"Your Grace." Greatjon Umber stepped forward. "How many such wraiths are we to fight?"
"I can't say for certain. But I do recall the Northern lords whining about my decision to let the Free Folk through. A necessary choice, unless you'd rather the dead swell their ranks unchecked. The White Walkers can raise the fallen, Lord Umber—millions, tens of millions. Every man who dies fighting them only strengthens their horde." Joffrey reminded them about the Wildling business, in short, reminding them how far-sighted he'd been. "Still, I'd wager their numbers stand at a hundred thousand wraiths, at least. The White Walkers themselves? A hundred or more. And over them all, one Night King."
"What do they want?" Lord Manderly asked.
It was clear why the questions only came from the Northern Lords. They were the closest to the danger, after all.
"The Wall was built to keep them out, so what else would they want? To turn the world into a frozen graveyard, to swell their ranks with wraiths and White Walkers, to build themselves ice palaces? All I know is that it's in our best interest to see them dead." Joffrey finally walked over to the wailing wraith in the cage and slammed his burning sword into it.
"Wraaaaa…"
The undead turned into a dusty pile.
"Any questions?" Finally, Joffrey looked at the crowd intently. "Every noble house in Westeros will stand with me against this threat. I will lead from the front, as a true king should. So will the Queen consort, my beloved Daenerys, and her three dragons."
Who were they to refuse when the King was willing to pick up the blade himself?
"We'll fight till the end, Your Grace." Lord Umber willingly stepped forward. All the other Northern houses followed him. Then came the Riverlands and the Vale.
Finally, Tywin also agreed to lend a hand because this was his proud grandson. The brightest lion to have ever lived, as per his evaluation. The greatest king after Aegon, as many claimed.
"House Lannister and Westerlands will stand with you, Your Grace."
"So will the Reach." Lord Redwyne, the new Lord Paramount of the Mander, added.
Stormlands was already Joffrey's, so there was no need to ask them. The same was the case for Crownlands.
"We stand with the living." Envoy of the House Martell, Arianne Martell, declared.
Joffrey clapped his hands and turned around. He returned to his throne and sat down. "Good. This isn't just some petty war for crowns and titles. This is survival. Lady Arianne spoke well—we stand with the living. And for that, I'll have the realm's full support—Money, men, and minds—more the merrier."
Statistically speaking, Joffrey was highly confident in winning this time. He not only had the realm but also Daenerys and the Wildlings to fight for him. In no imaginable circumstance did he see the Night King winning or mustering greater numbers than his own.
"Let's retreat for the feast then."
####
Joffrey had no desire to share a meal with the nobles. He spoke with a few, exchanged a few greetings, and left.
This was an opportunity to find some quiet peace and meet someone in privacy. Someone he'd not seen in more than a year. Someone who'd given him a son already.
Guarded by Ser Arthur of the Golden Legion, Joffrey entered one of the largest and most decorated guest bedchambers of the castle. He locked the door behind him first and then looked inside the chamber.
There, in front of the dresser, was a woman seated on a chair and combing her loose, long, auburn hair. Behind, on the bed, was the sleeping figure of a boy, slightly over a year old.
"Catelyn."
The older woman turned her head to him and smiled. She'd already greeted him before, but this was the first time they'd found time alone. "Your Grace."
Joffrey admired her for a moment. He had no clue how old she was, but he didn't care, her beauty was retained. She's aged like fine wine, and her face, although with a hint of age lines, remained beautifully shaped and smooth, her eyes deep blue. And her body…
She's grown even more curvaceous.
He already relished her birthing, wide hips, and those magnificent full breasts. But they'd seemingly grown bigger, especially her breasts, forming significant hills on her chest. Her dark blue gown struggled to hold them in, her cleavage a sight to behold.
It had been so long that Joffrey felt his loins heat up already. So, without a hint of doubt in him, he strode over to her and leaned down, one hand gripping her face under the chin as his lips landed on hers.
The kiss was warm and deep as he graciously swept between her lips. His tongue invaded her mouth and, to his pleasure, felt her tongue willingly play with his. This was his declaration and her submission—she belonged to him, no doubt.
Feeling her heated breath on his face and her very taste made him harder than anything. Joffrey, in his own right, cherished House Stark.
"Umh…" Catelyn, in pure submission, obeyed his greedy kiss. She drank his kiss, coiled in play. Family, Duty, and Honor were her ideals, and she saw this as her duty fulfilled to the man who gave her a son.
Joffrey's hands caressed her face; his fingers combed through her thick hair. Her pale flesh felt so warm, so inviting, so ripe that he wanted to savor her right there and then. But he knew he didn't have enough time to truly have her.
So, he finally broke the kiss and looked at her charming face closely. "This time, stay here for a few months, Cat."
Catelyn stood up to her full height and nodded.
She became even finer.
Joffrey drank in that view. The tight gown hugged her hourglass shape, her wide hips, smaller waist, and fuller breasts.
"Creagan is…" Catelyn walked closer to the bed and noticed how deeply asleep her son… their son was. "Shall I wake him up?"
"No." Joffrey walked behind Catelyn and hugged her soft waist. He pressed his hardened groin on her ample, wide hips while his arms wrapped around her belly. "I'll just watch for now and… hold his mother close."
The strategy when dealing with the Stark women was simple. With Arya, he needed to be more direct and assertive. With Sansa, he needed to be more romantic, the knight in shining armor type. With Catelyn, he needed to appear responsible, dependable, and mature, as those qualities made her feel calm and confident.
His hands took the liberty and slid upwards, cupping her large breasts in each. Gently, he felt their weight, their volume, and fondled them. His face lowered on the side of her neck and pecked wet, breathy kisses. His erection grounded into her from behind, feeling the valley between her asscheeks.
"How is everything in Winterfell?" he asked, unashamedly fondling her to his heart's content.
Catelyn welcomed his wet kisses on her neck, his hands on her chest, and his needy erection with no protests. To her, it was proof that the King still desired her in intimate ways, something she'd been worried about after giving birth to his seed.
"The castle has been repaired, Your Grace. The Bolton land you granted to House Stark has been accounted for," Catelyn answered, albeit taking short breaks as her own arousal became apparent. "I… I'm grateful for all th-ah-at you've done for me."
"I did nothing for you, Catelyn. I did it for us and for this realm." Joffrey replied and felt something strange. A wet sensation in his palms as he massaged her breasts. "You're still lactating?"
"Aye, Creagan is still very young and… I couldn't bring myself to trust a nursemaid."
Joffrey felt harder by that statement. Fucking Sansa when she was still nursing was one of the greatest pleasures he'd experienced, and with Catelyn there now, he hoped to feel that again.
Perhaps even more than before.
"Too bad we don't have enough time, or I'd have loved to… have a taste," he teasingly said, gripping her teats in a tighter grip. He slathered her neck with kisses and practically humped into her round ass.
Catelyn chuckled and turned around, still between his arms. She wrapped her arms around his masculine chest and looked up at his face. "I'm here for months, Your Grace. There will be enough time to… meet."
"Seven hells, I want nothing more than to feel the warmth inside you right now, Cat. Sadly, duty calls," Joffrey said, acting exactly as he hoped. Furthermore, he never asked her to call him Joffrey as he did with other women.
No, he wanted to maintain the status divide with Catelyn. The proof that he'd conquered her fair and square.
"And I would welcome you with all my heart." Catelyn stood up on her toes and kissed his lips.
Joffrey wondered if Catelyn, with her current submissiveness, would let Sansa and Arya join or not.
Who cares? In the end, it's not a choice up to you.
"This room has a hidden passage behind the dresser. I might visit you on some nights, Cat. You wouldn't mind, would you?" He pulled her close, his fingers digging into her honey-soft bottom. "You'll have to compensate me for a year's worth of intimacy."
Catelyn smiled warmly and nodded.
"You can come any time, Your Grace."
And I will.
"I'll see you at supper then."
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