AU fic: If Jory hadn't died, but was badly wounded and was kept prisoner and released after the fall of the Lannister House. I'm not very good at creating mood and scene like Martin, I just felt like writing this fic. It started out as a one-shot, but just built up, and yeah I know Jory is probably older than this, but I liked him on the series so I de-aged him about 5 years so it wouldn't be too creepy. It ends abruptly, but if I was a great writer like GRRM, I'd be out there publishing my own books instead of writing wishful cheese. That being said, enjoy!
His head felt hot and huge. It felt like a chill he once caught as a child, a strange and confusing nightmare whenever he opened his eyes. Only this time it wasn't his mother standing over him, swabbing his forehead with a cool cloth and feeding him broth. When he tried to open his eyes now, only one opened. The other was wrapped but Jory could feel his own crustiness seeping through the bandage. If he kept his eye it would be a miracle. Throbs of pain flashed across his face in time with his heartbeats and he was pretty sure that golden-haired ponce had broken his nose.
He sighed, and rested his head against the iron bars of the dungeon, which caused a hot feeling to sweep over him. Reaching up the hand with no-broken fingers, the back of his head was moist and hot. That's how they got him out of the fight- very honorably hitting him from behind. All that pain was nothing compared to what plagued his heart- he had failed. They had taken Lord Stark. And he couldn't do anything about it. He leaned to the side and vomited and gingerly closed his eyes, thinking of home- his father and brothers. But he wished the Gods would let him die and maybe get to see his mother again.
'Ridiculous', he thought. ' I am a man of 5 and 20.' Yet he wanted to see her smiling face and feel a cold cloth across his brow.
A few days later he saw Lord Stark being dragged away, being supported by two sentries on either side of him. The Lord had told him little, only that he had fought honorably.
He lived with a shame of his own making. It wasn't shameful to anyone else- not Lord Bran or Lady Mera or anyone. But in his head- he had failed. He abruptly woke up, his eyes adjusting quickly to the inside of his room. One leg hung off the bed and hit the floor, almost prepped to run. He had sweat on his brow and the anxiety filled his chest. It was the nightmare again- the nightmare of Ilan Payne and Joffrey the boy-king parading Lord Stark's head through the dungeons for the men of Winterfell. The round lump had made its rounds through the town. The disembodied eye shifted to him, its cracked and red mouth opening saying "Jory!" A thumping came from beyond his door.
"Ser Cassel? Ser?"
It was one of the squires, high-pitched voice squeaking on the cusp of manhood. He pulled on his breeches and ran a hand over his chest, unlatching the door and opening it 6 inches. The small squire stood unsurely outside his room, weight shifting from foot to foot. Jory was tall- 6'1", and the Squire stood gazing up at the muscular man.
"Sir, scouts came. The party is almost here…modest as it is." He said with almost a girlish chuckle.
Jory's brow wrinkled in confusion but couldn't help smirking. "Thank you Horas." The young man nodded and turned to leave. Jory shoved he door shut and walked to his looking glass, first dipping his hands into a basin and running the chilly water over his face. Glancing up at himself, he tried feebly to smooth back his dark hair, and it was the first time in a long time he noticed the scar running across his eye- a red indent staring from his forehead and going down to graze his top of his cheek.
"At least the Gods let me keep the eye", he said to aloud to himself.
Arya pulled back the reigns on her horse, slowing it to a stop when she reached the top of the hillfort. It had been 10 years. 10 years since she had seen the home in her heart, the Grey Fortress of Winterfell.
A million memories quickly flashed through her mind. But always forefront was blood…the smile faded. Even the memories of her home spilled over with blood she hadn't even seen- her mother, her father, her brave strong brother. Who was there who would know her? Bran yes, but who was he now? And Rikken?
She straightened her back and pulled down her cloak.
Jory stood in his Guard tunic over boiled leather and chain mail around his neck. His cloak fastened at his shoulder with the wolf-sigil, signifying he was the Master of Arms. He glanced around the courtyard, having had greeted the riders who had come before the party. The small area in the Fell carried on usual quiet business, although most of the small folk and farmers had stopped and looked in curiousity. Lord Bran sat and Lady Mera stood on the overlook from their chambers, also dressed in their finest. Although he did not fear her approach, he was nervous all the same. When the horse came through the gate and cleared the portcullis, he cleared his throat and straightened up.
She appeared atop her horse, all dignity with no real ceremony. Jory's lips parted- he remembered Arya as a mischevious child, all at once infuriating and amusing. But this was Arya the woman- had she changed really this much?
The lady rider was petite but sat straight up in her saddle. Her chestnut hair flowed freely about her shoulders. Her cloak flew behind her, flashing on the insides of Dornish silks of purple and green. The purple brought out her hazel eyes, almost violet against the slightly tanned skin and tiny amount of freckles across her cheeks. The long face of her childhood had been replaced by one with high cheekbones and full lips, which despite her best efforts curled into a smile as she looked around her childhood home. His eyes wandered down her body, the brown leather bodice showing a good amount of cleavage, also slightly freckled. His mouth twitched a little. She was beautiful- not like Lady Sansa, but in a different way. As she rode by, she wore skin tight black leather leggings on her lean but muscular legs. He did also note that there were at least 3 small knives hidden- 2 in her boot and one in the back of her thighs.
'Her life has been hard' he remembered to himself.
He approached her horse and bowed.
And before the words could come out her face recognized him and erupted into a smile. She slid quickly and quietly off her mare and threw her hands about his neck.
"Jory!" he kept his grin small, their eyes filling with tears as they broke apart. She was indeed the same- some fires could never be extinguished, and he was glad.
"Welcome home My Lady- no escort?", he said quietly bowing and taking her hands from his shoulders and giving them a quick squeeze. She grimaced- before she could answer-
"ARYA!", a voice-rang out from above, and they looked to see Bran smiling impishly over the railing, his face red with excitement. He and Mera disappeared from the railing and in moments were down in the courtyard. Well-wishes from the four corners of the North crowded around them, and with some of the Guards, were all ushered back into the castle.
Jory exhaled. I wonder what Lord Stark would think of how everything turned out. He went into the small study, the one that had belonged to his Uncle before the war and began to write the events for the day. He had a tendency to try to write several days in one sitting, so he tried to make a concerted effort to be a proper Master and do it everyday. He didn't always succeed. He started a new page for Arya, next to the one for Sansa and Theon. He couldn't help but grin at that one- Theon would be paying. For the rest of his wedded days, Lady Sansa swore to Bran. She now OWNED him she proclaimed- now they get to be Lord and Lady and play house on the Iron Islands, by the sea.
Under Arya's name he wrote "Lady Arya has returned home. A woman of 9 and 10, she is comely of face and rambunctious of spirit. Presumed dead for 6 years, she is indeed healthy and has returned without escort." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.
Arya's eyes widened at the sounds, sights and smells of the Hall. It had always seemed much bigger, but she remembered thinking it was positively HUGE when she was 9. But it didn't matter- everything was loud and alight with cheer. Musicians and people dancing, must be the fruits of a obviously bountiful harvest season. She had chosen to dress "as a lady", but as the lady she was and had become accustomed to. On Bravos, there were clothes that shone like the sun, were colored like the sea or looked like spun gold. Her dress moved with her, softly sliding against her skin. The top was a dark blue, with two straps, one over her shoulders and one across her arms. The same pieces of fabric came together underneath the bodice trailed down the front of her. It swirled around her legs. Her hair was piled elaborately on the top of her head- she was too tired to argue with the young maid after chatting all afternoon and relaxing in the bath. She smiled in secret satisfaction that she could still feel the dagger strapped to her leg. She wasn't completely naked.
Bran and Mera sat in their prospective seats at the front of the hall, Bran looking for an instant like Robb and Arya's breath caught in her throat. But the image changed and it was Bran signaling her to sit and offering her his mug of Honey-Wine. She sat down, and partook of the first course, eyes scanning the room for anyone she knew.
"So few have returned", she said under her breath.
"What? I could not hear you!" her brother yelled over the music.
"It is strange being here" she yelled back, forcing a smile.
"Well strange or no, you are home!" Mera replied.
Suddenly Arya's eyes filled with tears. Was this as she wanted? Would they think her so innocent with everything she had done? What she had been FORCED to do to survive.
'Crying is for children', she told herself, squeezing her eyes. Instantly she knew she was being observed. She had always been able to feel that sort of thing, as long as she could remember. These dangerous years and training had made her that much better. Arya opened her eyes and met Jory's gaze. He had been sitting at the Guard's table, leaning slightly forward , one arm folded in front of him, propping him up, the other hand holding his ale. He was looking at her, slightly predatory but not dangerous. He flushed when their eyes met, and he averted his gaze for a millisecond, meeting her eyes again and bringing up his ale mug and tipping it and his head in her direction. He smiled, the scar actually making his face more handsome. Suddenly she was back to a girl of 7, being led around on a small pony by a skinny-man of twenty, laughing when she told him she wanted to learn to ride and shoot a bow at the same time.
Jory got up from the table and she followed him with her eyes. She had a stirring in his stomach as she surveyed his tall, muscular form. Over the years, when she had thought of him, she always thought of his kind-eyes. Not that the color was remarkable, but the shape.
"Baby-making eyes" she remembered Old Nan saying about them. He had aged, but it made him more rugged, seasoned. Now there was more behind those eyes- he was the last in a line of mighty Knights.
'I wonder if he feels guilty for surviving. As I do.'
Jory had felt very silly being caught and flushing like a boy when Arya had met his gaze. He got up himself to have more ale, as something to distract him from her beautiful form and semi-ample bosom. The way that Southern fabric clings to her, it sweeps around her like a flame. He felt slightly aroused and was embarrassed- not that he didn't have his chances- the serving wenches were all around, a few winked, some smiled. But he had come back a different man- and no longer had a desire to lose his sorrows inside of a wench. He had tried, and afterwards he felt worse than ever. Alone. Arya reminded of him of someone he used to be. He downed another cup of ale in one swallow, and before he could get it down, he heard the shushing of a fabric and a familiar voice.
"Ser Cassel, you have been looking at me all night and not even asked me to dance". He turned to see Arya standing there, about half-a-foot shorter physically but equal height in presence. He swallowed hard, the large amount of liquid slightly hurting on its way down.
"Ah Lady Arya", he laughed sheepishly. "I did not mean to cause offense. I think I had gotten too much into my ale and did not wish to break your toes."
She laughed and tugged his arm, her grip unbelievably strong.
"I will risk it".
He had seen her to her chambers, after they called a draw on a drinking contest. He had never been beaten- and especially not by a small lady. He forfeited to save some face in front of his men. They all cheered for Arya and she threw her hands in the air, sending him a little air kiss. Now they swayed next to each other, still bopping to the music fading away from them in the Hall. He bowed and kissed her hand, his eyes lingering for a moment over her lips. Lips meant to be kissed, lips pink and smiling. He thought better of it.
"Good Evening Lady Arya- I shall see you on the morrow". He walked quickly away. He was not worthy of her.
"Good night!", she called after him. She shrugged and let herself into her room. He fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep. She dreamed of riding horses and shooting arrows.
Jory walked out the castle to the training yard and was surprised to see all the young paiges, squires and a few of his men gathered in a loose circle around something. Inside he found Arya with one of the squires. By this point she had him a half-nelson with one arm, her other holding a Tourney-sword to his face.
"See you can have on all the armor you like- but if your opponent is even one step faster-" with that she released the squire, breathing heavily, "all that's left is death." They nodded, even a few cheers.
Jory smiled and came through the small crowd.
"Okay okay, that's enough- I think we all have our duties to attend to. So- go on." He waved around him dismissively and the mass of people dissolved. She was dressed in simple britches and a bodice over an undershirt. He did note she barefoot. He captured her gaze with a rye smile.
"So…" he said, walking around her and up to her from behind. He put his arm around her shoulder "this is where you left it. What do you do next?" he asked huskily into her ear, the warmth of her bare neck coming through his shirt. He poked the tourney sword into her back. She smiled to herself she lightly elbowed him in the stomach and while he was out of breath, pulled with all her might, flipping him over. He was smacked onto the ground, the breath rushing out of him. It was almost worth it, however when she straddled him, holding a the small wooden sword up to his throat. She came down within inches of his face, mischeviously smiling, her hair falling over her shoulder in a sloppy braid.
"Something like that", she replied, her breath sweetened with mint felt hot on his lips. She unconsciously (?) or not rubbed her hips on his, giving him a quick squeeze in between her thighs.
"My lady, people could start to talk", he raggedly spat out, still trying to breathe normally and feeling a tightness in his breeches.
She feigned confusion.
"I am sure I don't know what you are talking about". And with that she released him and walked away.
And that's how it went for a week- light sparring in the morning, she was sharing some of her methods with his men- always barefooted, always without armor to Jory's protests. She moved like a dancer- fluid, graceful. He watched her and she knew he did. Maybe there was an extra shake of the hips, maybe not. Maybe she let him win on occasion, maybe not. But either way he was always breathless, stirring, falling in love with Arya, the woman. The warrior. But he knew he felt like a boy of 7 and 10- excitement rang through him in the morning. Some days he would wake up and watch her running along the wall in the sunrise, her braid bouncing with her steps. She didn't run- she glided.
But he couldn't go on like this- she was above him- she was a lady- he was a knight. So he had decided to eat dinner with his men that night, forsaking their usual chatting and the way she would grab his arm in her enthusiasm over a point or a memory.
Arya sat on her bed chewing her thumbnail. She didn't want it to- but it bothered her. It JUST did. Why had he only acknowledged her curtly and politely at supper? The way he looked at her, and she could see the pupils opening in those eyes that she loved. Those warm chocolate eyes, which still seemed haunted, but filled with joy when he talked to her about Robb or Sansa's wedding. Her stomach filled with excitement when she saw him come into the hall every night and the way he smiled at her, sent shockwaves down her spine, to her belly and lower- even to the bottoms of her feet. She hoped he didn't notice the way her nipples would harden when she laughed. If he did, he was too polite to admit it. She had missed it all tonight. It wasn't like every other night, when she found her fingers exploring her body, thinking of those eyes on her. She could feel her face grow hot with anger and slammed her fist into her bedding.
"Damn him!" she yelled out to no one in particular. She roughly got up, switching bodices to one a little more low-cut, but didn't put on shoes and retained her dirtied britches. She reached into her saddle-bag and retrieved a bottle of Apricot Brandy from Dorne. She smirked to herself.
Jory had untucked his undershirt, letting his hang loosely over his britches. He stretched out in front of the large, open window, letting the slightly chilled night air whirl around him. Something about the air of the North- it had a certain smell, certainly cleaner than in Kings Landing, but also the smells of wood burning chimneys, a scent he had always loved. He jumped at the sudden urgent pound on his door. He quickly crossed the room, grabbing a dagger. As soon as he opened the door, it flew open and almost hit him in the face. Arya stark had kicked it out of his grip and walked in, an unapologetic smile flashed quickly on her face. She walked to his dress table, slamming down an orange-brown bottle shaped like a mermaid.
She poured him another small glass. Jory's head was slightly loose.
"I could not do it another night", he confessed, turning away from her. "I am just a master of arms. I'm not worthy of someone…", he turned quickly around, gesturing to her before knocking back the glass in one swallow.
Arya surveyed him, taking a big swig of her own glass. She was noticing the nice fit of the britches, the nicely formed muscles of his ass. She got up, putting her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to flinch, but didn't.
"Jory…" she started to say.
He turned around quickly, her hand falling off of his form. Her eyes, than fingers traced the front laces of his shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment, her touch weakening him.
"My Lady...please don't. You don't want this."
"I am no lady. And how come men presume to know the hearts of women?" she said, her fingers finding his nipple through the cream linen and circling it, her mouth curling slightly as it stiffened. The sensations rippled through him, ending in his cock.
"All of my life I have had people telling what I should and shouldn't do. If I had listened- I never would have made it out of the Red Keep". With that her eyes glistened with tears and she inhaled deeply to ward them off.
He grabbed her fingers, kissing them.
"Arya- I am just a servant here. A knight- a Master of Arms at Winterfell. But I failed- I failed your father." And with that he put her hands back down at her sides.
"You didn't fail my father! I failed my father. Sansa failed him- the whole bloody realm failed him! You were with him until the end. I know what went on." She picked up the empty glasses and filled them.
"My father loved you like a brother", she reminded him, handing him a glass. "You are one of the few things I have left- who knew me for who I was. Before all the killing. Before seeing villagers butchered. Before having a power over life and death. When I was just a girl who hated being a girl." She laughed.
He walked to her, setting down his glass, running a finger across her cheek, smoothing away a tear. She looked at him, her hazel eyes gazing up at him with need.
"You are no longer a girl."
He reached the back of her neck and brought his lips down to hers. Tentatively at first, gentle. But she grabbed his face and kissed roughly, like she couldn't get enough. He responded in kind, his tongue seeking out her warm mouth and touching hers. His arms went around her, crushing her to his body, lifting her small body up as her arms went around his neck. They broke apart, breathing heavily.
His face went to her shoulder, his fingers digging in, moving fabric aside to get to bare skin and finding it with his lips. She gasped as he moved up from her shoulder, along her neck to her earlobe where he slightly bit and sucked on it. Her fingers combed through his hair and his hands kneaded her back. He kissed her mouth once again, picking her up and taking her over to the bed. He placed her knee first on the mattress so she was kneeling and he was standing, now they were the same height. He found her hair tie and let her hair stream down her back. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of his undershirt, before he couldn't stand anymore and just pulled the fabric over his head, where it slid ungracefully to the floor.
Her hands wandered over his chest, occasionally stopping at a scar, before moving on. He was powerfully built and muscled- with broad shoulders and a well defined abdomen, with a good amount of hair but not enough to cover him. Jory grinned, having already undone half of the laces of her bodice before she even noticed. She leaned forward and kissed one of his nipples, gently biting it and sucking. He growled and then just tore the rest of the laces, the bodice now in two pieces. She laughed and soon her small clothes were in pieces as well. He was painfully straining against his britches by now, but this was no wench to be simply ravished. She laid back against the mattress, her breasts spilling out. The nipples were small and pink, reminding of him of small rose buds. She was smiling and biting her lip shyly, twisting the sheets underneath her.
He backed her up onto the bed, hovering above her. He kissed her again, then sat back on his heels, simply looking at her- her lean body, her delicate breasts, her dazzling eyes. His hands traveled up her legs and up the sides of her body. Arya laid back, watching his handsome face and smiling- it was like a little boy with a new toy. He kissed her again, his mouth traveling over her collarbone, his hands grabbing her breasts, pinching the nipples. She gasped and arched her pelvis slightly, sensations traveling through her body and growing hot below her belly. His knee traveled up between her legs, and she shamelessly ground against it. He lightly planted kisses across her chest before going down and sucking on one hardened nipple. She grabbed the back of his head, her eyes fluttering closed as he lightly bit the bud, then soothed it with his tongue. He traveled over to the other one and stopped, resting his chin on her chest and touching her chin with his hands.
"My love…" he said, and their eyes met. He saw need, tenderness, fiery desire. And with their eyes still locked he went and suckled the other breast. She could've killed him for that- she was showing her hand, how much power he had at that moment. But for once, she was helpless and all she could do was watch his lips on her body. Jory left her breasts, nipples engorged and tingling.
She reached down between them, trying to undo the laces of her britches as quickly as possible, and he again sat back onto his heels, helping her. They soon slid off and he kissed the exposed skin right above her mound resting his cheek for one minute before sliding his hands lightly over her taut legs. Arya was giggling and kicking a little furiously now and sat up to unlace his britches, catching his gaze and grinning. He shifted, allowing his cock to spring free as he pulled his britches down. He was slightly nervous. She watched for a moment and reached out for him and he closed his eyes as she wrapped her hand around his hardness. His lips parted, a small breath escaping as her warm and tight hand traveled the length of his cock.
"Impressive", she said aloud. He grinned back at her, pushing her onto the bed and pulling her ankles apart passionately. He looked at her slick folds, the brown hair that hid her from him. Jory was pleased to find her wet as he lightly slid one finger along her lips. She writhed a little, squeezing him with her legs. His slid one finger tentatively inside of her, crooking his finger up and with the other hand finding the small nub of her pleasure and rubbing it gently with his thumb. Her face was flushed, and she gasped as a second finger joined the first. The two fingers pumped into her in rhythm with the circling of his thumb and she spread her legs even further, rocking her hips against his fingers. He increased his pace, plunging into her deeper and deeper. She could feel the tensions coiling in her belly, until all at once every muscle in her body became taut as a bowstring then released and she cried out, squeezing her legs together over his still working hand. He didn't quit and the extra effort brought her another small orgasm. He smiled to himself, happy to see her hair wild about her, her face flushed, her nipples hard.
When she regained some strength, she grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down to the bed, holding his arms above his head, surveying his muscles torso, his hard cock hitting her in the belly. She "innocently" brushed it, kissing him on the mouth, so roughly he thought he tasted blood but he didn't care- loving the brushing of her breasts on his bare chest. Arya soon took the initiative, grinding her hips against his, attacking his neck and chest, rolling one of his nipples between her fingers and biting his earlobe. She traveled down his body, keeping eye contact with a look of rapture. She nuzzled his cock, one of the larger and longer she had seen. He gasped as she wrapped her cool lips around the red head and he was flattened back against the sheets, her warm mouth enveloping him, her lips slick but tight against him. Jory wound his hand around her hair, bringing her back up to kiss her and scooting forward to her.
He sat up, and guided her legs around him, and she could feel him budging her entrance. They were face to face and he ran his palm on her cheek and she was slightly nervous, but smiling.
"Are you sure?", he asked her nervously. She smiled back at him, knowing full well the meaning of "baby-making eyes" now as his kind brown eyes looked at her with love.
"I-I am no maiden." Her eyes darted back and forth. Jory was not surprised- he had heard tales of Bravos.
He smiled at her.
"Nor am I.", he replied and they both laughed. She kissed him again, and she rose up on her knees, and he held himself at her entrance as she sank down on him, enveloping him in warm tightness. He was fully inside of her, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then he couldn't stay still anymore, his cock twitched and she giggled as she felt it. Jory growled and pushed her backwards until he was atop her. His hips started pumping into her and his pelvis crushed her clit with each thrust. Arya wound her legs around him, arching her hips up with his thrusts, and she could feel the tension once again starting in her, crying out as his manhood brushed something deep within her, causing her to gasp. He liked the reaction, sure to repeat the movement over and over until. Their eyes met and she smiled, his hand tracing over her face. His thrusts became deeper and faster until he hit that spot way inside a final time, and she cried out wordlessly. He stilled his movements, in her deep and letting her ride out her pleasure. Jory was sure he couldnt last too much longer- but he stilled for a few moments and when she had caught her breat, he grabbed her face, sucking on her full lips, pumping into her and finally moved one of her legs over his shoulder, causing him to sink deeper.
The change in position was too much he gave one final deep thrust, and rubbed her clit causing her cry out loudly. Her nails dug into his buttocks, urging him on. She was so warm and tight and wet around him, the feeling of her muscles grasping him was too much and he spent himself inside of her. Gasping and holding onto her thighs he pulled her even closer, unable to move. He fell forward onto her still inside of her and she was breathless, kissing his brow as he laid his head on her chest. He lightly nuzzle one of her breasts and she lazily combed his hair with her fingers, liking the male scent of him- the scent of wood fires burning, leather and something else- him.
She exhaled worriedly. What now? Had they just ruined a great friendship?
Jory rolled over, hugging her to him as she laid her head onto his chest, playing with his dark hair and the light layer of sweat on him. He looked at the ceiling. He wasnt feeling alone. He could get lost with THIS woman. Jory wondered if this was some dream the Gods sent him. But as he felt Arya's leg drape over him, her breath light on his chest he knew it wasn't a dream. He lightly rubbed her shoulder with his large hand.
"No maiden huh?", he asked, smiling down at her. She flushed lightly, focusing on her fingers rubbing his chest.
"Are you asking me of my life before this? I will tell you all you wish to know."
"Youre secrets are your own My Lady. I just hope he was worthy of you."
She sat up, her brown hair tickling her back. He placed a hand on her back, playing with the ends of her hair. Arya smiled to herself, remembering. She looked back at Jory, laying back on his arm, his chest rising and falling lightly as his breathing returned to normal.
"His name was Gendry. He had been my companion on the road- I lost sight of him when I went to Braavos. After I had returned, he was my first…assignment."
Jory's forehead wrinkled in confusion.
"Assignment? For…", he trailed off, his hand gesturing to the bed. She hit him in the thigh, a strong fist.
"NO! What do you think I am?"
He sat up next to her.
"I did not mean…I am sorry…"
She smiled at his confusion.
"Assignment…as an assassin…a killer. A servant of the house of black and white." She looked slightly down at that. He flinched a little.
"But I could not go through with it. I knew then I was not a true servant- I had looked into the eyes of my friend from 6 years before and I found myself weeping, into his arms. It was the first time in 6 years I had allowed myself to feel anything. He did not know why I was there and neither did I. He was a blacksmith, turned into a highwayman. He had disarmed me, with his black hair and his blue eyes. It was the first time I had been happy since my father…"
Jory listened intently, putting an arm around her shoulder and wiping away a tear that slid down her freckled cheek. She sniffed, rubbing her eyes furiously and rested her head on his shoulder, and he laid them back onto the bed.
"Ill go talk to Lord Stark tomorrow. I do not want to be without you, from this night forward. If that is your wish as well."
Arya raised her head, propping herself up on her elbow. He met her eyes, tender but nervous over her response.
"I'm home Jory. This is the first moment I've felt…that I've felt at home. With you." She leaned in and kissed him. "As long as youll take me as I am. I will never be like Sansa, or even my mother." She looked slightly worried.
He smiled down at her.
"I could agree to being wedded barefoot."