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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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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Far better to be a Bolton than a Baratheon. It was hard for Margaery to believe that she had ever wanted to refuse marriage to this man.
"And I will continue to be," she moaned, bouncing her hips down to meet and match the power of his thrusts. "I will be a good, strong queen of the north for you."
Thinking about it, of being his queen and ruling over the Seven Kingdoms with him made her tighter and wetter than before. Margaery moaned aloud and continued arching her body against his.
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His mouth was leaving a trail of marks along her breasts. He looked deep into her eyes and growled her name before once again spilling into her.
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He smiled as he pet through her hair slowly. "Are you certain you are from the South?" He said with a low chuckle.
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"Quite certain, dearest," she smiled. Her fingers played over his chest, tracing over his muscles fir a long moment.
Until finally her curiosity mounted again. "Hannibal...what you said before, that Ramsay was not good enough to be consumed, have you...does that mean you have consumed people before? Those who were indeed clean and worthy?"
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He smiled as he brushed a thumb over her cheek gently. "It is a powerful feeling to have such victory over your enemy to peel a bit of them off and consume it before them. It makes even the most highborn of men feel lower than a dog." He said. He had never consumed women or children since that trip in the woods. Only men. In fact the next man that was of most interest to him was the ever elusive Little Finger. That would be very lean meat, although he expected a bit of banter from the man while he was eaten, something Hannibal had not yet come across.
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"What...." There's a pause as she considered her own question. "....what did it taste like?"
She was curious, and for a long while she regarded the curve of his lips. Margaery thought long over what it must have been like, drinking the blood of another and consuming human flesh. Her fingers came up and she dragged her index finger along his lower lip. Her eyes were dark with arousal and curiosity.
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After a long moment, she pulled back and smiled down to him. "You're a dangerous man, my Lord Bolton."
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"You think I'm strong enough, that I might have the stomach for such a thing?" She tilted a brow at him.
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She smiled over her shoulder to him, daring him, and turned her back.
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He wondered if describing fucking her would seduce her.
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She leaned up and nipped over his ear. "Think of it, tell me more about how you feel, sheathing yourself completely inside me, filling me up and coating my insides with your release."
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She looked up to him and pressed her forehead to his. "Will you fill me again? ...and again...and again?"
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