Rickon...
Gods Rickon…
Her brother's hands claiming her, his lips mauling hers… their bodies joined as one…
Why did it feel so unequivocally right?
The feel of him inside of her now seeming almost necessary for her to continue to hope to breathe—to live, to finally feel alive after so long being vacant of anything!
Her head was a mess of emotions in complete turmoil but her body refused to let her dwell on any of it, each thrust of his being into hers driving any doubt or fight from her mind. Submission was the only option, and fucking gods had it never felt so right!
The erratic pulse of his heart matching the hammering pace of her own, the same blood—wolf blood, racing through both of their veins and seeming to magnify their attraction—their need and want and lust for each other something corporeally biological; beyond tangible.
His breathe thick on her collar, his teeth biting into her flesh against the strain of his effort as she raked nails over the tensed muscle of his back, both of their eyes clenched shut in ecstasy only to find one another and stare challengingly, staggered that the carnal tension could be any more intensified and redoubling their efforts to work in tandem and discover it's limit, infinite though it seemed it was.
He shifted her abused body easily in his arms even though he'd been holding her up, slamming gratifyingly into her and pushing her up against the deteriorating wall over and over again for what felt like an excruciatingly impossible amount of time, splinters driving into her back.
The pain of it all punctuated just how indecent and corrupt her enjoyment was, but she was helpless to stop it, and, though distressing, didn't wish to.
She was powerless against her need for him, her body begging to be brought to yet another release at his hands, bringing with it a moment of blinding euphoria that would push the truth of her depravity to the furthest corners of her mind.
She fought the oncoming tidal wave of pleasure so it wouldn't yet happen. She didn't want the wicked act to end, to feel him stop moving within her, to be absent of the build of an orgasm with which she could forget their immoral perversion.
She knew once released her reprieve from the truth would disappear within moments, and him from her body with it, leaving her weak and disgusted and alone to deal with the reality of what she had just let happen.
Still, as his leverage and angle changed and he spread her wider, removing his harsh grip on her posterior to loop hands under the crooks of her knees and support the whole of her weight, there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable detonation low in her core.
The muscles of her abdomen convulsed in abhorrent delight around the cock thrusting brutally inside of her, battering her passionately. That marvelous pinpoint of wicked pleasure mounted once more before roiling to a shattering peak, reaching a crescendo and thundering outward through her being with the force of a stampeding Dothraki horde.
Her climax pulsed through the entirety of her body leaving her rigid and enervated and shivering just as a liquid heat surged into her abused depths while the man holding her up grunted and growled finding his own release within her. So full of his pleasure, she felt the trickle of creamy liquid oozing around his girth while still inside her, the feel of its sticky thickness dripping gratifyingly down her soaked perineum and over her arse.
The poignant tainted stillness that followed as he remained sheathed inside her was too much to deal with. She desperately wanted to continue if only to escape the inevitable onslaught of disgust and horror that was sure to follow, but her body protested, unable to take much more abuse.
She was trembling in pleasure and revulsion and as he withdrew from her finally, letting her feet to the ground before stumbling away panting himself. She didn't have the strength to hold herself up and crumpled to the ground, falling on her hands and knees similarly out of breath.
She ran a hand between her thighs and stared in horrified disbelief at the mixture of blood and seed she came away with, the sound of it dripping onto the ground from between her knees only serving to jar her more.
As if she needed confirmation that the nightmare was real, that she wasn't imagining the foul throbbing ache caused by the absence of her brother from her cunt, she swiveled her head to the man trying to catch his breath as he sat with his back leaning against the far wall staring at her wryly, appearing self-satisfied and smug.
He had one knee propped up with a thick forearm lolled lazily over it as the muscles of his chest heaved and billowed, sweat rolling off of his naked body in sheets and giving him the look of a glistening deity. She ran her eyes along his frame, up from his strong lithe legs, to the thatch of auburn hair decorating the v of his muscles right above his crimson tinged, still half-cocked shaft. It seemed to jeer back at her mockingly having been painted with the blood of the last shred of her innocence.
Blinking away hysteria, her gaze finally swept up over his middle to find deep blue eyes looking upon her quaking form with brows furrowed. Eyes that she now realized were so familiar, eyes that looked back at her from the faces of her mother, Bran, Sansa, and Robb.
Rickon…
She looked away quickly squeezing her lids shut and feeling moisture escape. Her fists clenched and she held her jaw shut tightly less the sob she was holding back slip out, a sudden tightness in her chest that was stifling threatening to overcome her.
Why was the world so cruel as to return family in this manner? The only one of them still alive and she couldn't fathom meeting his eye with anything but a feeling of disgrace accompanied by an unnatural need for his cock.
She pushed herself brusquely up to her feet and quickly scrambled for her clothes, hurriedly and clumsily dressing herself, feeling with all of her being the need to get away, far away. She didn't look back at him when she heard him push off the wall and move for his own garments.
She rapidly dropped out of the window and back into the courtyard. Once out of sight she swiftly moved to recover only her wolf-hilted daggers, disregarding all of her other precious steel in her urgency before she ducked out of the courtyard into darkness and sprinted away from the manse and the hundred isles of Braavos forever.
She counted the moons as if they would wash away the ignominy she felt at the wickedness of their hapless transgression. Even so, she knew better than to believe that the shame she awoke with every morning due to the persistent dreams of his massive hands and deft tongue, leaving her aching and wet and desperate come sunrise, would ever fade to nothing.
It seemed a nasty twist of fate that all the ships leaving the harbor that morn were bound for Westeros. It was easy to be rid of even the most useless of cargoes in the lands ravaged by war and winter. The people across the Narrow Sea needed and would take what little they could get their hands on and the Braavosi would exploit any opportunity for trade. It was a fact that she wasn't ignorant to given her occupation, and she knew trade goods were in short supply with the coming of frostier tides, but she couldn't stomach being in the same city let alone continent as her only remaining brother. She couldn't live with the temptation of repeating her most reviling indiscretion and destroying what little she had left of herself and her family.
Believing herself absent of choice, Arya bought passage back to the lands that years ago had decimated the Starks in hopes of putting the Titan of Braavos and the only one of them still breathing behind her.
The roiling of the waves that tossed the sleek ship about as if it were a toy in some spoiled ornery Lord's bath seemed to mimic the turning of her moontea-addled-stomach and the dark tumultuousness of her thoughts—the violent handling of the vessel by the unforgiving seas reminding her of the contemptible act that had left her feeling betrayed by the satisfaction of her own body and which now tainted all memories of her family. She wondered if she would ever escape it.
Though the days and the ship took her further and further from the hundred isles of Braavos, she remained trapped in that dilapidated manse, suffocated by the immense and iniquitous pleasure she had received at the hands of an ignorant brother. Even with land looming large and spanning the horizon ahead, she was still haunted by the reality of their sinfully debauched coupling and beseeched the old gods and new in hopes that she might escape her recent past by returning to an older though still terrifying one.
The famine and suffering she found upon her arrival in Maidenpool was enough to drive her from the city in haste to remain oblivious to the plight of the people, a plight she had only just escaped as a child. It was then that the wolves found her.
With what little supplies she could bring herself to steal from the already grossly impoverished, she took to sleeping in the trees and secured herself to their trunks by rope. She never risked a fire and avoided the path of men, but on the third night she woke up to a pack of what looked to be hundreds of silent wolves surrounding her in every direction, snouts held up to direct ruminative eyes to her. She looked down when she heard a whine and scratching to find a familiar pony sized wolf standing on hind legs trying to reach her, head tilted and tail swaying hopefully.
Leading Nymeria back to her was the first small mercy the world bestowed upon her in useless attempt to make her forget what had driven her from Braavos.
The wolves became her escort and companions and she led them away from the Riverlands. Away from the people that had already been devastated more by war than any in the Seven Kingdoms. She led them North towards the Neck where they were free to ravage the lands of the Frey's as they pleased before they passed through the bogs of the Crannogmen, the feel of eyes following them the entire way.
She lost track of time having lost contact with people altogether as she roamed the Rills and the Barrowlands, the lands surrounding the Saltspear and the shores where the Ironborn might be foolish enough to raid.
It wasn't until tens of moons had passed that she sought out people once more. What large bands of men were doing crossing through the Neck and heading North piqued her curiosity. So instead of avoiding the Kingsroad, she traveled to Moat Cailin to halt their progress and question their intent.
It was only happenstance that the group she should come upon were the remnants of the Brotherhood Without Banners. None seemed to recognize her and they were wary of a lone traveler bold enough not to hide from unfamiliar and armed men in such violent times.
When she had questioned their business they had questioned her sanity. Why would a young woman in a war torn realm travel alone in the dregs of winter? How could she possibly hope to survive by herself? And most importantly, who was she to question them?
When she told them she wasn't alone and their horses began to whicker nervously, stamping their feet near panic, they noticed her wolves had slunk silently from the treeline to surround them. It wasn't until Nymeria strode to take her place by her side that they named her Stark and told her the Long Night had come and the resurrected Lord Commander Snow had called upon all able-bodied men to help fend off the Other's. They were headed for the Wall and she knew fate had forced its will upon her once again.
Another brother returned.
She was called to go to him.
Arriving at the encampment surrounding Castle Black, Ghost found her before Jon did, though her brother was not far behind. One after the other they burst through the line of Wildlings, all of whom stared in open astonishment at the arrival of a girl accompanied by hundreds of wolves and a band of soldiers who warily kept their distance.
Though Ghost bounded purposefully towards his eager litter mate without question, Jon paused in a moment of unguarded wonder and disbelief as he stared at his returned sibling before sprinting to her and nearly breaking all of her ribs as he swept her off the ground and held her to him fiercely. It was as if he was afraid she might disappear at any moment.
He seemed to think she was some sort of apparition as he held her at arms length and looked her over half a hundred times. No words were shared between them, just emotions, until the arrival of a third Direwolf, huge and dark and fierce. He joined his brother and sister, tackling both the smaller wolves to the ground to begin rough housing.
Her smile was wiped off her face just as Jon gently and excitedly informed her that yes, Rickon was alive, and he was here. The smile he shot over her shoulder and the wave he used to beckon someone forward chilled her to the bone and she tensed in agony knowing it could only be one man.
Hoping that somehow she had been wrong, that somehow she wouldn't turn to find the auburn titan that haunted her dreams, she forced herself to come face to face with her youngest brother.
The recognition was instantaneous on both their parts. Rickon abruptly stopped his approach, face gone white as the winterscape around them just as all hope fled her own body and her face twisted into an expression of anguish. They stood remembering the violent heat of their passion, forced to relive the otherworldly ecstasy once more before beginning to feel ill at the realization of truly having carnal knowledge of ones own sibling. Their shared memory now well and truly tainted.
His face immediately hardened to something more unforgiving than stone, but to his credit, he found his stride and closed the distance between them, adam's apple bobbing forebodingly as he stopped in front of her and inclined his head ever so slightly, fists clenched.
Arya had no such strength, she looked away quickly and when Jon asked her what was wrong she excused herself citing the journey as the source of her weariness. He was instantly walking her back to his tents and shouting orders that another be erected nearby, beside Rickon's and his own.
Dread building in her stomach at the prospect of being so near her younger brother, she quickly informed the Lord Commander she wished to camp on the outskirts with the wolves, that they had been her company for near on the past year. He looked reluctant to allow her request, mentioning the Wildling's penchant for stealing brides as reasoning enough to keep her close, but she argued that she'd managed to protect herself thus far and the wolves would see to it she remained safe.
Still, that wasn't good enough for Jon.
He seemed frustrated and looked irritated that she wouldn't see the sense in his insistence, or fall in line with his authority as he had grown accustomed to others doing. When he outright told her he meant for her only to stay a few days before sending her back south away from the fighting and brokering no argument, her own irritation flared to the point that she drew her blades. It wasn't until he pointedly and sternly looked around at the camp full of Black Brothers, Southroners, and Wildlings that she realized she had publically challenged the Lord Commander. Still, she wasn't going to back down.
"You were the one to put a sword in my hand knowing I would appreciate it more than a needle." She growled at him. "I've grown fond of steel, shall I show you how fond?" She goaded before pausing momentarily and flourishing her daggers. When he just scowled at her appearing exhausted and exasperated she continued. "I believe you have need of my wolves and my skills, and I would much rather you permit me to stay of your own accord than go against the will of my own brother and Lord Commander. I am no longer the girl of ten who used to follow you around like a lost pup. I've known nothing but fighting since the day I fled King's Landing and I've survived this long only because I've become well acquainted with defending myself. I will fight for my life as well as the realm. You won't send me away Jon, I refuse to go."
While her words were compelling, the need to keep her safe seemed paramount in her eldest brother's mind for he feigned acceptance with a horribly telling attempt at a submissive frown and sigh before irrationally lunging to disarm her. In hopes of what she couldn't even begin to imagine.
Did he think he could just tie her up and cart her back to the remains of Winterfell to hideout during the fight for light itself? Was he so weathered by his command as to believe he could spare her from the terrors beyond the wall? That she even wished to be spared?
It was insulting that he didn't even feel the need to at least draw his own blade to fend hers off. She made him pay for it as she sidestepped around him, kicking him hard on the back of the leg where thigh met calf, felling him to his knees before moving behind him and yanking hard on his curls to better expose his neck to her steel. She was much quicker than he ever thought she'd be and she hadn't let her guard down.
"Not so easy is it brother?" She murmured in his ear.
She felt a presence behind her and a blade poised to enter her ribs, a large hand causing her skin to burn as it grasped the back of her neck painfully, fingers curling almost the whole way around in a manner that was much too appealing and familiar to bring comfort.
"You'd add kinslayer to the list of all the other wretched titles you've earned sister?" A familiar growl hissed softly in her ear.
There was no doubt in her mind as to what other titles Rickon was alluding to, though it was his next comment that had her hackles rising and found her barring her teeth.
"You claim to be Stark but your actions are all Lannister." He sneered furiously.
Fury erupted in her mind at his quiet words and she called upon strength she didn't know she possessed as she moved faster than she could ever remember. Throwing her daggers into the snow on either side of her, she stepped back into a massive and warm body so his blade was no longer at her ribs and grabbed the wrist that held it. Tugging sharply to force him to lean over her shoulder while throwing her hips back into his groin, she caught him off balance enough that, with assistance from her legs, he flipped over her shoulder. It was lucky that Jon had moved once free of her blade or else their little brother's not so little body would've landed squarely on top of him.
The move left a serious ache in her spine and knowledge that only the strength of her anger had allowed it to succeed. Rickon was sprawled on his back looking stunned, and even more so when her boot came down on his throat and she leaned over him threateningly, eyes blazing and daring him to do anything but yield.
She really should've thought things through more thoroughly, because the next she knew he had a hand encircling the ankle she had poised to crush his esophagus and was falling ungracefully over him, landing on the ground on her side with a dull thud. She wasn't there long however, because Rickon had her on her back with her hands restrained above her head in an all too familiar and uncomfortable position.
He looked absolutely murderous as he held her there. "You knew didn't you?" He spat at her disgustedly, somehow managing to control his volume.
She glared back at him just as darkly, refusing to speak though knowing intrinsically what he was referring to.
He shook her roughly with his free hand. "Answer me damn you!" He seethed quietly, throwing off Jon's bewildered attempt to remove him from their sibling.
He was so caught up in searching her eyes and fending off Jon that he wasn't paying attention to his positioning. She took the liberty of reminding him of his shortsightedness by bringing a knee to his groin.
Watching pain bloom on his face as he rolled off of her, she scrambled to her feet and faced both of her angry brother's, remaining silent as she looked between them, finally settling on Jon.
"Arya— " He began again only to be cut off.
"No Jon." She shook her head gritting her teeth, trying to find words to impress upon the both of them why she was here and why she must stay. "When the snow falls and the white winds howl, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives." She slowly and meaningfully told them only to be met with stoic silence.
"I know what awaits me here, what's beyond the wall." She broke the silence. "I've heard the stories." She told them. "Jon I know the tales we begged Old Nan to scare us with as babes have come to life. You can't protect me from it and I won't ask you to. Winter has come, and not just for the both of you." She paused and looked pointedly to Rickon. "I am here to fight alongside men, not to make nice or resurrect a Family that I long presumed to be the last of. I'm not here to submit to the will of any but my own and I will give my life fighting those who wish to bend me to theirs for their pleasure. Blood included though I believed that list would only include the dead." She finished purposefully before turning back to Jon. "Will you have me or shall I make for the Nightfort?" She asked finally.
Jon scowled resignedly but finally nodded. He would keep her close for the rest of eternity if only to keep an eye on her.
Satisfied though not pleased with the turn of events, she turned on her heel to make an escape back to her wolves as whispers of the Stark sibling reunion began churning throughout camp.
Word of the rabid alpha she-wolf leading a pack of hundreds spread like wildfire through the army of nearly two hundred thousand, though not all had been there to witness the spectacle. And while Jon continually made his displeasure at her presence known, he didn't have the time or the strength to fight her and still coordinate the effort to save all of their lives.
Just as he'd predicted, the Wildlings began to consider her some sort of challenge to be won and it became worrisome considering her wolves were more often than not, hunting and skulking away from the men.
Night after night men of the Free Folk would try to steal her away like some type of prize, the mission seemingly a right of passage of sorts.
Night after night she would send them running and those fool enough to try a second time she served with the Gift as a means to warn others from being so rash.
Jon did his best to discourage them with threatening words and she found out later Rickon did his own part as well. Her youngest brother sought out each man who dared enter her tent uninvited and beat them bloody if they already hadn't been incapacitated by her own attentions.
Still, they would come.
It didn't begin to truly take its toll until the Other's descended upon them and she suffered from lack of sleep. The ache she felt in her muscles constant after rotations atop the wall, helping to hoist oil filled barrels over the side and ignite them before sending them down into the mass of dead things that congregated at their gates, the horde spanning the distance of the wall from Eastwatch to west, thousands deep and relentless.
The job was endless though the materials their catapults and cranes could heave were not. Mole's town and several other settlements in the Gift and beyond had been deconstructed, men working tirelessly to haul the debris to the Wall to try and crush the death that would have them.
Worse still were the quiet nights when the wind would stop altogether and a glacial chill crept into their bones. The snarls and furious howls of the wolves always heralding the coming of the Other's.
Wave after wave of icy abomination would scale the wall atop spiders as big as horses, just as hateful and hungry for blood as their masters.
The dropping of the scythe would fell only their eight-legged beasts, and though the ice let loose would crush lines of wights below, it was the creatures that ruthlessly continued up the sheer and over the ledge, claiming the lives of scores of men and destroying siege engines before finally being taken down, or more often, vaulting back over to rejoin the ranks of dead hundreds of feet below, they were the true terror.
Steel was useless against their assault except to slow your own death by a blow. Only, fire, Dragonglass, and Valyrian Steel would affect them, and even then their superior strength and speed meant your skill would be the only thing to keep you alive, a lesson she'd learnt the hard way and which still haunted her dreams.
They'd begun to target the Lift, their spiders stringing along webs of wights as they climbed, some left to assist in the murder of those atop the wall while others were lowered or flung south to induce chaos and panic below.
The initial shock of finding the enemy behind the gates, the manifestation of everyone's deep seeded fear that the dead had finally breeched their defenses, was arrested as the rabid wolves swarmed, ripping apart the wights in a rage that infected the men as well.
The indomitable war cries from below accompanied by the singing ring of steel and snarls of her pack invigorated her even hundreds of feet above, a morbid smile curling across her lips and a well of courage springing up within her.
Charging the spider harrowing her comrades as it lashed out in all directions, hissing and striking with its fangs, tossing men to their deaths as if they were playthings and progressing freely towards the Lift that ensured they could man the Wall, Arya let all thought for her well-being desert her.
Falling to her knees at a dead sprint, she slid underneath the beast, long daggers extended to either side slicing through eight legs like warm butter. Screaming shrilly the creature collapsed as she emerged from beneath it and fluidly came to her feet, spinning nimbly as she used the weight of her body to drive both blades through its head.
It was then that she spotted the Whitewalker's hateful gaze trained on her as it began cutting through live flesh to get to her.
She didn't wait for it, she met it half way.
The thing was ferociously fast and unyielding in its offense but there was a fire inside her that burned with the intensity of a life already stolen, one that refused to be and couldn't be taken again.
Swift as the very wind that cut her to the bone, Arya met his icy blade with her own, willing her steel to hold fast, not to shatter.
She snapped and snarled like the wolf she was, gritting her teeth against the power of his blows as he forced her to move backwards against his torrent of abuse. And still she found an opening.
Lunging at him and arcing both her blades so the creature was forced to jump a stunned step back, she continued her assault following through to bring her blades overhead and down. The Whitewalker knelt to absorb the momentum of her blow and they found themselves staring face to face into the hate-filled eyes of one another, blades locked in a battle of wills and physical power, her only just looking down on his kneeling algific form.
Lip curled at her in abhorrence, cold rage seeping and infecting deeper into her being, Arya felt her strength failing and grit her teeth against the creature as it cruelly smiled, overcoming her brawn easily to come to its feet, pressing down upon her now and trying to reverse their positions and force her to her knees.
Arms trembling and straining, panic licking through her subconscious, she deflected his blade letting it slide right as she gave way to his strength and dove left. She used her shoulder to roll into a crouch only to have to dive again as the icy creatures blade drove into the ground where she'd landed. He followed once more.
On her knees and braced to try and stop the blow she realized she didn't have the strength to divert or time to avoid, she clenched her eyes shut and waited for death…
…but when the force of the blow only marginally jarred her shoulder, superficially cutting through her furs and into skin, she heard the distinct thrum of steel ringing at a frequency much lower then that of her familiar daggers so she looked up to see the Whitewalker's blade tangled with hers as well as Longclaw's and Widow's Wail, Jon and Rickon on either side of her and straining against the snarling enraged beast.
Without thought she reached for the Valyrian steal letter opener strapped to her thigh. She drove it home into the torso of the creature and watched it turn to screech at her in otherworldly fury before shattering into a thousand sharp shards, it's pieces leaving tiny cuts on what little skin she had exposed.
Falling onto her arse in exhaustion and having to watch Rickon march away tensely while Jon began to angrily scold her for engaging both beasts had been enough of a nightmare, but returning to her tent that night and every night after to find the Other's haunting her dreams, feeling as if their cold blades truly were penetrating her body and soul as she watched them hack away at her brothers was exceedingly worse. Her screams that first time had been answered by the three Stark wolves and Rickon who came bustling into her tent several minutes later half clothed and bewildered, Widow's Wail flailing wildly looking for threats.
When he saw none, only her, furs clutched to bare breasts, the skin of her shoulders exposed and looking up at him in confusion as the terror wore off to be replaced by a warmth between them, he visibly gulped before turning on his heel and practically running from her tent.
Though the dreams persisted with the never-ending assault, her younger brother's heartening presence did not. And as the severity of battles and incumbent nightmares grew in earnest, her longing for comfort did as well. This dark new world would never let her rest.
If she wasn't fending off Whitewalkers in the field or in her dreams, she was fending off being stolen by Wildlings in camp. Disconsolate, she thought to curb the attempts she might take a man to bed. She wanted and desperately needed the companionship, vainly hoping to stave of the cold and loneliness, but she was never able to follow through and often times it ended in bloodshed.
When the men of the Brotherhood saw her marching through their camp they were surprised, but when she stalked her way over to the tall raven-haired blue eyed bastard knight that she had deliberately and callously ignored up to that point, they were shocked to see her drag his lips down to hers and seemingly try to devour the stunned fellow. Still, it only took him a moment before he was returning her fervor, although he did have the foresight to pull away and drag her to his tent when she began fumbling with his laces in plain view of everyone.
She was practically climbing on top of him in her desperate urgency but once he removed her shirt and then reached for the buckle of her knife belt, he found himself suddenly on his back facing a murderous and frightened looking Arya, wolf-hilted daggers slicing superficially into his neck.
He held his hands away showing he meant no harm, and suddenly her eyes went wide and she was running from the tent leaving a flabbergasted and bewildered man wanting and bleeding in her wake.
She had only experienced what it meant to be pursued, to struggle before being forced to submit, and she found herself incapable of yielding willingly and allowing herself the vulnerability to find release at the hands of another. The first and last time she had it nearly destroyed her.
She despaired of ever finding rest or respite from men sneaking into her tent, and was desperate and exhausted enough to think that maybe being stolen was the only way to earn a reprieve.
When the lithe appealing looking Thenn entered her tent on an evening soon after, she wasn't inclined to fight him.
He was nearly silent but her ears were tuned and accustomed to looking out for intruders and she stilled the moment he invaded her space. When she turned, her eyes swept over him and her body responded in a positive way. She thought this stranger might be her savior. He was appealing in his strength and ruggedness, clearly capable and certainly attractive. She did want him, but even if her subconscious rebelled and she tried to pull away she knew he wouldn't easily let her. He might be her answer.
He considered her warily and when he took a testing step towards her, anticipating a fight and trying to gauge her through her stance, he frowned seeing she didn't move an inch. He narrowed his eyes at her curiously and when she began to stalk towards him he tensed, weapons at the ready in case she withdrew hers. When, instead she kissed him he was astounded but not displeased and soon returned her plea for more with a surprisingly soft though still demanding eagerness.
Arya had him half undressed and was desperately clinging to him, appealing for more, when he wisely went for her knives instead of simply removing her belt.
With all her security seemingly just out of her grasp, leaving her vulnerable to the ravenous hands and steel attempting to divest her of clothing, true unadulterated panic rushed in and her bestial assassin's instinct took over.
Mindlessly, and whip fast, she ducked low to swipe legs out from underneath her assailant and in the next she was subconsciously following him to the ground turning one of the blades still in his grip back on himself and putting her weight on top of his wrist.
She buried the dagger in his neck as his back hit the floor and withdrew it just as swiftly in a shower of blood that sprayed her face and dyed her shirt crimson in a jarringly violent pattern.
It was only as the poor fellow's hot blood began to drip down her face that she blinked away confusion and was able to wrap her head around what just transpired.
Not a little disturbed and trembling as realization dawned on her, she uselessly tried to staunch the bleeding with the pressure of her hands as she blubbered out hopeless apologies, sobs finally overcoming her as she and watched the life drain out of the boys eyes, his own blood dripping back onto his skin from where it mixed with the tears rolling down her cheeks.
The anger, anguish, and pure exhaustion she felt in that moment had her grabbing up her daggers only to begin slicing maniacally through the canvas of her tent without thought; frustration and despair bearing down on her.
When she finally fell to her knees out of breath and emotionally spent she gathered what meager possessions she owned and stood looking down on the ruin of her camp and the body of the young man just inside.
She stared blankly out in front of her as she emotionlessly smashed her only lantern on the ground and watched the first lick of flames begin crawling up the ragged scraps of the canvas tent and catch on the fur lined clothing of the man who she'd tried to welcome to her bed and take pleasure from, and who's life she had stolen in reflexive terror.
With the flames of her tent illuminating the night sky at her back, Arya staggered her way solemnly to the middle of camp, hundreds of wary eyes following her movements, taking in her hardened appearance, her clothing and face a mess of blood, her red stained skin streaked with tears, a tormented look haunting her eyes.
With each step she took the exhaustion bore down on her. The lack of rest, the countless days spent in the frigid cold fighting the undead, the nights consumed with trying to seek sleep though thwarted by trespassers and dream demons. All of the weariness that she had managed to ignore seemed more and more overwhelming with each progressive step she took, so much so that when she finally pushed back the canvas flaps of the command tent she stumbled inside only just meeting her brother's eyes before she collapsed into darkness without so much as a word.
When consciousness finally returned it was to the feel of something warm and wet trailing over her cheek. A moment of confusion swept over her knowing Nymeria stayed with her pack rather than by her side in camp, but when the fog cleared and she trailed familiar dark fur through her fingers, her nerves settled immensely and she nuzzled into the proffered crown of the wolf's head in front of her thinking she was alone with the animal and taking what comfort was offered.
"Shaggy to me." A gruff commanding voice called from the corner of the tent just as the huge wolf bounded off the bed. Arya whipped her head in direction of the memorable voice dreading the knowledge of whom she would find.
She watched guardedly as Rickon pushed up off his knees and came to stand, stretching to his impressive height while considering her coolly with his haunting blue eyes and daunting stance. She held his stare with her own determined grey gaze waiting for the rebuke she was sure would follow.
When she was greeted by only a lingering, challenging silence, leaving the tension radiating between them to compound and electrify perilously, she finally looked away feeling the shame of her own submission once more at his hands.
"You're awake." He deadpanned though she swore she imagined a tinge of relief in his tone.
She nodded her head curtly, but when he didn't move to leave or speak she felt wholly uncomfortable and found herself snapping at him. "I am. You can take your leave now."
The corner of his lip twitched in annoyance but he didn't move an inch otherwise and she could almost feel the atmosphere darken tangibly. She knew what to expect next seeing as it was long over due and she was once again trapped and at his mercy.
"Did you know?" He demanded of her indomitably.
She turned angry eyes back to his, affronted that he thought poorly enough of her to believe her intentionally capable of such an abomination. She shook her head stiffly. "No." She snarled, angry that he had to ask though after a moment she once more looked away in disgrace. "Not at first." She begrudgingly told him the truth, seeing him tense visibly.
"When." He deadpanned harshly clearly looking for answers as his rage swelled at the admission.
She glared at him feeling aggrieved, knowing he unjustly placed the blame wholly on her. "After you took my maidenhead." She spat disgustedly, none too happy to be recalling the memory but pleased to relieve herself of some of the guilt. "The wolf-blood truly does run through both of our veins, doesn't it Rickon?" She retorted acerbically, her tone thick and biting and her expression twisted with resentment as she repeated the words he'd uttered that'd made her realize whose cock had been shoved inside of her, shattering her already fragile world along with the thin veil of skin that marked her a virgin.
She felt some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing him flinch, but it immediately had her feeling regretful and sorry for him, so she looked away sourly, exhaling a bitter breath. "Father always said the North ran cold through our veins, that the wildness everyone saw in some of us was because of the wolf-blood…." She trailed off momentarily. "You were so young, young enough not to remember…" She plucked at the furs covers angrily. "I knew once those words passed your lips you somehow had." She admitted miserably before looking back up at him. "I thought everyone was dead Rickon." She confessed distantly, hoping to see the hate disappear from his eyes. "But you weren't."
She watched as her younger brother's eyebrows furrowed and a clouded look darkened his features. He appeared to be looking into himself, attempting to recall events as they happened, and seemed troubled by what he found.
"You tried to push me away." He finally murmured with an unsettled frown, his eyes searching the ground before hardening as he pushed all feeling to the side and forced himself to look up at her, body rigid, jaw and fists clenched after seeing confirmation staring back at him.
Once again silence lingered, but this time it was he who backed down first, feeling uncomfortable with the answers he had sought for himself and turning on his heel brusquely to take his leave. "Jon wishes to have words with you." He said with his back turned while pausing at the entrance "Much has changed in the week you've been unconscious." He mumbled distractedly as he pushed hurriedly past the tent flaps and into the cold.
Watching him go she was sickened by the feelings of desertion and sympathy that plagued her, as well as her minds desire to stop and beseech him to stay and offer her comfort in a manner that no brother should his sister. Even so she still managed to be shocked at hearing how long she'd been abed.
A week. She had been unconscious for the entirety of a week, and yet she still felt listless and sluggish, and now disgusted that she had experienced relief in passing on the burden of fault to her younger brother.
She was drowning in her own self-loathing when the arrival of Ghost warned of the coming of her elder brother.
Jon walked straight to her bedside once he pushed through the canvas and immediately sat down to pull her into his arms without a word. The silent act of comfort was offered in much the same manner as their father had been wont to do all those years ago when she had been caught doing something foolish.
Although in the midst of a bustling and embattled war camp, she hadn't felt so safe since her days as an ignorant child and she cherished the feeling as she hugged her brother to her fiercely, clawing at his cloaks and furs and smothering herself in his collar.
"You are not alone Arya." He murmured into the crown of her head. "You don't have to do any of this alone." He soothed, smoothing her hair with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulled her away so he could tilt her chin up and look into her eyes, smiling tenderly at the oh so familiar grey that stared back at him. "You are capable, no one believes differently," He asserted before continuing, "but you would drive yourself into the ground before confessing to exhaustion. You're no good to anyone if you're just another solider for the Other's to cut down and resurrect." He stressed before grimacing slightly and hardening himself for what he knew he had to tell her. "I know you won't be pleased to hear it but I had the Maester's feed you milk of the poppy to help you rest and recover your strength." He informed her stoically clearly expecting a reaction. When her eyes darkened and she tried to pull away from him angrily, he held onto her tightly, his eyes intense as he seized her urgently by the shoulders with the air of the Lord Commander about him.
"Listen to me Arya." He pleadingly growled at her, his demeanor changed, his tone grave as he gripped her shoulders tightly. "Things have changed. The Wall it's…" He pressed his lips together thinly, not wanting to say it aloud and believe it for himself. He had to look away momentarily though he resolved himself to look her in the eyes once more. "The Wall has fallen." He told her finally, watching her initial disbelief transform to unease as it all sank in. "We lost half our men and were unable to burn most in our retreat. I gave the order for the trenches we dug around camp to be set fire with what fuel we have left in hopes to give us enough of a reprieve to recoup, but even if we burn everything, the fires will die within two days time." He paused to let the implications sink in and dread built as she realized what he would say next. "They will attack soon. They have the numbers and advantage. We won't be able to stop them. We will be overwhelmed Arya." He deadpanned knowing that there was little time to spare with niceties, she needed to come to terms with it sooner rather than later.
Even though she knew the reality he was describing, hearing him admit there was no hope to be had pushed the breath from her lungs. Mayhaps she should've felt despair and desperation in that moment, however all she could muster up was bitter resignation. After hopelessly searching the air for comprehension or a means to save them all, trying to find something, anything they'd overlooked, she grimaced sardonically realizing there really was no solution to be had and never had been. This was it, of course it would come to this.
Subconsciously her hands found their way to her brother's face, pushing his curls back from his eyes as she looked up at him, smiling sadly and memorizing his features through touch, thinking how much he resembled their father in both demeanor and coloration and how proud he would've been of him. He'd done everything he could and he would die for his efforts. She would happily give her life alongside his.
"This changes nothing Jon." She told him plainly. "We fight, we are Starks." She stressed to him, keeping his head still in her hands when he tried to look away at her proclaimed legitimization. After a moment, each of their eyes shining with unshed tears, they shared a small smile before Arya went on. "All I can remember anymore is fighting. I'm just happy it ends with family."
Jon shook his head slightly as he grabbed her wrists from either side of his face and folded them between his hands in his lap. "Out of all of us you always were the most courageous." He chuckled slightly before mussing her hair and moving to stand once more. "Rest now." He ordered her as he made to leave. "I have ravens to send and plans to make if we mean to hold out as long as we can. I will find you on the field, you and Rickon." He nodded at her with a sad tight-lipped smile as he departed.
Arya had no intention of resting and as soon as he left set about finding her daggers and clothing herself.
The frigid cold of death took the air from her lungs as she stepped outside into the flickering darkness. The horizon and perimeter of the camp was aflame and it looked as if they were to be inevitably consumed by some hellish inferno dreamt up by R'hllor himself. Still, that didn't stop her from racing towards it once the howls, snarls, yelps, and cries of her wolves could be heard beyond it, already hunting their last hunt while men huddle in the safety of the surrounding fire.
So distracted she was in sprinting towards the losing battle and sounds of animal terror that she didn't hear the approach of the direwolf behind her until it was baring her way with snapping jaws as a presence came up at her back.
"Don't" Rickon said stoically, leaving her between him and his direwolf.
Arya only glanced over her shoulder at him before trying to feint her way around Shaggy. The wolf snarled turning feral, his master offering explanation.
"They keep the wights from swarming and smothering the fires. " He informed her. "They see the situation for what it is and know what must be done. Nymeria knows."
She turned on him angrily at that, feeling helpless and enraged. "Then why haven't you stopped her?" She shrieked, fearing for the life of her pack.
"Could I? She's just as stubborn as you!" He bellowed back at her with a surprising anger. When he saw her about to open her mouth in offense he plowed right over her. "Do you really think we didn't try? That I didn't?" He asked acerbically. "I meant to go call her back as soon as the fires had been lit but shaggy intervened with me as well." He exasperatedly motioned to the furious wolf.
Arya turned skeptically back around, her doubt heavy until Rickon moved to step closer and the animal planted itself between them, squaring itself off against them both. With the thought to make another attempt to break past with Shaggy's attention now divided, she felt a strong grip encircle her upper arm.
"No Arya." Her seething brother insisted seriously, eyes boring down into hers. "I won't let you die yet and neither will your wolf. When it looks hopeless Nymeria will seek out refuge behind the flames and all of our strength will be rallied for the Last Hunt. We wait it out." He nodded past the fires, towards frigid death. "We keep warmth in the world for as long as we can."
Feeling helpless against sense she looked up at him with furrowed brows before turning back towards where she could sense Nymeria in battle.
Rickon's hand skating down the furs covering her arm to find her hand and give it a comforting squeeze was what gave her the strength to hold back, with it she felt her body and soul resigned to await fate.
Disconsolately she gripped his hand in return, allowing him to tug her back towards the center of camp and lead her to just outside his tent where normally there was a small fire burning. Staring at the ashes, they sat down in tense silence Shaggy between them, listening to the sounds of death and waiting for the moment it would come for them.