Chapter 50

“You know, as much as I’ve fucked you, I never tire of you. I just wish that your brother was alive to partake in this orgy,” I told Margaery while pumping furiously in and out of her in a fresh orgy at our chosen site.

The Harmon house in the AHS Murder House universe, where else? I was very glad that Carol and Susan had joined us, though I had to glamor Caroline Bellefleur into watching Ben for us. I didn’t want anyone else whom I could entangle to stay out of the festivities. I also made out with Jenny and Carrie while humping my royal bride with abandon. Even Ginger from Fangtasia finally got laid by a few folks, if not Eric himself.

Margaery just creamed herself, especially from Carol and Susan licking her ass while I fucked her, when I heard a scream. Jamie Lannister lay dead on the ground, his own sword thrust through his body, of all things. The King of Westeros, the first overt Lannister one, had a very short reign indeed, and I had to do something about that in a hurry.

I could turn him, yes, but he wouldn’t be King anymore. No vampire could be King for obvious, practical reasons. A King had to be visible to his people in daylight, which ruled every vampire out, except for one with the Ring of Amara, of course. That even protected me from the bleeds of late, I noticed.

“Alright, guys, we can resume the orgy later, but we need to get dressed and prepare King’s Landing for the funeral of the King. Yet another slain King for Westeros. Well, so be it, but Westeros will need a new ruler now for certain, and this definitely changes a plan or two,” I observed ruefully.

This wasn’t quite how I planned to see Jamie bumped off, but so be it. There was another issue, of course, such as the identity of his killer. I looked around and saw Tate Langdon smirking, which made it clear that he did the deed. He didn’t have the sword with him, but he was guilty as fuck. Of course, there was nothing that even I could do to a ghost.

Then again, I thought, he was now stuck with the ghost of Jamie Lannister, which sure enough arose above the body of the Kingslayer, stuck in the Murder House forever. Too late to turn him, then. The Murder House had claimed another soul. He could never be King of Westeros again. I could bring his corpse back to King’s Landing, but never his soul. That was stuck in this universe forever.

“Hey, I don’t mind so much. I got Tate and Moira with me here, don’t I? That’s not so bad at all. Anyone else care to join us? By the way, doesn’t this make Myrcella Queen of Westeros now? She’s my daughter, after all. Of course, that would mean acknowledging her as my bastard or just letting her claim it as my niece. She’s both, of course. My daughter as well as my niece, since her mother was also my sister,” Jamie shrugged, “I wish you well in the wars to come.”

“You’re free of those now, aren’t you? As for you, Myrcella, do you want the Iron Throne at all? How do you feel about all of that? You could rule it with Prince Trystane here at your side as your King Consort, of course. You’d be the first reigning Queen since Rhaenyra Targaryen, of course,” I offered the crown to Jamie’s bastard daughter, fruit of his incest with his sister, the late Queen Mother Cersei.

“No! Categorically no! Let’s be frank here, Father, Husband ... Lord Waters! I am no true Baratheon and we all know it. Let’s not continue this sad business of usurpers, unstable and dangerous to the realm. Everyone knows what we are, though they will not admit it. Our line is cursed and I would fear for the life of sweet Trystane here if I went through with it. Or fear leaving him as a widower, for that matter.

“I am Myrcella, of House Lannister, NOT Baratheon. I am a pure Lannister, even down to my grandmother being first cousin to my grandfather. I am a sweet, beautiful young lady, I will not deny that with false modesty, but I am not the rightful or lawful Queen of Westeros. Look what this curse of false kings has brought upon us. At least Father, and by that I mean King Jamie, was honest enough to call a spade a spade and claim the right of conquest, as did Aegon the Conqueror himself. Though so did King Robert, for that matter.

“Sure, I could claim it as his daughter, but that would simply acknowledge that we’ve been fighting for the wrong side all this time. That we’ve been lawbreakers, usurpers, and worse. We have been, but we can no more admit this than we can continue committing high treason. I could claim it as his niece, but that would be to perpetuate the lie in pursuit of my own selfish desires, rather than to protect the realm.

“So, no, I will not accept or attempt to sit the Iron Throne. I fear that it would reject me, cut me, and cause my child or was that my twins to miscarry? That’s a selfish enough reason to turn it down, I think. I will bow out and let someone else rule. Someone with a much better claim. There is Shireen Baratheon, the daughter of the late Lord Stannis. There is Lord Gendry, the actual child of King Robert, for that matter. And there is Daenerys Targaryen, of course,” Myrcella sharply rejected the Iron Throne for a myriad of reasons.

“The daughter of the Mad King, I would point out,” Jamie’s ghost reminded us.

“And there is Jon Snow, the trueborn son and heir of Prince Rhaegar. It is high time that he abandoned this ‘Lord Commander’ nonsense, but I fear that he will disagree. He is rather understandably focused on the threat from the White Walkers in the far north, north of the Wall, that is. He doesn’t even know that he is the true heir, after all.

“For now, then, we must seize the reins of power in King’s Landing and institute an interregnum, until the issue of the succession can be decided. That risks chaos, but so does picking a ruler not accepted by the whole of the realm,” I commented as we got somewhat dressed and freshened up to take King Jamie’s body back to King’s Landing.

Lord Randyll Tarly and I both stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, where Lord Mace Tyrell brought back the body of Ser Meryn Trant, slain by Arya Stark, of course. He was just in time to witness the latest disaster to befall Westeros, of course. King Jamie was dead now and the whole capital would learn about it very soon. The obvious question of the succession would loom large in his mind, particularly if he learned that his daughter was pregnant, at least possibly with the seed royal of King Tommen. The ambitious clockwork of his feverish, if a bit oafish and clumsy, mind appeared in his eyes even now.

“So, who is the rightful monarch now?” Ser Jeffary dared to voice the query at last, breaking the silence.

“Well, is Margaery ... quickened? Is my daughter pregnant to King Tommen? If so, is she not the mother of the rightful King or Queen, whichever is born. Shouldn’t a regent be appointed to rule in the interim? Surely, that is the proper way of things,” Lord Mace answered pompously, of course.

“Father, I am with child, but I am not confident as to the sire. I was ... raped by the Mountain, and I must confess that I did not lay with King Tommen as much as I should, due to his shyness and youth. I tried various things to seduce him, one of which involved bedding some of the men and women who appealed to him. It was necessary, in order to help him ... rise to the occasion, as it were. One of those men was Ser Loras, another being Lord Waters, who ... has since married me,” Margaery confessed to her father now.

“You ... lay with your own brother? But that is ... incest! And he was ... a bugger. He liked men! And you lay with men and women alike? And one of them is ... Lord Waters? And you wed Lord Waters? He is your husband now? Why would you do this?” Lord Mace turned crimson, but then I decided to go for broke.

“Lord Mace, look at me. You will not concern yourself with your daughter’s many lovers. And there have been many. Just accept that this is to be. You will instead take a new wife. Lady Talla Tarly, daughter of Lord Randyll here, in fact. She will be your bride and help you possibly sire children. Little brothers or sisters to sweet Margaery here.

“And you will pronounce me Protector of the Seven Kingdoms now. Not Hand of the King. There is no King or Queen, so there can be no Hand, not at the moment. But until the matter of the succession is resolved, clearly and indisputably, so as to avoid another War of the Five Kings or worse, let all of the realm say with a clear voice who is in command and has custody of the Iron Throne. I will sit it, but only to keep it warm. I will consider it a stewardship of sorts.

“All of you will accept my rule and will serve on my Small Council if I so command you. That includes you, Lord Randyll, and you, Lord Mace. Among others, of course. And Ser Jeffary is now Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, because I so order it. And you will all accept that Lady Margaery Tyrell is my bride. My wife. Plain and simple. And the child in her womb shall bear the Waters name, as son or daughter of me, Lord Roger Waters of the Whispers. I have many other lovers, as does she, we shall continue to do so, and you will accept this about both of us without scorn, mockery, or disdain.