The man beneath Miles trembled, as she slowly moved up and down on his stiff member. She began to rock her hips back and forth in a rhythmic motion, eliciting a soft moan from her companion.
The man's name was Reynold Schmidt, and he had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he agreed to bring her home with him.
Miles weaved her fingers through his hair and pulled hard. Reynold bit his lip in pleasure. He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her rear, and flipped her on her back. He hovered above her, before burying himself deep inside of her again.
"You are a dangerous little minx, aren't you?" he purred to her. Sweat was dripping down his face now as he rocked back and forth harder and faster than before.
"You have no idea," Miles whispered back.
The man tightened his hand over her throat. Miles tried to gasp a bit, but no air entered her lungs. She flushed at the realization that she quite liked the rough technique. Just as the need for air was beginning to get uncomfortable, the pressure was gone.
He was biting her ear now, and growling. Waves of pleasure rolled through her body, but she fought to keep her mind clear.
Another few thrusts and she was pushed over the edge, tightening around him. A moment later, he followed her lead spilling his seed over her bare stomach.
He mumbled something about cleaning up the mess before shuffling over to grab a rag for her.
Miles had to admit, the sex wasn't bad. It was unfortunate however that he was such a homely looking creature, with his stout figure and uncombed hair.
Reynold crawled back into bed with her, before promptly rolling over and passing out. Moments later Miles was walking briskly out of the man's small home.
She had almost made it a full block before she heard him shouting behind her.
"Stop, thief!" he yelled.
She frowned. So close, she thought before sprinting down a narrow alleyway. She drew her green scarf tighter around her face. She felt the coins, silverware, and gold pocket watch she had stolen jingling in her pocket.
She had noticed the pocket watch a few days before. She had been lurking by the docks, hoping to swipe some goods that came off the ships, when she saw Reynold looking at it.
She knew immediately it must have been expensive. It looked like it was custom made with real gold.
She began to watch Reynold more closely after that. She learned he was a beer merchant, and ironically also a drunk. It was pure luck that he turned out to be a complete idiot too. What more could a thief want from a victim? It wasn't hard to lure him to his bedchamber after a few drinks at the local pub.
Now the portly man was chasing her down the streets.
This wasn't the first time one of her plots had gone awry, but luckily she knew the maze of buildings and streets that made up King's Landing like the back of her hand. As she sprinted past the market place, she grabbed a loaf of bread off a cart while the merchant was distracted. That would be dinner later.
She didn't slow down for several blocks, until she was sure she had outrun her pursuer. However, only seconds later, she hard him yelling again.
"I'll have your hands for a trophy, street rat!"
She whipped around, eyes wide. He was just a little ways away now. His sword was drawn and there was fire in his eyes.
She turned and saw a rusty pipe that snaked up the side of a decaying building beside her. She began to clamber up it.
When she reached the rooftop, she peered back down over the edge. Reynold was below her now, looking angry and confused by her sudden disappearance.
Miles took a step backward, but as she did her foot kicked a pebble that plummeted down to the ground, landing just in front of the man.
He looked up and saw her. "There you are!" he yelled.
As he began to climb up the side of the building, Miles looked for an exit. There was a clothes line one floor below, that attached to another building across the road.
She quickly removed her scarf and scrambled down to the line. She wrapped the scarf along the wire, but paused to look up behind her. The man was now just above her, glaring at her belligerently. Before he could climb down to her, Miles took a deep breath and pushed off the edge of the building.
She slid along the wire to the building across the street, and then began to deftly climb down to the street below.
"You won't get away so easy!" she hear him screaming.
You thought that was easy? she thought to herself.
She rushed down the street, until she came to a familiar storefront.
"Gendry!" she yelled, quickly ducking behind the counter of the small blacksmith's shop.
The handsome young blacksmith's apprentice entered the room. When he saw the girl hiding behind the counter, he sighed heavily.
"Always one step ahead of the law, eh Myriam?"
Miles grinned. Gendry was the only one who called her by her birth name, despite her constant protests.
"I only steal what I can't afford," Miles offered.
"That's everything." Gendry said, rolling his blue-gray eyes. "I swear you're solely responsible for our rising crime rates. I'd blame bad parenting, but seeing as you're an orphan..."
Miles laughed and reached over to ruffle her frenemy's dark black hair. "You know you love me, Gendry," she said.
He eyed her wearily. "Isn't it a little early for you to be getting into trouble already anyway?" "You're only in trouble if you get caught," Miles retorted.
She had barely finished her statement when Reynold tore through the doorway of the shop. His bright red face turning a deeper shade of scarlet upon seeing Miles.
She looked at Gendry. "Okay, I'm in trouble," she admitted.
Reynold lunged for her, but she quickly jumped over the counter and out the back door. She could heard the man following closely behind, knocking over helmets and weaponry as he crashed through the shop.
The alleyway behind the blacksmith's was dark and abandoned. Miles began sprinting toward the sunlit street, but before she could reach the corner she was slammed into the building hard.
She grunted from the pain. Reynold's hand was on her throat again, but this time in a much less enjoyable manner. He lifter her off the ground.
"I'll take back what you stole," he whispered through gritted teeth. "But not before I rip you open."
He raised his blade, but before he could strike Miles threw her knee into his groin with all her strength.
The man doubled over in pain, giving Miles the perfect opportunity to disarm him. As soon as she felt the warm handle of the knife in her hand she spun Reynold around and shoved it deep into his jugular.
Blood spurted onto her face while the man gurgled on the red liquid. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped lifeless to the ground.
Miles took several deep breaths. She stared down at her victim before wiping the blood off her face with her tunic. She turned around and made her way back out of the alley. She saw the sunlight of the nearby road and could hear the laughter coming out of the whorehouse across the street. She was steps away from freedom, but once again was shoved into the brick wall of a building.
"I saw what you did," the new assailant hissed at her. She looked up at the worn face of a large man with long brown hair. Something shiny caught her eye on his chest. It was his pin.
Oh crap, Miles thought. This was the hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark. "Please sir," she begged. "Mercy."
He glared down at her, but something in her eyes must have spoken to him. Eventually his look softened.
"Did he hurt you?" Ned Stark asked.
He hadn't. Miles knew. He was merely a convenient target for a poor and hungry orphan girl to take advantage of.
She wasn't going to tell Stark that though.
She nodded.
"I'll pretend I didn't see this," Lord Stark said.
Miles breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, my lord."
Lord Stark interrupted. "But as repayment, you owe me a favor."
Of course, thought Miles. Always a catch.
Whatever Miles had thought Lord Stark's favor would be, this wasn't it.
Mere hours had passed since their altercation in the alleyway, and now she was standing in a large airy room in the Red Keep. She had never thought in a million years she'd be in the home of the royal family, let alone as a guest.
Lord Stark had given her a new sword as well.
He had also asked if she'd like a dress, which Miles scoffed at. Perhaps, had her parents not died when she was young, Myriam would have worn dresses. Miles, however, did not.
She weighed the balance of the new blade in her hand. It was exceptionally well-crafted. Her father had taught her how to fight, but only the basics really. After all, he was only a lowly barkeep when he was alive. Miles had become an expert on her own. She had trained every day, no exceptions. After her parents passed, it become crucial to her survival. The world was no place for a women alone.
The sound of the large oak door creaking open tore her from her thoughts. A very small boyish-looking girl entered the room.
"You're late. Tomorrow you'll be on time," Miles barked at the child.
"Are you my new dancing instructor?" the young girl asked.
"My name is Miles Romero. And I'm here as a favor to your father. I'm going to teach you how to use that skinny little blade of yours."
The girl stared at her for a long moment before a large smile lit up her face.
"I'm Arya," she said.