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He could feel the force of her lips against his, the smooth, unblemished curves pressed tightly against his body. Oh, what he could do to this girl-
"ROBB! GET YOUR LAZY LORDLY ARSE OUT OF BED. WE NEED TO GO TO SWORD TRAINING."
Robb bolted upwards, shaking his head to rid himself of the night's fantasies. He was heir to Winterfell; it wouldn't be good if he were found in this state.
"Come on, slowpoke," Jon strolled in the door, fed up of waiting for his brother to wake up. "I don't like it either, but- Robb, what's that?" He pointed at a rather big lump in the bedsheets.
Robb followed Jon's finger. 'Crap. Go down, now!'
"None of your business, I believe. Now get out, I need to get dressed." He made a flicking motion with his hands. "Shoo, little boy."
Jon just smirked. "Ah, so that's it? Never knew that ickle Robb could imagine such dirty things. Wait 'til I tell Cat the rat…"
"Don't you dare talk about my mother that way! Just because you don't know who your mother is, bastard!"
"Heh. Still wouldn't stop me from calling your mother by her rightful name, Robb." He fell onto the end of the bed, propping his chin up with his hand, and put on a gravelly voice. "Now, young Robb, how long have you been having these visions?"
"Stop imitating the physician, for fuck's sake. You know how creepy he is, being a eunuch and all. Who would willingly get their penis chopped off anyway?"
Jon grinned. "Better than what you're doing with yours, however small it is."
Robb's face went a rather startling beetroot colour. "Shut. Up. Now."
"Not a chance. Besides, I feel sorry for you, knowing you can't get it. Ah, when you discover the wonders of a good fuck…"
"Bastard." Robb muttered.
"Better a bastard who can ravish all the women in Westeros, than a high-born boy who's forced to turn to his hand, eh?"
A death glare was sent Jon's way, but he was oblivious in his laughter. Once he had calmed down, he stood up. "Want to see what they do, oh inexperienced one?"
"Jon. Get the fuck out of my chambers."
"I'll take that as a yes, dear brother." Jon put his hands over his chest, as if they were groping something. "Oh, Jon!" He simpered, putting on a high voice. "How you pleasure me! I don't think any man-"
"Jon, I'm warning you-"
"-Could love me this hard! Come inside me, let me bear your children, you wonder!"
"You have five seconds to run. Four. Three,"
Jon smiled, before turning to the door. "Okay, Master of the Hand."
"Two- what? Jon. JON. GET YOUR BASTARD ARSE BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
It was a bright day in Winterfell, a rarity that Arya wanted to enjoy. She had secretly snuck out of Septa Mordane's iron fist to go to the stables to ride. It was a rather peaceful day, she thought to herself, a perfect day to ride. One rarely had quiet days in the North.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT!"
'What's going on?' she thought to herself. Suddenly, she heard running in the corridor. She turned around to face a panting Jon.
"Wha- oh, Arya, it's you. What're you doing out here?" he wheezed, bending over.
Arya pulled a face. "Anything's better than embroidery with Septa. She's horrible."
Jon smiled, and stood up to ruffle Arya's hair. "Come on, you know you have to learn. Not everyone gets to do what they want all the time."
"Sansa does,"
"No, I'm sure there's been times where she's been forced to do something she doesn't like, Arya."
Arya pouted, but let the point go. "Why's Robb yelling, Jon? It's causing a big disturbance."
He smiled again. "That's a big word for a little girl, eh?"
"I'm not little, Jon. Rickon and Bran are little. I'm eleven, remember!"
"Ah, but eleven's young compared to mine and Robb's sixteen, no?" he replied.
Arya shook her head. "Whatever! Anyway, why is Robb yelling?"
"No reas-" He was cut off by another loud yell from Robb's chambers.
"MASTER OF THE HAND? I'LL SHOW YOU WHO'S MASTER OF THE HAND, BASTARD!"
Arya cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Master of the Hand?"
Jon winced, and ruffled her hair once again. "When you're older, Arya, when you're older. I've got to go, okay? I'll see you at dinner." With that, he sped off into the distance again.
She stood there for a minute, thinking to herself. 'Master of the Hand? What could that mean?'
More running was heard. A furious Robb came rushing down the staircase and nearly tripped over Arya. "Where is he?"
"Where's who, Robb?"
"Where's Jon?"
Arya shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Could be anywhere. I think he went that way though," she said, pointing to the opposite direction.
Later, Arya was eventually discovered playing truant and was brought back to the embroidery room. She was not in a good mood, having missed out on a chance to ride in the fresh air. However, she still didn't completely understand what went on earlier in the courtyard. What could 'Master of the Hand' possibly mean? She wouldn't ask Sansa. She'd just lord it over her. It wouldn't do to ask Jeyne either, as she was one of Sansa's friends and therefore the enemy. She didn't want to ask Septa Mordane either, as Septa would just tell her to get back to sewing. Maybe Mother?
"Ouch!" Arya dropped her cloth and quickly stuck her finger in her mouth. Sansa and Jeyne giggled, while Septa Mordane looked on in disgust.
"Really, Arya, you should know better than to prick yourself. Eleven years of age and still unable to sew her house sigil. It'll be a miracle if you ever get betrothed."
Normally, Arya would just stick her tongue out, but today was different. She wanted to know something, but no-one would listen unless she was good.
At that moment, Catelyn Stark swept in, looking rather irritated. "Sansa, Arya, your father wishes to see you. Septa, Jeyne, you are dismissed."
Septa Mordane left, while Jeyne stayed behind to say goodbye to Sansa.
"Jeyne, hurry up."
She turned around, startled. "Oh- yes, milady. Sorry, milady." She quickly scurried out of the room, waving to Sansa as she went.
Arya lit up. Now was the time she could ask her question.
"Mother?"
Catelyn blew through her nostrils. "Yes, Arya?"
"What does 'master of the hand' mean?'
Short, funny one-shot I came up with one night when I was supposed to be doing revision. Happens approximately a year before the events of GOT (TV SERIES, CONTENT WOULD NOT BE APPROPRIATE FOR BOOK-ARYA), for anyone interested, so Stark children's ages are as follows:
ROBB AND JON: 16
SANSA: 13
ARYA: 11
BRAN: 9
RICKON: 5
Hope you enjoy!