Chapter Text
Arya tried hard not to think on her prospects. House Stark and Winterfell with it had long since been wiped out, of course. What wolfblood remained to her took the form of occasional drowsy peeks through wolfish eyes into the riverlands. The House of Black and White…well, the less time dwelling on that catastrophe, the better. Only what she’d earned playing at the Gate had bought her passage back to Westeros, thankfully without being reduced to earning such on her back. Oldtown was no more home than King’s Landing had been, or Braavos after it, but it wasn’t Oldtown itself Arya was interested in. She’d stolen a long-legged mare during the hour of the wolf, ignoring the readily ripening bodies of three broken men hung for the same crime, and started east with no little reluctance. A week and a half, she thought darkly, sitting high in the saddle and not caring what Reachman tilling his field saw. Two, she amended later, as she sat in an abandoned barn, her horse nickering as it listened to the heavy rain. At least the roof looks fit to hold. She felt too restless to lie down straightaway, and so she drew Needle and went through what she could remember of Syrio’s instruction on fighting in the rain.
“Rain makes all dancers worse,” he’d warned her. “Even a master water dancer, especially a master water dancer, will avoid what hampers him when the stakes are life and death.” What stakes do I face? My family is gone, Winterfell is sacked and razed or else rebuilt and full of some catspaw house or other. She started off at first light, her horse cantering on without worry. Though she was loathe to actually arrive at her intended destination, in actual fact, Arya Stark had no choice. All the while the Reach rolled by, while the foothills of Dorne’s Red Mountains began to replace them. And beyond the mountains, the Torentine, Arya thought, remembering Maester Luwin’s lessons this time. And somewhere on the Torentine lay Starfall. And somewhere in Starfall…
She shook herself, feeling color rising in her cheeks. Seven save me, she thought, despairing. We were children when last we met, and I had a surly babe to nanny anyhow. Where Gendry had got to in the wide world, Arya was sure she’d never learn. Though I’d sooner end my days a blacksmith’s wife than… She shuddered. Time enough to face it when it came. If I can avoid dancing at the end of a rope myself. I am a horse thief, after all. When she crossed into Dorne proper the air became drier, and she was glad and more of the sound of rushing water. The banks of the Torentine will make for easy travelling…if I manage to avoid anyone. Travelling at night made her horse wary, the distant howling a song that echoed in Arya’s ears long after she’d left it behind. Quite unbidden, she snorted loud as her horse. Gods, is my mare or I the one in heat? She supposed it would make things…easier…after a fashion, but easy or no, it wasn’t as if Arya could simply turn around. Or go anywhere else. The rest of the journey passed without so much as another soul crossing Arya’s path, though more days than not she woke with her flesh afire and panting like a bloodhound. It’s nearly time, she told herself. And not before time, some part of her quipped back. When the first glimpse of white to the north glinted into view, Arya groaned. Her mood only grew blacker as the castle grew larger, soon quite the spectacle. As if it’s rising out of the waters of the Torentine itself. Though Winterfell as she remembered it had been an impregnable redoubt, the closer she got to Starfall the more she came around to the idea that a castle could be a place of joy and not just grim purpose. Dayne banners flew from every tower, purple ribbons atop tall white lances, and she soon found herself riding through a merry little town at river’s edge, the people in it waving to her as they never would elsewhere in Westeros. Dornish, Arya remembered, favoring them with a smile as she tossed a few stags at the foot of a gawking little girl. She would never pass as a Dornishwoman herself, not even a stony one, and so she took it upon herself to play the role of a benign if ignorant traveller.
“It’s never been the sands that make the trip a hassle,” she told the nearest man wearing a Dayne badge, “it’s the bloody Oldtowners.” Quite on purpose, she left out any hint of her origin. The man scoffed.
“Charge an arm for a horse and a leg for barding, they do. A Reachman will cry outlaw at any woman who won’t open her legs for a spoonful of soup and Oldtowners are the worst, bugger the lot of them.” Arya looked north to the distant towers of Starfall. “A pretty thing, isn’t it?” the man asked.
“I’ve never seen its like…but then, I know little of castles.” When Arya turned back to him, she wasn’t entirely surprised to find his eyes on her and not the white castle.
“Who rules from Starfall now?” she prompted.
“Why, Lord Edric, of course. Come back from the wars with scarce but a filthy rag on his back and feet covered in sores, bad as any begging brother. But he knew one thing from the other and had the look besides, and the lady Allyria knew him for her brother at a glance. ‘Course, she’s gone and married now, so it’s just Lord Edric-”
“Ooh, I’d best get on, I don’t want to lose out on a room in an inn.” Arya said suddenly, thanking the man and pushing on without another word.
The outer gate had soldiers aplenty manning it, the sort who looked genial enough when off duty but all business when keeping Lord Edric Dayne’s peace. If this should work… But when had counting dragons before they hatched played out in Arya’s favor? Instead, she let her horse carry her on, keeping her back straight and letting the castle get a proper eyeful of her. Despite her earlier misgivings, she felt her stomach buoy. Gods, I missed this. On hopping off, she handed her mare to a stableboy and strolled across the castle yard as though she owned it, the castle besides and all Dorne beyond. She thought about putting more into her walk but decided against it. Better to wait until I’m standing before Lord Edric. There were a number of petitioners awaiting His Lordship’s pleasure today, of course, Arya waiting patiently among the ranks of the commons even as they looked uncertainly to one another, like goats who’d somehow found a unicorn among their company. By the time it was her turn, Arya closed her eyes, rolled her shoulders, thrust out her chest, and strode into Edric’s view on long, powerful legs, her heeled riding boots adding a few inches to her height. Opening her eyes she found herself looking at the same blonde hair she remembered, the same blue-purple eyes…and the same lovesick gawp, aye. There were differences though, too. Edric Dayne was no longer a starry-eyed boy but a man grown, and mercifully one who seemed to think it best to keep clean-shaven. It took one of his knights jostling his shoulder to shake him out of his stunned silence. “Show the good lady to my solar, she has come a long way. I’ll see her after we’ve adjourned for the day.” he said finally. His steward bowed and Arya allowed herself to be led off, smirking once the crowd could not see her face, listening to the tempest of gossip explode into being sure as an autumn storm.
It was nearly sunset, before she found herself called upon, Arya drowsing in a high-backed wooden chair with the Dayne arms chased upon it. Lord Edric himself came into the room making the same flustered noises he had the night they’d met, when she was a ‘guest’ of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
“You’re in my seat.” He said, arcing an eyebrow. It was not the greeting Arya expected.
“Am I? Well, from where I’m sitting, it seems pretty well fixedly my seat.” She replied, examining her nails most unconcernedly.
“I could have sworn I heard you were dead a dozen times over.” Edric said, sounding uncharmed.
“Oh? Pray tell, how did I die most of the time? The rope? The axe?” He blinked, shook his head, made sure that the hearth was lit. “Is that necessary? It’s Dorne after all, isn’t it?”
“Wickedly cold winds can roll down from the mountains. It never hurts to be prepared…” he said, taking the seat to her right. “I’m told a truly spectacular mare has most unexpectedly turned up in my stables.”
“Has she?” Arya smirked, moving her gaze to him, her wrist upon her knee.
“Who’d you steal her from?”
“Nobody of yours. If you’re going to have me dance, you could at least thank me for the horse.” she said, leaning forward a bit.
“You don’t think a pretty outlaw has ever met a sticky end?” Edric replied, his own cheeks going a lovely bold rose color.
“I’m sure they all do. But as I’m at Your Lordship’s mercy, we’ll just see what’s to be done, hmm?”
“The night we met, we talked of my milk brother. Who was he?” So he is Edric, Arya thought. Not that she had doubts, but how could she after such a question?
“Jon Snow. We talked too, of the wet nurse you shared. Pray, my lord, what was her name?”
“Wylla.” He replied, putting a hand over his mouth. She sat back, blowing air out in a long, measured exhale. “I’m glad you made it, Princess.” Arya huffed humorlessly.
“Princess of what? A few burned stones a thousand miles away and more? A whole court of ghosts?” she looked around. “You’re still a lord among the living, that counts for rather more.” Edric’s blue-purple eyes hardened.
“Does it? Is that all it is, dragons and stags? Has the wolf princess a wedding on her mind?”
“As a matter of fact, she does. I’m amazed you haven’t wed by now, Edric. Truly. Whatever might your bannermen think?”
“Whatever they wish. I knew you were coming back home one day, Princess.”
“Did you?” Arya asked, giving him a knowing look.
“I did. Wherever you went after that night, whatever you did, know it makes no matter. To me, at least.”
“You sound a proper lovesick fool-”
“-I ought, I am-”
“-don’t you think you ought know even the least of where I’ve been? What I’ve done?” Arya said, heeding not his interruption, though her heart quickened ‘neath her breast all the same.
“Whether I know or not, you’re here now, and that’s all that’s really concerning me right this moment, Arya Stark.”
“You sound like the knights in all the stories. Pouring out their hearts to their lady loves once the final stroke’s been given to the monster of the tale.” Arya said. “Do I look much a blushing maiden?”
“As it happens, you do. Well, the blushing, at least. And you’d not do so were you not a maiden, I think.” His words were without judgement, but Arya could hear the hope in them as well.
“I’m still a maiden. Before you tell me it’s none of your business, allow me to say it is, particularly if you were serious about that little marriage quip earlier.”
“Does a crow dress fit to mourn?” Edric asked breathlessly. Then, bizarrely, he became almost withdrawn.
“What is it?” she asked, hating to be the one waiting with bated breath.
“You can say you’re a maiden all you like…” Here it comes, Arya thought resignedly. “…but if you’re not fit, as they say, what use is maidenhood?” She blinked.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, though not with a hint of any offense taken. Wherever this might lead, I find the walk easy enough!
“I’d sooner know you were fit and fertile than simply unspoiled. After all, I need Daynes to follow me. If I wanted eternal unviolated purity, I’d marry the Maid.”
“So you would.” Arya replied, trying not to sound too eager.
“Stand.” Edric said.
“Or what?” she asked, smirking.
“Or might be I’ll let you dangle after all.”
“Promises, promises.” Arya heaved a sigh, but stood from her (his, who cared?) chair.
“Good. If I’m going to marry a wolf-”
“-direwolf-”
“-I’m going to want to know she’s fit for purpose.”
“That purpose being?” Arya asked sweetly.
“Mounting. Riding. Whelping.”
“Hmm, well, I’ll need to leave that up to your judgement, my lord.”
“So you will. Come.” He said, sounding very much the boy trying to sound a man. Arya caught the rose deepening in his face against the sunset as well, though it was a sight she minded not in the least. For once there was no quip forthcoming and she obeyed, though she did so slowly, even indolently. “Took you long enough.” Edric said when she reached him by the window. The sun had almost gone and so he took to lighting the nearest sconce. “To me, wolf.”
“Dire.” Arya corrected, her heart racing as she obeyed, His hand came up and cupped her cheek.
“Open your mouth.”
“Going to count my teeth?”
“No, I’m going to count your tongues.” Edric snapped. Arya parted her lips in a pout, moving her tongue as Edric bid. She was sure her cheeks were scarlet by now, but she didn’t care. “Here.” He said, handing her a candle. “Go light the others, we’ll see how well you move.” And half in darkness? I can do better than that my lord, Arya mused, feeling almost disappointed. I did not work as I did to gain this body only for it to be missed in the darkness.
She returned to him as slowly as before, making him wait.
“Good, now I can see you.”
“You could see me before well enough.”
“Seated, and in my chair no less. I’d sooner see you move, else I might suspect you sported some infirmity.”
“Ah, can’t have those.” Arya said, nodding knowingly before she turned away from him, sticking out her rear, feeling her leather leggings strain. She heard his breath hitch in his chest. That’s what I thought, my lord. I’m no stick anymore, am I? His hand descended without a hint of reluctance. SMACK!
“Walk.” he ordered. Arya walked, her right hand on her waist. Her hips began to sway, her ass began to rock, and she stood up as straight as she could remember managing. Ahh… was all she could think, her chest thrust out and her mouth in a haughty smirk. Gods, but it feels good to be a lady. Certainly, better than it had felt to be a nameless wretch, or an orphan, or an acolyte of Him of Many Faces. By the time she returned to him, his cock was fixing to lance through his breeches.
“Oh, have a spot of bother there?” she asked him.
“See for yourself.” he asked in reply. When she got on her knees without a breath wasted, his eyes went wide as tower shields.
“I-”
“You spoke true in regard to ascertaining my fertility. Well, I feel it’s only my duty to my House and name to ascertain your virility. Hush now, my lord, and allow me to see for myself.” With that she slipped his breeches down (quite a feat with how hard he’d gotten) and slipped her gloved hand around his cock.
“Gods!”
“No, just me.” Arya said, before she began to tease him.
“What are you doing?!”
“Oh, please. If you can’t fuck my hand, how is it I can expect you to fuck me?” The pearl gelled from his tip then and there, a full swirly drop of Dayne. “Not bad, not at all…” Arya mused, lifting his cock for a look at his balls. “Oooh, a splendid pair, simply splendid, I shouldn’t wonder if they’re good for two or three couplings before you fall useless for the night-” The moan that escaped him was nothing to the pearl string that streamed from his tip, neatly lacing down Arya’s thigh. While she was still thinking of what to say next, she found herself face-to-tip just long enough to shut her eyes. The pearl strands came hot and heavy, painting her face in a web of warmth. The Lord of Starfall’s knees knocked worse than an old man’s as his climax claimed him, a second volley tracing across Arya’s forehead and drawing a bold line down her cheek. Then Edric was trying to catch his breath, cock still throbbing and jumping in her grip but no further strands were forthcoming.
“Don’t move.” He said, and she felt a kerchief daubing at her face. By the time he was done, Arya could open her eyes well enough to give him a grey glare.
“You never told me you were going to soak me.”
“I don’t bed whores by the brace just because I’m Dornish!” he replied, voice a bit high.
“Well, no harm done. More where those came from-” she said, her hands fiddling with her belt.
“No.” Edric said, putting a hand to hers before she could pull down her leggings.
“No?” Arya asked, utterly gobsmacked.
“The rest can wait.”
“For what? The stars to fall?”
“For us to be married, proper-like.”
“Why in the name of all the gods together ought we wait for some septon to wed us?!” He produced another kerchief and began tending to her face again.
“Because you’re worth it.” he said simply before going to the door and calling for a hot bath to be drawn. He turned back to look at her, Arya Stark torn between extreme irritation and extreme gratitude. “Because, by all the gods together, you are worth it.”