A Call to Arms

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 in form and moving [M], First Crone | tag: Alla
ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Jun 12 2017, 11:43 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



It amused Alistair, on occasion, to remember that this had all started with an argument by a balustrade. Such a little thing, to have grown into such a large distraction. Maybe it was the weight of their shared history that had made such a short conversation into such a pivot, though sometimes he doubted that. He’d had other women share his bed on more than one occasion, though admittedly none as long as Alla. Save for his wife, of course, but that was a different matter entirely. As in most things, Margaery required a category of her own. It was not mere history that had brought him here, though, he’d come to grasp. He actually liked Alla as more than a warm body to have up against a wall, which had come as a surprise to him.

It was not love, of course, or even what he had with the woman who would be his queen. Alla, after all, would never be his partner. He would not share the crown with her, take her advice when moulding the Seven Kingdoms into something better. But it would have been a lie to say some feelings were not involved, though he’d spent some time debating what exactly those feelings were. Affection, of that there was no doubt. Lust? Well, he’d never had a shortage of that. It ran in the blood. And something else as well, that was not trust – for he knew Alla’s moods better than most, and how quicksilver they could be – but close to it. An understanding of what made her mind move, perhaps, and that he could relate to those moving parts.

There might be a poet who’d found a better turn of phrase for it, out there, but Alistair was not prone to poetry.

Nearly two moons had passed since the conversation and the campaign he’d undertaken was in its final stretch. He’d laid siege to the holdfast and now it was time to take the ram to the gates. The prince frowned. Perhaps that metaphor was unnecessary violent, he thought, though admittedly Alla did tend to enjoy his rougher side. He’d courted her properly, this time, and found the process more enjoyable than he would have thought. It added spice to the game that she knew him and his ways, that she had been burned before and was now wary to be burned again – no matter how eager she was to put her hand to the flame. And if he’d read her correctly, which he tended to assume he did, she intended to give in to him tonight.

He was looking forward to it more now that he’d had to work for it, he admitted. Perhaps she’d been somewhat right on the matter, after all. Bottle of Dornish red in hand, the prince opened his paramour’s door without bothering to knock. He closed it behind him afterwards, idly barring it before turning to look at Alla with a smile.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said, raising the bottle.

ALLA TYRELL
 direct link • Jun 13 2017, 07:35 pm
Quote
Lady Tyrell
Lily in the Shadows
Sworn to House Tyrell
THE REACH
18 years
Natalie • she • 503 posts
Offline


The night had come. Alistair had certainly put in his leg work, and Alla was pleased with the outcome. More than pleased; her neck itched to wear that collar again, to feel the heavy weight of it against her skin. The gold, and what it symbolized. She would be his again, but it would be different now. She would not be the one he snuck off with, one that he found in dark corners. A room had been procured for her, not adjacent but near enough to be convenient, and Alla had delighted in having a space her own in this overwarm land.

To find a way to be comfortable and attractive in anticipation of the arrival of her prince and master was an excessively difficult challenge. She was still dressed, which was uncomfortable in and of itself, but loosely at least, with her dress cinching under the bust and latticed at the waist. She had put on weight since her arrival, a good thing after what she'd lost in the wake of her husband's death, and her subsequent life crisis that had ensued, and found that her dresses sat differently on her frame. She had become so accustomed to pulling the laces ever tighter that it was strange to feel them suffocating her again, and so had had her servant loosen them.

Anxiety was the predominant emotion that she felt; this was her submission, she supposed, though she did not intend to submit without rules. Rules that he would abide by, if he wanted to keep her. She needed more than what he had given her in the past, needed surety, needed support. Perhaps she needed more than a Prince had time to offer her. Alla was not a patient, political or selfless girl, and the only reason she remained agreeable to seeing him less frequently than her heart desired was because she knew that politics were important to him.

And perhaps one day she would not be, and what loss would they both have suffered then?

That was a thought she did not want to dwell upon. This was her second chance, her hope. She was unwed and in truth still reeling, for all delusions of control that she was attempting to put forth here. What would happen if it was all for nought? He had told her that he had never lost interest, but perhaps that had only been because she was still unattainable, the two separated by war. In truth she didn't think that she was very interesting, and perhaps that voice that told her she was not worth keeping, that fear that she had voiced to the blacksmith boy not so long ago, was becoming louder.

Nerves threatened her then, and she found herself rising from bed to the window. This was not a happy place, she thought. It was bright and sunny, but that felt crippling to her. Now, of course, there was only night, and the sound of the door gave her cause to jump. He had come, after all. It wasn't until that moment that she realized she had half expected him not to.

"My prince," she said, a smile twitching on the corners of her lips as she gave him a small curtsey, and pulled herself away from the window. "Is that the only gift?" she asked, raising her eyebrows for a few moments before allowing an unusually playful smile to pass her lips. There should be at least one other; that collar that he had kept, though she thought diamonds would have suited, too. Still, she supposed she could not request some new fortune every time she met with him, so patience would follow.
ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Jun 14 2017, 03:32 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



"My prince.”

“Alla,” he simply replied, the name rich on his tongue.

She’d had been by the window when he’d come in, curtsying at his entrance. How very ladylike of her. The High Prince idly set the bottle on the table before taking out a slender knife, cutting off the wax before leveraging out the cork. With deft hands he poured two glasses from the crystal set on the table, yet more plundered riches that had once belonged to the Targaryens. It always had his lips twitching to drink from the cups of dead men. He was no reaver, but on occasion he could enjoy the notion of making what had belonged to your enemies your own.

“Is that the only gift?"

It wasn’t. He had what she wanted, the golden collar that would mark her as his to own. But simply handing it seemed too easy, after the war she’d had him wage. She would not get such thrill from him simply by asking for it. Begging, now, that would be a little closer to the mark. But like the indentured servants of Pentos she would have to work off her debt, one way or another. He was not short on ideas that would allow her to break even, as it happened. Alla’s playful smile was met with a more wicked one on his part.

“That one,” he said, “you’ll have to earn.”

Seizing one of the glasses he’d poured, the long-haired prince slowly stalked to his paramour’s side. He offered her the crystal filled with red, pressing it into her hand. He leaned forward, nose almost touching hers and their lips so close he could feel her breath.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way for you to do so,” he murmured before pulling away.

Alistair moved back towards the table, pulling away a seat and claiming it for his own before reaching for his own cup. He wet his lips with the wine, drinking only shallowly – it would not do to dull his hour of triumph – and leaned his frame against the back of the chair. He set the golden collar on the table with a sharp clang and smiled at Alla.

“I wonder,” he mused. “Should I exact penance from you, or allow you to offer it?”
ALLA TYRELL
 direct link • Jun 16 2017, 02:13 pm
Quote
Lady Tyrell
Lily in the Shadows
Sworn to House Tyrell
THE REACH
18 years
Natalie • she • 503 posts
Offline


Her name sounded pleasant when it came from his mouth, pleasanter than any other man. She wondered if that was how all women felt in his presence; he was a prince, and one who had to her knowledge always enjoyed much success with women. Was she simply one more of those? Alla still did not understand the appeal she held to him; she had initially been certain that it was simply the forbidden that appealed to him, that their time together had been secretive and illicit.

And then she wondered if perhaps it was that lack of self-respect that she, at first, had always realized lessened her. But to indulge her desires was so rich a temptation that she was unable to ignore it, and time and time again she believed that everything would be different. Only it never was different, really; there was still that emptiness after, the high lasting only a matter of minutes before she was reduced back to lonliness and hyper-analysis. Any more than a day without such attention would leave her disheartened, and longer still would force her into a melancholy that only he could fix.

It was not a pleasant cycle, but somehow optimisim pervaded. She believed now that he would commit to her as she desired, that he had proven himself by eschewing his other mistresses and casual playthings. There was still Margaery, and though Alla desired never to be rid of her, she also knew that she could not compete in offerings. Alistair proclaimed to like the things that made her different from her cousin, but that efflusiveness that made Margaery who she was was hard to ignore, and harder still to hold a candle to. Her light would always be dimmer, and their current standing only served to reinforce such a notion.

Her prince produced a knife and for a moment her heart beat faster and her cunt twitched, her eyes alight at the sight of the blade. When that particular fascination had begun she did not know; she had always thought there was something alluring about the sight of a blade against pale flesh, the threat always there. But instead of taunting the delicate flesh of her torso or her breasts it cut away at red wax, and then laid dormant again. He poured her a cup and closed the distance between them, allowing a few inches to separate them as she took the cup in hand and pressed the lip to her own.

He told her she would have to earn her other gift, and she was unsure that she liked that answer. He had shown impeccible self restraint in the last few months, but now she wanted him to take out that repression on her, to savage her and remind her to whom she belonged.

The clang of the collar on the table gave her a start, and she nearly spilled the wine he had just poured. Scowling for the interruption, it took her a few moments to realize that it was the very thing that she desired, and her eyes flicked back up to him again. He was teasing her now, and cruelly at that. ”Neither,” she said, taking his hand in hers, and the collar in the other. She moved towards the bed, sitting and setting the collar on the bedding between them. Her eyes glanced towards the spot just beyond, and she settled in.

”Alistair,” she began, trying to find the confidence to say all of the things that she desired to say to him, the rules she wanted to set. ”When I am yours,” she began slowly, ”I will be yours, entirely.” She offered him a small quirk of the lip, a nervous smile. ”Wherein you may take me, as you like and when you like,” she sipped her wine, glancing up at him again. ”However you like. I will never tell you no, not to anything. And if I do, you will punish me.” Her smile grew a little, both in mischief and in anticipation. ”But in return I must have full confidence in you,” she said firmly. ”I need to know that my heart will be safe.”
ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Jun 26 2017, 03:34 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



It did not escape his attention that her breathing quickened at the sight of the knife. Well now. She had mention that she’d discovered herself to have darker leanings, up north. Perhaps the only aspect of her marriage he did not thoroughly dislike, though even then the fact that he was not the one to have uncovered these proclivities in her was irritating. If Margaery had been the one to do so he would have forgiven it, for his wife’s claim to Alla was older and in some ways deeper than his, but some pissant savage from the howling waste? That was another thing entirely. Perhaps a journey up there should be arranged in the coming years, so that he could fuck Alla over the dead man’s grave and wipe away those blighted years at least in part. The notion heated his blood just as much as the sight of the blade had his paramour’s, though he set it aside for now.

There were games to play before that, and closer ones to home.

The noise of the collar had her jump, and him smiling when he glimpsed the flash of want in those dark eyes. Alla always had been a source of satisfaction for him in that regard. Bedplay with Margaery had never been anything but glorious, but he doubted his wife would ever crave him the way her cousin did. She was more used to seeking pleasure in more than one bed as, honesty compelled him to admit, was he. It was better this way, he thought. Margaery would be his queen as well as his wife, never entirely his to have. Alla, on the other hand, was to be his own and no one else’s: he would be first in every aspect of her life, more godling than the king he would one day be. If she had not thirsted for him the way she was no displaying, he would have been rather irked. She moved to him, taking his hand in hers and bringing them to the bed. The prince raised an eyebrow.

“Neither.”

The collar glinted gold between them.

“That,” he said casually, “is the assertion of a woman asking to be punished.”

“Alistair.”

The High Prince cocked his head to the side. She was, it seemed, trying to find the courage for something. A late addition of terms? He’d already agreed to some, and it seemed unasked for to try to slither in some last moment changes. Or perhaps it was another confession of the sort she had offered when they’d gone sailing. These he was much more open to.

“When I am yours I will be yours, entirely. Wherein you may take me, as you like and when you like.”

“You speak of it like a concession,” Alistair said softly, fingers stroking your cheek. “As if it were not your heart’s desire.”

“However you like. I will never tell you no, not to anything. And if I do, you will punish me.”

“Should I so wish,” the prince noted.

With her, absence of punishment could be more effective than the granting – though with the doors she had opened of late there was a much greater latitude of punishment to explore than before, admittedly. Finding the precise limits of that was a rather interesting prospect.

“But in return I must have full confidence in you. I need to know that my heart will be safe.”

Alistair frowned.

“My word has been given,” he said. “And I’ve already demonstrated my willingness to abide by the terms. I’m not sure what else you want of me.”


ALLA TYRELL
 direct link • Jun 28 2017, 09:54 pm
Quote
Lady Tyrell
Lily in the Shadows
Sworn to House Tyrell
THE REACH
18 years
Natalie • she • 503 posts
Offline


Alistair ventured towards the naughty again, admittedly not a foreign place to either one of them. Though they had been celibate in the last few weeks, they had certainly not been chaste. It was true that heated touches through clothing was hardly pure, but it was hardly impure, either. It was almost child's play, and though she had immensely enjoyed coming to know him more, their chemistry made it difficult for her to accomplish exactly what it was that she had desired to accomplish by avoiding penetration.

He surmised that it she was a woman asking to be punished, and Alla gave him a sharp look. In time that would be the case, but she had a few minutes longer until she would demure to his authority. She was not his yet, and would not be until he agreed. He could take her by force, though she believed his own power of will to be better than that. She had witnessed it being better, in fact, but that was neither here nor there.

His fingers found her cheek and a small smile broke out over lips that stubbornly preferred to pout. Her head tilted softly into that touch; she did not desire to reprimand him, for he had done more than she had ever expected of him in the last few months. He was proving himself caring, and more importantly that he truly cared for her. That was what she desired, above all else; security, love, tenderness, domination. And Alistair offered her all of those things, with a caveat: he would never truly be hers. Not as she wanted him.

But to want him any other way made her feel sick, for she knew that it would be at the expense of her dearest friend's life. And, for all of Alla's selfishness and her wayward desires, she knew that, should Margaery die, she would likely never be able to even touch Alistair again. In truth she did not know what she would do; she had lost so many already, and none of them had been as close to her as her cousin. Alla did not think she would be able to recover from such a trauma, so much so that she refused to think on it.

"It is both," Alla said, dark eyes finding and holding his intently. "It is no small thing," she insisted, "In being yours I give you my life." And she did. He would control her, and they both knew that she would live and die by his moods, his attention. It was something that required her to vest her fullest trust in him; he could do anything to her, and he could revel in her pain and her pleasure. And her only counterfuge was that he could not hurt the only thing she cared for: her heart.

He corrected her and she allowed him, though her look was not one of amusement. "Should you like," she repeated drily. He protested her demand and she could not avoid rolling her eyes at him. "And that is why I intend to tell you," she said, allowing that smile to pique on her lips once more.

"When I am yours," she began slowly, "You may ask anything of me. You may hurt me to whatever end brings you pleasure, may threaten me, may force me to do anything that you like." All things he knew already, but that was not the point. "I ask that...should you desire to see me with another woman, or even hurt another woman, that you will not shame or injure me by engaging with her," she said, "Please." She swallowed hard, glancing to him again, her expression almost sheepish. "I...I would have you stay with me, sometimes," she ventured softly, "And always to care for me after."
ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Jul 06 2017, 05:23 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



"It is both. It is no small thing. In being yours I give you my life. Should you like. And that is why I intend to tell you."

This was not a conversation, frankly, that he’d been expecting to have. Having Alla had always been an intense affair, but Alistair did not think he’d ever given her less than what she’d asked. Her reluctance for him to share anyone else’s bed, while previously glimpsed, had only recently been drawn like a line in the sand. He’d acceded to the demand, though he’d made that decision more out of instinct than thought, and held to the rule since the agreement was struck. It had not always been easy. Though the prince did tend to let other distractions fall by the wayside when on a particularly engaging hunt – and Alla had certainly led him on one of those – in the aftermath of some of their outings he’d found himself eager to slake his lust. And there was, certainly, no lack of willing women. Now more than ever.

"When I am yours. You may ask anything of me. You may hurt me to whatever end brings you pleasure, may threaten me, may force me to do anything that you like."

All things they both already knew. And Alla had only granted him this kind of power with the understanding that he would use, if not always kindly, always to both their pleasures. That she felt the need to reiterate as much now felt odd. Like she was stating a lack of trust, and this he felt he had not earned. Alistair had already said all he intended to say on the subject of her unfortunate wedding, and told her quite directly that while he’d allowed her to lash out at him over the subject once out of regard that privilege would not be returning. Ever. If she had doubts, as she seemed to be implying she was, why were they even this room? The prince was not unaware that Alla was in a perpetual state of self-inflicted dilemmas, but this… waffling at the final hour was unexpected.

And irritating, but she seemed so vulnerable looking up at him he didn’t quite have the heart to take her to task for it. He would, at least, let her speak her piece in full before passing judgement.

"I ask that...should you desire to see me with another woman, or even hurt another woman, that you will not shame or injure me by engaging with her. Please."

Begging, that, but not the sort they usually indulged in. Alistair kept his confusion off his face. Did she expect such a measure to actually work? The prince was not in the habit of bringing women into his bed and then not putting his hand to them. Why would she withdraw the harder line of limiting him to her and Margaery only to offer such a bastard compromise afterwards? She’s scared, he guessed. That the harder test he would not pass, and so she pushed back the line a little in the hopes that the greater margin of error would spare her some face. Fear, he could sympathise with. In the abstract, at least. The Baratheon was not prone to lack of confidence in his personal affairs.

"I...I would have you stay with me, sometimes. And always to care for me after."

“I will not always be able to stay,” he warned. “This is not Storm’s End – there are more eyes on me here, and higher stakes. But caring for you, I can promise.”

As for staying, well, there was an irony in Alla asking that of him when his own wife desired no such assurances. He would not be able to stay frequently, he knew, but with sufficient wrangling he might manage stolen moments.

“As for other women, I’ve already agreed to starker terms than those,” the prince added. “I see no need to seek any alternatives.”

ALLA TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 08 2017, 11:27 pm
Quote
Lady Tyrell
Lily in the Shadows
Sworn to House Tyrell
THE REACH
18 years
Natalie • she • 503 posts
Offline



Alla tried to hide the disappointment on her face as he said he would not often be able to stay with her. She did not do it well, but lowered her eyes and nodded her head. He was placating her, perhaps for the aim of getting what he wanted, or perhaps because he did have good intentions. Perhaps it was both. Already she knew, in a vague sense, what that meant, and what it would mean for her. It would mean lonely nights, with only the memory of him there, and the scent of him behind.

What she did not understand, and would not understand, would be why he needed to stay abed his wife. It was not expected of a king, and to whore was well within a king's rights, regardless of Alla's personal feelings on the matter. He could use his own chambers, and why not? And he had it within his rights to abandon his own chambers, too.

She wondered if that was what bothered so about his lack of inclination to share her bed. Frowning, Alla looked up to him once more, but said nothing. His intuition was right; she was frightened, having been on the precipice of happiness so many times before and having had it snatched away from her by circumstance or cruelty each time. She had been optimistic about her marriage, that it would only be her. Daryn had been a loyal Northerner, she was told, and he had promised his fidelity. But was that all just sweet whispers, empty promises? She thought so, just as he had placed his whore within her employ to keep her close.

And what if she was walking into the same again? Alla had suffered many disappointments in the last year, and to try her heart again with Alistair felt foolish. But her draw to him was undeniable, and he knew how to push her buttons well. Perhaps that was just because she was common, no different from any other woman who could so easily be trained by a man. She did not know, and her confidence wavered daily for it. Was this true, or was this simply his charm? It was why she had misliked him when she first met him; he seemed so able to charm everyone around him, and she had been determined to see through it.

"But you are within your rights as a future king to stay," she said, her voice lilting softly with confusion, though not outright insolence. She kept her eyes raised to him a few moments longer, and then lowered them once more. The implication there was clear enough; his choice was to be with his wife, to be seen with his wife, and that he chose not to stay with her, whatever his reasons.

He said he would care for her, and Alla wondered if he knew what that meant. If any man knew what that meant. So far she had received a great many promises -- promises of fidelity, of pleasure, of kindness and of her own happiness -- and though she had recognized pleasure and sometimes kindness, happiness was so very rarely delivered upon that she feared any man who promised her anything that she wanted ever again.

Alla nodded her head again, offering him a small smile. That was a relief, at least, and she looked at him for a few moments longer. "I ask that you don't break my heart," she said softly, the real core of what she was getting at. "Margaery has offered me the privilege of choosing whom I wed next," she said, after a few beats. "And I will take her up on it, if you hurt me now. And I will not come back again." After waiting for his assent she handed him the collar once more, and leaned forward to tentatively press a kiss to his lips.

ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Jul 17 2017, 05:35 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



She was disappointed, much as she tried to hide it. But lying to her would have been worse, Alistair decided. Whatever he said the High Prince would have to be seen emerging from his own rooms more often than not, and it wasn’t like Alla would not notice his absence in her bed. Truth be told, he’d never particularly liked sleeping in any bed that wasn’t his own. He’d sometimes caught a few hours of sleep in a lady’s sheets after spending time between them with the lady in question, but rarely spent the night until dawn. Lingering after conquest was not in the prince’s nature. There were enough similarities between that trait and his own father’s discontent in peace that the thought was uncomfortable to acknowledged. Alistair had thought as a youth that he had chosen and mastered his vices, but the years were teaching him otherwise.

"But you are within your rights as a future king to stay."

The reply was close to mutinous, but he did not take her to task for it. He disliked being forced to measure up to notions Alla had dreamt up on her own, regardless of the realities of their lives, but he’d known from the start that she was not… politically adept. She saw through the lens of their relationship alone, when thinking of this, not of it would cost him in reputation if rumour had it he fucked his wife’s cousin and didn’t even bother to be discreet about it. It was an almost childish kind of selfishness, but Alla had never pretended to be anything but what she was. It would be stranger if she suddenly became aware of the deeper workings of court, to be honest. And not something he particularly wanted. He had no need for a second Margaery in his life, no matter how fond he was of fucking Tyrells.

“The costs of it would be unpleasant to both of us,” he simply said.

Lingering on the matter when her resistance was more reflexive than entrenched was pointless. It was not a battle worth fighting: all victory would gain him was hurt on that pretty Tyrell face, and he did not particularly enjoy seeing it there unless he’d forced it for… more interesting purposes.

"I ask that you don't break my heart."

A promise that would be easier to make if your heart was not such a fragile thing, he thought. But it was not an oath he thought he was beyond keeping, so he nodded his assent.

"Margaery has offered me the privilege of choosing whom I wed next."

The High Prince raised an eyebrow at that. Margaery did not have the authority to make such a promise, in truth. Alla’s own father was the one who should be making such decisions, and beyond him her uncle the king as the head of House Tyrell. A year ago the assumption on his wife’s part that she could arrange the matter however she liked would have been warranted, but Mace Tyrell was a hard man to predict these days – and in need of alliance to call on. If it came to that Alistair could step in as High Prince and wield a degree of influence, but in the end it was still that. Influence. Dearest wife, fondness has made you reckless with your promises of late. Let us hope this does not end unpleasantly.

"And I will take her up on it, if you hurt me now. And I will not come back again."

“I understand,” he conceded.

The two of them had been sitting on the bed this whole time, barely apart and with only a circlet of gold between them. When Alla handed him the collar, almost timidly, the dam broke. Even as she pressed a hesitant kiss on his lips Alistair drew her onto his lap, teeth nibbling her lip as he finally partook in her. The wait, he admitted, had made it even better than before. Hand cupping her arse as he pressed Alla against him, the prince broke the kiss to press his lips against the crook of her neck.

“That was a surrender,” he murmured into her ear. “Do you know what happens to pretty girls like you when a city surrenders, Alla?”
ALLA TYRELL
 direct link • Jul 29 2017, 06:31 pm
Quote
Lady Tyrell
Lily in the Shadows
Sworn to House Tyrell
THE REACH
18 years
Natalie • she • 503 posts
Offline


It was true. Alla did not like that answer, and did not understand why it was that people lusted so fervently for the throne. They said it was power, but was it really? Those in power could never choose their own fates, their hands in marriage nor their privacy. Or at least that was what they told themselves; they wielded power over armies, but the power to control their own lives was beyond them. That, or he decidedly was not all that fond of her to begin with. Good enough to be kept as a pet, but shuttered away in favor of his beautiful and gregarious wife, even in private, evan at night.

It was a thought that had always sat poorly with her, since Alla had realized what it was to be unfavored. To be not a princess in a family of royalty was only the beginning, and with men wasn't it just so much easier? But to be cursed as a woman, without particular notability and without charm, and without the supreme looks of the woman who both had the right titles and the right charms, reinforced her opinion of herself early and often. And even now that she had grown into herself if continued; Alistair was her cousin's husband, there was no doubt of that.

Part of her thought him cruel. Part of her knew him to be cruel; he lavished in that cruelty, and in the cruelty that brought pleasured moans from her lips. But so too was it cruel of him, or of fate, to draw them together as it so had, and to force her heart towards loving him. She was a victim of her own weakness, and she so longed to possess whatever it was that Margaery had that enabled her to shut off her heart from others. Alla did not think she would ever know what it was to be truly in love; she was it in bits and pieces with Alistair, saw it in those sanguine moments they spent together alone. Had felt it on their brief journey to the sea, when she could laugh in his lap and pretend that it was only just the two of them.

But there were not two people in their relationship, and there could not be three people in a marriage.

It was a concept that Alla repeated to herself often. It wasn't as though she wasn't aware of the fact that she was the third wheel, or allowing herself to be so. But she was still drawn to him, and as much as it hurt her she found it immensely difficult to let him go. Would it hurt more to have him only sometimes, or to have him not at all? Even the nights when he visited her would be no guarantee of normalcy, and if he did choose to leave her bed early she knew that it would spoil the rest of what she had enjoyed with him. The loneliness would become more acute, and though she did not know it yet, she would spend long nights crying when he left, knowing just where he was going.

He told her that he understood, and she smiled a little in response. Her gentle kiss was returned with an ardency she had not expected; he pulled her in close, and she was a ragdoll in his arms. Once his lips broke from hers they found her neck, and for a moment she wondered if he actually was speaking politically. No, you stupid fool, she reprimanded herself, his hand reinforcing that notion as it cupped her arse. Alla opened her neck for him, delighting in the soft pleasantness of his breath upon her skin. She gave a soft shake of the head, though that was not wholly true. But she did want to know what he would say, and moreover what he would do. So instead she feigned ignorance, and awaited his answer on baited breath.
ALISTAIR BARATHEON
 direct link • Aug 31 2017, 05:08 pm
Quote
Prince of the Stormlands
the Young Stag
sworn to the Seven Kingdoms
THE STORMLANDS
18 years
Tris • he/him • 119 posts
Offline



Whatever thoughts were going through her mind, he could only guess at. Disappointment, perhaps, but this was not Storm’s End where the only eyes that mattered were sworn to the Baratheons and there was no lack of shadowy corners to hike her skirts up in. The war had been won, the throne with it and now all the knives were aimed at their backs. While loudly fucking his wife’s cousin at every occasion would hardly topple a dynasty, it was the kind of scandal that a crown still stained with the previous owner’s blood could ill-afford. Perhaps his uncle was right and this sort of thing was foolishness, but Alistair’s blood did not run cold and there were few playmates that could ever be a match for Alla Tyrell. The prince thought of collaring here there and then, to make it official, but no. She’d made him wait and would suffer the same, make carnal reparations before she earned his mark.

She went almost limp in his arms when he drew her close, though when his lips went to her neck she breathed and offered the pale expanse to him further. His question was left hanging between them, even as one of his hands cupped her arse and kept her close against his growing hardness. There’d never been any lack of desire on either their parts, in these games. Alla shook her head, the lie of it more enticement than denial. They both knew what happened when rough men breached a city’s gates. There were no few bastards born of such things to make it plain understanding. Dissatisfied with the cloth preventing his fingers from having her skin unfiltered, Alistair’s hand withdrew from her buttocks to move aside the hem of her dress, slowly savouring the slide up her perfect legs as he took ownership of it.

“I think you do,” he murmured.

His fingers tightened on her skin, hard enough to leave marks even if they would be short-lived. His other hand stroked the side of her neck even as he lightly nibbled the crook of it before slowly coming to rest on her hip. The prince did not rock his hardness against her, though he was tempted. Maintaining control early made the loosening of it taste sweeter down the line.

“Lying to a prince is treason, Alla,” he whispered. “You are not earning much mercy tonight.”

He seized her without warning, hefting her up near-effortlessly – she was so slight, it was always a wonder – and rising to his feet. A few strides saw them back to the table and he set her down on it roughly. The sound of a goblet tumbling off the edge went ignored. He took her chin in hand, grasp possessive, and tossed on the wood the golden circlet he did not even remember grabbing.

“Or perhaps you truly don’t know,” he continued casually. “It would be my duty to educate you, if that were the case.”

He allowed himself the indulgence of claiming her pouting lip with a thumb, dark eyes watching hers.

“Which is it, Alla?” he asked with a wicked smile. “Ignorance or treason?”
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