Arya I
"On the count of three… One… Two…"
She set down her card. Queen of hearts. Against seven of spades. She won. The man's face in front of her fell, as his eyes were fixed on the beautiful lady drawn on her card. An image quite similar to that of Sansa, in a way, with her red hair and her classic beauty. His mouth was agape. He couldn't believe it.
Because in fact, this card wasn't hers. It was the one that he hid on his handle, intended to trick her.
He was going to murder her in her sleep after that. Or at least, he will try, Arya thought with an amused smile. If he swung the dagger with the same acuity as he played, she would have time to end his life ten times before that.
"Another time, Larry," She said, taking the money that was bet on this game before he could protest.
She reached the counter, thirsty for another beer. The innkeeper stared at her, a smile on his face, as he poured down the liquid on the goblet.
"Y' know you mad' an en'my out o'a born k'lla and he's not gonna let you g't away with it, right, lass?"
Her smile grew larger.
"He will try. If he can catch me"
He laughed loudly.
"Ya've got sp'rit, my lass, I like it!" He said. "I'd be that sorry when I'd see ya body in b'd cover'd in blo'd next m'rning."
"Not mine, I believe. But I will be sorry for you, having to clean that up." Arya replied, putting a gold coin on the counter and taking her goblet with her.
His laugh deepened, and she thought he was going to throw up by the strength of it. She drank, feeling the cold liquid ran through the inside of her body. She felt refreshed, and a bit hazy by the alcohol.
But not enough for her to be THAT hazy. She could still murder all of them in their sleep. And they wouldn't even feel a thing, if she wanted.
She looked around her, taking the atmosphere of the inn. Dust and rancid drinks on the tables. Mostly men drinking both. Some women, lightly dressed, visibly here to be the company of men who would only see the roundness of their breasts and of their butt.
The city where she was now was called Mukhtar. City of silk merchants and prostitutes, but also of games and drinks. A city of pleasure for some, of murders for others. Excesses, everywhere. For men, of course. But her status as stranger seemed to make her in the eyes of these people either sexless, either a conquest. Some tried to abuse her just to prove the last point.
These ones did not have eyes anymore. She was the one coming in this strange country, willingly. She wasn't going to be their sex-slave.
Only in this inn, she felt in known country. Such atmosphere, she had also seen it at Westeros. And maybe it was because her travels had led her actually back nearer. She had seen in these lands moralities, stories, that made her feel like home, but still, each word seemingly unaware of the other.
What's west of Westeros? She had asked her brothers and sister. She had seen things she never knew existed. People, smells, flavors, textures. Everything was different and exciting. But everything was also strange and dangerous, and it couldn't fill the void she felt inside.
Sansa must be married now, she thought. Or would she? When she was young, that was all she would talk about, how one day, she would be swept away by a brave knight who would treat her like a queen and how their children would be the most magnificent ones the world had ever seen.
But that wasn't Sansa anymore. She was a queen of her own right now. Nor was she the same Arya from her beginning. She remembered the raised eyebrows of her father, amused by the mud on her robe. She remembered her mother's disapproving frown and her attempts to keep her hair tamed.
They both saw who she really was, what she really wanted. But that didn't mean they were totally accepting. They treated it like fantasies, Father maybe with more fondness, but fantasies nonetheless.
"You will marry a high lord and rule his castle." Father said. "And your sons shall be knights and princes and lords."
But Father was gone. And, at the end, he understood. That wasn't her. She wasn't born to be anyone's wife. ?ow, here she was, with all the eyes she closed, eyes that she would see sometimes in vulnerable nights.
"Be with me. Be the lady of Storm's End"
She shook her head. Why would she think of him now? That wasn't what she wanted at the moment, and it still wasn't what she wanted now. She wasn't a lady. She wasn't her sister. She was Arya Stark, she had killed the Night King, she had fought against oceans and seas. She didn't need a man. Nor anyone else to be happy with what she was. She was enough.
She sighed. No, she would not think of THAT night again, she thought. She would not remember of touches on her skin, of blue eyes staring back at her and…
First time wasn't even that good.
But the other ones.…
She closed her eyes, then looked back. She decided to get back to her room at the inn. When she closed the door behind her, she sighed and fall on her bed, thinking.
The man who lost to her at cards would certainly try to make a move. To kill her or fuck her. Or both. But seeing him that engaged in a discussion now, it might take a while.
Thirteen minutes, maybe. In these thirteen minutes, she could do a lot of things. She could even get away, and no one would even find her again.
But then, it wouldn't satisfy her.
But maybe something could, for a while. She looked from right to left (an habitude she had took each time it happened, private rooms weren't always THAT private), then put her hands under her pants.
Like this, she could almost imagine he was there, with her. Gendry Baratheon. Gendry Waters.
She had had other men. Three, maybe, in the year that came. Women had needs too, she thought with a lazy smile, and he made her discover that. She had known other things. She never attached herself to them. She never had really the feeling to.
But what was it in that man that even one year after, she was still thinking of his touch?
His hands must be soft now, she thought. A lord's hands, now used to "nobler" tasks than forging blades and swinging hammer. She guessed that these hands must be on someone else now. A soft-spoken lady perhaps, skilled with a needle and singing all day for her knight. Not a ruthless warrior as she was.
Three women, he had before her. She remembered.
She closed her eyes, bit her lips. Three women who had known him like that, who had felt his hard cock inside them, taking pleasure after pleasure, again and again…
She moaned, her fingers having found just the right spot. With her eyes shut, she could almost believe it was his fingers, who were on her, pleasuring her like that.
Then came the loud bang on her door. A bang so loud she thought it would break it;
She cursed and raised up. Eleven minutes. That guy was actually less sharp than she thought. She thought he would actually manage to get inside the room, so she could kill him more discretely.
Running to the door, she opened it and caught the man by the collar, raising her dagger to meet his throat.
"You're going to regret interrupting me" She snarled, all fangs shown and fever in her eyes from her previous pleasure.
"Interrupting what?" said a familiar voice.
She let the man go, as if touching him had burned her.
"Gendry?"
Here he was, the same as when she left him, and he had a smug smile on his face. And blue eyes staring at her with sparks that she refused to give signification to, and which just made her fuzzier inside.
Damn that man, entering her life like that, with a hammer on his hand.
"Hello Arya" He said. "Did you miss me?"
Her heart missed a beat, and she almost lost it.
"Damn it!" She turned back, frustration on her tone. "I almost killed you!"
"I've seen." He replied. "Wouldn't be the first time. But I've seen you more cold-blooded, before."
She looked at him, disbelieving.
He chuckled, and looked behind him. That's when she noticed it. The corpse of the man she had prepared herself to kill tonight. Now with a scrambled face, due certainly to an attack with a hammer.
Hammer that still was in Gendry's hand.
This man had had the same timing she had thought. But then, both of them hadn't expected the former blacksmith to come.
The nerve of him. She wanted to see that death. He just robbed her of it.
"I knew there would be tons of men at your door, " Gendry said, irony on his tone, "but I hadn't expect them to actually try to stab you before I do."
"Oh, because you think you could?" she replied.
He chuckled.
But she had to think of the practicalities.
"That body should be hidden. Else, people will see it." She said, beginning to take it by the feet to lead it to the room.
If people saw it, there would be screaming. And she wouldn't get any sleep. That wasn't like what she planned.
He looked at her, flabbergasted.
"Seriously?" He said. "I just came here and that's the first thing you do? No hello Gendry? I missed you too?"
She ignored him. The body was almost inside.
"Arya."
Almost.
"Arya."
The feet were in, now. She just had to close the door and ignore the warmth that was revived on her belly.
Gendry took her arm, making her focus on him. His eyes were positively burning.
"I don't care if it alerts some fool who will cry murder." He shouted, and she remembered the motto of his house. It excited her, more than she would admit right now. "Do you know how hard it was to find you?"
"Apparently not hard enough." She said him, trying to put her hand on his mouth so that his loud and deep voice wouldn't attract other people.
He kissed her. She was tempted to respond to it, succumbing to the nostalgia that was making her blood boiling in her veins.
Yes, nostalgia.
But then, nostalgia was a bit too much for such a reaction. She pushed him a bit.
"Why did you come here?" She asked him, trying to regain her calm.
"To take you away from here." He tried to steal a kiss. "What does it look like?"
He was persistent, she had to give him that. Last time she saw him, it was before she even sailed. She had left him in bed, not telling him it was the last time.
"You can't take me. Don't you have other ladies to see?"
"I don't like ladies." He said between her lips. "They tend to disappoint me."
"Oh" A flare of jealousy ran through her body. "How many?"
He raised an eyebrow, pushing her away a little.
"Does it matter?" He replied with an amused smile.
She took his lips once again with hers. "No"
And it didn't. He was here, that matters.
A least, she added with an afterthought, for the need she had at the moment. The need she had built without knowing he would be at her disposal to finish it. She had been prepared to finish it herself.
Well, now that he was here….
She closed the door behind them and raised her eyes towards him. He profited that moment to push her against it, raising her hips to meet his, and wrapping her legs around him.
++++ Beware, slight smut ++++++++
He kissed her again, and she let his tongue in, meeting it with her own, needing, taking, but wanting always more. He groaned, and she smiled.
The need tickled her everywhere, from her sex that she felt warmer and wetter against the breeches. She took off her shirt at the same time as him, between kisses that felt more like battles than tender love such as was presented by Sansa's romances. But she liked it nonetheless.
"What were you doing, actually, before I even came here?" He asked, fever on his eyes, reflecting her own.
Unwillingly, she lowered her eyes on her fist that was on his chest now, the one that had been pleasuring her earlier.
His eyes widened in recognition. He took her hand in his, licked her fingers and eyed her crotch, the cloth having been slightly opened to let her do what she wanted. She bit her lip, refusing to let out any cry.
"You naughty girl" He said with a voice that sent shivers on her skin. "For who exactly were you preparing yourself, exactly?"
She smirked.
"For myself, actually"
"… Why doesn't It surprise me?"
She raised an eyebrow, pushed him off her and walked towards the bed.
"No, no, don't take it the wrong way," he protested. "Damn, you're so… stubborn. And independent. And beautiful. And…"
She took her breeches off, turned towards him and smirked.
"Shut up and take your bloody pants off"
He smiled, his eyes full of mirth and lust and joined her.
"Geez. You're always so commanding." He said with his deep voice. "As you wish, my la-"
She kissed him before he could finish his sentence and pushed him until he was falling on the bed. She touched him, He touched her. It seemed as if they were trying to find where his body ended and where hers began.
When his cock entered her, it seemed as easy as if he just put gloves on his hands. She felt every inch of his, fitting every part of her, and then pushing her, just like she was pushing him till she felt open and warm in every pore of her skin. She felt dizzy, exhilarating. She couldn't think clearly, time after time leading to another wave of sensation, of pleasure that was surpassing the rest.
And when he came, she cried with him, feeling the ecstasy take control.
++++++ END of Smut +++++++++++
He looked at her, heavy breath making his large chest raise and it felt a little bit like she belonged.
"How I missed you," He said, wrapping his arms around her.
She almost said the same. Almost.
Her arms around him, she let herself believe that it would be enough. She would have to be out before he woke up, she thought. If she were any longer, she would almost be tempted to stay. And that, exactly, terrified her.
Why that, she couldn't figure it out. She didn't want to think of it now.
She counted his breaths according to the beatings of his heart. Warmth surrounded her. She let herself getting lost in his scent and closed her eyes.
…
She ran wild, a she-wolf hunting. On her tongue, she could still feel the taste of blood and ashes. It stuck at her lips, ran down from it to her chest. It smelt delicious, and she was wanting more of it.
The night was clear and snow was falling, building a white bed on . She was almost tempted to stop a little. But then, her prey wouldn't stop.
Then she stopped. Far away, her brother cried at the moon, and she cried with him. She tried to reach him. She could almost see him. Then she stopped. Her paw had touched a sharp thing, hurting her.
She looked at it, fangs out.
Here lay a long sword, almost buried by the snow, the hilt decorated with a white wolf's head.
She realized. Her eyes opened. Her brother cried once again, and she cried with him, smelling the ash and the blood in the air.
"JON!"