GoT: A New God's Conquest

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners.

AN: Sorry for the wait, some not so fun family stuff happened.

Narcissa frowned while watching their house elf clean the filth from her husband's newly crippled form. This wasn't at all how she'd expected her life to end up as after being accustomed to standing at the top of magical Britain for so long.

She knew Lucius had never been the greatest of duelists, but the company they kept valued strength, and already she could sense the other Death Eaters plotting and scheming behind the scenes, their wealth the only thing keeping the hounds at bay for now.

But with Lucius's current state—seemingly no magic, nor elixirs affecting the gruesome injuries—she didn't know how long that would last before the others got any ideas into their heads.

Thinking on how she'd keep her daughter away from this mess during the summer break, Narcissa noticed her husband's bloodshot eyes trembling as he looked to her.

No, that wasn't right. Lucius was looking over her shoulder, and before she could whip around, Narcissa froze, a feminine arm wrapping around her waist.

"Damn, Rose really did a number on your husband," the intruder spoke, immediately recognized as that of her insane sister.

"Bella, why? Why did you betray us?" Narcissa couldn't help but ask the question that had them all stumped—the Dark Lord's most fervent supporter seemingly switching sides without a hint of reason.

"I've seen the light, Cissy, and soon, so will you. But don't you worry, Cissy; my new master does his best to keep his possessions as happy as possible. Of course, that's as long as they behave," Bella ranted, and despite her efforts, she somehow couldn't move an inch within her sister's grip.

"Sister, have you gone mad? The Dark Lord won't let this stand," she told her deranged sibling, only able to resort to threats in her current state. Though, if the whispers of what happened at the ministry were true, her words would be unlikely to have much of an influence.

"Heh, forget about that cockless fucker. I simply left the bastard alive because it wouldn't do for his downfall to be so painless," Bella giggled, her sister's words affirming what the Dark Lord's closest followers were trying to hide.

But that begged the question: what did the psychopath want from them after reaching her current level of strength?

"I can tell you have questions, Cissy, but worry not, all will be revealed in time," Bella purred, making her shiver at the tone. "However, I think a change in locale would be best for that particular conversation," she went on, Narcissa finding herself in a completely different room within the blink of an eye, the magical transportation so seamless that it left her utterly baffled.

"W-What is the meaning of this?" Her voice trembled, horrified at the sight in front of her.

Completely naked, a brunette lay unconscious, a decorative collar the only thing on her pale flesh, a golden chain binding her to the headboard. And even though it'd been so many years, she wouldn't have been able to mistake the woman for anyone else other than her estranged sister, Andromeda.

"It's simple, Cissy, the Black family will rise once again. And even if that means I'll have to drag it up kicking and screaming, then so be it," Bella answered, and Narcissa felt her skin goosepimple not from fright but from the cool air hitting her as she joined her sleeping sister in a state of equal undress.

"How do you intend to bring about our family's rise?" She couldn't help but ask, despite dreading the answer.

"By the same way that I've already begun to," Bella replied as she heard the slight ruffling of clothing. "Here, look at my adorable babies," her sister continued, pushing a moving picture of three toddlers in front of her face.

"H-How?" She gaped at the image, the oldest one a striking match to her sister, while the younger ones matched her in all but coloring, one with blue locks and the other wearing curls of deep green.

"How isn't what's important here, but the fact that you'll soon enjoy the luxury of carrying my master's seed all the same," Bella proclaimed, seeming to be lost in her own, deranged world.

Narcissa was now close to breaking down at this point. How could everything have gone so terribly wrong in a single day?

And as she felt a new pressure forming around her neck—likely joining Andromeda in her collared condition—she felt as if her fate had been sealed, but what she was truly fearing was leaving her daughter to face her parent's mistakes alone.

"Shh, Cissy, you don't have to worry about that beautiful daughter of yours. I wouldn't leave such fine breeding stock in the hands of those degenerates," her sister cooed, and she didn't know whether she should be feeling relieved or terrified at the implications. At the very least, the Dark Lord's sycophants wouldn't be able to get their hands on her little girl.

"P-Please, Bella, if our past still means anything to you, don't hurt my daughter," Narcissa begged, already resigned to her fate.

"Hurt? Oh, no, Cissy, I assure you that pain will be the last thing your little girl will be experiencing," Bella claimed, the statement not easing her worry in the slightest.

But before she could get in a protest, she felt herself being dragged onto a separate mattress next to her still-sleeping sister, a third, empty bed in the room sitting there menacingly, and she could only hope it wasn't meant for who she thought it would be.

"Now rest, dear sister, you're going to need it," were the last foreboding words she heard before forced to close her eyes.

— A New God's Conquest —

Hannibal let out a mighty roar, picking up speed as he broke through the clouds. Lux realized his dragon was quite the prideful beast while not being bullied by his little cuties.

With his magic only allowing a gentle breeze, Lux took full advantage of having the grouchiest of his collection seated so close, his strong arms wrapped around the young mother's soft tummy while Lyanna didn't hide the scowl on her pretty face.

"What's wrong, my dear, not enjoying the magnificent view?" Lux smirked at the She-Wolf, a snort of contempt her immediate reply.

"How could I with a lecher groping at my body?" Lyanna growled, making him chuckle.

"Think of it as the price for my generosity," Lux easily shot back, the ungrateful bitch keeping her silence instead of playing along with his banter.

But fuck her; she'd soon know her place, and in the meantime, he'd take all the liberties he wanted from her lithe curves during their short journey.

And just before Lyanna could blow a gasket, the big oaf below let out another roar, interrupting his fun as Hannibal started his descent towards an open clearing near where the party was taking place, his perfect vision allowing a clear view of the little lords jumping at his mount's grand announcement.

Landing far gentler than something of his size should have been capable of, Han struck a pose before the horrified audience, golden flames spewing from his maw as the cocky shit basked in the limelight for once.

Shaking his head, Lux took the grumpy Northerner into his arms before easily gliding down to the marbled floor; one of the few times he decided to display his wings, truly making the point that he was above these trifling mortals.

Smirking, Lux strolled over to his seated queen, the southern lords gawking between his divine self and the dragon that could bring ruin to any of their puny castles. On the other hand, Bobby B only had eyes for the beauty at his side.

"Val, my love, I hope acting on my behalf hasn't been too much of a hassle, has it?" he asked, a hand on the side of her pretty face.

"Of course not, husband; in fact, things were just becoming exciting," Val claimed, standing from her throne for him to take her place, finding a new seat on his lap, Lyanna mumbling something distasteful under her breath as she remained standing.

Lux internally rolled his eyes at his wife's words. He'd originally planned on allowing his girls to handle these matters, but thought better of it after realizing that the bloodthirsty Wildling would have likely resorted to an all-out war if he didn't step in. Normally, he wouldn't have cared much, but Westeros was far too interesting of a place for his games to be ending so soon.

His wife's eagerness for violence aside, Lux figured he should finally address his waiting guests, turning his attention away from the bubbly rear wiggling on his groin. "So, I've been informed that we're far from coming to a conclusion to these talks," he drawled, relaxing back into his throne as the lords nervously glanced between each other.

"King Tenebris, we would appreciate an answer for this. We've followed our agreement to the letter, yet you've brought these… beasts as a clear threat," the hand of the king spoke up, his fellows nodding along.

"What? These little guys? They're harmless," Lux chuckled, blatantly lying. "Still, I don't remember saying anything about leaving our pets at home," he continued, Hannibal's low rumbling making them flinch, the big guy not caring for being referred to as a 'pet'.

"Fuck the dragons! Lyanna, is that truly you?" Robert roared, and Lux was really hoping the bear of a man wouldn't end up breaking down into tears.

"Your Grace, you don't mean…" Jon trailed off, obviously not the only one who hadn't recognized the recently resurrected Stark.

"Gods, Jon, can't you see it? I wouldn't mistake that face for any other," Robert turned to his foster father, the old lord's disbelief clear.

"Well, go ahead and say something," Lux said, nudging Lyanna's back with his wing.

"Aye, it's true; my name is Lyanna Stark. In His Lord's infinite wisdom, King Tenebris deigned it appropriate that I should not have remained at peace in the afterlife," Lyanna declared, making him shrug at the girl's sarcasm.

"This is blasphemy. Your Grace, we can't allow this vile sorcery to stand," Maester Pycelle wheezed, already playing the part as a nearly senile old coot.

"I must agree with our Grand Maester, whether a mummery or not, this is an affront to our gods, old and new. What purpose do you have by desecrating the deceased?" The Hand questioned, and Lux wondered how these people still doubted his divinity after all that he'd shown them.

"When will you fools realize that you're not dealing with a mortal?" Lux asked, not expecting a reply before continuing with a monologue. "But to answer your question, I've come to realize that the North will never bow to a lord other than a Stark. So, Lyanna here will bear me children with blood of the Kings of Winter."

"Robert, please, save me," Lyanna shakily pleaded, the little bitch taking the opportunity to stir some chaos, and Lux was all for it, watching as the chunky King stewed in rage.

"I've had enough of this horse shit! I say we settle this with a duel, no dragon, witchcraft, or godly nonsense!" Robert decided, probably realizing that this was the only chance he had.

"Robert, you can't…" The king's hand began.

"I don't want to hear it, Jon; don't waste your words trying to stop me," Robert growled, flipping his seat over as he stood. "Someone, get me my hammer!"

"Bold of you to assume I'd accept such a demand. I could easily sit back, watching as my army and dragons tear your realm apart. But I like your gumption, so let's get this over and done with," Lux agreed, lifting his woman off his lap before walking down the throne's steps.

Now facing the unworthy challenger, Lux shrugged his blade off his back, the man taking a step back from its radiating aura alone.

"You don't have to worry, you're not worthy of dying by this blade's edge," Lux told his fellow King, his black sword and golden armor transforming back into their loli shrine maiden forms, leaving him in nothing but a pair of silk trousers, his lovely war goddess and wife drinking in his chiseled upper body.

And perhaps on account of the many shocking sights the lords had already been through today, they barely reacted at his armaments turning into little girls, the two taking a seat to watch the show.

"Fine, don't complain when my mace is caving your skull in," Robert grunted, hefting his war hammer in a single hand before charging with an overhead strike.

Lux sighed; even though he knew he shouldn't have, he kind of expected more from a man who was feared by all on the battlefield, but even while suppressing all but the slightest of his strength and reaction speed, the blow meant to kill him in one hit was easily sidestepped, a crater of cracked marble left where he stood.

"Is that all? You're going to have to do better than that if you don't want your dear Lyanna moaning my name on our wedding bed," he mocked, the veins on his opponent's head looking ready to burst.

"Ours is the fury!" was the only response he got from his taunting words, and Lux could feel a shift in the surrounding mana as the words fell, the follow-up attack coming at him at speeds surpassing any of those he'd fought to this point.

Still, even with what Lux assumed was the blood of the Storm Kings giving him a boost, he only had to take a quick step back to avoid the wide swing.

"Now, that's more like it, but I can already imagine your first love wrapping her legs around my back as I plant my seed in her fertile womb," he didn't forget to toy with the man, all while ducking and weaving through a berserker rage-fueled onslaught.

"Just… Fucking… Die!" Bobby B shouted, nearly exhausted at this point, yet his final strike was the most powerful of the bunch.

But this time, Lux didn't bother dodging, catching the man's weapon with a bare hand before it could hope to reach its target. He'd had enough fun tormenting his prey and figured that this would be plenty to give the lords here the perspective they were sorely lacking.

Grinning at the man's defeated look, Lux decided he wouldn't give a king he held no respect towards a valiant end. And as the hammer's head crumpled in the smallest display of his true might, a casual backhand sent the man's head flying across the grounds, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, The King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, dying a pitiful death that no songs would be written of.

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