Summary: The Red Woman is into some weird sh*t. Stannis gets that. But this time, she's gone too far. This can't possibly be what the Lord of Light wants from him. Well, little does he know. (Prompt: Stannis/Any or Gen, tickle-torture. It turns out that Stannis is ticklish.)
Disclaimer: As always, sorry George!
Note: I felt like I should torture someone other than my One True ASoIaF Tickle Crush for a change, so here we go...
When she'd told him what she wanted to do –no, what the Lord of Light needed her to do– he'd agreed without giving it much thought. Melisandre always needed him to do some thing or another, and while he disapproved, it all seemed harmless enough. Now, naked and strapped to his war table, the world suddenly looked very different. He wasn't sure he was ready for this.
The Red Woman hadn't told him what exactly it was she was planning to do to him. She never did. “Trust the Lord of Light!” She would tell him. “I would do nothing he's not willed.” One time, the god had supposedly asked her to cut him and use leeches on him. Another time, she'd claimed R'hllor wanted him to stand in a corner and recount all the mistakes he had made in his life. Most of the time though, the fiery god seemed content watching Stannis pleasure his red servant in various ways.
Melisandre's tall, slender figure was facing the fire now, praying to the Lord of Light, her hands raised as she chanted in her deep, melodic voice, invoking her god, asking him to accept their sacrifice.
He wished she would drop the act and admit that whatever she did, she did because she enjoyed it, not because her god demanded it of her. He'd told her as much, but she was impervious to reason and insisted she took no pleasure in any of what she did. Still, the woman was of use to him, so he would give her what she wanted.
At last, the Red Woman had finished her prayer. Good. Let's get this nonsense over with, Stannis wanted to tell her, but something about the way she looked at him when she turned around made him hold his tongue. The way she fixed him with her gaze made him uncomfortably aware of his helpless predicament. He couldn't say he particularly enjoyed being tied up.
His heart was pounding as she came closer, her long red robe dragging behind her. His mouth was dry, and he could feel cold sweat forming on his head. Oh, stop it! He told himself. It made him feel silly to be so nervous.
Yet all his resolve to collect himself and get through this situation with dignity dissipated the moment she asked the question: “Are you ticklish, Your Grace?”
His throat tightened, and his eyes widened. “What?” He croaked. She can't possibly... no, no, not when I'm bound like this!
Suddenly, her hand hovered over his stomach. “I said, are you ticklish, Your Grace?” The Red Woman repeated, moving her fingers in the air above his exposed belly. She wasn't even touching him, but somehow the mere sight of her wiggling hand made him panic. “No!” He squealed.
“Oh, good.” She smiled. “I was afraid that what I'd have to do to you might be rather unpleasant for you, but I'm glad to hear my worries were unfounded.” Then, without warning, her hand made contact with his skin, lightly brushing over his side, making him jump.
“Aaaiii!” The sound that escaped his lips was half shriek half nervous laugh. He quickly pressed his lips shut to stifle his reaction.
“What was that, Your Grace?” Her fingertips circled his navel, little more than a light scratching, but it was enough to make him want to scream.
“Nothing.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “Enough! That's enough. You're being childish!” He tried to sound stern, but his voice was betraying him.
“Ah, but I'm not,” she said. “This is a test from the Lord of Light.” She placed two fingers on his belly, gently tracing the trail of soft hair between his navel and his pubic bone. He'd never been able to bear being touched in this spot. His jaw was clenched so tightly it was beginning to hurt.
He tried to distract himself, to take his mind off the ticklish sensation, but it was all he could think about. “Stop!” He snapped. “Stop it! Stop!” Stop, stop, STOP! He was sucking in his stomach, trying to squirm away from her hands, but he knew it was futile.
“I thought you weren't ticklish,” Melisandre said, an amused smile on her lips as she kept teasing him relentlessly.
He was tugging at his bonds, but she had made sure he was tied securely, forcing him to endure the maddening touch of her hands, unable to get away. She never lingered on a single spot for too long, and he realized in horror that she was mapping his body, making a note of his most sensitive spots.
“Who's the One True King, Stannis?” She asked suddenly, pausing.
“I am!” His answer came reflexively.
“Are you truly?” She went to the other end of the table and grabbed a hold of his foot, bending back his toes and brushing her fingernails lightly against the sensitive underside, forcing a panicked shriek from him.
“Oh dear.” Melisandre ran a single digit over his arch, an amused smile on her face. “I had no idea you were this ticklish!”
He knew that if he opened his mouth now to protest, he would start laughing uncontrollably.
She scribbled her fingers over his soles, making him whimper and shake his head from one side to the other. He tried to curl up his toes, but the Red Woman had fixed them with her iron grip.
His reactions only seemed to encourage her. He briefly considered calling for help, but his servants couldn't see him. Not like this.
“Who's the One True King?” Melisandre repeated, moving her hands up his legs, briefly tickling the inside of his knees before concentrating on his inner thighs.
“I... am.” He squealed. “Stop it!” Why is she doing this?
“Wrong!” She said, digging her hands into his sides suddenly.
He shrieked. Whatever she had done before was nothing compared to this. Stannis couldn't help it; he was laughing uncontrollably, thrashing on the table, desperately trying to get away from her. “Gods, stop! Stohohohop!”
Melisandre looked at him sternly. “There is but one true God, Stannis!”
He didn't care. He would have gladly prayed to the Seven, the Northern Gods and the Great Other if it meant an end to this torture. “Stohohop! I can't breeaathe!”
“If you can speak you can breathe,” Melisandre said with maddening indifference to his pleas. “Tell me, Stannis, who's the One True King?” She was tickling his hip bone, driving him nearly insane.
“I... I am!.... Stop!” He wailed.
“Wrong again.”
What is this?! “Pleeaase stohohohop!!”
“Not until you tell me who the One True King is,” the Red Woman said calmly, ruthlessly continuing to exploit her knowledge of all his weak spots.
“Joffrey?” Stannis whimpered. “Robb Stark? Ba-Balon Greyjoy?” The Red Woman kept shaking her head. He was running out of names. “Renly?! Robert??”
Suddenly, he felt like a little boy again. Robert used to pin him down and tickle him mercilessly, taunting him and laughing at him as he shrieked and tried to free himself from his grasp. But Robert was both older and stronger; he could hold him down easily. And he loved to show his friends how ticklish his little brother was.
“Stop it, Robert, please, pleeeaase stop!” He screamed.
“Robert?!” Melisandre pulled her hands back, briefly glancing at them in confusion as if to make sure they were still hers and hadn't turned into his brother's. Then, an amused smile crossed her face.
“I'll admit, it was a trick question,” she said. “There is no One True King. Only a Queen. She is Azor Ahai reborn. Ask the Red Woman. She will confirm it.”
“Who?” Stannis asked, confused. Why does she speak of herself in the third person?
But Melisandre only smiled her enigmatic smile. “I'll leave you to think about that. I'll be back later, and then we can... discuss it.”
He didn't like how she said that word. He didn't like it at all.
* * *
“Come in!” A voice commanded, harsh, as always, but to Melisandre, it was the sweetest sound. Even though she had slept for two hours, she was still too weak to walk, so she crawled into the room on all fours. “Your Grace.” She bowed deeply, touching her head to the floor. Her chest was burning, but none of that mattered now. She was with her Queen.
“Rise.” Selyse was sitting by the fire, sewing lace to a gown of fine Myrish silk, a stern look on her face, her mouth hard, but Melisandre could tell she was pleased. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled herself up from the floor with all her strength until she stood on two shaky legs.
“Laughing becomes Stannis.” Selyse remarked. “I think I'll pay him another visit later to... entertain him some more. He's far too serious. What do you think?”
Melisandre shuddered at the thought of putting another glamor on the Queen. She didn't know why Selyse preferred to look like her when she visited her husband, but it was not her place to question Her. Azor Ahai reborn.
“Do you think you could make me look like Robert?” Selyse asked absentmindedly. “Perhaps a younger version of him? I have a hunch that could produce some interesting results.” For the first time, she smiled.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Melisandre said. “I could do that.” She unlaced her dress in the front, sliding it down. Her neck and chest were a dark shade of red where her ruby had burned her. She walked over to Selyse and took the gown and sewing needle out of her hands, placing it on the table. “But first I believe I have earned myself a reward.”
Disclaimer: As always, sorry George!
Note: I felt like I should torture someone other than my One True ASoIaF Tickle Crush for a change, so here we go...
When she'd told him what she wanted to do –no, what the Lord of Light needed her to do– he'd agreed without giving it much thought. Melisandre always needed him to do some thing or another, and while he disapproved, it all seemed harmless enough. Now, naked and strapped to his war table, the world suddenly looked very different. He wasn't sure he was ready for this.
The Red Woman hadn't told him what exactly it was she was planning to do to him. She never did. “Trust the Lord of Light!” She would tell him. “I would do nothing he's not willed.” One time, the god had supposedly asked her to cut him and use leeches on him. Another time, she'd claimed R'hllor wanted him to stand in a corner and recount all the mistakes he had made in his life. Most of the time though, the fiery god seemed content watching Stannis pleasure his red servant in various ways.
Melisandre's tall, slender figure was facing the fire now, praying to the Lord of Light, her hands raised as she chanted in her deep, melodic voice, invoking her god, asking him to accept their sacrifice.
He wished she would drop the act and admit that whatever she did, she did because she enjoyed it, not because her god demanded it of her. He'd told her as much, but she was impervious to reason and insisted she took no pleasure in any of what she did. Still, the woman was of use to him, so he would give her what she wanted.
At last, the Red Woman had finished her prayer. Good. Let's get this nonsense over with, Stannis wanted to tell her, but something about the way she looked at him when she turned around made him hold his tongue. The way she fixed him with her gaze made him uncomfortably aware of his helpless predicament. He couldn't say he particularly enjoyed being tied up.
His heart was pounding as she came closer, her long red robe dragging behind her. His mouth was dry, and he could feel cold sweat forming on his head. Oh, stop it! He told himself. It made him feel silly to be so nervous.
Yet all his resolve to collect himself and get through this situation with dignity dissipated the moment she asked the question: “Are you ticklish, Your Grace?”
His throat tightened, and his eyes widened. “What?” He croaked. She can't possibly... no, no, not when I'm bound like this!
Suddenly, her hand hovered over his stomach. “I said, are you ticklish, Your Grace?” The Red Woman repeated, moving her fingers in the air above his exposed belly. She wasn't even touching him, but somehow the mere sight of her wiggling hand made him panic. “No!” He squealed.
“Oh, good.” She smiled. “I was afraid that what I'd have to do to you might be rather unpleasant for you, but I'm glad to hear my worries were unfounded.” Then, without warning, her hand made contact with his skin, lightly brushing over his side, making him jump.
“Aaaiii!” The sound that escaped his lips was half shriek half nervous laugh. He quickly pressed his lips shut to stifle his reaction.
“What was that, Your Grace?” Her fingertips circled his navel, little more than a light scratching, but it was enough to make him want to scream.
“Nothing.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “Enough! That's enough. You're being childish!” He tried to sound stern, but his voice was betraying him.
“Ah, but I'm not,” she said. “This is a test from the Lord of Light.” She placed two fingers on his belly, gently tracing the trail of soft hair between his navel and his pubic bone. He'd never been able to bear being touched in this spot. His jaw was clenched so tightly it was beginning to hurt.
He tried to distract himself, to take his mind off the ticklish sensation, but it was all he could think about. “Stop!” He snapped. “Stop it! Stop!” Stop, stop, STOP! He was sucking in his stomach, trying to squirm away from her hands, but he knew it was futile.
“I thought you weren't ticklish,” Melisandre said, an amused smile on her lips as she kept teasing him relentlessly.
He was tugging at his bonds, but she had made sure he was tied securely, forcing him to endure the maddening touch of her hands, unable to get away. She never lingered on a single spot for too long, and he realized in horror that she was mapping his body, making a note of his most sensitive spots.
“Who's the One True King, Stannis?” She asked suddenly, pausing.
“I am!” His answer came reflexively.
“Are you truly?” She went to the other end of the table and grabbed a hold of his foot, bending back his toes and brushing her fingernails lightly against the sensitive underside, forcing a panicked shriek from him.
“Oh dear.” Melisandre ran a single digit over his arch, an amused smile on her face. “I had no idea you were this ticklish!”
He knew that if he opened his mouth now to protest, he would start laughing uncontrollably.
She scribbled her fingers over his soles, making him whimper and shake his head from one side to the other. He tried to curl up his toes, but the Red Woman had fixed them with her iron grip.
His reactions only seemed to encourage her. He briefly considered calling for help, but his servants couldn't see him. Not like this.
“Who's the One True King?” Melisandre repeated, moving her hands up his legs, briefly tickling the inside of his knees before concentrating on his inner thighs.
“I... am.” He squealed. “Stop it!” Why is she doing this?
“Wrong!” She said, digging her hands into his sides suddenly.
He shrieked. Whatever she had done before was nothing compared to this. Stannis couldn't help it; he was laughing uncontrollably, thrashing on the table, desperately trying to get away from her. “Gods, stop! Stohohohop!”
Melisandre looked at him sternly. “There is but one true God, Stannis!”
He didn't care. He would have gladly prayed to the Seven, the Northern Gods and the Great Other if it meant an end to this torture. “Stohohop! I can't breeaathe!”
“If you can speak you can breathe,” Melisandre said with maddening indifference to his pleas. “Tell me, Stannis, who's the One True King?” She was tickling his hip bone, driving him nearly insane.
“I... I am!.... Stop!” He wailed.
“Wrong again.”
What is this?! “Pleeaase stohohohop!!”
“Not until you tell me who the One True King is,” the Red Woman said calmly, ruthlessly continuing to exploit her knowledge of all his weak spots.
“Joffrey?” Stannis whimpered. “Robb Stark? Ba-Balon Greyjoy?” The Red Woman kept shaking her head. He was running out of names. “Renly?! Robert??”
Suddenly, he felt like a little boy again. Robert used to pin him down and tickle him mercilessly, taunting him and laughing at him as he shrieked and tried to free himself from his grasp. But Robert was both older and stronger; he could hold him down easily. And he loved to show his friends how ticklish his little brother was.
“Stop it, Robert, please, pleeeaase stop!” He screamed.
“Robert?!” Melisandre pulled her hands back, briefly glancing at them in confusion as if to make sure they were still hers and hadn't turned into his brother's. Then, an amused smile crossed her face.
“I'll admit, it was a trick question,” she said. “There is no One True King. Only a Queen. She is Azor Ahai reborn. Ask the Red Woman. She will confirm it.”
“Who?” Stannis asked, confused. Why does she speak of herself in the third person?
But Melisandre only smiled her enigmatic smile. “I'll leave you to think about that. I'll be back later, and then we can... discuss it.”
He didn't like how she said that word. He didn't like it at all.
* * *
“Come in!” A voice commanded, harsh, as always, but to Melisandre, it was the sweetest sound. Even though she had slept for two hours, she was still too weak to walk, so she crawled into the room on all fours. “Your Grace.” She bowed deeply, touching her head to the floor. Her chest was burning, but none of that mattered now. She was with her Queen.
“Rise.” Selyse was sitting by the fire, sewing lace to a gown of fine Myrish silk, a stern look on her face, her mouth hard, but Melisandre could tell she was pleased. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled herself up from the floor with all her strength until she stood on two shaky legs.
“Laughing becomes Stannis.” Selyse remarked. “I think I'll pay him another visit later to... entertain him some more. He's far too serious. What do you think?”
Melisandre shuddered at the thought of putting another glamor on the Queen. She didn't know why Selyse preferred to look like her when she visited her husband, but it was not her place to question Her. Azor Ahai reborn.
“Do you think you could make me look like Robert?” Selyse asked absentmindedly. “Perhaps a younger version of him? I have a hunch that could produce some interesting results.” For the first time, she smiled.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Melisandre said. “I could do that.” She unlaced her dress in the front, sliding it down. Her neck and chest were a dark shade of red where her ruby had burned her. She walked over to Selyse and took the gown and sewing needle out of her hands, placing it on the table. “But first I believe I have earned myself a reward.”
