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Prologue

"What brings a beauty such as yourself to the Reach? Tell me true." Ser Damon pressed, ghosting his fingers across the woman's bare back. The man grinned wryly as she squirmed and wiggled under his touch.

She was a Dornishwoman, with dusky skin and hair to match. Black as a moonless sky, her dark locks tumbled down her shoulders and back in wavy curls. She was nude. After so many hours into the evening, it was impossible for her not to be. Her body was one of abundance: hips and rear flaring outward from her slim waist, breasts spilling to the sides as she laid flat on her belly.

Her name was Lanara and she was a sight to behold.

"What brings a man such as yourself to the Reach?" Lanara pressed Ser Damon in turn, humming sweetly as his roaming hand came to rest on the small of her back, just before the lovely swells of her arse.

"That's not quite fair, love. I asked you first." Damon murmured as he laid kisses upon her shoulders and back. He took in her perfume, smelling Dornish spice and wild roses. He swore he caught the scent of wine as well, but realized that may have been his own breath. "And how do you know I'm not a Reachman?"

"I have eyes and I see you." Lanara shifted on the featherbed, rolling over onto her back. Heavy breasts capped with dark nipples swayed into view, captivating the young knight for perhaps the hundredth time that evening. Before Damon could bury his face in her tits, she poked a finger jokingly on his nose. "You were not born among these rolling hills, no."

"Is it that obvious?" Damon chuckled, softly batting her hand away. He reached forth and took one of her nipples between his fingers, rolling it gently.

"It is clear as water to me." Lanara sighed, her fingers encircling his wrist as he touched her. He cupped her breast next, feeling the weight in his palm, the warmth of her soft flesh. Lanara inhaled, her fingers squeezing around his hand. But she did not push him away. "I have a gift for such things."

"Alright, then. Where do you believe I hail from?"

"Hmm." It was Lanara's turn to touch him. She reached out, pressing her fingers into the hard muscle of his chest, his shoulders, his arms. The Dornish beauty smiled. "Strong arms. Hard face. Wild red hair. Harsh land, harsh weather where you live, yes? You are a Northman."

A deep laugh rumbled in Damon's chest. He shook his head.

"No?" Lanara pouted.

"Stormlander." Damon answered. "Though, if I'd been born in the North I'd have found my way south all the same. It's a dreadful place to live up there. Or so I've heard."

Lanara hummed, narrowing her eyes at him. It was clear she didn't like to be wrong. Luckily, Damon knew one thing that would lift her spirits. Moving swiftly, he scooped the woman into his arms. She cried out in surprise, her voice petering into a fit of giggles as Damon pulled her atop him. She straddled him then, laughing heartily as she planted her hands on his chest. Her dark hair fell across his face and he could smell the spice again.

"But you are a soldier, yes? I've seen your sword." Lanara inquired further. Damon couldn't deny her an answer. Not when the soft swells of her lovely arse were smothering his cock.

"Indeed you have." He grinned up at her wolfishly.

"Your steel sword." She bit, half-heartedly slapping his chest. "Silly man."

"Aye, it has served me well. I am a knight, it's true. A bastard knight, but still a knight. Though I've never fought in a war." He admitted. Ser Damon Storm of Blackhaven. Born to a second son of House Dondarrion and a merchant's daughter. Kin to the Lighting Lord, Beric Dondarrion. The late Lightning Lord, if some of the rumors are true, Damon thought bitterly. But it was difficult to stay bitter with a woman like Lanara in his arms.

"How does the War of the Five Kings touch nearly every man in Westeros but you?" The woman asked, tracing lines on Damon's chest with her fingers. She sounded somewhat unconvinced of Ser Damon's admission. He decided to take her doubt as a compliment. It was a good thing she didn't see him as some green-as-grass boy, right?

"I was beyond its reach. Traveling." Damon explained, grinning as a number of pleasant memories came back into his mind. "Enjoying the wonders of the world."

"What wonders?" Lanara seemed interested then, laying down flat upon Damon's body, resting her chin on his chest so that she may look closer into his eyes.

Damon's grin widened.

"Brothels in Braavos. Brothels in Pentos. Brothels in the Summer Isles…"

Lanara pursed her full lips, half-heartedly slapping him once more.

"Silly man." The Dornishwoman muttered. She rose from him, straddling his waist. The sweet softness of her rear smothered his manhood as it did before. It was a delightful sensation, almost enough to stir another bout of lovemaking out of him. Almost.

"But there were no wonders so lovely as you." Damon rumbled, his voice low and wanting. His hands, previously occupied playing with Lanara's dark locks, found their way to the woman's sumptuous hips. They rested comfortably there, the enticing curves fitting wonderfully to his palms. It was as if she was sculpted perfectly to match his touch. Dornish women are a wonder unto themselves.

"Smart silly man." Lanara hummed, smiling. Damon's words pleased her enough to spare him from her playful wrath. She leaned down then, feathering his neck and collarbone with the softest, sweetest of kisses.

One of his hands shifted down to take a handful of arse, his fingers sinking delightfully into the soft swells. Lanara moaned sweetly, nipping playfully at Damon's neck, her tongue lashing out to sooth the little bites better. Damon's other arm snaked around the woman's waist, pulling her body flush to his own. Her tits, trapped between them, spilled out to the sides. He could feel her hard nipples streaking down his chest. And she was so maddeningly warm in his arms, hot to the touch. This was the true spice of Dorne, Damon decided. It was near enough to end a lesser man.

"The war has passed me by, it seems. Stark's dead. Greyjoy's dead. Renly's dead. And now, King Joffrey had joined them." Damon mused, idly running his fingers along the woman's spine. She groaned into his neck, turning into a puddle in his arms. His cock was fully hard again, thrumming against the soft, pliant flesh of the Dornish beauty's rear end. But the Stormlander doubted he had enough energy to bed her again. All he wanted to do was hold her close. "The only king left living is Stannis. Disgraced and a thousand miles away. I couldn't serve him if I wanted to. And I don't."

"So what will my sweet knight do?" Lanara murmured, resting her cheek upon Damon's chest. She played with his chest hair, curling one of his dark red locks around one finger. "Will he pledge his sword to Queen Cersei?"

"Depends on the sword." Damon japed. This earned him another weak slap from Lanara. The man gave a low, rumbling laugh, rubbing slow, small circles into the woman's back. "But it's a possibility, true. I could find some glory serving the Lannister Queen. She's said to be one of the most beautiful women living. Present company excluded, of course."

Lanara made a pleased sound, pressing another soft kiss to the Stormlander's hairy chest.

"Her king husband is dead. Her king son murdered. Her dwarf brother accused of the crime." Damon continued, frowning. Speaking of royal tragedy was putting a chill to the warmth Lanara had stirred within him. His arm coiled tighter about the woman's waist, pulling her body closer to him. His cock could feel the heat from her cunt. He throbbed then, knowing the sweetness the Dornishwoman held between her legs. "For such horrors to befall a beauty like her… The gods are cruel."

"She needs a brave and handsome knight to protect her, no? Someone to hold her in his big, strong arms." Lanara teased, stirring atop him. His hard cock batted softly against her rear as she did. For a moment he believed that she might try to ride him for the umpteenth time that night. The man had already given her all he had - Or rather, she had taken all that she could. Fucked him for all he was worth. Damon grinned, knowing the woman in his arms had long since drained him dry.

"Small chance I'd be able to get close enough to speak to her, let alone hold her. I don't believe they allow bastards to court Queens, even if that bastard is a knight." Damon countered. Things were done differently in Dorne compared to the rest of Westeros, it was true. Bastards were not looked down upon in those southern sands. "And certainly not with her lord father around. He's the true Lion of Lannister, I've heard."

"At least it is good to dream." Lanara said, laying a gentle kiss upon his lips. The bastard knight stole two more of his own, drawing a giggle from the dusky woman. Then she sighed and lay her head upon his chest again, letting sleep claim her.

"You were better than any dream, sweetling. And worth every coin." Damon spoke gently, running his fingers through her hair. His eyelids felt heavy then, and soon the enchantment of dreams was upon him too.

Ser Damon awoke sometime later. Morning light shined through the cracks between the closed shutters of the bedroom window. Lanara was still in bed with him, her arms and legs entangled with his own. He took special care not to wake her. She had more than earned the rest after her performance the previous night.

He cleaned himself with the washbowl set at the other side of the room and quickly got dressed. Brown trousers with boots to match. A tan linen shirt - which had once been colored white - under a black leather jerkin. And a dark gray wool cloak tied with simple black yarn.

He grabbed his sword from the dresser beside the door and headed down into the brothel's common room - But not before leaving a single gold dragon coin on the table beside the sleeping Dornish beauty.

The Madam was awake, lounging on one of the many cushions that circled the common room. She was flanked on both sides by one of her girls, one blonde, the other raven-haired. Damon gave them a wave as he exited the brothel.

Stepping out onto the crowded streets of Rosby, Ser Damon Storm was immediately struck with the realization that he simply didn't know what to do next. Thus was the trial of a bastard son with nothing to inherit.

But then came a loud, booming voice from down the stone road. A town cryer was standing upon a wooden block, shouting dreadful things to the small crowd that had gathered.

"Murder! Murder in King's Landing!" The bald, skinny man cried.

Damon pursed his lips, stepping closer. It wasn't any of his business, but he felt the man ought to know that he was wasting his time - and the crowd's.

"You're shouting old news, friend." Damon spoke as he drew close enough to see the wrinkles that lined the bald man's face. "Everyone already knows the King is dead."

"Not the King. The Hand." The cryer said, his eyes wide. "Lord Tywin, murdered through treachery! And his Dwarf bastard is missing! Escaped, more like!"

"Are you certain?" Damon asked, frowning.

"As certain as can be. This bodes ill for the Queen. Lord Tywin was the true power behind the throne. It'll take a strong man to fill that void."

Ser Damon Storm stepped back, slipping into the crowd. Lanara's words from the night before rang through his mind. Her words and his own.

Certainly there was some glory to be claimed serving Queen Cersei. And a beauty such as her struck with so much tragedy… It would certainly take a strong man to serve in her name.

Or a bold one, the Bastard of Blackhaven thought, smirking.

He gripped his sword tighter and moved with intent, now taking purposeful steps. He'd find his horse at the stables just down the road. He would leave Rosby behind that very day and make for the woman who awaited him at King's Landing.