I do not own Game of Thrones or any of the characters.
The Odd Boy
Arya smirked back at Winterfell as she walked away from it. Finally free. She'd have to get back before long, but she could enjoy herself for a little while. She walked through the woods quickly, reaching the river nearby after a few minutes before stopping, staring at the only other person present. It was a boy about her age, a head of short, messy, brown hair, dressed in a pair of dirty grey pants and a dirty brown shirt with laces to hold the collar closed. He was standing by the water, staring at it blankly.
"What are you doing?" Arya asked.
He looked over at her, blinking a couple of times before turning back to the water. "Taking a bath." He reached back, pulling his shirt over his head.
"What are you doing!?" Arya demanded.
"Taking a bath," he repeated, frowning at her.
"You can't do that!" Arya said.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I'm here!" Arya said.
"And?" he frowned.
"I'm a girl!" Arya said.
The boy shrugged. "So?"
Arya gaped at him. "It's not proper! You can't do that in front of a girl!"
The boy shrugged again. "Then don't look."
Arya gaped at him until he loosened the drawstrings of his pants, then hastily turned away, walking into the trees quickly. She risked a glance back, but the boy didn't seem to be paying her any more mind than he had before. In fact, he was standing motionless and staring at the water again.
Arya looked around as someone shouted in pain. Her eyes widened as she saw the same boy from the river pushing himself off the ground, only for one of three much larger, older boys around him to drag him up and shove him into one of the others. The boy was shoved from one to the next again and again before finally managing to punch one, only to receive a much harder punch in return, sending him crashing to the ground again.
"Hey!" Arya shouted, running over. "Leave him alone!"
"Get out of here, girl," one of the three bigger boys said, turning toward her.
"Why are you hitting him?" Arya demanded.
"That's none of your business," he said.
"Get out of here, unless you want to take his place," another said.
"I'd like to see you try," Arya said. "I'm Arya Stark."
The three boys' eyes widened and they looked around at each other.
"Let's just go," the third one said. "This isn't any fun anymore, anyway."
The other two agreed hastily, and the three of them walked away briskly.
"Are you alright?" Arya asked.
"Thank you," the boy said.
"What's your name?" Arya asked.
"Mark," the boy said.
"Oi!" a gruff voice off to the side shouted. "What are you doing, boy? Get back to work!"
"Y-Yes, sir!" the boy stammered, rushing back into the stable without so much as a backward glance at Arya.
She frowned before walking back home.
"Yes, I know," Mark said, Arya watching him from a few feet away as he carried on an entire conversation with himself. "No, I don't care about that...Because it doesn't matter to me, that's why...I know who I am...Because I have a job to do, that's why."
"Who are you talking to?" Arya finally asked, walking over.
"Myself," Mark said, glancing up at the stars. "What are you doing out so late?"
"What are you doing out so late?" Arya countered.
"I have a job to do," Mark said.
Arya raised an eyebrow. "What does a stable boy have to do this late at night?"
"Cleaning the stable," Mark said. "I'm taking a break. Smelling horse shit for too long makes your head a little fuzzy. How's your brother?"
"The Maester Luwin says he'll live," Arya said. "So far he's still asleep."
Mark nodded. Just then, a bell began to ring. They both looked around suddenly. Off to the side, on the far side of the city, there was smoke just barely visible over a building, slightly illuminated orange by the fire belching it. They both ran toward it quickly, Mark grabbing a bucket on the way, so as to help put the fire out.
Arya walked out of the woods, only to stop, finding Mark and Mycah, the butcher's son, dueling with a pair of sticks, both of them doing very poorly, but Mark doing absolutely terrible. Arya smirked as Mark stumbled over his own feet, crashing to the ground.
"You're not very good," Arya said, walking over and picking up Mark's stick. "This is how you do it."
She grinned at Mycah, and he returned the grin, the two beginning to fight.
"Arya!" a feminine voice suddenly shouted.
Arya turned, just in time for Mycah's stick to hit Arya's forearm. "Ow!" She rubbed her forearm, giving Mycah a dirty look. "What are you doing here!?" She glared at a tall red-haired girl in an elegant blue dress, Sansa Stark, and a blonde-haired boy with a sword at his side, dark red clothes, and an arrogant air, Prince Joffrey Baratheon. "Go away!"
"Your sister?" Joffrey asked. "And who are you, boy?"
"Mycah, m'lord," Mycah said, dropping his stick.
"He's the butcher's boy," Sansa said in distaste, glaring at Mycah like he were a pile of manure.
"He's my friend!" Arya snapped.
"And you?" Joffrey asked, looking to Mark.
"Mark, m'lord," Mark said, bowing. "Stable boy."
"A butcher's boy and a stable boy who want to be knights, eh?" Joffrey scoffed. "Pick up your sword, butcher's boy. Let's see how good you are." He drew his own sword, the blade glinting in the light.
"She asked me to, m'lord!" Mycah said hurriedly. "She asked me to!"
"I'm your prince," Joffrey said, "not your lord, and I said pick up your sword."
"It's not a sword, m'lord, it's only a stick!" Mycah said.
"And you're not a knight, only a butcher's boy," Joffrey said, holding the blade of his sword beside Mycah's head. "That was my lady's sister you were hitting, do you know that?"
"Stop it!" Arya snapped.
"Arya, stay out of this!" Sansa spat.
"My prince, he meant no harm," Mark said. "The only reason he hit Lady Arya was because Lady Sansa distracted her by calling out to her."
"Oh, so you believe it was my lady's fault?" Joffrey asked.
"Not at all, my prince," Mark said. "I merely-"
"No, you were blaming my lady for distracting her sister," Joffrey said, turning his blade on Mark. "Pick up your sword, stable boy."
"My prince, I beg your forgiveness," Mark said. "I miss spoke."
"I said, pick up your sword," Joffrey said. "Do it, or I'll run you through without you having the means to defend yourself."
Mark swallowed hard, hesitating before kneeling and picking up Mycah's stick, which shook with fear as he turned back to Joffrey, holding the stick with both hands.
"Stop it!" Arya shouted, slamming her stick into Joffrey's back.
"Arya!" Sansa shouted.
"Filthy little bitch!" Joffrey shouted, slashing at her wildly.
"No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you!" Sansa shrieked. "You're spoiling it! You're spoiling everything!"
As Joffrey continued to try and kill Arya, Mark stepped forward, managing to knock the sword aside, only for Joffrey to slash the stick, snapping it off, then stab Mark. Arya and Sansa both screamed. Mark stared down at the sword.
"Forgive me...my prince," Mark wheezed. "I couldn't...allow you...to kill...Lady Arya."
"Filthy little shit!" Joffrey snarled. "I am your prince! You owe your loyalty to me, not some little bitch from a shithole city in the north!" He ripped his sword out of Mark, who collapsed instantly. Joffrey turned on Arya again, holding his sword to her throat. "I'll gut you, you little cunt!"
Just then, there was a loud bark as Arya's pet Dire Wolf, Nymeria, charged out of the trees at him. He turned, raising his sword, only for Mark to kick the back of his knee, dropping him to his knees before Nymeria sank her teeth into his sword arm.
"Aria!" Sansa shrieked, enraged and desperate as Joffrey screamed.
"Nymeria!" Arya shrieked.
"Aria!" Sansa shrieked again.
"Nymeria!" Arya shrieked, dragging the wolf off of the prince, Nymeria breaking off her attack. Arya turned to Mark, but his eyes were glazed over and staring up at the sky blankly.
Arya grabbed Joffrey's sword off the ground and walked to the river, hurling the sword out into it, then turned, running away with Nymeria, tears staining her cheeks.
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