A Comment on Age

When I was enlisted to write this series of stories, I was instructed that all the characters I would be writing would be 18 years old or older. That either, the characters were 18+ in the original fiction, or that they would be that age in this alternate universe we were constructing.

I did not understand or believe that the change of age was conceived of as an excuse to sexualize minors, or a work-around to let us do the same, as when I wrote this tale I had never seen the show or read the books, and always thought of the characters I was writing as mature and of-age. Had they been younger than 18 either in the pitch or after a wink, I would not have written this story, or allowed a similar story to be published on this site.

With that as your guide, read on.

The world had gone mad long ago. Cold, dark, and cruel. The lips of whores, kings, and all those caught between, let loose whispers of nightmares made flesh, betrayals, and assassinations. Stolen thrones, and traded bones. And yet for most of Myrcella’s eighteen years of life, all of that had seemed so distant — absent.

More tales than facts.

Until they weren’t.

Until they were real.

Until a woman, a fellow princess, a friend, had taken the beautiful young Baratheon girl’s hand, and led her headlong into the eye of a tempest — dragging her from comfort and court, into commiseration and a carnage most assured.

It had been near a month since the attempt, but Myrcella remembered it as clearly as it happened yesterday. She had been smuggled out of the Water Gardens, along with a band of those loyal to the princess of the Martell, Arianne. Their plan was to use Princess Myrcella, only a dove’s call past ripening, as bait, to prop her up as the supposed queen. In so doing, Arianne had hoped to draw the ire of King’s Landing, the Lannisters, and even her own family, pitting daughter against mother and sister against brother.

But as plans often do, and treacheries often lead, failure befell Princess Arianne of the House Martell, and her plan to usurp her father, Prince Doran. And yet, even in the face of ambush, asymmetrical fate and forces, one of those conspirators at Arianne’s side, a Ser Gerold Dayne the Darkstar, lunged headlong into sacrifice, intending to cut down Myrcella. What better way to anger the Lannisters, the Darkstar surmised, than to scar and maim Myrcella, their innocent young princess. But as luck and destiny would have it, Myrcella was saved, only by the skittishness of her mare, who shied away just in time. It was then that in a mist of confusion, screams, and shouts made in panic, that crossbows fired, their bolts finding Darkstar and Ser Arys, leaving them dead on the field. The latter, Ser Arys, had been before that day, a sworn brother of King’s Guard and Arianne’s lover, if the words that passed the servants’ lips could be believed. But it was not only they two who were punished, as even those who survived the ambush were jailed, all but Princess Arianne herself.

As of course, she being the daughter of Prince Doran, meant that she was treated more kindly. Kept no less than the others, but not in a dungeon, instead in a pleasantly-appointed tower cell.

One in which servants saw to her every need, though not her every whim.

Though innocent, the same could be said for Myrcella, for ever since her close visit from the Stranger, she had been kept in the Water Garden. Worse fates there have been, as the Garden was a miracle to behold, planted with all forms of exotic plants, with a gate that opened to face the rolling blue waves of the Sea. At times, children of the servants at the Garden would be allowed to play on the beach, their laugher carried by the sweet sea winds, smelling of the many orange trees planted and present therein.

But no matter how many nights could be spent with the radiant sunsets of Dorne, the glory of the endless sapphire sea, or the companionship of saccharine aromas and magnificent hues, could cheer Myrcella up, for she there she was forced to live in virtual seclusion. It is true that the servants would speak to her, offering whatever idle comforts they could contrive and devise, but when asked about news from the outside, they turned into mutes, or suddenly remembered forgotten, and yet urgent chores.

It is in this secluded state that Myrcella nurtured her frustration and fear. For though she was young, she had grown up in King’s Landing, from which high-wrought an arrangement, she could smell the oncoming storm. A fact that has lead her to listen, when she ought not — and hear, when what she might have otherwise missed. Allowing her to catch those rumors that fly, and curses that course, ones set free from those lips in the surround. A taste most significant, following the death of Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, as the Sand Snakes wanted vengeance, and to send the Baratheon girl back in pieces, disagreeing only on how many pieces (Lady Nym wants to send her back one bone at a time).

Yes, without question, Prince Doran had been most kind to her, but even in his graciousness did she sense something vaguely eerie, something disquieting behind his kind, weather-burnt face. For though he often offered seemingly friendly and helpful advice, each under the surface, was in actuality an uncompromising order — a command hidden amongst poisoned berries — an ultimatum laid in a bed of roses.

But what kindness would Princess Myrcella find in his court — in his city — in his eyes, when she had played the role, willing or not, as ‘accomplice’ in a plot to overthrow his rule. One that would have in a single stroke taken his seat, and bring a terrible war upon his country. In such a state the Baratheon girl wonders, will Prince Doran still stand, as he had, between she and the Sand Snakes? Or was the only question left the number of pieces.

For the worse or better, Myrcella knew, that driven by any and all of the above, that her mother was coming. That she would have heard about the failed plot, or at least enough of it to know the danger Myrcella might be in. That if said mother heard of even a misplaced hair on her head, that war would come quickly to Dorne, and that there would be nothing Prince Doran could do, that would keep Princess Myrcella safe from the wrath of 80,000 Dornishmen, she had been there long enough to know that. In what she feared to be both prologue and premiere, the servants, day by day, had been giving her increasingly stranger looks, almost as if they were looking at a walking corpse — the visage of a ghost yet to earn the title. It was with all those thoughts, and those that with this quill go unwritten, that the young Baratheon princess lived from rise to set — festering.

For in her mind she blamed only one. Arianne. Her former friend. One she treated as a sister. One she loved. One that betrayed her. In every way one might betray another. Such was the fire that licked at soul — the poison that flowed through her veins — the rage that gnawed at her sanity. But there she languished, unable to free herself from such fears and resentments, until one day, finally, an opportunity to quell them arose.

Such a day came as Myrcella sat in her room, looking out a window which overlooked the Garden, once again pondering her fate, and chewing on the betrayal she suffered at the hands of her closest friend. The Dornish air was never hot at the Water Garden, only warm, and smelling of orange. And yet, just as that mixture of beauty, warmth, and thought threatened to send Myrcella of into a unexpected midday nap, in her loose sandsilk shirt, a gift from Arianne that hid everything literally and nothing practically (a garment made in the style, fashion, sexual openness of Dornish society), she heard the herald announce “Princess Arianne of House Martell.”

As the very words echoed through the garden, drifting above and around verdant plants, crystal blue water, and gold-accented pillars, Myrcella’s thoughtful look, turned to one of anger and outrage. It was she! The betrayer! And Myrcella burned to speak with her. To confront her. To ask her why, how, and how could she. And now she was right outside. Daring to step foot in the Water Gardens, Myrcella’s own personal cage — pretty as it was. Prompted by those desires and needs, Myrcella quickly stood, and ran from to her door, thereafter opening it, before she charged off into the courtyard.

She examined, searched, keeping herself hidden as best she could, knowing that if she were to draw too much attention from guards or servants, she might be stopped and returned to her room. Thankfully, the servants that normally buzzed around the garden were nowhere to be seen. In their absence, the Baratheon girl crept, behind bush, marble, and tree, until finally she saw her: Princess Arianne. Her head hung low, and her posture one which spoke of an oppressive grief. She wore a see-through purple silk top, draped from just above her ample bosom, held to her body by a golden casing. Her waist is adorned just the same, a similar casing, rimming her perfectly shaped hips, which seemed to swivel and turn in a mesmerizing fashion with every step that she took. From her ankles up, wrapped a golden coil, an adornment which ended in a rounded hook, just as it came to meet the grape-hued silk used to hide only what need be hidden, in a land where sex was not currency or deviancy, but glory and freedom. In that beauty, and in attire no more or less revealing that Myrcella’s, Arianne walked, her pace slow, leaving her almost 20 paces behind the two guards that escorted her, an odd allowance for guards so well trained, and for a charge of such import.

It was that allowance, and that distance which Myrcella used, as just as the two guards had reached an appropriately long span, and Arianne passed by the golden-haired princess’ hiding spot, that the latter then jumped out and grabbed Arianne. The olive-skinned beauty, grabbed back at her attacker, but only with enough force to keep her engaged, the effect of which left the two to spin and stumble together, hands and bodies silently struggling for control. Their dance continued until they together made their way through a conveniently open door, and into a mostly empty room on one of the surrounding walls of the Water Garden, decorated with only a large window at its back. As they entered, with both Myrcella’s tackle, and Arianne’s resistance going unnoticed by the guards, the door shut quickly behind them, though neither seemed to have touched it. Once inside, their careening stopped, and their grips upon each other loosened, though only enough for them to pull an inch or two apart.

As Arianne’s eyes peered in Myrcella’s, each filled with emotions beyond counting, each looking to the other for answers to questions unspoken. But suddenly, despite the glisten of her eyes, from tears held back, the princess of the House Martell’s resolve and grip hardened, as the reality of the moment came more clearly into her mind. For even though she clung to a woman she once counted as friend, one she had betrayed, Arianne was on a mission. A mission she dared not fail, for if she did, she knew not what Doran’s wrath would be like. He had made no threat, overt or otherwise, and yet. And yet, Arianne had grown fearful of her father for the first time in her life. For in the past month, she had seen a side of him that she had never known to exist before.

A month of silence, during which she was not allowed to hear a single syllable of human voice, Doran’s idea of rack and iron. Indeed, it was a month of solitude, where she was forbade from sharing even a single moment of eye contact with another human being. Such a punishment drove her to near insanity. So affected by it she was, that when the young olive-skinned princess felt she could take no more, she even tried to jump through her own window to her death, only to realize that even that, her father had checkmated — the window having been made too small, even for her fit figure.

It only took two weeks into her imprisonment, before she had lost all appetite, spending her time between shitting, sleeping, and waiting for the sweet release of death. And whether her place was to be in hell or heaven, she cared not, so long as she could hear others’ voices, and see, once again, light from human eyes. And so it was that when finally her servant came in and spoke to her, telling her that Doran wished to see her, she cried. Not a single tear, not just for a moment, but on the entirety of her walk, only composing herself before stepping into his presence.

There, Prince Doran, her father, asked Arianne to convince Princess Myrcella to help cover up the attack and the danger that she had put her in. Terrified that she would be sent back to her tower-room, and again submerged into isolation, Arianne accepted without argument or condition, wanting desperately to please her father, and fearing beyond measure, any other result.

Such wants, desires, and fears, flowed through her mind as a newly formed stream in an oasis, as she made her way to the Water Garden. Her father’s parting words echoed in her mind, with every step she took, spoken softly as always, as he sat on the high golden ancestral throne of the Martells, with she kneeling by his feet, defeated, humbled, and scared.

“Ser Balon Swann is coming with the Mountain’s head. When he gets here, he will want to see Myrcella and his sworn brother. Should he find out the truth, we will have no choice but to silence him, and even that would do little to stop the war that your foolishness has drug us into — a silent princess and two dead King’s Guard is far too suspicious. I have ordered my bannermen to delay him with their hospitality, but sooner or later he WILL be here, and Myrcella must be ready by then, to tell our version of the story. Dorne is not ready for war yet, so it is paramount that you succeed. Our vengeance, our justice, and our House depend on it. I have instructed the servants at Water Garden to ‘prepare’ her. You should find her angry, and afraid. Remember, anger makes a man stupid, while fear makes a man vulnerable. She should be easy prey if you learnt half as much from me as you think you did.” Arianne did not doubt her father’s words, for she now knew that her father could crack a man’s mind as easily as her uncle could crack a man’s skull.

Resigned to her duty and mission, though Arianne may have been, at that moment, as Myrcella held onto her, their eyes locked together for the first time since her betrayal, their bodies hovering not inches apart, Arianne found herself thinking only of the moment — only of her former friend.

“How!?” Myrcella demanded to be answered, her voice echoing off the walls of the small room in which they stood, and out of the window for all to hear, her anger causing her to lose all track of self-control or subtlety.

“WHY!?” She moves on, without even waiting for a response from Arianne.

“HOW COULD YOU!?” The Baratheon princess shouts, without intention shaking Arianne, who she still clings to.

In response, Arianne pulled herself free, and away, taken aback by this forewarned, and yet somehow still unexpected burst of anger from the gentle girl she once considered a friend. She had thought she was strong and ready for this moment — this meeting, but, hearing Myrcella’s voice, so outraged and hurt, and peering into her eyes, with anger burning like wildfyre, caused Arianne to retreat — to attempt to flee, for her mind could not take it, not so soon after it was broken by Prince Doran — not when those eyes were almost the first she had seen, and that voice, nearly the first she had heard in oh so long.

“Do not run from me! You were my friend! I cared for you like a sister! And you … you tried to use me! I could have died! Your own man tried to kill me!” With every word Myrcella’s volume, and Arianne’s speed increased, until Arianne ran into the very corner of the room, from which there could be no escape. No freedom, without dealing with Myrcella.

“I–I cannot even put into words how much my heart aches! How much you have hurt me! Of all the women, of all the people in your family’s entire kingdom, I have only you!”

“Please Myrc….” Arianne pleaded, her voice giving out before her sentence’s end.

“I trusted you! I saw you as my friend! And you used me!” Myrcella was right on all counts, but of that they were both aware.

“I never mea….” Again the olive-skinned princess went to speak, only to fail, just as before.

“Against my OWN FAMILY of all people, against MY BROTHER and MOTHER!” With every word, Myrcella begins to shake more and more, her eyes on fire with equal parts pain and anger.

“Please, you have to liste….” In the corner, the princess of the House Martell too began to shake, as her back pressed against the wall, Myrcella standing just before her.

“And Ser Arys, he SWORE a VOW! Does that mean nothing to you! The servants told me everything!” (“more like Doran did”, Arianne thought, “and of course he did, it’ll make you angrier”) “Not only did you have to besmirch his honour, but also lead him to his death! What was he to you? Your newest boy pet?! Someone with which to tease and toy, until you were done with him!?”

The mention of her gallant white knight was too far. Arianne suddenly dropped silent, and shockingly slapped Myrcella across the face.

“How–how dare you!” The golden-haired princess said in utter shock, with the faintest hint of a sob, her eyes wider than ever, teetering on the very edge of violence.

“This is what you want? To fight me? To punish me for my betrayal?” As soon as those words had been said, Arianne slapped Myrcella again, this time harder, without even a second’s thought paid to mercy. The blow, vicious as it was, sent the golden-haired princess’ head to the side, where she clung to her cheek, not yet looking back at her betrayer.

“You are scared! Of my family. My people. My father! Me! And though you may be of age, you are still, as you always have been, a scared little girl — no matter the eighteen summers you’ve seen! One who has yet to even lay with a man….” Every word was cutting, biting, each sending waves of outrage and pain through Myrcella, who finally turned back to her former friend, with tears falling from her eyes.

“I am not afraid of you, Arianne of the House Martell.” Myrcella said in a calm, but sob-broken voice, she then reaching out and grabbed the olive-skinned beauty hands, only to lace their fingers together a moment later, so that neither had a free hand.

“I–I loved you–as a….” Before she could clarify, Arianne with force spun the two, so that Myrcella found herself pressed into the corner by Arianne’s leaning body, their hands locked together, her bare smooth back scrapping uncomfortably against the wall.

“And do you not think I love you?!” The raven-haired princess asked, her voice sounding of hurt, just as Myrcella began to resist, and to turn their clung together bodies around once again, though she she found her efforts stifled only barely, by the strength of Arianne.

“You betrayed me!” The golden-haired girl spat back at the question, as she gave up on turning their grapple, and instead resorted to pushing, not just by applying pressure to their connected hands, but also by thrusting her body forward into Arianne’s. The two girls trembled as their breasts collided, Myrcella’s firm white teats stabbing into Arianne’s larger, softer dark brown breasts. The effect of the contact forced Arianne to give ground, and thereafter moved they two from the corner in which they had wrestled, and into the center of the room at speed.

“For my kingdom! For my father! For my people! Don’t you understand?!” The olive-skinned princess explained as they moved. But suddenly, each distracted by the feeling of their chests rubbing together, with the thin dornish silk left as separator doing nothing to lessen the unavoidable pleasure of such an engagement, the two princesses fell. Not to the ground or into a wall, but out the room’s window. As sky turned green and the ground turned blue, the two released each other’s hands, unlaced their fingers, and and in what almost appeared as a hug, the two women grabbed each other’s bodies, pulling each other close, in fear of the fall. Despite their preparation, the expected impact did not come, for instead of hitting the hard marble floor, they landed gently on a collection of perfectly soft mattresses, the servants having left them there to dry, smelling of the sun, the ocean, and oranges.

Still clinging to one another, Arianne landed on top of Myrcella, her breasts, stomach and all below, landing with symmetry, each on top of and lining up perfectly with those of the woman with whom she wrestled.

“You lie to yourself, just as you did me….” Myrcella said softly upward as she laid unmoving underneath her fellow princess, their eyes locked together, with their faces and lips lingering not centimeters apart. As such a comment lingered between them, they laid for a moment, their arms wrapped tightly around each others waist.

“I do not lie. Not now.” Arianne responded in a soft, caring tone, hoping to convince Myrcella of her words.

“YES, YOU DO!” Suddenly the Baratheon’s calmness ended, and she struggled to free herself from under the princess of the House Martell, pressing and thrusting upward with every part of her body.

“NO! I do not!” Arianne responded, as she in turn thrust her body downward, wanting to keep the golden-haired princess below her, and trapped, so that they could speak, until they finally understood each other. But in the moment, and as a result of the two pushing their bodies together with sudden jolts of force, something quite unexpected happen, as the very center of their pubic mounds crashed together, sending a wave of pleasure through each of the princesses. At the very feel of it, they each gasped, and their eyes shot open in shock.

“Get off of me….” Myrcella commanded in a hushed voice, only to thrust herself upward again without even a second spent waiting for reply or compliance, aiming her hips as to guarantee a reoccurrence of the stimulating contact. And as such did indeed occur again, the breaths of both princesses caught and hitched in their throats, their bodies shaking, though their grip did not lessened.

“No….” Arianne finally responded, as she again thrust downward, just in time for her clit to catch Myrcella’s.

“You betrayed me….” The Baratheon girl said again, continuing her slow, intentional hip thrusts, she using whatever strength she had to push herself against Arianne, to keep a constant tension between their bodies.

“I did….” So short Arianne’s response was, it being delivered as the Martell princess let her lips drift closer and closer to Myrcella’s, failing not to meet the latter’s clit with her own, each time it was thrust upward.

“I ha–hate you….” Myrcella whispered softly, as she lifted her head, and pressed her forehead into Arianne’s, her words almost said more in question than in statement.

“Yo–you do…?” Faster and faster their thrusting became, their words shaken and stuttered by the waves of pleasure which came one after another.

“Oh by the go–gods.” Words which came from the Baratheon girl as her eyes closed and all of the tension she had once mustered, to press her body against that of her former friend, faded and released.

Moving only a little, Arianna pressed her lips into Myrcella’s, kissing her softly, gently, before pulling away and asking, just as she had before: “Is this what you want?” Just after, and without waiting for an answer, the olive-skinned princess pulled her upper body up, and back, until sitting on Myrcella’s thigh, she reached down, and pulled the fabric between them away. Then, with each of their cunts free to meet and engage fully, Arianne did then cross their thighs, and lock her former friend into an air-tight tight scissor.

“No…. We can’t….” With eyes still closed, Myrcella protested, even if her hips never stopped their thrusting, betraying her near irresistible desire to continue.

“Remember I said you were afraid of me….” Arianna mocked, as she began to rhythmically move her hips, using all her experience to bring pleasure to the princess of the Iron Throne.

“I AM NOT AFRAID OF YOU!” In an instant, Myrcella’s tone and manner went from submission to attack, as she quickly lunged up and forward, almost in a tackle, switching their positions, so that though remained in a scissor, it was she who was on top, and the Dornish Princess sunk deep into the mattress. Once there, Myrcella began to grind, not following what she had learned with years of experience (for she had no such thing), but instead acting in a mix of imitation of what Arianne had done, and taking note of what to her felt good.

In response to the golden-haired princess’ sudden seizure of control, Arianne began to smirk, and even laugh, a reaction which ended quickly however, when Myrcella’s hips began to move. “OooOoo, you bi–bitch.” A moan and insult brought about by the sudden and surprising effectiveness of Myrcella’s gyrations.

“Mmmm, never been with a lioness before, Arianna?” As the question passed from lung to lightly blowing breeze, the Baratheon princess used one hand to hold onto the Martell girl’s upward-stretched thigh, and her other to press a single finger into the same’s lips. Without hesitation, Arianne took said finger into her mouth, and began to lick it, already losing herself to the almost uncanny skills of her fellow princess, who with confidence continued to rub their clits together, slow and then hard — fast and then soft.

“But you said you had never…. Uuugghhhhh” The olive-skinned princess tried to process — tried to understand, sucking on Myrcella’s finger like a dick, hoping to distract herself from the pleasure.

“I haven’t … but it is in my blood, just as it is in yours…………. UUNNNMMMFFF” Despite her sudden confidence, and unexpected skill, even Myrcella began to give way to the feeling of clit rubbing against clit, and the sight of Marianne’s only barely covered breasts bouncing with every thrust of hips. It was at that moment, when the Baratheon princess had lowered her head, and closed her eyes to try and ignore the feelings of ecstasy coursing through her body, that she of darker complexion struck back. Doing so by reaching up and grabbing Myrcella’s beautiful golden hair, thereafter pulling her down and over, so that Myrcella fell gently forward, landing on all fours to the side of Arianne

Within an instant Arianne had sat up, kneeled, and then lowered herself to a near symmetric position, only in reverse. From which angle she reached around Myrcella with one arm, holding her snug, and then with her other, inserted a single finger into the now vulnerable lioness’ cunt, and a placed a single thumb on the blonde’s clitoris. In reaction Myrcella cried out as loud as any woman ever has, in both pleasure and a small bit of pain, she having never been entered in such a way before

“Mmmmm, lioness, my sweet girl, you have only just begun to scream.” A threat and a promise, though it was taken as neither, for Myrcella had already buried her face in the pillows footing the mattress, the very feeling of Arianne’s finger lingering within, and thumb upon her, was too incredible to endure. Into said feathers and cloth she continued to scream and moan, not thinking of hiding them from the guards, but ashamed that she was being so affected by Arianne’s touch.

“Do not hide from me.” Arianne requested softly, and boldly, as she with speed pulled her finger back, and then reinserted it — then pulling back and doing so again. Each such stroke caused Myrcella to scream, and scream, each delivered into the pillow — each of a lesser volume than the one before it. In that way, Arianne slowly allowed Myrcella to become accustomed to the feeling — the pleasure. Said allowance continued, until finally, when the Baratheon could take no more, she, in a desperate escape attempt, grabbed onto the Martell’s princess’ waist and ass, which lingered just off her shoulder, and with it as an anchor, pulled herself away, and off of Arianne’s finger and thumb.

Once free, Myrcella moved quickly behind Arianne and wrapped her thighs around her abdomen, before pulling her back from her knees, onto her ass, so that she sat between the Baratheon’s encircled thighs. For a moment, Myrcella did nothing but breathe, holding her former friend in place, as she attempted to quell the burning fires within herself.

“There are no breaks in a fight like this, lioness.” Arianne said with a smirk, knowing full well what her former friend was doing.

“Then escape.” The simple answer came, just as Myrcella reached around Arianne and removed from her the silk top which had covered only in theory the Martell’s breasts, immediately thereafter removing her own.

“Then you won’t run? Hmmm? You cannot run without something with which to cover yourself.” The Dornish princess asked, in an attempt to goad her former friend into reengaging.

“Then I will make sure that YOU cannot run.” Myrcella responded, just as she removed from both herself and her fellow princess, the silk bottoms each wore, leaving both completely nude.

“So are we to just sit here then?” Arianne asked as she softly ran her hands down Myrcella’s milk-white thighs and calves.

“Shut up and let me see your tongue, you dornish slut.” A challenge. A command. Issued as Myrcella used a single hand to yank Arianne’s hair back at an angle, so that her head twisted to the side and back enough, for the two to press their lips together, and thereafter open them to each other. Once tongues began to dance and dive, Myrcella lowered her other hand, thereafter using it to play gently with Arianne’s clitoris. Even at the first touch, Arianne jumped, and gasped into Myrcella’s mouth, the latter using her grip on the former’s hair to keep her head still and their kiss unbroken.

Minutes passed, in which time soft meetings of tongues became hard, and the soft playing with Arianne’s clit became more rough and fast, Myrcella having experience enough from her moments locked away in her own room to know how to please a woman without entering them. Willing to play along though Arianne was at first, to sit between the Baratheon’s legs without resistance, quickly she found herself succumbing to her touch — her kiss. Afraid that she might be bested and forced to cum by a woman who had never even laid with a man, Arianne began to buck her hips to free herself, and use her free hands to try and pry Myrcella’s fingers away from her clitoris. In reaction, Myrcella squeezed her thighs even tighter, and yanked more forcefully at her former friend’s hair, before breaking their kiss quickly to comment.

“Is this what you want?” A devilish reversal of words spoken to her twice, the golden-haired princess knowing that they would illicit an immediate response, a fact she was ready and excited for.

The Dornish girl’s retaliation came quickly, as she leaned forward, and pulled away from Myrcella with all her strength, suffering through the pain of hair being pulled and the squeezing thighs around her waist. Until finally, the Baratheon suddenly released her, allowing herself to fall back to the bed, and Arianne to escape. And though she was free to move, the olive-skinned beauty did not go far, instead only turning to face her former friend, before she then sat, and scooted forward, pressing her right leg underneath Myrcella’s left, and raising her left leg, so that it lifted over the right of the same.

There the princesses found their thighs crossed once again, now face-to-face, with neither on top or bottom, both sitting, with their breasts, stomachs, and clits pressed tightly together and their arms gently massaging each other’s bodies.

“I let you escape.” Myrcella said in a feigned, and almost playful snarl.

“And I let you not cum on my finger, lioness.” Arianne responded with a knowing smirk, as she undertook the first thrust from this position, one which Myrcella met with her own, causing both women to pause and pant in reaction to the feeling.

“Why must this feel so good?” The Baratheon princess with Lannister blood asked, as the two began to thrust anew.

“Because it is in our blood….” A true statement, marking the last words they would say to each other, the moans which then began to escape them leaving no time for comment or correction.

Truly, at that moment, to Myrcella, nothing but making Arianne cum mattered, she spending every second of their tribadism watching the Martell’s eyes and manner, looking for any clue of success or failure. Arianne did indeed watch too, for clues of the same kind, but not to press her advantage, but to avoid one. Seeking to bring both she and her former friend to climax at the same time, Arianne suddenly surrounded and engulfed Myrcella’s clit with her own. It was then that as labia locked down on labia and clitoris pressed against clitoris, skills no longer mattered and the battle was reduced to a battle of will.

Will-wise, they proved to be the perfect match, as both women neared their final release, both becoming increasingly passionate in their caress. In such a way, Myrcella’s hands worked their magic around Arianne’s large, dark erect, nipples, gently twisting and pulling them in all directions, each twist followed by a moan from the Dornishwoman. Arianne found her gently biting down on Myrcella’s ears, sending a shudder through the blonde’s body, whilst her hands massaged the blonde’s cheeks.

As the final moment neared, and as both women saw that they were indeed racing toward the final moments of their conflict, the two, with more focus than either could have ever imagined, began to battle with their clits. In such a way, and with each only making the slightest of adjustments to their position, they fenced with their clits, each dodging, parrying, and riposting, almost as swordsmen, back and forth, each trying to elicit the maximum pleasure they could. But finally, when they had found the perfect moment, and the perfect attack upon each other, they each bit down on each other’s clit as hard as they could, and without allowing them to disengage or dettach, thrust their bodies forward, while their arms locked each other in a tight bearhug, merging their breasts into one. After what seemed to be an eternity, together, in a glorious explosion of cum, ecstasy, and forgiveness, the two released their passion on each other.

Thereafter, still wordless, and quivering with delight, Arianne pulled away, uncrossed her thighs from her fellow princess, only to find Myrcella moving to her like a cat, pressing their bodies together once again. Before Arianne knew what was happening, Myrcella’s finger has was in her clit. Arianne smiled, and returned the favor with her fingers.

Dusk found the two princesses naked as their name day, lying in each other’s arms side-by-side on the plush white mattresses. Their breasts were covered in cum from the many orgasms they experienced over the day, and still pressed into each others, their hands still toying with each others clit. As the evening wind swept from the sea, carrying with it the scent of salt, sand, and oranges too ripe, the two princesses savored the moment of tranquility, watching the sun paint the evening sky crimson red. The gate between the garden and the beach has been opened, somehow, someway.

“My mother will be coming,” Myrcella murmured, as a shadow crept up on the naked pair, “and I’m scared what she’ll do when she hears what happens.” The fear ripe in her voice.

“Then don’t tell her.” Whispered Arianne softly, as she rolled herself onto Myrcella once again, sealing Myrcella’s lips with her own, drowning all words in a sea of pleasure.

The night rang with moans and laughter as the two princesses explored each others bodies. Until somewhere along the night they rolled off the mattress and onto the beach, and by the sea they stayed, allowing the tides to cleanse them of the marks they had made upon each other, and to wash away all the worries which beset them……

A week later, a raven flew from Sunspear with a letter from Ser Balon Swann. In the letter, Swann spoke most glowingly about the hospitality of the Dornish people, particularly that of the Prince of Dorne, and how happy Princess Myrcella was to be under his protection. He also lamented the death of Ser Arys Oakheart, an honourable brother of unwavering loyalty, who regrettably died from a snake bite while protecting the princess on a riding trip.

Whilst the letter made its way from Sunspear to King’s Landing, Prince Doran sat in his wheelchair in the Water Garden, reading an exact copy of it, with a carpet on his knees. The carpet required, as beneath it, his joints had swollen to grotesque sizes, almost as large as small melons. Behind him stood Arianne, dressed for once in modesty, humble.

“You knew she would fight me, didn’t you? Father.”

“Yes.”

“And what if I had been killed or hurt?”

“There was no knife to hurt you with, no fall not cushioned with a carpet or mattress, no string strong enough to strangle you. Besides, you are a princess of House Martell, and we do not bend, we do not bow, and we do not break.” Arianne was silent for a moment, until she could resist no longer, then asking.

“You had a back up plan didn’t you? In case I failed. You told me yourself that a prince never gambles.”

Doran looked up at those words, and after some pondering, said in the softest voice.

“You are my daughter, and I knew you wouldn’t fail. But yes, I did have a backup plan. Even if you failed to bring Myrcella around, you would have vented her of her anger. Without anger, she is but a scared child, a child I can easily break. Four days in that tower cell of yours would have done it, I think. But nonetheless, no matter her family’s crimes, she is innocent. And here in Dorne, we do not torture innocent children, not without a compelling reason at least.”

At the mention of her cell, Arianne’s temper flared, causing her to lash out:

“So am I just another tool? Another part of your intricately designed master plan? Tell me, were you the least worried when you locked me up in the Water Garden with her?” Arianne asked, her eyes betraying that she asked more out of sadness than anger.

In response, Doran looked up into Arianne’s eyes, and with the faintest smile, spoke to his dear daughter. “Is this what you want?”

As the sun set on the Narrow Sea, Prince Doran gazed onto the playing children, pushing each other into the waves and rising again laughing, their bodies painted blood red by the sun. “What do you see, my child?” he asked.

“Children.” Arianne answered half heartedly, still shocked at this quote from his father. “What do you see father, you’ve been looking at them for a long time.”

“War,” Doran whispered in the softest voice, “War and its cost.”

With that Prince Doran began to roll away in his chair, with Arianne watching as he did so, contemplating the wisdom he had shared with her, wondering if there would be more.

“Learn, Arianne. For there is a storm coming, and our time is near. This gout that has taken my leg will take the rest of me before long, so you must be ready before then. You must fight like your uncle and think like your father. For you are the future of House Martell, you are the future of Dorne.”