Ok so Arya discovered the Cunningham technique of reducing a dislocated shoulder. Sue me!
Seriously thought, check it out on YouTube. It's like 50 seconds with virtually no pain. Good stuff. Even so, I hope I never need it.
Also – I'm not sure if they wore armor during a hunt. I assumed not to because it played better in the story.
Not beta-read. Email me at if I messed up stuff in the story or if you want to help with future chapters.
Sandor's POV
"Who are you?"
"A member of the Kingsguard. I'll take you to Winterfell tomorrow."
"Don't you have a name?" she asked drowsily. "A member…"
The girl giggled at the last word, and shifted onto her side. He opened his mouth to answer, but the girl pressed her head onto his arm and her breathing slowed down. He jerked his arm away, and shook her shoulder.
"Hey, you gotta stay awake."
"Why?"
She yawned and tried to find another comfortable position to go to sleep. He should have told her the truth, but his mouth reacted on instinct.
"Because I said so."
He had barked the words. He knew how his voice sounded. He'd scared enough people in his life. He'd rather have her scared and awake than calm and dead. Much to his surprise, she didn't seem scared.
"That's stupid," she said, with an unexpected irritation in her voice. At least she was awake.
"How come a girl like you came on the hunt? Are you a wildling or something?"
"I am no wildling," she said.
She almost jumped up, forgetting about the low ceiling of their shelter. She would have banged her head on the rocks but his instinct was faster. His hand was on her head and it got smashed between her skull and the rocks. He pushed her head and she flopped back down next to him.
He sucked at his bruised knuckles.
"Sorry," she said.
She huffed, and when she spoke there was a definite trace of irritation in her voice.
"Maybe I am a wildling. I hate being told what to do. I'm not allowed to do so many things because I'm a girl. But I don't want to do the things that girls do. Sewing is boring. House chores are boring."
"Can't argue with that," Sandor said. "But it's what ladies need to know."
"I'm no lady."
He grinned in the darkness. How many times he'd said 'I'm no Ser'?
"You're gonna be."
"What's so great about being a lady? What do I have to look for? Marry someone I don't know because his House is suitable. Having children even if we hate each other. No, thank you."
That was a fair assessment of how things worked, and he was at a loss. That was the way of the world. Not for the little girl to change it.
"You should join the Kingsguard," he said chuckling.
"Why?"
"Because we are expressly forbidden to get married or have children"
"Yeah, well, I don't think they accept girls in the Kingsguard."
"I was joking, girl"
"You never know until you try, though. I could pass as a boy."
"No, you couldn't. You're too pretty."
Arya shifted clearly uncomfortable with the compliment.
"What do you do in the Kingsguard?"
"I'm Prince Joffrey's shield."
He had never thought that a girl might not want to marry and have children. If not for his disfigurement, he would have married and sired children as soon as it was proper to do that. Killing was sweet, but as a man he didn't have to choose between marriage and war. He was curious.
"So, you don't want to be a lady. What do you want to do?" he asked.
"This," she said. "Hunting. Riding. Shooting the bow. Fighting in battles."
"Maybe you are a wildling after all," he said.
She elbowed him viciously in the arm, and he groaned at the sharp pain. She had bumped his dislocated shoulder. If he had worn his armor this wouldn't have happened.
"Don't mock me," she said. "I didn't hit you that hard. I can hit way harder than that."
"You hit me like a little girl," he said.
"Then why-"
"My shoulder's not right."
"Are you hurt?"
"'s nothing. It's pissing outside or I would have banged it back in. No room in here."
"Let me help you," she said.
"Fuck off."
"Tsk, tsk. That's not language to use in front of a lady."
"You're no lady."
She laughed. "Fucking true," she said.
He tried to pretend the bark of laughter was a grouchy growl. Why couldn't this girl be the next King? He wouldn't mind protecting someone like her.
"I know how to do this," she said. "It happened to my brother when he fell from a tree and I helped him."
"Why? Does House Stark have no Maesters?"
"We try to avoid involving them. You would not believe how annoyed Mother and Father when they find out about the tiniest things."
"It doesn't hurt that much. A Maester can fix it tomorrow."
"Oh, so I can go to sleep now?" she asked innocently.
"No."
"Then let me do this."
"Fine, you little brat. How should I stay?"
"Sit up straight. Rest your back against the wall and relax."
He heard her moving around and soon he felt her knees pressing against hit thigh.
"I can't see what I'm doing, so I'll have to feel my way through."
Her hands were at the top of his tunic, untying it. He caught her wrists stopping her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Arya's POV
Her jaw dropped and her eyebrows shot up. She was speechless for a moment. What kind of a stupid question was that?
"I have to get to your shoulder, don't I?"
She jerked her hands free of his loose grasp.
"Bran is never this fussy," she said under her breath.
She went on untying his tunic. The body under the cloth was so much different than her brother's. Bran was almost as small as her, and she could feel his bones and joints easily through the skin. Now, she was discovering muscles and hair, and everywhere she poked with her fingers, she only found hard, strong flesh. She was touching a man's body. Better not think about that. It had to be constructed the same way as Bran's. All she had to do was find the shoulder.
Her left palm stopped on top of his right shoulder. The skin was soft and warm to the touch, but under it… so much more flesh than she was used to feeling. She felt his breath on her neck. When had she gotten so close to him? Her skin tingled and a yet unknown warmth pooled in her belly.
"The other shoulder," he said.
"I know," she said tartly. "I wanted to see what it's supposed to look like after I fix it."
She moved on to the left shoulder, trailing her fingers across his chest, through coarse hair that tickled her. She would have expected to be grossed out. But she wasn't.
'Left shoulder. Remember what you did for Bran.'
She wouldn't say she had gotten used to the feel of massive muscles under her fingertips, but she felt immediately where something was out of place. Not as clearly as she could feel it for Bran, but, huge muscles aside, it was the same type of body. Yes, she had to keep telling herself that.
"Relax," she said again. "This is not going to hurt."
An incredulous bark was all the reply she got. She aligned herself with his body. She guided his hand on the inside of her elbow, trying to support the weight of his forearm on hers.
"Seven hells," she muttered. "You're longer."
Bran's and her forearm were roughly the same length, and it was easy to hold it. She moved his hand further up her arm, but the small groan from him informed her that the new position caused him pain. She put his hand on top of her thigh, but when she reached for his shoulder she found that it had shifted the wrong way.
She placed his left hand on her ribcage, on top of her heart, and used her right arm to support his forearm as best she could. He had tensed again and she smacked his forearm lightly.
"I said relax."
She stood higher on her knees and bent over so that she could reach his shoulder. She started kneading his muscles with her right hand. It was so much more flesh between her fingers and the joint. All she had to do was relax those huge muscles and gently allow the bones to realign.
"Tell me if it hurts."
He snorted. The sound reminded her of a particularly stubborn horse.
"I don't care if it's pain you can take, it's not supposed to hurt. If it does, I'm doing it wrong."
She went on massaging him with slow, deliberate movements. It was so different than when she did this to Bran. More work. That was it. Her tiny hand was not strong enough to work the muscles of his shoulder, upper back and upper arm. His breath hitched a couple of times, but when she asked if it hurt, he said a curt no.
She tried to ignore the big hand propped against her ribcage. She wondered if he could feel her heart hammering, right under his palm. Her hand was probably getting tired and sloppy because she did something wrong and his hand squeezed her flesh in response a couple of times.
She closed her eyes and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to hold back any sound that might escape her mouth. He probably wasn't aware, but his hand rested right under the swell of her small breast.
She heard his sigh of relief, and he took off his hand from her torso. She instantly missed the pressure and the warmth. He started to move his arm exploratorily and Arya removed her tired right hand from his shoulder.
"Are you ok?" she asked.
"Bloody incredible, girl. I know people who lost their ability to wield a sword after a Maester set their shoulder back."
She settled next to him, with her back against the wall and closed her eyes. She tried to imagine herself wearing the white cloak. What kind of King would she serve? Joffrey seemed dumb and annoying but maybe it was just because of Sansa's reaction. She was smitten with him at first sight. Or maybe she just like to the idea of being queen even more than that of being a highborn lady.
"Don't bloody fall asleep," he said.
She jerked back. When had she rested her head on his shoulder? She was getting sleepy. Maybe it was the steady sound of rain.
"Tell me a story if you want me to stay awake."
"Stories are supposed to get you to sleep, not keep you up."
"Tell me how you got those scars on your face," she said.
He tensed for a moment. Was he angry that she asked?
"If I tell you, promise to stay awake?"
She thought about it. She was curious about the scars, but if she promised to stay awake… how would she amuse herself afterwards? Curiosity got the better of her.
"I promise."
He took in a short breath, but he didn't speak immediately. Arya wondered if he had changed his mind about telling her the story.
"When I was a child, my bedding caught fire, and it burned my face."
"You lied!" she exclaimed before she could think about it.
"What?"
"You just lied to me," she said. "Well, that means that at least I can go to sleep now."
She turned her back to him and curled into a ball, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. Why was she so sure that he had lied?
He pawed through the darkness on her body, his fingers bumping on hip and ribs and elbow until he found her ear. His grip was every bit as painful as her mother's. He pulled her up, and Arya had no choice but to obey or risk losing an ear.
"You promised to stay awake," he said, letting go of her ear.
She might have been wrong, but she thought she felt his knuckles brush over her burning ear.
"Not going to keep my promise for a lie."
"How do you know it was a lie?" he asked thoughtfully.
"If I tell you, you have to tell me the truth."
"Why do you even care?" he asked.
"I'm curious," she said.
"You sure are."
It wasn't just curiosity though. Not the same curiosity she had in common with Bran, about finding out something new. She was curious about a man who wore the helmet shaped like a dog's head and whom his own master called Dog.
"This isn't a story many people know, and I'd like to keep it that way."
'Why?' she wanted to ask immediately, but didn't.
"No one will hear it from me," she said, and meant it.
"When I was six, I was playing with one of my brother's toys by the fire. He saw me, and pushed my head into the fire. My father didn't want it known, so he told everyone my bedding caught fire."
She gasped, and snuck her arm under his. She pressed her cheek into his biceps, squeezing her eyes to hold back stinging tears. Six years old. She wished she could gather that boy into her arms and keep him safe.
"Your turn," he said.
She swallowed the knot of tears in her throat.
"Your voice. When you told the lie. It didn't sound right. It was… donno… flat? It sounded like mine used to sound when I told lies."
"You don't tell lies any more?" he asked.
She grinned smugly. "I don't get caught any more. I used to get punished twice, once for the bad thing I did, and once for lying."
"I doubt that was the lesson you were supposed to learn," he said, sounding impressed. "What sort of lies to you tell now?"
"Oh, boring ones," she said. "I'm not supposed to do things, or go places, but I do. And then I lie about where I was. But now I prepare myself better before lying. I don't just say the words, I tell them something that I really did, just not at the precise time they're asking about."
His laughter shook his whole body. It felt good to hear him laugh. The sound seemed to warm up the place. She closed her eyes and burrowed deeper into his side. He wrapped his big arm around her shoulders and pulled her even closer.
Her clothes were still wet, and the humidity seemed to have sunken all the way to her bones. She drew in a deep breath trying to relax, unsure where this sudden tension had come from. The smell of leather, sweat and smoke blended into a heady scent. A man's scent.
She was in the arms of a man she hardly knew. She should be scared. Maybe fear explained the stirrings in her belly. Like hunger. Like anticipation of a feast. The sensation was puzzling. And sweet. A shiver ran through her.
"You're still cold," he said and started rubbing her back.
'Stop it.'
'I'm not cold.'
The words failed her. She certainly wasn't cold anymore but how could she explain it. She didn't understand why suddenly her skin seemed on fire. And yet, she played along. Pretending she was cold. She drew herself closer to him, burying her face in his chest.
"Don't fall asleep," he said.
She shivered again when she felt his broad chest vibrating as he spoke. The low rumbling gravelly voice caressed her ears and caused a strange ache into her little body.
Sandor's POV
Despite his warnings, the girl's body mellowed into his. He couldn't quite hear the sound of her breathing, the damn rain still muffling most other sounds, but he felt her relaxing. That in itself was a surprise. What kind of child would relax so close to him?
Child. He had to repeat the word to himself. He had to erase the feel of her tiny breast against his fingers. Her little heart beat so fast while she worked diligently to unknot his hulking body. Maesters were anything but gentle when they treated injuries. Not even well paid whores had treat his body with such tenderness.
She was a child. She probably hadn't even flowered yet, or the Starks would have married her off. He grimaced at the thought of the wildling Stark forced to marry. Bedded without love. Bred like a broodmare. Maybe he should do her a favor and let her sleep. Give her the gift of leaving a world too small for someone like her.
"Are you asleep?" he asked.
He gritted his teeth in the silence. He had to wake her up again. He reached down to pinch her. His hand hovered, unsure what would be a safe place. He worried his hand might stray and end up on her breast or… worse.
Her thigh was pressed against his. He trailed his fingers up from her knee, and grabbed the outside of her thigh. His original thought was to pinch her once, hard enough to wake her. He froze at the memory of Gregor's monstrous hand on the thigh of a girl, mauling her while she thrashed under his weight.
He squeezed her thigh far more softly than he had intended, and Arya's reaction was a whimper. The sound earthed itself in his groin.
'She's a child.'
'Is she really?'
He shook himself.
"Wake up, girl."