The Mad Lion and the Wolf Bitch

BY : Arizona Ice T
Category: G through L > Game of Thrones
Dragon prints: 3985
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones. These stories are just for fun, not profit

 Arya was pissed. Pissed that her mother had made her wear a dress for the evening. Pissed that her bitch of a sister Sansa told her she looked like a boy dressed as a girl. Pissed that her father Ned, whom she loved dearly, was indifferent to her discomfort. But mostly, and by a wide margin, she was pissed she had to look at the blonde haired southerners cunts, The Lannisters


Well technically they’re the Baratheons, but only in name. A Lannister is a Lannister, even when married off. The blonde hair and fair skin doesn’t dilute, and Arya was getting sick of looking at them.


Especially Joffrey. 


This wasn’t the first time she’s met Joffrey. Least so she’s been told. She vaguely remembered his blonde hair and fire eyes from her early summers. But this was the first time she actually spent any time with the Lannisters and she already knew she had a strong distaste for them. First she had to deal with them in her own home, now she was stuck on the road with them south, to King’s Landing.


Well at least she  had the Butcher’s boy, Mycah, to keep her company. She had befriended him during the travels. He was a stout boy, just like his father. Probably too sweet for his own good. She and him would have fun play sword fighting. It was one of few respites Arya had on this dreadful trip.


And of course Joffrey had to stick his blonde head in it.


When he and her sister sauntered over to the river bank she and Mycah were playing at, Ary noticed three things.


One: they had wine. Lord Stark had only ever allowed Sansa to drink one cup of wine during meals, and judging by the redness of Sansa’s pale face, she’s had a bit more than that.


Two: Joffrey’s hand was AWFULLY low on Sansa’s back as he guided her closer. He was practically gripping her ass through her summer dress. Joffrey was regal through and through; he’d have been taught the proper way to treat your lady.


Three, and perhaps most startling to Arya: Joffrey was handsome. Arya of course had seen Joffrey before, but something about today, maybe it was the pure sunlight, maybe how his tunic was fitted today, but the boy looked truly magnificent. Somewhere low in her belly something ignited. Arya decided to dismiss it as a cramp.




“Ow!” Arya yelped.


Distracted by the appearance of Joffrey and her sister, Arya left her back open for Mycah, who caught her right on the side of the arm with the stick that stood in for their swords. 


“What are you doing here? Go away!” She demanded


Sansa looked annoyed, while Joffrey looked highly amused by her response?


“Your sister?” Joffrey asked, already knowing the answer.


Then his eyes shifted to Mycah, and the feeling in the air changed.


“And who are you boy?” Joffrey ordered.


“Mycah, m’lord” he said, dropping the stick.


“He’s the butcher’s boy” Sansa interjected.


“He’s my FRIEND” Arya retorted

Joffrey stalked slowly toward Mycah.


“Butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight….. pick up your sword butcher’s boy, let’s see how good you are.” He said, drawing his very REAL blade. A short sword, meant for personal defense. 


Mycah’s eyes widened to saucers, as he took a half step back.


Arya’s eyes darted between the two. Just like a Baratheon, always ruining a fine time, she thought.


“She asked me to m’lord! She asked me to!” Mycah rambled out.


“I’m your prince. Not your lord. And I said, pick up your sword.”


Joffrey’s tone was deadly serious. Sansa looked startled in the background, that the conversation was turning very very real. She didn’t dare interject however, as that was not a lady’s place.


“It’s not a sword m’prince, it’s only a stick.” Mycah tried.


“And you’re not a knight. Only a butcher’s boy” Joffrey answers, slowly raising his blade to the butcher’s boys cheek. 


He takes a slight glance at Arya, eyes unreadable.


“That was my lady’s sister you were hitting, do you know that?” he asks.


“Stop it” Arya demanded. This was going too far. She didn’t know what Joffrey’s problem was. She didn’t want Mycah to get hurt because of her. It was just a game after all, she thought.


Joffrey takes a side glance at Arya, looking her up and down. Arya had to suppress a blush at the handsome young man apprising her. She surely wasn’t flustered by that. Surely. He takes his time going up and down her form, taking particular appreciation of her lowe half.


Arya was still a young women coming into her adulthood. She was plain faced -least that’s what her sister always called her- and didn’t have much bosom to speak of. 


But what she did have was hips. Yes, Arya had taken after her mother, in having very generous birthing hips. Arya herself hated it. Suddenly her pants she always wore, wouldn’t come over her bubbling backside. Arya always saw it as just another thing for Sansa to ridicule her about.


Truth is Sansa was actually quite jealous of Arya’s assets. Sansa was always seen as the perfect young lady. Pretty, well kept, and while petite, she was shapely for a girl of her size and appetite (or rather lack thereof). But there were many pretty ladies that fit this description. In a way, she was just another pretty lady. Arya however was filling out in a unique way. In short, Sansa was jealous of her sister’s fat ass.


Suddenly, Joffrey tears his eyes away from Arya, sheaths his sword, and takes a step back. An unvoiced feeling of relief washes over Arya, Sansa and Mycah. 


“Know what, you’re right Mycah” Joffrey suddenly says.


“M’lo- I mean M’prince?” Mycah asks confused.


“It’s not a sword. It’s a stick. And you two were just playing of course. But how about we play now. A game.” Joffrey answers. He grabs the stick from Arya’s hands, and gestures to the stick in the grass.


“Pick up your stick butcher’s boy. We’re going to have a little contest”




“Yes, a contest, are you hard of hearing butcher’s boy? Unless you rather play with the real thing of course.” Joffrey grips the hilt of his blade for emphasis.


Not wanting to tempt fait or the wrath of his prince any further, Mycah quickly grabs his stick, gripping it tightly in his hand. 


Satisfied, Joffrey continues.


“We’re going to play as knights. And the beautiful Stark girl will be our ladies”


“I’m NOBODY’S lady.” Arya grits through clenched teeth.


“Of course not. Not yet anyway. It’s just pretend, like you were doing.” Joffrey answers back in a condescending tone. He then turns his attention back to Mycah.


“We’re going to play as knights. And the starks will be our ladies. Sansa as mine, and Arya as yours. We duel, and the winner gets the reward if a kiss from the other’s lady. Sound good?” Joffrey explained.


Mycah’s eyes grew wide and a blush started creeping up his face, Sansa looked absolutely scandalized, and Arya let her open disgust show on her face.


“Joffrey my love. I don’t think thi-“ Sansa began before Joffrey cuts her off


“A lady has no opinion in the matters of combat.” He bites.


Sansa shrinks back, and takes a swig of wine. Arya at this point is speechless. The sudden turn of events had thrown her head for a whirl. Mere seconds ago Joffrey looked ready to kill her friend, and now he wants to play a game of knights with him? The boy truly confused her.


“So what do you say butcher’s boy. This is probably the closest to a knight you’ll ever be.” Joffrey smirks.

“Uhm- well I suppose m’pr-




At that, Joffrey swings his stick, cracking Mycah in the side of the head. Mycah stumbles back, now with a light gash formed  on his outer brow. Blood trickles down over his eye.


“Hey! he wasn’t ready!” Arya yells.


“A knight is always ready” Joffrey says as he marches towards the startled boy.


Joffrey swings his stick wildly over his head. Mycah manages to raise his in time to defend himself, but the force and the shock knocks him on his butt. Joffrey doesn’t let up, reigning down blow after blow onto the butcher’s boy. After a few swings, Mycah gives up trying to use the stick to defend himself, and curls into a ball, trying to cover his head the best he can.


“Stop it! Stop it, you’re hurting him! Sansa do SOMETHING” Arya shrieked.


Sansa had the grace to look mildly ashamed when she cast her eyes downward and said nothing. This was getting out of hand. Arya leaps in front of Mycah’s curled up body and pushes her hands forward.


Joffrey stops a downswing inches away from her face.


“Wait! Wait. You win. You beat him. Please just stop.” Arya practically begs. She glances back at Mycah, still in the fetal position, trembling in fear and pain.


Joffrey’s intense glare switches in an instant, back to the signature Lannister smirk.


“Well that was fun wasn’t it?” He saids dressing Mycah’s trembling form. All Mycah can do in groan and sob in response.

“Now I suppose I should take my rightful reward then”


“Wh-“ Arya begins before she is pulled by her back into a searing kiss. 


Arya’s eyes go wide at the sudden intrusion of her mouth. Joffrey’s kiss is rough and demanding. Being a fair bit taller then her, She goes onto her tip-toes on instinct, but she still has to crane her neck.


Joffrey drops his stick, and uses his hand to grasp Arya by her hair, gripping tightly. Arya would his if her mouth wasn’t currently being devoured by Joffrey’s. He deepens the kiss further, forcing his tongue into Arya’s small mouth, a low groan emanating from him as he does. Arya can do nothing but feebly grasp onto his tunic like her life depended on it. 


Slowly Joffrey pulls away, a trail of spit lingering between their mouths.


“I- I-buh” Arya tries, but the words aren’t forming in her clouded head. Her pupils are blown, nostrils flaring, and a red flush has traveled up from her collar bone, to her cheeks.


“To the victor, goes the spoils” Joffrey chuckles darkly.


Mycah finally begins to stir and lifts his head, looking at the pair. His face cut and bruised, he locks eyes with Joffrey, before quickly casting them downward.


As if incensed by his gaze, Joffrey goes in for seconds, still gripping Arya by the scalp. This time Arya allows her eyes to flutter close, subconsciously melting into the fierce kiss. Arya had never felt anything like this before. Suffice it to say, this was her very first kiss. She had never thought of kissing anyone. Romance, intimacy, anything vaguely lady like were always the last things on her mind. Yet now here she is, moaning into the mouth of a Lannister. 


The hand on Arya’s lower back, slowly shifts downwards, before finally landing on her supple ass. Joffrey takes a generous handful, causing Arya to gasp into his mouth. He slowly kneads it, getting to know every detail of her bubble but through her dress. He switches back and forth between her cheeks a few times, before giving it a firm slap. eliciting another gasp, and moan from Arya.


In the back, Sansa looked absolutely miserable. There she was, watcher her betrothed kiss her little sister with the passion he should be showing HER. Arya always ruins everything she thought, but too submissive and proper to speak up, all she does is take another big sip of wine.


Arya at this point was on another world. Her body was feeling things she never though possible. There was a tingling between her legs that she only felt in brief moments during particularly rough terrain on horseback. Without realizing it, she slowly began to grind her hips, rubbing one of Joffrey’s legs between hers. Her dress, and his pants halted any direct contact, but the friction she was feeling was wonderful all the same.


Joffrey took notice of her ministrations and slowly pulled back from the kiss. Arya on instinct tried to follow and reattach her lips, before catching herself. Joffrey roughly tilts her head back, forcing her eyes open to look at him.


“My, you are just like a bitch in heat. Guess you Starks are wolves after all”


“Wha- I’m not-“ Arya began, before it suddenly dawned on her that she was still rubbing her cunt on Joffrey’s leg. She wanted to stop, least that what she told herself, but her own body was betraying her, nor allowing her to stop. She was so close to her top, to a peak she didn’t even know was there.


And then it all came crashing down, as quickly as it started.


Joffrey screamed as was suddenly on the ground. It took a second for Arya’s brain to re-wire itself back to her surroundings. Her mind cleared, and a flurry of white and grey was tearing at Joffrey’s hand, while her sister was wailing like a banshee.


Nymeria. Girl must have thought Joffrey was attacking Arya. In a way he was. Direwolves have a a deep instinct to protect, especially when untrained like Nymeria.


A particularly loud shriek finally pulls Arya back to attention

“Nymeria!” She yells, grabbing the dire wolf by the scruff of her neck and pulling her back. After a mother tug, Nymeria unclamps her jaws from Joffrey’s hand.


Nymeria settles by Arya’s side, still ready to attack if needed. All is silent, besides the pained whimpers escaping from Joffrey. Arya looks down at him, wondering how this is the same person who had her mewling like a maiden in a song just seconds ago. She looks back at Sansa, whose face is red from screeching, her face a mixture of concern for Joffrey, and pure hatred for Arya.


She looks over to Mycah, who is now in a seated position, face and neck bruised and red with welts. He doesn’t know what to make of what just happened. He had been threatened, insulted, beaten, and watched the girl he though was his friend, kiss and grind against the person who did it, like a common whore.


“M-m’lady?” Mycah finally asked, after taking a while to formulate words.


Arya casts her eyes to the grounds. 


“I’m nobody’s lady” she mumbles, more to herself than anything.


And then she turns and runs.



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