[Death Imminent In 8, 7, 6…]
Ten years was a long, long lifespan. He had only been in Westeros for a little more than four years. In those four years, he'd grown into a strong, chiseled, muscular warrior of nearly seven feet in height, and still growing.
Having already spent so many years of his lifespan, he felt scared for the first time of the very curse he used to believe was a boon. What was initially seventy-six years, was now only seventy-three. With ten more years spent, he would be at sixty-three, a significant reduction that would mess up all his plans. He would no longer have emergency years to spend. While gaining back the lost years was possible, he was still too poor and low in status to work on it.
Fuck! Fucking fuck! Buy it!
In the end, he didn't need to ponder too much. Living for sixty-three years was better than dying instantly.
[Purchase Complete - All Poison Immunity]
[All Poison Immunity - Now fear the knives, not the concoctions.]
Ting!
[Poison Neutralized]
"Aaaaargh!" Wylis gasped a loud, vocal breath and jolted awake, sitting straight again. The purpleish color of his face returned to his slightly tanned white complexion. His hazy eyes focused again.
"Wylis!"
Feeling the throbbing headache leave his body, he focused on that concerned voice. He looked and saw Lyanna standing right beside him, holding his hand in hers. Robert Baratheon was on his other side, rubbing his back as if he were choking, and Eddard had dragged a Maester there.
"P-Poison!" Wylis declared, still breathing deeply. That momentary run-in with death wasn't that fast to vanish. "Poison in food!"
Hearing Wylis, the Maester was quick to grab the cup of milk that Wylis had drunk from. The old Maester was no ordinary man, but the King's own Grand Maester who had for some reason, stayed behind. For Wylis, it was understandable. Grand Maester Pycelle's loyalties were questionable.
"A coward's weapon... aye, and craven besides," Pycelle muttered, his beard quivering with each syllable. He brought the cup to his nose and grimaced. "No strong scent, but I can smell it. That makes it all the more vile. This poison has slain kings, lad. Tell me, how is it you still draw breath?"
Breathing heavily, Wylis met the old man's gaze. "Poison's always had me on edge. So I started taking small bits. Thought it wise to build a tolerance, just in case."
That was the best way to make it make sense. But he felt Lyanna's eyes on him. It was impossible that she would buy his bullshit. She had been by his side most of the time for the past four years.
"Ahhh... splendid, lad, splendid! To best the Strangler—gods, such a cruel toxin—is no mean task. I'm most eager to learn how you managed it. If you'd be so kind… I would like to set it to parchment. The realm's heirs may one day owe you their lives—"
"Seven hells, shut it, you wrinkled goat!" Robert rumbled just then, furious. "Who slipped him the poison? Strangler's not some flea market trinket—you need coin and clout to get your hands on it. And the Citadel—those robed bastards—they know how to make it, don't they? There's only one man I see with reason to do it. One who lost more than a joust—lost his teeth too—and now he wants revenge."
"Enough, Robert," Ned spoke sharply before more reckless words were set loose. "Wylis is alive, thank the gods. But this poison—the Strangler—that's no small matter. His Grace is gone—we'd best send word to King's Landing, and let them hear what's passed here."
"You're right, Ned. I'll send one of my men." Robert decided and vanished in fury. Eddard, worried that Robert would go looking for Rhaegar, went after his friend.
Meanwhile, Brandon, still a little too drunk, sat beside Wylis and patted his shoulder. "You took poison? Willingly? Are you cracked in the head, Wylis? Why would you do such a thing—and leave me out of it? I'm like your brother, not some stranger."
Sweat ran down his face, and Wylis gave a crooked smile. "And risk losing my head if you drop dead? No thanks. Nobody cares if a dumb stableboy dies, but you're Winterfell's heir."
"Heh, can't argue with that. What now? Still chasing adventure? You're not safe here—and less so in King's Landing. That place belongs to him."
Wylis understood who him was in Brandon's mind. The most logical reasoning suggested that it was Rhaegar behind the poison. The man had the money and the influence to get it and administer it.
"I'll go," Wylis said, rolling his shoulders. "Poisons don't stick to me, and I've yet to meet the man who can best me with steel. After a bit of rest, though. Just give me an hour to gather myself."
Lyanna pulled his heavy arm just then, trying to get him up. "As you should. Gods, you were poisoned with Strangler. It's a miracle you're breathing."
She sounds seriously concerned. Wylis felt a little warm. She genuinely cared for him.
Ignoring the commotion around him and the Grand Maester, Wylis got up, towering over every single man in the hall. He let Lyanna give him her shoulder, despite how tiny she seemed beside him, like a mare trying to carry a mountain on its back.
"Ugh… You're heavy."
He chuckled, knowingly putting some weight on her strong shoulders. The effects of the poisons had all vanished by now.
Soon, Lyanna led him to her own room in the castle. It was mostly empty now, all her items already packed and taken to the Stark camp where the carriages were being prepared for the return journey.
"Here, rest a bit." Lyanna helped him settle down on the empty bed, no quilt or sheets anymore, just soft bedding. Then, she went ahead and took his boots off, helping him, her brows constantly furrowed in worry. "Do you need water?"
"Not water but…" Wylis cheekily smirked and just as Lyanna tried to step back, he caught her wrist and pulled her in firmly.
"Aaaah!" Lyanna yelped and fell right on Wylis. Amidst her fall, she felt Wylis' hand sneak around her slender waist and guide her fall, bringing her down flat against his chest, her face a mere inch away from his, both their breaths traceable on each other's skin.
"You… Are you alright?" Lyanna asked in worry but was unable to hide a faint blush on her face. Something seemed different. Strange to her. Sure, she had felt her heart beat faster before during their sexual exchange, but now, it felt different, warm and full in her chest. His muscular, colossal body, his warmth, his strong, big arm around her waist, his wide palm stretched on her ass. She felt his heart through her breasts smashed against him.
Wylis smiled and just savored the closeness. It was an understatement to say that he missed Lyanna during the past nine days. He'd gotten so used to her company, their constant banter, teasing, and then lewd touches, that not being able to do all that made him annoyed.
No doubt, Lyanna was beautiful. He stared at her face from so close and admired her pale as snow-like face, her slim body, her small pouty lips, and those grey eyes. He couldn't help but get hard under her weight.
"I'm well in body, but not in mind," Wylis replied and mischievously pushed a hand underneath the fur cloak on her shoulders that draped her back. She was fully dressed to journey back to Winterfell. But nothing stopped him, and he soon squeezed his rough, big hand through the tight belt that held her trousers.
Her skin felt so soft and hot, and he pushed his palm all the way in until he held her asscheek bare in his grip. He cherished the fact that he could do this to Lyanna and she didn't refuse him.
"Ummmh… Wylis…" Lyanna almost moaned from his adventurous touch. His rough hand on her back felt like he was claiming what was his right. She wanted to scoff and scold him, but she melted against his masculine body. And her face, on its own, leaned further down.
Lyanna breathed hard through her nose before crashing her lips onto his in a deep, ravenous kiss. She cupped his face with both hands, fingers splayed like she couldn't get enough of him. Her body molded over his like a second skin despite their clothes, warm and yielding, claiming every inch of him she had missed during those nine aching days apart. Lying flat atop Wylis, the world outside disappeared.
There was no shame, no hesitation. Only heat.
Wylis growled softly into the kiss as both his hands slipped beneath her trousers from behind, then under her smallcloth, finding the ripe swell of her ass. He grabbed both cheeks with greedy palms, kneading, smothering, and spreading them apart to expose that fevered wetness building between her thighs. The steam radiating from her slit was unmistakable. She was soaking for him, already.
Her lips moved hungrily against his, but it was Wylis' tongue that took control, sweeping through her hot, silken mouth like he was desperate to memorize it. He had missed her, terribly. Ashara had been wild and pretty, sure, but Lyanna was different. She gave him something no one else did; peace. Lyanna wanted nothing, asked for nothing, and in that simplicity, she gave him everything. With her, it was real. All of it.
"Ummmmh…" Lyanna trembled as one of his long fingers slid down the deep crease of her ass, teasing toward her entrance. She arched against him instinctively, eyes fluttering.
Then she broke the kiss, their spit stringing between them, glistening on her lips. Her breath was ragged. Her single thick braid had thankfully kept her hair in place, saving it from the sticky mess now painted across her mouth and chin.
"I—Oooh… gods, I missed this so much," she gasped, with aching want. In a rush, she pushed herself off Wylis and hopped to her feet. "The door's not locked."
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