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Hand Of The King
Punishment From The Frozen North
By
Nicholas Patrick <austininneed@gmail.com>
 

The Hand of the King

Beyond the Wall

Brandon Stark was the second son of a second son. That distinction should have left him open to the simple life of being a soldier or adventurer in some far off land, free from the obligations of a Lord of the realm. But fate had laid another path for the young Bran, one that left him without the use of his legs, but with the ability to fly.

After arriving at the secret cave containing the last remaining survivors of the Children of the Forrest, Bran had received daily instruction from the ancient one eyed old man whose body and life essence seemed to be tied into the very roots of the weirwood tree that guarded the entrance to the cavern. Lord Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven he was called in another time, was surrendering the secrets that the Old Gods had entrusted to him so long ago to the young Lord of Winterfell.

The only respite the young Stark had was with his companions who had traveled with him, North from Winterfell, through the passage below the Nightfort and finally to their current abode in the unnaturally warm hot springs beneath the icy surface. Hodor, the giant former stableboy whose vocabulary was limited to his name, made for good company in a fight, but no so much in a conversation. Meera Reed, the eldest daughter of his father's former bannerman Lord Howland Reed, was kind and attentive, but focused on returning to the frozen marshlands of her people. It was only Jojen Reen, a greenseer in his own right, that understood Bran's frustration and held Bran's confidence (and is also very not dead as the show would have you believe).

"It's not fair," Bran complained to Jojen one evening after a long day of practicing skin changing. "He can teach me how to control an eagle and fly to the wall and back, but can't fix my shattered legs."

Jojen looked at him and through him, his emerald eyes piercing through mind and soul.

"The Old Gods have given you a great gift Lord Stark," Jojen said as he always did, weighing every word as if it were his last. "You can move through time and space at will by connecting to the hearts of all animals and the memories of all the great trees. Why do you need something as mundane as your legs?"

They had spoken of this many times. Bran always raged; Jojen always exhalted; neither convinced the other. Part of the problem was that while Bran could see the past and present at will, Jojen's domain was the future. He knew when the hour of his own death would come and even events beyond, but refused to share with his companion.

"Because I'm a 14 year old boy! I might be 8 or 9 tops in the books but the show has rapidly aged me and I can't even sneak off to pleasure myself without Hodor chasing after me!" Bran yelled at the Crannogman.

On cue, Hodor popped his head around the corner and said: "Hodor."

"Go back to bed gentle giant," Jojen called to him in his ethereal voice.

Bran found it annoying that the Reeds seemed to have mastered ordering the 8 foot tall man around, while he was forced to slip inside of Hodor's skin to gain control of him.

Jojen turned back towards the oldest surviving Stark male and did his best to placate him.

"You know that I have seen your future Bran. I know what you desire but I fear what will happen if it shouldcome to pass," he said ominously.

The younger Stark guffawed.

"If you truly knew what I desired, you wouldn't be here."

There was venom in his voice, as if challenging his bannerman to leave him. Reed resorted to his usual tactic of staring through the skin changer, which only infuriated him further.

"Just go!" Bran said, tiring of the stale conversation. "Come back when the 3 eyed raven summons me."

Jojen obliged, tucking his pouting Lordling under a thick pelt of mammoth hide. Bran allowed this even though he hated being treated like such a child. One day he would find a way to walk again, and not just in the skin of another.

His dream began as they always did, with the smell of cold pine and hot sulfur. Summer, his direwolf, spent his days at rest just inside their cavernous dwelling, waiting for the nights when his master would slip inside his skin and hunt on his behalf. Bran leapt into the snow and was assaulted by the sensations of the rapidly approaching winter. The cold would have frozen his frail human form in an instant, but Summer's think wolf fur protected him from the elements.

Tonight it was an artic hare that he smelled in the breeze. He looked up to see the moon waxing and realized that he had all night to track his prey. Summer on his own would have simply followed the smell, but with Bran inside of his mind, they tracked using their combined senses. Bran saw the tracks in the freshly fallen snow and knew the white rabbit must be nearby.

He stalked his prey for little more than an hour before sinking his sharp teeth into its neck, shuddering at the taste of its steaming blood against the freezing night air. Bran's diet of acorn paste was nowhere near as satisfying as the crunch of bones and raw flesh of this Northern treat. With the direwolf sated, no longer needing his master's presence, Bran loosened his grip on the animals mind, letting his wolf dream slide into one of his own, an indulgence he was rarely allowed.

But it wasn't his own mind he slipped back into. The Reed's had taken to sleeping two chambers away from Bran and partly by accident, partly to spite him, Bran found himself seizing control of a barely sleeping Jojen Reed.

"Well this is different," Bran said aloud with Jojen's voice, looking at the stone ceiling of the cave while lying on his back.

"What's different brother?" Meera mumbled back at him from across the alcove.

"Nothing," Bran said, hoping to avoid being caught using this taboo form of mind control. "I fancy a walk before bed."

Meera just waved her arm dismissively at who she thought was her brother. Bran then stood on two legs, something he hadn't done, except when controlling Hodor, for almost a year. As he walked back towards his own sleeping body, he felt an unfamiliar tug in the back of his now shared mind.

Hodor, being simple, was all too easy to control. He normally retreated to a small corner in the back of his mind whenever Bran took over his body. Jojen on the other hand was only too strong of mind. Thankfully for Brandon Stark, the 3 eyed raven's teachings were paying off.

Bran rapidly formulated a plan to satisfy the urges he'd been having ever since meeting the older boy. The first time he saw Jojen (in the hall at Winterfell, not wondering in the woods like that abominable storyline on HBO) he wanted to bed him, but found himself unequal to the task. Even if he had ordered it, the Northmen would have refused, thinking buggery a fancy only Southerners enjoyed. Maester Luwin had told him stories about Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon that made Bran one Northerner who would gladly partake.

First, he crept up on Hodor and stuffed cave mushrooms in his ears. The sleeping behemoth barely stopped snoring as the lithe frame of Jojen slipped past him. Bran then went to the store room where the Children of the Forrest kept their supplies and grabbed a length of rope and a long, narrow, white weirwood cane.

From the back of his mind, Jojen again tried to reassert himself, perhaps sensing his peril. Bran held fast and hurried the other boy quickly to his chamber. Bran then used Jojen to prop himself up onto the makeshift stool the Children had fashioned for him, only slightly freaked out by his own open vacant white eyes.

He wished he could have seen Jojen strip down, but settled for doing it from inside the boy. He shucked off his leather breeches and cloak leaving him standing in only his smallclothes and shirt. It was only then that Jojen wrested control of his body, snapping Bran back into his own bestooled form.

"Ahhh," Reed cried out, his hand shooting to his head. "Why would you do that?" he said asking the question that he feared he already knew the answer to.

Jojen had seen this day long before he ever met Brandon Stark of Winterfell but that didn't make it any easier. He had hoped to delay it as long as possible.

"Don't make me force you Jojen," Bran said catching his bearings. "I can force you to do this if I have to, but I'd just as soon not have to."

Unenlightened Southerners might think that Jojen was a mind reader but that was a gross oversimplification. The heir to Greywater Watch could glean one's intentions by looking into their future, which accounted for his oft unnatural staring, but he could not, in the moment guess what a person was thinking.

Except he didn't have to guess in this case. Bran had a harsh looking cane at his side, 12 feet of woven rope at his feet and a vindictive look on his face.

"What have I done to deserve this, my Lord?" he implored, already knowing the answer.

"You make me suffer through these lessons with the old man, you treat me as if I'm a child and lastly, you know what I desire from you and deny it to me. I have been in your mind Jojen Reed, I know that you want me too!" Bran called out, glad that Hodor's ears were filled with cave mushrooms. "Why won't you share yourself with me?"

Jojen's eye's fell to the floor. He didn't know the extent of Stark's power, but the boy had clearly seen into his thoughts while wearing his skin. Even so, the truth was too devastating to reveal.

"Forgive me my Lord," he said quietly. "I humbly submit myself to you. You are right that I know of and share your desire to be together, but I have my own reasons for not allowing that to happen. For those reasons, I will accept whatever punishment you prescribe."

"Be off with it then," Bran motioned at his shirt. Jojen lifted away his travel stained wool garment and tossed it aside. He stood before the heir to Winterfell in the only indulgence his father had ever allowed him, small clothes made of the finest Myrish silk.

Bran beheld the nearly naked boy in wonder. Wearing only the tight, shiny, sheer, silky shorts Jojen looked almost like a Child of the Forrest himself, but for his milk white skin and taller frame. The underwear were a darker green than his eyes and were trimmed with cloth of gold about the edges that clung tightly to the curves of his bottom and left a clear outline of his ample cock.

For a moment they both faltered. Bran, lost in the beauty of the boy he planned to abuse for spurning him; Jojen, exposed and embarrassed feeling like a pleasure slave in Lys. Jojen's heart was beating fast, which led his cock to fill with blood at the thought of serving in the House of the Seven Sighs. Seeing his engorged member, Bran motioned for him to lie down over his lap.

The Cranogman positioned himself over the paralyzed lap of his liegelord only to find that his paralysis must begin below his manhood, because the smaller teenager was sporting a healthy sized erection, noticeable even through his breeches. He couldn't dwell on that because Bran roughly grabbed his right buttock and forced him higher onto his lap, feet barely touching the floor.

With Jojen Reed's hunter green clad bottom jutting into the air, Bran admired that which he desired only for a moment before delivering the opening salvo of punishment for being denied it. Because Jojen was so lean, it seemed the only fat on his body had found its way to his perfectly round cheeks. Bran rested his hand on each, softly pressing the luxurious fabric into his skin, before delivering the first of many swats onto that immaculately formed ass.

The Reeds were odd in the North, in that they did not practice corporal punishment, instead chastising their young by forcing them to catch and eat the live frogs that infest the Greywater Marsh in summer and the ice spiders that hang from the ceiling in winter. Jojen would have much preferred that to his current state.

Having never been subjected to a spanking, he found himself ashamed of how much it hurt and how quickly his body betrayed him. After only 20 blows of Bran's soft small hand, Jojen attempted to reach back to shield his rapidly warming buns.

Bran caught him by the wrist in an instant and wrapped the rope he had at the ready around the boy's hand, quickly knotting it over the older boys shoulder and back around, making a sort of arm sling. The sling prevented Jojen from protecting his bottom, but had the added effect of cutting into his pale skin if he so much as flexed his arm to try. This forced the struggling boy to lay limp and accept his spanking.

As he continued to strike his older friends butt, Bran couldn't help but admire its shapeliness. It was that admiration, and the desire to finally see his friend unadorned by clothing, that caused him to slide Jojen's small clothes to his knees. Despite the warm temperature in the cavern, Jojen shivered as the air made contact with his exposed skin.

Impressed at the shade of pink that he'd brought to the once white cheeks, Bran set out to redden them in earnest. He let loose a barrage of quick, snappy spanks followed a moment later by hard swats that he pressed into his victims flesh and let linger before rapidly delivering another. The effect on Reed was evident.

Tears fell from the Greenseer's eyes almost immediately after he lost what little protection his green silk underclothes had afforded him. Being forced to lift himself up using only his upper body strength had left his captor with a wickedly strong swing and an unnaturally high stamina. Bran gave no quarter to either half of Jojen's tender bottom.

As Bran kept the Old God's, he had never had much use for the Mother's Mercy, but seeing his companion suffer under his hand made him reconsider. After what much have been five and twenty minutes, he ended his assault on the poor Crannogman's behind. He allowed the older boy to remain limply crying over his lap and tried to sooth him by rubbing his now radiating bottom, which served to arouse not only Brandon Stark, but also Jojen Reed.

Jojen's crying abated and he shuffled to his knees, unable to stand unassisted because of the rope awkwardly binding his right hand to his left shoulder. Bran wasn't sure why he didn't try to stop his recently spanked friend, until Jojen spoke through the remnants of his tears.

"I know what happens next," he said reaching for the cane on the floor.

He handed it to an astonished looking Bran and then assumed a kneeling position on the stone floor of the cavern. Jojen placed his body perpendicular to his younger counterpart, one arm still bound, his hindquarters just in reach of the long wooden branch. Unable to support himself with his arms, he pressed his head into the cool moss that grew on the cavern floor.

Bran could not have planned it better. The object of his desire was willingly submitting himself at his feet without having to be told what to do. When coupled with the fact that Jojen's member was as hard as the stone he was kneeling on, the young Stark wondered if the relationship that he had so long lusted for might come to be. That and he looked really cute in those green silk underwear.

"Before I begin Jojen, please tell me why you refuse my affection," Bran asked trying to give his servant a way out. "Clearly you desire me as much as I desire you, what could possibly be stopping you?"

Jojen lifted his forehead from the ground, turned to the seated boy, lowered his cheek back onto the moss and spoke.

"I have seen what will happen, my Lord. We will know a time of happiness, long by my measuring, but short compared to the destiny that awaits you. I would sooner delay that brief respite of joy and know your company as a friend before I come to be your lover."

The Stark boy sat up.

"What do you mean? Tell me what you have seen," he commanded of the naked prone young man.

"I have already said too much," Jojen replied. "And don't worry about the sixth stroke. You will hit too low whether you want to or not."

Reed closed his eyes and held his breath.

Bran was incensed that the Greenseer would tell him that all his desires would come to pass, but that he would be denied them because Jojen thought he knew best. In that spirit, he swung his weirwood cane hard into the well-presented ass of his would be lover.

The stick connected for an instant then bounced off, leaving a cruel white line at an angle across Jojen's red bottom. White turned to a darker shade of red as the second stroke cut a line just above the first. The third and fourth stroke returned the older boy to tears.

Rather than the juvenile, weepy tears he'd cried during his spanking, the caning elicited a more raw, primal sadness in him. His eyes flew open as the fifth stroke traced the outline of his perfectly curved buttocks. Bran could see the deep green of his pupils mixed with the bloodshot red of his eyes, merging as salt water flowed freely down the bridge of his nose and side of his face.

With his eyes locked on the beautifully sad and soulful eyes of his bannerman, he swung off balance and struck Jojen squarely on his upper thighs. Even though he had steeled himself for it, Jojen couldn't help but collapse, his knees giving out as he fell onto his side towards Bran.

Bran dropped his cane and reached to help the boy but in doing so lost balance and fell right on top of him. Jojen gasped for air as the rough fur of Bran's shirt scratched his recently thrashed bottom. Bran moved as best he could to position himself as a big spoon behind the taller naked boy.

When Jojen felt Bran's breeches, and what lie beneath them, he instantly stopped crying.

"I was wrong," he said almost to himself. "It is almost time."

Not sure what Jojen was talking about, or why he had stopped crying abruptly, Bran untied his friend and pulled his naked body back towards his own. He started to disrobe but Jojen stopped him.

"Not tonight, my Lord. Soon though… I will give you all that you desire," he almost purred into the neck of the Stark. "Ours is a love that should have known the long light of Summer. But Winter is Coming and now you must sleep, you have a long trial ahead of you tomorrow."

Jojen wasn't wrong.

© Copyright Nicholas Patrick June 28, 2015

Your comments are appreciated.  austininneed@gmail.com

See more of my stories on my web site:  http://www.asstr.org/~Nicholas/

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