For as long as you can remember, you've been an orphan on the streets of Westeros after your parents died of a plague, or so the wizened old septas who ran the orphanage told you. Small for your age, shy, quiet, and scrawny, you were picked on by other orphaned children growing up, and have sorely regretted the lack of a mother to protect and comfort you. After you grew into adolescence, you were finally able to leave the stifling orphanage and decided to go wherever the wind beckoned, doing odd jobs for farmers, merchants, the occasional lord, and anyone else who could use an extra hand.
During your travels you glimpsed many children far luckier than you. While some were born to poor parents, and others to those of more comfortable, if not luxurious means, you considered them all far more fortunate than yourself because they all could look forward to their mother's loving caress, even under the worst of circumstances. In contrast, all you ever received from any woman was a polite thank you for services rendered, if not apathetic indifference to your very existence. This was especially apparent on the exceedingly rare occasions when you encountered a woman from the nobility. Stunningly beautiful yet so often cold and arrogant, they barely seemed to look at "the help," especially someone as meek and awkward around women as yourself. Your only escape from this lonely, itinerant lifestyle was at night, when you collapsed exhausted under a tree, or, if you were lucky, in a farmer's barn or the floor of an inn.
Many a night as you slept under the stars, you sought refuge in dreams about the kind of mother you desperately wished you could have. Large, full breasts were, of course, mandatory, as were a tall height, full lips, smooth, soft skin, a slim waist, wide, child bearing hips, toned thighs, a generous butt, and dainty, well formed hands and feet, though other features changed each night. Sometimes, she was a blonde with fine hair that glittered like beaten gold, and blue eyes that shimmered with motherly love, like a placid morning lake, kissed by the earliest rays of the dawn. Other times, however, she was a brunette a red head, or had jet black hair, thick, and luxuriant, accompanied by brown or green eyes that twinkled mischievously like the gems you often saw being sold by street peddlers.
Her personality changed as well, night after night. Some things were constant, of course; she was generally doting and affectionate, cooing as she cuddled with you, stroking your hair, whispering in your ear, smothering you with kisses, and (though you were embarrassed to admit this, even to yourself) unashamedly servicing your hardened member as you greedily suckled at her breasts. Sometimes, she'd give you a bath, soaping you up in a tub of warm water, thoroughly scrubbing your ticklish armpits, feet, and knees as you giggled, while she paid special attention to your genitals and butthole. Occasionally, you would misbehave, not truly of course, but just to see how she would react. In some dreams, she would react with mock annoyance, subjecting you to a merciless tickling session, playfully counting your ribs with her long, painted nails, licking your soles, nibbling your toes, or blowing raspberries on your bellybutton. In others, however, (and this was even more embarrassing) she would respond with a sultry smirk, pulling you over her firm thighs, trapping your member between them, and subjecting your defenseless buns to some delightfully naughty spanking with her soft, delicate palms, as she "accidentally" fondled your genitals, buttcrack, and butthole with her nimble fingers - for your own good, of course.
Alas, even the grandest dream must yield before the grim intrusion of the real world, and today was no different. Your latest nocturnal reverie ended with a jolt, as an irritated innkeeper kicked you awake. He had allowed you to stay the night after helping fix his roof,but wanted you gone before his customers awoke. Glaring at his ugly mug, you reluctantly stumbled out of the Inn at the Crossroads. As its name suggested, this inn was located in the center of the Riverlands, and therefore most of the other Seven Kingdoms were within a few weeks travel. Glumly rubbing the bruise made by the inkeeper's boot, you wondered which direction to go in search of work.
Should you go North? Ruled by House Stark, and home to several other prominent Houses like the Forresters, Whitehills, and Glenmores, the people of this harsh, cold kingdom could use some to help bringing in the harvest in preparation for winter, or bringing in the daily catch of fish at the port city of White Harbor. Even further north of that is the Wall that separates the Seven Kingdoms from the savage wildling people, and the prospect of going there both terrifies and intrigues you...
Or you could go West to the Westerlands. Ruled by the wealthy House Lannister, the people of this rocky kingdom could use some assistance digging gold out of their many mines. West of the Westerlands lie the Iron Islands, populated by the fierce and piratical Iron born. They might be able to use your help in their iron mines.
Going South would be another option. South of the Riverlands are the kingdoms of the Stormlands, Reach and Dorne, ruled by Houses Baratheon, Tyrell and Martell respectively. The Stormlands is known for its windswept coasts and forests, the Reach for its fertile soil, and Dorne for its sweltering desert climate. You might be able to hunt in the Stormlands' vast forests. In contrast, the Reach could use your help bringing in their bountiful harvest, and the people of Dorne would surely appreciate some help digging wells.
In the East lie the Vale, ruled by House Arryn, and the Crownlands, ruled by the King of Westeros from his capital of King's Landing. The Vale is a cold, hilly kingdom, and yet is known for its agricultural output, and you could probably find work harvesting it. And if all else fails, well, there's always work to be had in the capital, if you aren't choosy about what you're willing to do. Of course, just because you go to the capital doesn't mean you have to stay there. Offshore from King's Landing in the Narrow Sea lies the mysterious island fortress of Dragonstone, the ancient citadel of House Targaryen. Like the far North, Dragonstone too is a mysterious place that few dare venture to. Who knows what you could find if you had the courage to visit?
Then again, why stay in Westeros at all? To the East, across the Narrow Sea lies the continent of Essos, home to the Free Cities, the Dothraki Sea, and gods know what else! You've heard rumors of monsters, sorcerers, and other mysterious things in Essos, though you've never had the chance to go there. Why not travel to Maidenpool, a seaside town in the Riverlands itself, and sign up to work on a merchant ship that'll take you to Essos? Who knows what job opportunities are available there? Then again, it might be safer to stay in Westeros, where things are familiar...
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author