Margaery Tyrell (
tyrelltempest) wrote in
randomosity2016-06-12 09:41 pm
[For Hannibal] Alliance of Fire
Renly Baratheon was dead, leaving his claim to the throne empty and his wife Margaery Tyrell a widow. Roose Bolton, of course, could spy an opportunity a mile away. He sent a raven to Highgarden, to Lord Mace Tyrell. Roose proposed that his youngest son and only legitimate heir be married to Margaery. Mace agreed, rather quickly as well - likely out of fear for the Bolton name.
But of course, Olenna Tyrell wasn't about to let that agreement happen. At least not on any terms but her own. So the agreement was made, but a time for delivering her to Winterfell had not been determined, and Olenna was not about to agree to one.
Ramsay Snow, wanting to be useful to his father and acknowledged as a true Bolton, decided to take action on his own. He took a small band of Bolton men and rode to Highgarden - he knew Margaery was there, after her day-long marriage to the late King Joffrey had ended. He kidnapped the Tyrell heiress and rode back to Winterfell. When he arrived, he dragged Margaery in with no amount of mercy or delicacy. He found his half-brother and father in a sitting room going over charts and battle strategies. Margaery, clad in a light dress with a keyhole opening at the front showing her cleavage and wrapping around her lower back, showing off the curves of her back and the lean muscle beneath her skin. Her skin was cold and covered in goosebumps, her lips slightly dark and a light shade of blue. But all the fire and anger was in Margaery's eyes. She wrenched herself free of Ramsay's grip and pulled her lips back to bare her teeth.
"Unhand me, mongrel!" she hissed.
"Dear father, brother - see what I've brought? We'll not have the Tyrells welching on their agreement any longer," Ramsay grinned. "The flower is a little frosty, but only because she did not appreciate my generosity of allowing her to ride in the carriage."
"What I did not appreciate was a bastard snatching me from my ancestral home and dragging me with no proper clothes into the North," Margaery snapped.
She so badly wanted to shift towards the fire, but she was bound and determined to stand tall and tough. Ramsay obviously thought her weak, she would prove him wrong.
But of course, Olenna Tyrell wasn't about to let that agreement happen. At least not on any terms but her own. So the agreement was made, but a time for delivering her to Winterfell had not been determined, and Olenna was not about to agree to one.
Ramsay Snow, wanting to be useful to his father and acknowledged as a true Bolton, decided to take action on his own. He took a small band of Bolton men and rode to Highgarden - he knew Margaery was there, after her day-long marriage to the late King Joffrey had ended. He kidnapped the Tyrell heiress and rode back to Winterfell. When he arrived, he dragged Margaery in with no amount of mercy or delicacy. He found his half-brother and father in a sitting room going over charts and battle strategies. Margaery, clad in a light dress with a keyhole opening at the front showing her cleavage and wrapping around her lower back, showing off the curves of her back and the lean muscle beneath her skin. Her skin was cold and covered in goosebumps, her lips slightly dark and a light shade of blue. But all the fire and anger was in Margaery's eyes. She wrenched herself free of Ramsay's grip and pulled her lips back to bare her teeth.
"Unhand me, mongrel!" she hissed.
"Dear father, brother - see what I've brought? We'll not have the Tyrells welching on their agreement any longer," Ramsay grinned. "The flower is a little frosty, but only because she did not appreciate my generosity of allowing her to ride in the carriage."
"What I did not appreciate was a bastard snatching me from my ancestral home and dragging me with no proper clothes into the North," Margaery snapped.
She so badly wanted to shift towards the fire, but she was bound and determined to stand tall and tough. Ramsay obviously thought her weak, she would prove him wrong.

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His guards pulled the girl into a standing position and stretched her right arm out taught. "Now, we don't want to cut into the muscle when we slice the skin. Make a shallow cut around her wrist and her shoulder. Then make a similar slice down the length of her arm. After that we can peel it off nice and slow." He said as he led Margaery to the whore's extended arm.
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Margaery smiled when he offered to teach her how to properly flay the whore. She brought up the knife as he outstretched her arm. She carefully ran her knife around the whore's wrist and then around her shoulder.
She looked up to Hannibal as a student looks to a teacher. "Will you show me how to pull properly?"
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The screams would be beautiful, and he was enjoying how his brother seemed truly distressed enough to not speak right now.
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Ramsay watched in horror. He knew he couldn't get loose, and all he could do was watch as they flayed Myranda.
"What next, my love?" Margaery pressed her body back against Hannibal, murmuring the question softly, hoping that age want alone in her arousal.
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He looked to his wife. "That depends. We could take off some more of her skin. We could remove a finger or toe. Or...we could slice her open so that she can see all of her squishy insides. Maybe I can bring my wolves in. They would enjoy the tender meal." He said. If the right cut was made, the guts would spill out, but the contents would remain where they were. Hannibal was curious what his brother would think of his whore dying at the teeth of his dire wolves.
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She looked to the seething Ramsay and looked up to Hannibal. She leaned up to whistle in his ear. "Will you flay some part of his for me? I want to see how else you'll torture him."
Margaery made sure to grind her hips into his and kissed over his neck.
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He turned to his captain. "Are any of his hounds still breathing? Bring a few of them in here." He said before signaling a servant to gag his brother so that he could not whistle. Hannibal then pulled the whore's jaw down until it popped and hung loose from being dislocated. He bent down and sliced her Achilles' tendons so that she could not run and fewer of his guards were needed to restrain her. He then cut across her lower belly just deep enough to allow her intestines to spill out intact.
The hounds came in growling and strain in at their collars. His men dropped the whore and took a few steps back. The hounds moved in and started with her already opened belly. It took a good twenty minutes before she finally died. "Take them back to their kennel with their kill." He said.
The room cleared until it was down to his captain, Hannibal, Margaery, and his brother Ramsay. Once they were alone, Hannibal removed the gag as he considered his wife's request. "Did you enjoy my first little game brother? I hope you did. My second game will last far longer than the first." He said.
He had made a decision on what he would remove first. His captain put a blade in the fire as Hannibal untied Ramsay's right arm. The captain stood across from Hannibal to hold the chair steady. Hannibal stretched Ramsay's arm taught. "I would rather you don't scream like a small girl brother." He said before pulling hard enough to fully dislocate the arm. Ramsay's arm hung loosely after being completely separated. Hannibal collected the hot knife to fully cut the limb off and prevent his brother from dying from blood loss.
He turned to his wife with the dismembered arm. "Is this what you had in mind dear? Or something smaller?" He asked. Ramsay was becoming less of a threat with each passing hour. Hannibal would at the very least remove his other hand before calling it an evening. Then his brother would truly no longer be a threat to him.
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Once the whore and hounds were cleared away, Margaery released Hannibal and let him move freely. She finished her wine as she watched him move to his brother.
Ramsay glared and bared his teeth. He didn't scream from having his arm pulled out. He had just had his balls cut off. This pain wasn't much. When his arm was cut off he set his jaw against the pain and glared up at Hannibal. He spat in his brother's face.
Margaery didn't take kindly to that. She brought her cup forward and regarded Ramsay. "I was thinking something else."
She tilted a brow as she used the knife to turn Ramsay's head. "I remember the tales of old. Before the Seven Kingdoms were United and the Bolton Red Kings waged war on the Stark Kings. Gruesome men indeed."
Margaery delicately pushed the tip of the knife into a section of Ramsay's throat and made his blood run freely down his neck. Only then did she get carried away and put her cup to the cut to catch his blood. "The stories said they would drink the blood of enemies - some of their Queens bathed in it, even....can you imagine?"
"You forget, woman, I am Bolton by blood," Ramsay hissed. "You are Bolton by name. That is my legacy of which you speak."
"Was. It was your legacy. But you disgraced it," Margaery snapped, swirling the blood in her cup.
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He reached for the cup, but would only take it if she handed it to him. He did tilt his head to her in curiosity. "You are requesting his blood? He does not have quite enough to bathe in, but perhaps enough to wash your hands." He said.
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Ramsay just breathed heavily and eyed the pair. "You couldn't handle my blood, brother. It's far too strong for you."
Margaery glared at Ramsay. "More likely he's contracted some sort of disease from his whore that you might contract from drinking his blood, my lover." Her hand rested over Hannibal's shoulder and again she pressed close to him.
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He thought for a moment before looking into her eyes. "He is a bastard. His blood was tainted from birth. He was easily beaten and does not deserve such a place of honor as having any part consumed by us." He said before pouring the blood out upon the floor.
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"What do we do with him?" Margaery sighed, placing a kiss on Hannibal's shoulder. "Look at him. He's so pathetic and weak..."
Ramsay lunged as much as he could, but didn't get far. Margaery held up the knife again and tilted a brow. "Oh, we didn't like that, did we?" She smirked. "He still thinks he's a fighter, love."
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"Indeed we should," she replied. With the same knife, she pressed the tip of her blade into the joint of his middle finger before cutting straight through and cutting it off. Margaery proceeded to do the same with his ring and index fingers. Leaving him only his thumb and little finger.
Margaery tilted a brow then as she regarded the bleeding and whimpering Ramsay Snow. "He looks so gruff and unshaven husband, can't have a Bolton house member looking like that even if he is a bastard." She held up the knife. "Should I help shave him?"
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She looked to the guards and back to Ramsay. "Clap him in chains from the neck down. I don't want even the slightest risk of him getting away."
Then her attention was completely to her husband. Margaery pressed into him and kissed Hannibal deep. "And what does the new Lord Bolton desire of his bride?"
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"I would have your legs wrapped around me as you scream in pleasure." He said lowly.
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Already, before they arrived at the room, Margaery began undoing the clips and clasps of his doublet and clothes. As he ascended the stairs and carried her to the bed, she pushed his clothes away, leaving a short trail to the bedroom consisting of his doublet and fur cloak.
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He pulled her close to kiss her deeply. He picked her up so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. He then moved them so that she was on her back in the center of the bed. He pulled back from the aggressive kiss slowly. "I'm going to plant a child within you tonight." He growled lowly. He quickly lined himself up and thrust deep within her. He rumbled her name lowly as he set a hard pace of fucking her.
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She wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her so easily. Margaery moaned as she kissed him back, nipping at his lower lip and suckling upon it. She tasted his metallic blood as it beaded onto his lip. When he lay her down she smirked up at him. Her nails dragged down his back and left shallow scratches. "I will give you a good, strong son," she promised.
As he slammed into her she cried out and squeezed her legs tighter around him. "Yes, yes-!" She cried out for him. Her core clenched and squeezed around him as he slammed into her over and over again. "Hannibal!!"
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All the while her core continued to squeeze and tense around his cock as he slammed into her. Margaery cried out louder and louder for him with each thrust. "Gods...oh, yes, Hannibal! Right there, don't stop!!" Margaery gasped and cried out as all the tension in her core seized tight, only to release and rush through her in tingling heat as she came hard around him.
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"You didn't jest..." she whimpered, leaning up to bite him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm sure to be-aaah! -expecting your child come morning."
Which suited her just fine. She wanted nothing more than to give him an heir to Winterfell and the Dreadfort.
But she wasn't about to just lay back and let him control everything. Margaery squeezed her legs and flipped them over. She pinned him down, keeping her legs around him while her hands pinned down his shoulders to the bed. "I daresay darling, you've made this Tyrell quite the Bolton indeed." She was hungry, insatiable - it was a thirst only he could quench.
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There was a look of dark arousal on his face as he rocked his hips to thrust up into her even deeper. He pushed her hands aside so that he could sit up and kiss over her breasts. "I must say you are a proper Bolton now my love." He said lowly from arousal.
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