Chapter Text
Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, rumors spread like wildfire: very soon, the firstborn son of King Daeron, the Second of His Name, would announce his betrothal to forge new alliances. Every noble lady — and even simpler maidens — held their breath. Each of them dreamed of snagging the crown prince for herself and eventually placing her own blood upon the Iron Throne. On one such fair day, the ladies of the court, gathered in the shade of the royal gardens, began to animatedly discuss the ruling dynasty.
«Could Prince Baelor finally be choosing a wife? Have you heard the news?» — said a lady with light-brown hair neatly gathered into a bun, her voice scheming.
«I hope this isn't just another empty rumor» — a coquette standing nearby immediately took the bait. The other noble maidens also leaned forward, catching every word.
«Baelor… he is perhaps the best of the living Targaryens. To win him as a husband would be incredible luck» — a brunette mused, twirling a fan in her hands. — «Unlike his brothers, the crown prince… though he looks more like a Dornishman than a Valyrian, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that he is free of those frightening flaws inherent in the rest of the Targaryens…» — she finished.
Oh, if only this lady knew how terribly wrong she was!
«Personally, I am far more unsettled by the fact that his younger brother… Maekar. He constantly follows him around like a shadow» — a light-brown-haired lady noted gloomily. — «Though it's hardly surprising; they've been inseparable since childhood. But I fear… that…»
«That what?» — a lady with midnight-black hair interrupted her contemptuously. — «That they will return to their abominable traditions? To incest? I truly hope that is not the case. Thankfully, King Daeron abandoned this madness, and we can only pray that his sons follow their father's example»
«How we all hope for that… No one would want another mad dragon sitting on the Iron Throne; they clearly have problems with that» — voiced the general thought a stately woman with fiery red hair, Lady Lannister.
«And yet, we should keep our ears open», — the light-brown-haired lady grimaced slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. — «What if our beautiful prince is snared by his own brother? Maekar is always hovering around, like a loyal hound. And how inconveniently he was born an Omega… I fear His Grace the King, for political reasons or to preserve the Valyrian blood, might deem their union quite… lawful»
«It would be deplorable», — Lady Lannister concluded, looking pointedly at those present with a crooked smirk. — «If our perfect future Alpha-king binds himself to this sullen, perpetually disgruntled Omega, and they lock themselves away in Maegor’s Holdfast just to breed silver-haired mad offspring from their sinful union»
«I heard… rumors say that Daemon is quite interested in Maekar… I hope it's true», — the brunette spoke her thoughts aloud. She desperately wanted the sullen younger prince to shift his attention to someone else and stop getting under Baelor’s feet.
«I'm afraid that arrogant Valyrian whore has no use for the bastard of the late King Aegon», — the black-haired lady cut in darkly, thoroughly displeased by such a prospect. — «I think Maekar still has eyes only for his older brother. He literally breathes him… I myself have noticed his possessive stares at feasts more than once»
Hearing this, the other ladies sighed dejectedly. One of them, shifting from foot to foot and nervously twitching the edge of her dress, dreamily murmured:
«Ah, Daemon is so handsome… Were he not a bastard, I would throw myself into his arms without a second thought. But Baelor is still so much better! A true knight. Even with a broken nose from that recent tourney…» — she finished with a slight chuckle.
The other ladies only glared at her disapprovingly for this frivolous remark, considering the joke inappropriate. A broken nose did nothing to spoil the image of the perfect heir to the throne.
Just two days after those garden whispers, a thunderclap struck: it was officially announced that the Crown Prince, Baelor, had chosen a mate. The common folk froze in anticipation, wondering who would become the future pillar of the throne. The people sincerely hoped that the new rulers would prove to be just as merciful and wise as the current sovereign, Daeron, the Second of His Name, and his spouse, Queen Myriah Martell.
Yet within the walls of the Red Keep, the disputes and rumors did not subside for a single moment. Court maidservants held their breath, keeping a watchful eye on every step of the royal sons. Prince Baelor had been head over heels in state affairs all these days: helping his father, sitting on the Small Council, and firmly defending his decisions. The King’s second son, the bookish Aerys, remained in his usual melancholy; he would stay in the library for days on end, exchanging only a few words with the maesters. Meanwhile, the third brother, Prince Rhaegel, had been walking around in a suspiciously high-spirited mood lately, constantly accompanying his cranky and sullen Omega-brother, Maekar, everywhere. The noble ladies, watching this procession, only smirked mockingly, utterly failing to realize until the very last moment what a storm was bearing down on them.
And so, a week later, the day arrived.
The feast in honor of the newlyweds was arranged on a grand, royal scale. All the great lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the Great Hall. King Daeron presented this union as the highest grace: the marriage between his sons was concluded for the stability of the crown and the preservation of pure Valyrian blood. In public, the lords submissively bowed their heads, but in the corridors, many were left in deep confusion and disappointment.
Lord Velaryon felt worst of all that evening. He was in a foul mood, darkly burning holes into the royal dais with his glare. Too many years had passed since Velaryon blood had been close to the Iron Throne. Their house had suffered a downfall back in the days of Viserys the First. The old lord had little belief that Queen Rhaenyra’s firstborns were truly from Laenor Velaryon, but... the chance had been there! Later, they made another attempt when King Aegon the Third married Daenaera Velaryon, but their children never held onto power, and High Tide was left with nothing once again. Oh, how he wished for his own blood to finally rule Westeros! And now, this damned union of an Alpha and an Omega within House Targaryen had completely burned away his last hopes of marrying off one of his daughters to Baelor.
Lady Lannister sat at the feasting table, outwardly maintaining an absolute, noble composure, but her fingers gripped the silver stem of her goblet of Dornish wine until her knuckles turned white. She could not tear her eyes away from the newlyweds. How she wanted, right here in front of the entire court, to strangle this Valyrian whore!
The red-haired lady did not doubt for a single moment that Maekar had planned everything in advance. This sullen Omega had surely been seducing his older Alpha-brother for a long time, hanging on him in the shadows of the corridors and putting his pheromones to use, since the perfect Prince Baelor had ultimately disregarded his duty to the realm and agreed to take his own brother as a spouse.
At that moment, a barely noticeable smile, quite uncharacteristic of him, appeared on Prince Maekar's pale, usually stern face. He sat to Baelor's right, and the elder prince, possessively wrapping an arm around his Omega's waist, leaned in close to his very ear. Baelor whispered something quiet and intimate to him, bathing him in his warm breath. Lady Lannister narrowed her eyes furiously, catching every detail. In full view of the entire hall, a thick blush crept up the young Omega's neck and cheeks, completely betraying him. Maekar swallowed hard and hastily turned away, hiding his gaze from the pleased, sated look of the Alpha-prince. His feigned crankiness melted away without a trace, giving way to pure submission to his man.
It took all of Lady Lannister's strength and pride to keep her face together and not hurl the goblet against the wall. Everything inside her seethed with hatred. Maekar did not deserve Prince Baelor at all, not one bit. He had stolen him from the rest of Westeros.
Soon, the wedding feast came to an end. The newlyweds left the hall and headed to their chambers to finally throw off the tension accumulated during the day, and at the same time, to fulfill their duty. Lady Lannister remained in a total frenzy for a couple more hours before she managed to regain even a bit of her cold self-control.
She loathed the very thought that she was even wondering what was happening right now behind the closed doors of the royal bedchamber. At one point, yielding to a dark impulse, she caught herself in a mad desire: to slip past the guards into the chambers and slit this wretched bitch Maekar’s carotid artery right there in bed. To rid the world of this filth once and for all! After all, they would inevitably breed children, and then the Seven Kingdoms would have no peace from the new-born princes. The red-haired lady did not doubt for a single second that these offspring would be born mad. No matter how noble and righteous a man Prince Baelor was, he remained an Alpha. Which meant that until his very last breath, he would protect his rabid, monster-like children from this sinful union, no matter what a disappointment to the country they might become.
Passing through the dark corridors of the castle, Lady Lannister overheard maidservants whispering in a niche, naively believing that no one saw them. The girls were breathlessly discussing how, from behind the doors of the crown prince’s chambers, explicit sighs and hoarse, shameful groans of an Omega exhausted by passion could be heard all down the gallery.
She was left completely breathless with indignation, barely restraining a ragged gasp. So, they were giving themselves away to a forbidden, sinful passion... Whining in the hands of his Alpha... How deplorable and sickening it was that the Targaryens had once again trampled the rules of the Seven for the sake of their Valyrian stubbornness!
The court ladies no longer gathered together in the shade of the gardens to discuss the princes of the realm as they used to. The entire castle breathed with a muted, suffocating indignation. Some noble women, unable to bear the shame of their shattered hopes, hastily departed for their home lands. Those who remained were forced to stay in the Red Keep day after day and watch with their own eyes as the belly of the royal Omega rounded and grew with each passing moon. Many ladies were genuinely bewildered by this sight; in their world, male Omegas were extremely rare. Within House Targaryen itself, they were born only once in every few generations, and this was considered a special Valyrian blessing. It was exactly why King Daeron had reasoned wisely: giving such a treasure away to foreign lords would be the height of political madness. The royal Omega had to remain within the House of the Dragon.
However, Prince Maekar himself fell into an increasingly terrible mood with each month of the pregnancy. He ruthlessly took out his suffocating irritation and anger on the servants and maesters, who were already afraid to cross his sight. Most of all, the stern prince was infuriated by the fact that he was strictly forbidden from visiting the training yard and taking up a sword or a mace. The King and Queen had placed a most rigid taboo upon it, and even his older brother, who usually encouraged and forgave Maekar for any rebellious antics, showed an Alpha's firmness this time, forbidding his husband from overexerting himself in his condition. Maekar fiercely hated feeling vulnerable and weak. He loathed the morning sickness, the nausea, his back always aching from the strain, and how heavily his body weighed on him. With each passing day, his belly grew larger, and his breasts... his breasts were filling out too, becoming larger and more sensitive.
Recalling this, Maekar suddenly flushed with a thick, hot blush. The memories of the previous night flashed vividly in his mind: how Baelor, possessively caressing his rounded body, had cupped his breasts with his palms and hoarsely whispered that they were perfect and firm. That there would be enough milk not only to nourish their future children, but to sate Baelor himself as well...
«Damned pervert...» — Maekar muttered aloud, scowling crossly, though his heart ached sweetly in his chest at the memory of his Alpha's scent and strength.
He lowered his palm onto his tight, round belly, and in that exact second, a tangible, distinct kick came from within. The child seemed to sense its father's thoughts and responded to his touch. Maekar involuntarily softened, continuing to gently stroke his burden.
Maekar just sat there in the chair, melancholically caressing his heavy belly and asking himself over and over: what would their firstborn be like? Would he look like Maekar himself — a sullen warrior, or would he inherit the noble features and dark, Dornish curls of Baelor? Immersed in his thoughts, he paid no attention to how the heavy oak doors to the chambers quietly opened and immediately shut. The Omega snapped out of his reverie only when strong arms wrapped around him from behind, holding him firmly and securely. Maekar froze for a moment, his hand stopping on his belly. Baelor masterfully covered his Omega’s hands with his own wide palms, sharing his warmth. And then, gently stepping around the chair, the Crown Prince sank to his knees before his spouse.
Maekar looked down at his Alpha. Baelor distinctly radiated a noble scent of cedarwood and book wax, which now blended sweetly with Maekar’s own Omega aroma of juicy citrus and fresh mint. All of Maekar's sternness vanished in an instant; his gaze softened, betraying his absolute trust. Baelor, remaining on his knees, looked up at his frowning, rounded Omega with genuine, pure adoration, as if looking at the most precious treasure in the world.
«Is my little brother frowning over something again?» — Baelor asked softly, his low voice causing Maekar to shudder sweetly. The elder brother reached out, gently tracing the line of the younger’s jaw. — «I have even managed to miss you, brother. The Small Council was unbearable without your presence»
«Stop it», — Maekar muttered, though a blush burned his cheeks once more and his breath hitched at how invitingly Baelor’s scent began to sound. — «My body aches mercilessly, and my back especially is causing me discomfort»
Baelor’s gaze darkened, dropping lower — to where the rounded, touch-starved body of the Omega was hidden beneath a loose silk shirt. An Alpha's instincts demanded that he immediately soothe and pleasure his heavily carrying mate. — Let me ease your pain, Maekar.
The Alpha gently pulled at the ties of the Omega’s trousers, helping him rid himself of the excess clothing. Maekar took a ragged breath, slightly parting his knees and resting his head against the back of the chair. He felt vulnerable, but Baelor acted with such reverent sensitivity that he had no strength to protest. Sinking even lower, straight to the open cleft of the Omega that was exuding the sweet aroma of natural slick, Baelor gently spread his thighs. Maekar swallowed, his fingers digging into the armrests of the chair as the Alpha's hot tongue touched his most sensitive, innermost zone.
«Ah... Baelor...» — a ragged, hoarse groan escaped Maekar’s lips, one he had tried so desperately to hold back.
Baelor’s tongue moved confidently and hungrily, lapping up the abundant, sweet moisture, caressing and teasing. Maekar arched in the chair, lifting his hips toward those unbearably pleasant, slow movements. The tension that had accumulated for weeks began to melt rapidly under the Alpha's hot mouth. Maekar tangled his fingers into his brother's short, dark hair, guiding him, completely surrendering to this passion—forbidden to the rest of the world, yet so right for the two of them.
It felt incredibly good. Baelor had always been a skilled lover and knew how to bring true pleasure to them both. Any other lord of Westeros would hardly care so tenderly for the condition of his Omega, thinking only of himself. But Baelor had remained the most caring brother all their lives, and it was no surprise that he had become just as sensitive, attentive a husband and lover.
Maekar exhaled shakily, feeling his thighs tremble violently from the caresses overwhelming his body. He knew for certain that another moment, and he would come right into his Alpha’s mouth, unable to hold back his instincts any longer.
«Baelor… I… I… am about to…» — Maekar whispered, breathless, but before he could finish the sentence, a powerful, deafening orgasm washed over him.
The Omega’s body convulsed sharply, his fingers gripping tightly into the fabric of the shirt on Baelor’s shoulders, and a ragged, defenseless groan tore from his throat. Baelor took it all into himself, greedily swallowing his Omega's hot release and never breaking the caress until the trembling in Maekar's strong legs began to subside. The elder prince acted without a shred of disgust — only with absolute, primal infatuation with his mate.
When it was all over, Baelor slowly rose from his knees. A sated, deep tenderness burned in his dark eyes. Maekar lay in the chair utterly exhausted, his eyes half-closed. A feverish blush burned on his pale cheeks, and a blissful, saving warmth spread through his body. His back no longer ached, and peace finally reigned within. Baelor tenderly drew his younger brother close, settling him more comfortably and burying his nose in his neck, right against the mint-scented gland, purring soothingly.
Soon, two moons flew by, and Prince Maekar went into labor. Rumors flared up throughout the castle with a new, irresistible force, instantly capturing the attention of the common folk, the maidservants, and, of course, the noble ladies.
The Crown Prince, Baelor, remained in an extremely agitated and worried state all day, unable to find peace due to the difficult situation of his Omega. He was strictly forbidden from being near his spouse — the maesters flatly refused to let the Alpha inside the birthing chamber, so that his raging instincts and anxious scent would not interfere with the process. Because of this, Baelor literally had to lock himself away in a Small Council meeting. All the lords looked at the young heir to the throne with silent understanding, asked as few questions as possible, and tried not to disturb him unnecessarily.
At the same time, their mother, Queen Myria Martell, remained by the young Omega’s side without leaving the chambers. A Dornish princess by birth, she understood perfectly well what it was like to give new life, and she granted her son that very soft, maternal support that Maekar so desperately needed at that agonizing moment.
Soon, a boy was born, with sandy-colored hair and strikingly beautiful purple eyes. The child was born perfectly healthy and plump, yet among the common folk and in the courtyard, people whispered that the newborn prince was not particularly handsome. Maekar and Baelor, to whom this news traveled, only grew darker than before. But no matter what their firstborn was to those around them, Maekar loved him with all his heart and surrounded him with fierce care — after all, this was the very first fruit of his and Baelor's love. The young Omega loathed the malicious whispers directed at their son to the point of trembling. At first, Maekar would not trust the servants or wet-nurses with the baby's care at all, personally tending to him and never letting him out of his arms.
Gradually, the rumors began to fade and settle. Two years passed. As soon as the little prince turned two years old, Baelor and Maekar decided to try again — the realm required more heirs to finally solidify the right of succession and silence the envious. At this very same time, in the royal gardens, the noble ladies were once again holding their favorite conversations.
«Have you seen their firstborn?» — a lady in a modest yellow dress with a minimal amount of jewelry grimaced, her lips curling in contempt. — «Never in my life have I seen such an awkward child… with that sandy, washed-out hair»
«Tell me about it, my dear…» — the red-haired Lady Lannister chimed in conspiratorially, her eyes narrowing predatorily. — «Two whole years have passed, and that bitch's belly is still flat. What do you think, perhaps the Crown Prince, upon seeing such a "miracle," simply lost all desire to share a bed with his Omega?»
«What a pity that creature didn't suffer a miscarriage back then…» — a black-haired lady hissed, rubbing her hands tiredly. — «Perhaps, in that case, the King and Queen would have come to their senses? They would have dissolved their sinful marriage, leaving that sullen Omega disgraced before all of Westeros»
While the court ladies held their bile-filled conversations in the garden, the young spouses in their tightly locked chambers completely surrendered themselves to suffocating passion, generously giving their love to one another.
Maekar, in a frenzy, clawed at the broad, muscular back of his Alpha. They were both literally drunk on the pheromones coursing through their blood. The royal bedchamber was filled to the brim with their combined scents, which, as they mingled, formed a thick, mind-bending cacophony of mint, citrus, and heavy cedarwood. The Omega gripped Baelor's shoulders tightly, wrapping his legs around his waist and desperately pulling him closer. His innermost cleft was continuously leaking a generous amount of natural slick, preparing his body for conception, while his tender labia had swollen, greedily catching the cool air of the bedchamber.
Maekar was entirely slick with sweat; his touch-starved vagina ached slightly from sweet anticipation, demanding to be immediately filled by the hot flesh of his Alpha. Baelor growled hoarsely. His heavy length throbbed, leaking pre-ejaculate, but the prince deliberately took his time getting to the point, teasing his Omega whimsically. He towered stubbornly and proudly between Maekar's thighs, rocking slightly to the rhythm of his impatient movements. Maekar stared at his impressive member with a greedy, lust-clouded gaze.
«Baelor!» — the Omega snarled furiously, completely losing his patience. — «Stop fooling around, get on with it! Fill me! Fuck me, flood me with your seed, so that my womb takes every single damn drop. Let my belly grow round again! I need this, do you hear me?!»
«What an impatient whore you are…» — Baelor breathed out, gasping from the maddening arousal.
He lunged forward abruptly, covering the Omega's face and neck with greedy, wet kisses, and with one powerful thrust, drove his length into his lush, leaking depths all the way to the hilt.
«My whore…» — Baelor murmured, thrusting his length all the way in to the hilt.
His member purposefully hit those exact spots that brought Maekar pure, sharp pleasure time and again. In response, Maekar wrapped his legs around his Alpha's waist with all his might, trying to minimize any space between them.
Baelor already felt that he was ready to come right then, but he suddenly froze as a child's cry drifted through the doors. They had allocated separate chambers nearby for the little Prince Daeron, since he often woke up at night. Baelor already knew from Maekar that their son suffered from prophetic dreams. This was not surprising; such a phenomenon was not uncommon among them, the Targaryens. Maekar, who had just been moaning loudly and making sounds from the rushing pleasure, froze as well. He fearfully covered his mouth with his hands to stop making noise. Baelor exhaled in disappointment as Maekar used his palms to push him away. With a wet, squelching sound, his length left the Omega's hot, tight vagina. Just a little more, and he would have tied Maekar with his knot, giving him his long-awaited children.
Maekar felt wildly unsatisfied and slightly irritated, but this anger was mingled with a profound worry for his son. Natural slick continued to ooze from his vagina, spreading along the insides of his thighs, and drops of arousal dripped from his small penis. The moment he pulled away, the cold air began to hit his naked body. But the prince quickly threw the nearest black mantle over his shoulders to cover himself and turned to look at his husband.
Baelor sat on the bed, his face scowling, sweat dripping in large beads from his body.
The Alpha noticed Maekar's heavy gaze and said grimly:
«Go and soothe our son»
Maekar gave a short nod and left.
At that moment, Baelor just wanted to rip and tear. He had not managed to impregnate his Omega-brother and was left wildly unsatisfied. His length ached painfully; the member resting between his legs demanded immediate attention. Irritated, Baelor knew he needed to find release as soon as possible. He was full of anger as he wrapped his hands around his flesh and began to furiously stroke himself, driving his body to total exhaustion. A few minutes later, with a heavy, hoarse groan, he came right onto the black sheets.
Baelor sank back onto the bed, powerless. He lost track of time and did not know how many minutes he lay there in that one position, motionless. In the silence of the bedchamber, a soft click echoed—the doors to the chambers opened once more. The prince did not lift his head, only listening to the rustle of the mantle's fabric as it approached the bed. In the dim light of the bedroom, long Valyrian hair gleamed softly, and Maekar's face flickered before him. The expression on his Omega's face remained unreadable, yet within his scent of citrus and mint, heavy notes of intense worry were now distinctly present.
«Did Daeron have his dreams again?» — Baelor said tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.
In response, Maekar only nodded silently and said quietly:
«He says he saw a green field where a great Black Dragon towered. It breathed fire, and in the end, the entire field turned a crimson red…»
«A Black Dragon, you say…» — Baelor frowned instantly, becoming utterly serious. His previous fatigue and amorous frustration vanished in a flash. Under no circumstances should they ignore such prophecies.
Maekar narrowed his eyes demandingly at his Alpha:
«Do you understand even a fraction of what I just said?»
«Not entirely… but I have a suspicion», — Baelor sighed heavily, and all his grimness was replaced by a frightening, cold calm. — «I can even guess exactly whom our son saw in his dream…»
At those words from Baelor, everything inside Maekar turned to ice, and his stomach dropped in fear.
«Have you seen their second heir?» — Lady Lannister covered her mouth with a lace fan in distaste, sighing theatrically. — Those Dornish genes again… Black hair, not a single drop of Valyrian majesty! Crown Prince Baelor has completely defiled the blood of dragons with his union with that sullen Omega. It is simply sickening to watch.
«Tell me about it, my lady», — chimed in a black-haired lady in a yellow dress, smiling predatorily. — «How deplorable. The Targaryen rule has literally withered under King Daeron the Second. Daemon Blackfyre should have ascended the Iron Throne, or at least ruled after the King. He is a true Valyrian. I heard he is gathering strength; several great houses have already sworn fealty to him»
Lady Lannister leaned toward her companions conspiratorially, her red hair flashing in the sun as a dangerous glint ignited in her eyes.
«Did you see Prince Daemon at yesterday’s tourney? Now he is a true Alpha! A magnificent silver of hair, eyes the color of violets…» — the lady lowered her voice to a whisper. — «In a word, simply breathtaking. He is the one who will restore the former glory of the Targaryens. Perhaps it is under him that the dynasty will find its dragons once more»
«Ah, Daemon…» — a young lady from Highgarden sighed dreamily. — «If King Daeron were any wiser, he would take note of how the lords look at him. We need a true Valyrian on the Iron Throne, not the abominations from the bed of two brothers»
«You must have noticed…» — the lady with black hair noted deplorably, pursing her lips. — «In the chestnut mane of the newly born Prince Valarr, there is only a single silver-white strand. As if it were a sign of a fading, weakening Old Valyria… What a pity»
One of the noble ladies only smirked venomously at this remark and shook her head:
«Oh yes, we could not help but notice. An utter disappointment! Not one of their children has inherited the outward features of true Valyrians. And what is surprising: Prince Maekar himself possesses a pure Valyrian appearance, even if he is far from the dazzling beauty of Daemon Blackfyre. Yet his womb yields nothing but Dornish half-breeds»
«For a time, I even suspected Prince Maekar of defiance toward his Alpha», — another lady gasped theatrically, covering her mouth with her palms and rounding her eyes. — «Just think of it, a gap of two whole years! Perhaps he simply would not allow the Crown Prince into his bed?»
The gossips were so engrossed in picking apart the royal family that they did not even notice how, behind the thick trees of the garden, one of the princes was watching their conversation. He stood motionless, darker than a storm cloud. With each of their vile words, his face turned to stone, and his fingers clenched into fists with a furious, painful crack of his knuckles.
Turning on his heel abruptly, the prince walked away with swift strides, vanishing into the shadows of the Red Keep's galleries. In his mind, a cruel, sophisticated plan for tomorrow was already brewing regarding these court rats who lived only for filthy gossip. If the law of Westeros permitted it, he would have slaughtered every single one of them with his own hands right there in the garden.