heads and howled with the men, and the banners of the wolf snapped as though a storm had broken within the Hall itself.
Gregan watched everything with a dark look in his eyes. His pale grey eyes had gotten darker and empty, as though he was a dead man walking.
Meilin looked at Gregan from the corner of her eye as a wave of pain shot up her chest. She had thought she had prepared herself for Rickard's stubbornness, however, seeing Gregan like this, her lower lip couldn't help but tremble every so slightly.