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The North Forgot	By : ArizonaIceT Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 83464 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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There weren’t many knights as skilled as Loras Tyrell in all of Westeros. He wouldn’t consider himself THE best, but of the living men, he figured he could fell the vast majority of them. He didn’t consider it cockiness, it was simply the truth - a reality. He would not be humble about his skills - ones that he had been blessed with by the Seven.

But still - even he had to practice to keep his skills sharp. And with the…stakes that came with the Tourney of the Hand, well he didn’t want to let some other have the favor of the Seven.

He awoke early in the morning, just as the sun was being born over the horizon. He figured he'd make it to The tourney grounds, find an open space to practice his joust. Sure he was already the reigning champion, knocking Ser Jaimie Lannister on his arse a year prior, but naturally practice made perfection. He grabbed his equipment, leaving the apartments generously provided to him by the royal family in the Red Keep. As he left his room, he heard a voice call behind him.

“Early morning.”

Loras turned his head slightly to see Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, the brother of the king, and a man in which he had a…complicated relationship with.

“I’m a knight.” Ser Loras said with a smile, “My mornings are typically early. You however…how long have you been out here?”

“Not long.” Renly answered. “Thought I’d take a walk, ended up here.”

Loras knew he was lying, and Renly likely knew Loras knew he was lying. He was too well dressed for an early morning walk, wearing a fine green tunic and breeches tucked into his leather boots. His long hair had also looked as if it had been washed recently. The man was obviously peacocking, a trait Loras could appreciate.

“Besides, It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Both in the same castle yet we seem to miss each other.” Renly continued, stepping closer and placing himself in front of Loras. Renly was quite a bit taller than Loras, always looking downwards at him through his relaxed eyes.

“Duties.” Loras explained away, leaning back against the stone wall, which Renly took as an opportunity to lean in, a hand beside Loras head.

Loras wasn’t being entirely truthful. While yes, his training for this tourney did occupy much of his time, truth was Loras had been avoiding Renly.

From even a young age Loras knew he looked at boys differently than his peers. While other boys saw them as friends and brothers, Loras always looked at them with more on his mind. His attraction to the same-sex was somewhat of an open secret within his family as he grew into his maturity. He appreciated them for their non-judgement of him, even if they approached it in a “do not tell us, and we will not ask” manner. Still, Loras had not acted on his attraction while he was in his home at Highgarden. It wasn’t until he left.

Until he arrived at Storm's End to become a squire. Until he met Renly.

They bonded immediately, a good squire always did bond with their knight or lord, so in this case Loras might’ve been the best squire. Loras was enamored by how solid the older boy had looked, Baratheon genes did him well, and Loras found his height dizzying. Renly found the pretty, slight, boy in front of him with big eyes and curly hair to be magnetic.

It only took them a fortnight to fall into bed with each other.

The fire of their affair couldn’t be understated - they were both each other’s first time with a man, their first time with anyone for that matter. It was by the grace of the Seven that they were put together, for them to find each other.

But that’s all it was to Loras - an affair. Loras was young, came from a loving family. A family of people who understood him. Renly…was not. The Baratheons weren’t known for their love of, or their feelings. Loras had no doubt that he showed the most outward affection that Renly had ever received up until that point in his life. So while Loras saw their relationship as little more than a fling, Renly thought himself having made a husband - silly as the idea was.

There was also the fact that Loras’ proclivities didn’t stop at just men. His grandmother, always loving, told him that he had so much love in him that of course it couldn’t be contained to one man, woman, or anything in between. His father always told him that he would’ve been a Dornishman in a former life. His sister always told him he’d be the most famous whore in the known world if he wasn’t highborn, a sentiment he affectionately returned to her.. All these descriptions painted the same picture. Loras slept with many men and women in his young life, especially after he became a knight. He had no end of ladies and suitors he could bring between his sheets - and why shouldn’t he? He was young, handsome and talented; rare to have all three.

As for Renly - Loras wouldn’t have been surprised if he was the only person he had ever laid with.

Back in the moment, Renly leaned closer, coyness all but gone. “Why don’t you train a little later? We can go back into your room and-”

“My squire is waiting.” Loras interrupted, placing a hand on Renly’s chest.

“He’s a squire. It’s their job to wait on their lord” Renly countered, not at all perturbed.

“And your nephew, the PRINCE will be waiting.” Loras finished.

Renly stiffened at that. Pulling back to look down at Loras, eyes less relaxed than before. His mouth went to a hard line.

“Yes, my nephew.” He said in a way that would be indicative of someone talking about their enemy. “You have always been friendly with him.”

The barely contained disdain in Renly’s voice almost made Loras sigh.

Then there was the jealousy. Another Baratheon trait. In times they were together, Renly glared down any man or woman who dared look at Loras. It was almost as if he was trying to give them away with the amount of hate he’d throw the way of a poor soul whose eyes laid upon Loras for too long.

There was an instance, at Joffrey’s last name day, where Loras wanted to try something with Renly.

Inviting someone else to their bedroom.

A woman.

Renly turned the bedroom upside down in rage, a fit that was reminiscent of King Robert: cursing, throwing things, rage that Loras didn’t even know the man had.

Of course Renly was near tears with apologies a few hours later, but for Loras, well it seemed that their difference in mentality was never clearer.

Loras pushed himself off the wall, growing bored of Renly’s body trapping him. “Yes, we’re friends.”

“That boy doesn’t have friends.” Renly said bitterly.

“Yet here I stand.” Loras countered with a shrug. He didn’t want to get into it with Renly again. He had a tourney to think of. He began to walk away, when Renly grabbed his wrist.

“Will I…see you after?” Renly asked hopefully.

Loras just pulled his arm free.

“I have to go train.” He said plainly, before walking away.

Loras didn’t LIKE treating Renly like this. But the man was too dependent on him, too attached. He was in the capitol, there were plenty of pretty young boys he could bring to his chambers.

Loras had better things to think about, The tourney, his inevitable victory speech, and Joffrey and Arya - two people who have occupied his mind like never before.
___________________________________________________________________________

Loras’ squire had dutifully prepared his horse and equipment, as well as set up his dummy target. There were many components to a joust, speed. The constitution of your horse, but Loras found accuracy was by far the most important aspect. The tip of the lance was only an inch and a quarter thick - it was imperative to hit your target in the correct spot to make the best use of the runs.

Luckily for Loras, he had perfect vision and a steady hand. He and his squire were set by the tourney grounds, the large green area between the King’s and Lion’s gates of the city wall. Plenty of space for him and his mare to do some practice runs with lances. His squire set up a dummy at the height in which the opponent's shield would be. Loras instructed him to get a target that was in fact smaller than the standard joust shield, so he could be even more precise. Now naturally Loras wouldn’t be up against a stationary target, but it was still important to hone his lance control and coordination.

He did several run throughs, hitting the target precisely each time - on his 4th run, he saw Joffrey and Arya walking towards him, accompanied by two Red Cloaks. Loras lifted the visor to his helmet, and smiled.

Now that he had an audience - it was time to show off.

He did several more passes, increasing his speed each time as he went. He angled his lance perfectly so that it shattered in spectacular fashion. He looked over after each run to see Joffrey and Arya watching him with interest.

Once he ran through his lances, he found it was well time he addressed his admiring crowd. He trotted his mare over to where they were standing, riding as a gallant knight would.

“Prince Joffrey, Lady Arya.” He greeted, as if he had only just now seen them. He removed his helmet and looked down at them from his horse.

“Ser Loras.” Joffrey greeted. Inclining his head. Arya did a half hearted courtesy, which made Loras chuckle a bit. Arya was wearing a tight southern style dress, forming to her body elegantly, especially at her lovely hips and backside. It was maroon with gold accents - Lannister colors. Loras thought she looked lovely in them. Joffrey himself was dressed in regal tunic with the Baratheon colors and sigil on the forefront. Loras would have liked to openly ogle them, if it weren't for the two guardsmen with them. He figured he’d keep a semblance of decorum.

“You're quite skilled with that lance.” Joffrey complimented.

“I would hope so, or I wouldn’t have unhorsed your uncle, Ser Jaime last year.” Loras joked. Joffrey laughed outright at that, and one of the Red Cloaks behind him snorted, trying to hide his laughter. He was quickly elbowed by the other.

“Armor looks even better now that you’re in it.” Arya said, a sly kind of smile on her face. Ah yes, his armor - it’s what introduced them, wasn’t it.

“They don’t have armors as fine as his in the north, do they?” Joffrey asked, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing close.” Arya answered honestly.

“Yes…” Joffrey says, eying Loras’ armor, almost with envy. “Mother forbids me from getting armor, and father says I must “earn” it.” The last words leave Joffrey’s mouth with disdain. Loras knew the king was a sore topic for him.

“Well, perhaps with part of my winnings, I can get you a fine suit smithed.” Loras suggested with a smile. “Surely they wouldn’t deny you a gift from the Tyrells.”

Joffrey perked up at the prospect, eyes almost twinkling. Loras thought that that’s what he must have looked like when Renly first offered him gifts. He was sure the other man didn’t see his obvious flirting as much more than generosity, but Arya looked at Loras with a small smirk. Joffrey looked at Arya, then back at Loras, then smiled himself.

“Confident, are we?” Joffrey said. “Though I suppose you certainly do have the ample motivation to come out the victor.

As he spoke Joffrey let his hand slip behind Arya, sliding down her lower back to her bubbly bottom, finger sinking into the flesh over her thin dress. Arya gasped a bit, and bit her lip, pressing herself back into Joffrey’s hand as he groped her.

Loras’ immediate thought was how much he wanted to join Joffrey’s hand on her glorious ass. He next thought went to the two Red Cloaks behind the pair. He eyed them, mouth in a thin line, as they stood in form, wondering how they were taking the scandalous sight. Joffrey seemed to pick up on his apprehension, and looked over his shoulder at his guardsman, before back at Loras.

“Don’t mind them.” Joffrey offered. “Vorenus and Pullo. They’re well loyal Lannister men. They’ve served the Lannister half of my family since - ” Joffrey thought for a moment, realizing he didn’t actually know how long their service extended. “-As long as I can remember now that I think about it. “Vorenus, Pullo.”

The two guards stepped forward a step. “Your Grace.” They said in unison. Pullo was the taller of the two, stocky and solid, dark stubble on his square jaw, Vorenus was shorter and leaner, about the same build as Loras himself. His blonde hair peaked out under his helm, and his narrow nose was distinct. Loras thought he could’ve been a distant Lannister cousin.

“How long have you two served the Lannisters?” Joffrey asked, turning slightly to look at them.

“21 years.” Vorenus answered, bowing his head slightly. “Joined in service on my 17th name day.”

“22 years.” Pullo answered.

“What?” Vorenus asked, glancing at Pullo, eyebrows raised.

“What?” Pullo asked in confusion, turning his head to his comrade.

“You haven’t been with the Lannisters for 22 years.” Vorenus stated in exasperation.

“Yes I have. I’m the one who convinced you to join.” Pullo said. He looked back at Joffrey. “He was going to give himself to the Church of the Seven. Become a Sept, your grace.”

“No, I’m the one who convinced you to join.” Vorenus retorted. “You were going to be a fishmonger if it weren’t for me.”

“Your memory is going old man-”

“I’m 2 moons older than you.”

“Positively ancient.”

*Ahem.*

Joffrey cleared his throat, and the two men immediately snapped back into their stance and closed their mouths. Loras was highly amused by their banter.

“Tell me, are either of you participating in the tourney?” Loras asked the two guardsmen. Typically in The Reach tournaments were knights only affairs, but he knew the rest of Westeros was more libertine with their rules.

“Yes Ser.” Pullo spoke up. “I plan to participate in the melee.”

Vorenus snorted at that.

“Don’t act as if you aren’t going to bet on me.” Pullo said, smiling a bit at his comrade.

“If I wanted to waste money, I could give it to a beggar.” Vorenus commented, no real bite in his words.

The sound of the city bell rang, indicating the change of the hour.

“It seems that we must be off.” Joffrey said. “Mother will have a fit if I’m not at first meal. Come you two.”

“Until the tourney.” Arya bid, once again giving a simple courtesy.

“Until then lady Arya.” Loras purred. “Prince Joffrey.”

The two guards led Joffrey and Arya back towards the city gates, Loras enjoying the sight of Arya’s backside under the tight dress as they walked away.

After they got a few yards away however, they stopped, and Arya looked over her shoulder, a mischievous look on her face. Loras was a bit confused, until he saw Arya’s hands go to her waist, the fabric of her dress. Vorenus and Pullo step in front of her, blocking her from the view of anyone in front of them. Slowly, she began to draw the skirt of her dress up, exposing her fit calves and her creamy thighs. Loras’ breath hitched as her dress ascended up her body until it got to the bottom of her ass. She paused a bit for dramatic effect, before yanking her dress upwards. Her thick ass popped free, cheeks jiggling slightly as it did. She had forgone small clothes, and her slit was on display, glistening.

Loras nearly fell off his horse.

Arya continued to surprise him - which only fueled his desire.

Joffrey looked at Loras, smiling a bit smugly. He then looked to his two Red Cloaks and nodded his head.

Vorenus seemed a bit hesitant to move, but it seemed Pullo didn’t share the sentiment. The guardsman stepped forward, handing Vorenus his polearm and removing one of his gauntlets. He then reached around Arya, and delivered a hard smack to her right ass cheek. Arya gasped, and she went to her toes before giggling a bit. She continued to look back at Loras as Pullo’s fingers sank into her ass flesh, pulling at her cheek and exposing her muscled ring to Loras.

‘Quite the loyal guard.’ Loras thought. Pullo looked at him knowingly with a smirk.

“Erm, your grace, we really should get you back for your meal.” Vorenus said, seemingly being the only one maintaining a level of decorum.

“Very well.” Joffrey said, but not before reaching behind Arya and spanking her left ass cheek himself. Pullo let Arya go, stepping back into formation. Arya let her dress fall back down to the ground, and gave Loras one more glance, before they continued to the gate.

Loras thought he’d practice a bit more - not wanting to at all risk losing out on his prize.
____________________________________________________________________________

Arya awoke early in the morning,

She was buzzing with excitement - The Hand’s Tourney.

Her father didn’t particularly like Tourney’s, maybe he was just mild mannered, maybe because one led directly to the war he fought in. Whatever the case was, Arya wasn’t exposed to many tournaments - perhaps some friendly competition between the household guards and some local lords, but that didn’t really count. This tournament was grand - knights and warriors from all over the kingdom coming to take part.

Arya wondered if she'd get to see someone get decapitated.

The prospects bounced in her head as she got ready. She slipped into one of the many dresses that the Queen had gifted her, another maroon piece with gold accents - form fitting - southern style with a deep collar. She figured she needed to give Loras the proper motivation to do well. She hoped her little treat earlier sparked the fire in him for victory.

Even if it didn’t she still got to flash him, which she saw as a victory in itself.

Arya slipped on her shoes and headed to the door, but not before grabbing Needle on her way out. With debauched adventures in the capital, she hadn’t got to practice with it as much as she would have liked, but she figured that the day of the tourney was as good of a day as any to bring it out. Everyone else was going to be armed at the tourney - why shouldn't she. She wrapped it in some cloth to make it less conspicuous and bounded out the door and down the stairs of the tower, like a child at a spring festival.

In her excitement however, she wasn’t quite paying attention - and ran headlong into Sansa, who was coming down from her own room.

They crashed into each other, Arya being sent to the ground on her bottom, and Sansa stumbling on her feet.

“Oof! Watch where you’re going Arya!” Sansa barks after she regains her balance. “Coming down the stairs like some wild horse. You could have ruined my dress”

Arya pushed herself to her feet and didn’t respond, simply scowling at her older sister.

“What are you even wearing?” Sansa continued, eyeing Arya up and down with a slight sneer.

“It’s a dress the queen gifted me.” Arya answered.

“Well, you look RIDICULOUS.” Sansa said meanly. Sansa never missed a chance to put down Arya’s appearance. “You should wear something to hide those wide hips of yours, as impossible a task that might be. And - what’s that?

Sansa looked down to the ground, where Needle still laid by Arya’s feet, metal shining through as it’s cover was slightly skewed.

“Nothing.” Arya said firmly, quickly snatching up her weapon. But Sansa didn’t very much buy that.

“Is that your little sword?” Sansa asked, mix between scandalized and annoyed.

“It’s name is Needle.” Arya corrected.

“Are you mad? You can’t bring a sword to the tourney!”

“Everyone else will have one.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Sansa shouted, stepping forward to get in her sister’s face. “I won’t let you ruin today. I’m telling father!”

“He’ll be too busy with the tourney to listen to your whining.” Arya countered. Sansa’s mouth opened and closed a few times, evidently not having an immediate response to that very good point.

“Then I’ll tell Septa Mordane!” Sansa said, looking satisfied with her secondary plan. But Arya wasn’t phased. Stepping forward, Arya met Sansa’s gaze.

“If you do that, I’ll tell Mordane that I smell wine on your breath”

At that, Sansa gaped like a fish, eyes going wide, and cheeks burning red. Her mouth hanging open did nothing to hide the smell of spiced wine that was on her breath.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sansa tried lamely.

Arya just arched an eyebrow at her. Sansa was not very good at lying. Arya wasn’t blind - she had noticed during their breakfasts together that Sansa would sneak a goblet or two of wine when the Septa wasn’t looking. She also wasn’t ignorant to the fact that some days Arya returned very late to her rooms, if at all. She didn’t know what her sister was getting up to, and she didn’t care. The South was an interesting place, and Arya had her own little interests to worry about. Sansa scowled, face red and angry.

“Fine.” Sansa ground out. “Keep your little sword. Poke your eye out for all I care! Just don’t EMBARRASS me in front of Prince Joffrey, or any of the other brave knights today!”

Arya could only smirk at that. If only she knew-

“Ah girls, I was just coming to gather you.”

The girls snapped around, Arya quickly hiding Needle behind her back. It was Septa Mordane.

“Your father is of course busy with the Tournament, and asked me to come fetch you two and bring you to the grounds.”

This is exactly what Arya wanted to avoid. She had hoped to get to the greens before anyone had noticed so she could be left to her own devices. Sansa had to go and ruin that.

The Septa looked at them, a bit suspiciously. “You two haven’t been fighting this early morning, have you?”

“No Septa.” They said in unison.

“Good. Then let’s be off.”
____________________________________________________________________________

Tourney’s naturally were lively events. Knights and lords traveled from all over, the merchants and inns made more money than they did all year, and the commoners were given a spectacle in their otherwise dreary lives.

Tourneys rules and events did differ from place to place, but the general structure was maintained. There were three events: An Archery contest, the Melee, and most importantly, the joust.

The Archery contest winner would be awarded 10,000 gold dragons, the winner of the melee would be awarded 20,000 gold dragons. Another 20,000 to the runner-up of the joust, while the winner would receive a whopping 40,000 gold dragon prize.

Despite the tourney being in his honor, Ned was near pulling his hair out at such high prizes. The King told him it was good for morale. Ned told him it was bad for their debt.

Arya, Sansa and Septa Mordane arrived at the Court bleachers, a double decker set of covered where the small council members, nobles of note, and whomever had the king’s favor could watch the events. Elsewhere 100s of pavilions had been erected, where thousands of common folk packed in to watch the events. Boorish of a man he was, you couldn’t say that King Robert didn’t know how to throw a tourney - the Baratheon banners flew everywhere, golden stags shining everywhere. He spared no expenses on making sure the stadium for the games was lavish and grand. Seems Robert wanted his own Harenhall packed into one day, hopefully with a more fortunate outcome for him.

The King’s awning was across from the Court’s, elevated above the ground and grand. Robert sat lounging in his chair, while Tommen and Joffrey sat beside him. Neither the Queen nor Myrcella were there. Seemed Cersei thought Tourneys weren’t a place for a girl Myrcella’s age. She would’ve kept Tommen with her as well if Robert hadn’t insisted that watching the Tourney would “Make a man out of him.”

Joffrey looked over to where Arya was sitting, and smirked, the unsaid understanding of what the day could entail flying between them. Arya glanced over to Sansa, who looked absolutely giddy - the silly girl no doubt thought the prince was smiling at her.

The trio sat on the lower level, so Arya could be closer to the action, and so Sansa could look at the brave nights in their shining armor. Arya tucked Needle under her seat, hidden out of sight.

The Archery contest garnered 80 competitors, though realistically only about 30 or so had any business being there. The competition was open to common folk, most of which didn’t have proper bows, just makeshift set-ups only good enough for hunting rabbits. Despite this, it was actually a commoner who ended up winning. Anguy of the Dornish Marshes. A simple looking man, young, skinny with red hair and a freckled face.

He was against seasoned, battle trained archers: Jalabhar Xho, the extravagant looking, colorful exile of the Summer Isles, a skilled warrior and bowman, and Balon Swann, a knight whom Arya though had an overly squared head. The three of them made it to the final round of shots, and Swann and Jalabhar were both neck and neck. To everyone’s surprise, Anguy backed up an additional hundred paces from the target, and hit the center with pinpoint accuracy. He hadn’t needed to back up so far; 40 or 50 paces would have sufficed. It seemed Anguy just wanted to show off a bit. Suffice it to say, neither Swann nor Jalabhar were particularly happy about the loss.

Despite her interest in archery, it was a bit boring to watch. The Melee however was another story. 40 competitors fought for over three hours, blunted weapons and bad attitudes. Some Melees were horseback only, others were on foot - this one was a hybrid. Competitors started on horseback - if they had a horse to begin with, but could continue on foot if knocked off but naturally at a disadvantage. Competitors were eliminated when they forfeited, were rendered unconscious or otherwise incapacitated.

To call the event controlled chaos would be giving it too much credit. The men duked it out fiercely, clashing, forming and breaking alliances, fighting in ways many would consider “dishonorable”. Melee’s by design were viscous sights, but this one im particular was especially savage. 20,000 gold dragons was a lot of money, and finding victory before the king could make a squire, sell swords, or hedge knight’s relationship with the crown. Men were broken, bruised and utterly battered. There were several broken limbs - one man’s horse was struck in the head and fell onto the rider’s leg, crushing it. A young squire, one of the Frey’s maybe, had half his teeth knocked out with a pommel to the mouth. Another man nearly had his jaw knocked full around his head after taking a mace to the jaw. A man from the vale had his nose mashed so hard against his face, that it became flat.

Arya thought it was all magnificent, the violence, the carnage. Nothing at all this interesting ever happened back home. Sansa meanwhile was looking green in the gills, the brutal battle nothing like she’d heard in her songs and poems. Joffrey himself was on the edge of his seat, watching intently at the chaos while his father was hollering and laughing like a toddler behind him. Tommen had his eyes covered.

Arya spotted Pullo amongst the frey, fighting with a war hammer. He seemed to know his limits, and bowed out of the battle before he found himself too battered - he got away with only a few bruises and a broken pinky finger.

In the end, it was Thoros of Myr who won it all - a fat bearded man with a shaved head, and billowing red robes. He claimed to be a Red Priest, but most thought he was just a mad man. The fact that he fought with a sword engulfed in wildfire helped reinforce that, One couldn’t deny it was effective, scaring the mounts of many riders.

As much as she enjoyed the Melee, the joust is what she, and everyone else was really waiting for. More spectators arrived just to watch the event alone, including their father and several other members of the Small Council. Ned looked haggard, running around to make sure that the tournament in his honor was running smoothly ironically. He sat between Arya and Sansa, while Littlefinger arrived and sat directly behind them, along with Renly Baratheon.

Arya looked back at Little Finger. Leg wrapped from his ankle to above his knee. He arrived on a cruch, struggling to hobble up the stairs and needing to be aided by servants.

“What happened to your leg?” Arya asked bluntly.

“Arya!” Sansa admonished.

“Don’t be rude!” Septa Mordane said sternly.

“Apologies, Lord Baelish.” Ned apologized, more as a formality than anything else.

“No trouble at all.” Baelish said with a forced smile. “I was riding a horse, got a bit careless and fell off.”

“Must not be very good at it.” Arya commented. Baelish’s faux smile twitched a bit, and Renly laughed out loud. Littlefinger turned to him, narrowing his eyes.

“Falling from a horse can be quite dangerous. Let’s hope the man you’ve bet on doesn’t fall from theirs and break their neck. Who are you vying for anyway? Ser Loras?” Littlefinger said, voice like a snake. Renly’s face turned hard in an instant, glaring at the man.

Not liking Lord Baelish’s tone in regards to Ser Loras, Arya leaned back, bumping against his leg. He immediately reeled back in pain and groaned.

“Apologies, Lord Baelish. I slipped.” Arya said, not sounding very sorry at all.
________________________________________________________________________
Loras didn’t see Tourney’s as a sport. He didn’t even see them as competitions.

To him, they were the personification of the chivalrous class - the Sers who built and protected Westeros. In the Reach, the Knight was the most honorable thing one could be. The Tourney was in a way a show, a presentation of what it meant to be one. Now naturally Loras didn’t LOVE the Hand’s Tourney being so open to the common man, sell swords and master less Hedge Knights - The Reach was much more selective of participants, but in a way it was perfect. A chance for Ser Loras to show his superiority over them. It wasn’t their fault, he was simply a different breed of man.

And this Tourney in particular, well there was something more than honor and gold to be won.

Arya Stark, a lady like none other he ever met.

Joffrey Baratheon - the future king of Westeros.

Ser Loras was not a greedy man, but he wanted it all, the gold, the glory, AND them. And he was on his way to getting it.

Before the event started, Loras made sure to trot his horse down the lanes. The common folk cheered him on, as he was the favorite and most loved of the jousters present. He saw Arya, his prize, sitting amongst her family. Leisurely riding up to the Court bleachers, Arya smiled slightly as he approached.

“The Knight of the Flowers.” Sansa said dreamily.

True to his moniker. Loras did in fact have a flower in his hand as he rode up. The perfect rose. He stopped right in front of the Starks and extended his hand holding the rose. Sansa began to raise her own hand, thinking the rose was for her - but she of course was not his intended target. Angling his arm slightly, he presented the rose to Arya, who looked at it with wide eyes.

Even with their decadent flirting and debauched actions previously it was his gestures of chivalry that caught her off guard. Slowly she reached out and took the rose into her hand. Arya wasn’t a girl who would swoon over such things - but she couldn’t deny the gesture made her feel wonderful.

“Thank you.” She said quietly, suddenly shy.

“Of course, my lady.” Loras replied with a smile.

Next to her, Sansa stared with her mouth agape, in disbelief and outrage that such a handsome knight would favor Arya over her. Even Ned looked a bit shocked, arching his eyebrow at Ser Loras.

Loras briefly made eye contact with Renly, who looked like he was very much trying to keep from scowling. If he didn’t like that, he certainly wasn’t going to like what Loras did next. The Flower Knight trotted over to where the royal family sat, looking up and immediately locking eyes with Joffrey.

“King Robert. Prince Joffrey, Tommen.” Loras greeted, bowing his head slightly. He kicked the side of his mount, and his horse bowed as well - Tommen liked that.

“Ser Loras” Joffrey greeted back. Robert didn’t bother to say words, merely grunting and giving a wave of his hand. “I wish you luck in the joust.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

“I wish you luck as well.” Robert said gruffly. “I’ve got 1000 dragons on you. Now, let’s get the joust started before I piss me self.”

And by those crude words, the joust started.

There were about 40 competitors in total, but really, Renly only saw maybe 4 or 5 people as any kind of real competition. Most so called Knights had subpar joust skills at best, and this tourney was open to Sellswords to participate. Loras was almost insulted every tilt he had to partake on with one of them. Loras easily ran through most of his opponents in a single pass, unhorsing them with pinpoint accuracy. He faced off against several Freys, who as a ilk weren’t particularly known for their horse combat - they were basically practice for him. He also faced off against several members of the Kingsguard. He thought that the Kingsguard very much needed some restructuring with how easily he unhorsed them - he doubted if most had been outside the city wall since the last Tourney.

The other competitors who were doing well were of course Jaime Lannister, beating several opponents easily, including the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy. He had expected it to come down to himself and Ser Jaime again, but there seemed to be a dark horse doing inexplicably well.

Ser Meryn Trant.

Loras hadn’t interacted with him much - he had been mildly successful at the tourney at Joffrey’s last name day before falling to Ser Jaime. But the opinion everyone seemed to hold about him was that while an above average knight, he was unpleasant, quick tempered, and generally mean overall. He broke his lances and unhorsed his opponents violently - the point of the joust was to win, not to cause harm.

Seemed Ser Meryn didn’t get that message, and it was Ser Hugh of the Vale who would come to understand it gravely.

Ser Hugh had squired for the late Hand of the King Jon Arynn for years. The young man was only just recently knighted in honor of Jon Arynn’s memory by the king. Loras didn’t think he was much of a knight - he seemed to struggle to hold his lance up, and his movements were awkward and stiff. Maybe if King Robert hadn’t taken pity on him and given him Knighthood so early he’d have had more time to hone his skills, or perhaps realized knighthood wasn’t his path. Regardless, Ser Meryn made sure his path ended there.

On the first pass, Ser Meryn purposely leaned backwards, aiming his lance high - while it was unpleasant, the head was a viable target during the joust. Except Ser Meryn didn’t aime for the head, he aimed for the throat. Ser Meryn’s lance shattered dramatically, splintering and knocking Ser Hugh from his horse - but not before driving an 8 inch sliver of wood into Ser Hugh’s throat.

Cries and gasps broke out in the crowd as the young knight twitched on the ground, gurgling and spitting up blood. There was no treating an injury like that. All one could do was watch until his pathetic and desperate movements and sounds got quieter and stiller.

As unfortunate as it was, he knew what he signed up for joining the tournament. Death was a rare, but very possible occurrence. Attendants dragged Ser Hugh’s body from the field, and the events continued as if nothing happened. Loras looked over to Arya, and it seemed the girl was unphased by the event. In fact she was looking on with interest. Her sister beside her however was pale as a sheet, and trembling a bit. Jeyne Poole outright fainted. Joffrey however had an open smile plastered on his face, watching it all excitedly.

Ser Meryn didn’t seem to put out about the fact he just killed a man as he lined up to face off against Ser Jaime. In fact, he looked cocky.

His cockiness only heightened when he surprisingly managed to beat Ser Jaime. They pair broke several lances of each other, and it was up to the King to determine the winner. Robert awarded the win to Ser Meryn, a choice which Loras questioned the unbiased nature of. It wasn’t a secret that King Robert didn’t particularly like Ser Jaime.

Regardless, it seemed the finals came down to Loras and Ser Meryn. Ser Loras wasn’t particularly worried however. A good knight used strength, accuracy and speed, but they also used strategy.

Loras’s strategy was his horse. He was very particular about the horse he used - he picked it particularly for the event. A mare as opposed to stallions most of the contestants rode. More importantly, he chose a Mare that was in heat.

Why?

Simple - it gave him a split second of unfocus within his opponent's horse, just enough to distract it as they rode down the list. And that split second was all he needed to unseat his opponent.

He was sure Ser Meryn was feeling mighty confident as they went to opposite ends of the list for their first pass.

Loras was sure that confidence was dashed as quickly as a candle in the wind as Ser Meryn found himself on his back, lance hitting him square in his shield and driving him from his stead.

It was inevitable really - Loras was simply the TRUE knight of the tourney.

The crowd erupted into cheer at Ser Loras’s victory. Both Arya and Joffrey were on their feet applauding and cheering loudly.

They were cheering so loudly that he didn’t hear Ser Meryn bark to a squire for his sword.

To Loras’ own shame, he was so enraptured in his victory and the cheers of the crowd that he didn’t notice Ser Meryn striding toward him until he saw the faces of Arya, Sansa and Ned transform into concern and horror.

He quickly spun his horse, but Ser Meryn was already upon him. “You cheated!” The red bearded man yelled. He grabbed the reins of Loras’ horse, and yanked hard, causing his mare to reel up and throw Loras from his saddle. Loras landed hard on his back and Ser Meryn began to swing his sword at him. Still gripping his shield, Loras is able to bring it up and block Meryn’s blow. Jousting shields weren't made for real combat, and quickly the shield began to crack and chip. A particularly wild swing gave Loras the chance to avoid the blow, sword connecting with the mud. Loras brought his legs up, placing his feet to Ser Meryn’s chest plate and pushed him back, giving him some space. Loras rolled to his front and pushed himself up to his knees. He needed a weapon, fast.

“Loras!”

Loras looked to where the scream came from. Arya was at the banister of the bleachers, holding a thing rapier in her hand. Needle. Loras didn’t know why Arya had a sword with her, but he was thankful she had it regardless. Arya threw the blade to Loras. It landed in the dirt a few feet in front of him. Loras scrambled to it and to his feet, grabbing it just as Ser Meryn began to stride toward him again, sword raised. Loras spun around, facing the rabid Kingsguardman head on. Arya’s balde was small and thin, Loras could hold it one hand. It wouldn’t do anything against Trant’s armor, so he had to pick his moment. Ser Meryn raised his sword above his head, ready to swing again - which was what Loras needed. Stepping forward, and with pinpoint precision Loras thrusts the tip of Needle up and forward - directly into Ser Meryn’s throat.

Trant’s eyes went wide and he stumbled backwards, hand going to his throat. He fell to his knees, and after a bit of wheezing and crawling, he fell face down in the dirt - dead.

The crowd seemed to be impossibly silent besides Loras’s heavy breathing. After a moment, Loras turned to Arya, who herself looked a bit shook, both from shock of the events, and from the fire that was currently between her legs

.Loras took a knee and bowed his head, “Lady Arya - I owe my life to you.” He said earnestly. The act of regal humility seemed to set the crowd on fire, as they began to cheer louder than ever. They probably couldn’t remember the time they had a tourney so interesting. Ned looked at Arya in shock and disapproval at her bringing her sword to the tourney grounds, but was relieved that her quick thinking helped the man defend himself. Joffrey looked upon everything with a huge smile on his face. He got to witness two deaths in one day. And he never much liked Ser Meryn to begin with. Loras turned to him, and their eyes locked with understanding. Loras was the champion, and he would have his prize.

__________________________________________________________________________

The death of Ser Meryn had the court nobles and guests in a bit of an uproar, such a display at a tourney - especially one held by the king. King Robert assured everyone that thing would go on as normal that the celebratory ball would commence as planned. As far as he was concerned, Ser Meryn got what he deserved for acting the way he did, especially as a member of the Kingsguard. Although now this meant he head to figure out a replacement for him within the Kingsguard ranks.

Arya's mind and body were on fire with how the tournament ended. The violence, Ser Loras’ victory. Her blade being the one to end him, even if she wasn’t the one to hold it. Arya couldn’t have had a better day if she had planned it.

Sansa however didn’t think she could have a worse day. The tourney was nothing like she imagined. It was so brutal, so gruesome. She thought they were supposed to be gallant, honorable events. Worse yet, she was IGNORED. Joffrey had barely laid eyes on her the whole day. And Arya - she had to go and steal Ser Loras’ attention! She was the oldest. She was the prettiest. Ser Loras should have given her a rose. He should have noticed HER, not her fat bottomed, horseface sister. She wanted to whine and cry to her father, but he was nowhere to be found, dealing with the fallout of the day’s events. She basically ran to her room, prepared to throw herself on her bed and cry. But when she got to her chambers, someone was waiting for her. A Red Cloak - tall with a ginger beard. Sansa was startled by his presence.

“Lady Sansa.” He greeted. “Queen Cersei sent me.”

“Why?” Sansa asked before she had time to think about it.

The guard didn’t answer her question immediately. Instead, he went to a small side table where a pitcher of wine sat. He poured a generous amount into a goblet, and brought it over to Sansa.

“Wine?” He asked. Sansa licked her lips a bit at the sight of the cup. She was a bit parched.

“Thank you.” She said quietly, taking the goblet from the guard. She brought it to her lips, and downed half of it quickly - quicker than a lady should. That seemed to amuse the guard a bit.

“The Queen thought you might be a bit shook up from the excitement of the day.” The guard explained. “Wanted to make sure you made it to the ball without issue, as well as dropping off your dress.”

“My dress?” Sansa asked in confusion. The guard gestured to her bed, where the garment laid. Sansa’s eyes widened at the clothing, face growing red. “She wants me to wear THIS?”

“Problem?” The guard asked, stepping behind her, crowding her a bit.

“Erm…It’s just that I already had a dress picked out and-”

“Lady Sansa - it is a gift from the QUEEN.” The guard said, voice a bit stern. Sansa swallowed, and looked at the ‘dress’ again.

“I-I suppose if it’s a gift from the Queen.” She waited for a moment, for the guard to exit the room so she could change, but he didn’t budge. “I need to change.”

“Strict orders my lady.” The guard said. “I’m not to leave your side until you’re in the Great Hall.”

“But-”

“Strict orders.”

Sansa frowned miserably, before downing the rest of her wine. She put the goblet down, and slowly began to strip out of her day dress, as the Red Cloak smirked and watched on.
_________________________________________________________________________

Arya snuck to Joffrey's room. The Keep was preparing for the ball, so she made it to his chambers without much hassle. And luckily for her, Vorenus was guarding his door.

“Lady Arya.” He greeted.

“Vorenus.” She greeted back,

“The Prince is inside, waiting for you. Whenever you’re done with - well I’ll escort the both of you to the Great Hall when you’re ready.”

Arya was amused by his professionalism. She’d make him slip eventually. Vorenus opened the door to Joffrey’s chamber, and Arya entered. Joffrey was standing by his bed, shirtless as he changed into his outfit for the ball. He turned as Arya entered the room, smiling as he saw her.

Arya practically leapt into his arms, smashing her mouth to his. His arms wrapped around her, grabbing two handfuls of her plump ass and holding her up as they fiercely kissed.

Arya was the first to break the kiss, breathing raggedly, pupils blown.

“Gods, I’ve wanted to jump you all day.” She breathed. She thought back to the blood and viscera she saw and felt herself grow wet between the legs.

Joffrey smiled devilishly at her. “Save it for Ser Loras. The champion of the day.”

Arya shivered in anticipation and Joffrey groped her ass over her dress, pulling and kneading the cheeks

“I have a gift for you. A dress for the ball.” Joffrey said, letting Arya go. He went to his wardrobe, opening it and reaching towards the bottom and back. He pulled out the dress, throwing it on his bed for Arya to see. Her eyebrows went to her forehead at the fabric that laid on the bed.

“THIS is a dress?” Arya asked.

“Problem?” Joffrey asked. “It’s the latest in Braavosi fashion I’m told.”

“No.” Arya assured, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “It’s perfect.”
____________________________________________________________________________

As much as Joffrey would’ve liked to watch Arya get dressed, but as the prince he figured he should arrive early to the ball. He quickly pulled on his tunic of silk and velvet - fur trimmed, brightly colored with the Baratheon colors and sigil embroidered on the chest - and headed down to the celebration

The Victor’s Ball was held in the Great Hall, which could house a thousand to feast. Already the Hall was crowded as the first courses and wine was being served. Many long tables outlined the perimeter of the Great Hall, while the center was left open for mingling and dancing.

At the head table naturally sat his father, who looked like he was already several goblets deep. His mother sat next to him, her face in a light scowl as it always was, while his uncle Jaime stood behind her dutifully.

Joffrey’s eyes scanned the room, looking for his champion. His eyes locked onto Loras, whom was standing and chatting amongst some courtiers. Well in reality, they were doing much of the talking, ladies of the court chatting his ear off and attempting to get close, while men tried to curry Loras’ favor. He had a polite smile on his face, but Joffrey could tell he was dreadfully bored. Joffrey decided to save his friend, making his way across the room to the group. Loras’ eyes lit up as he saw him, and his smile became genuine.

“Prince Joffrey.” Loras greeted. “You look nice in your ball attire.” He complimented, allowing his eyes to look Joffrey up and down, appreciating the younger man’s form.

“Ser Loras.”

“Ah, Prince Joffrey.” One of the courtiers said, turning to him. He was a fat man with thinning hair and crooked teeth. “We were just discussing how exciting today’s games were, and-”

Joffrey of course had no interest in what the man was saying, and waved his hand dismissively “I must speak to Ser Loras.” He stated simply. The courtiers looked at Joffrey in confusion for a second, before Joffrey narrowed his eyes and frowned, making his point clear.

“Erm, of course.” The fat man said, skulking away followed by the others.

“A brave knight, coming to save me.” Loras said with a mirthful smile.

“There’s only one knight here, Ser Loras.” Joffrey replied. “Think you proved as much today.”

Loras at least ATTEMPTED to sound modest, “Many brave men competed today. Shame that Ser Meryn couldn’t take his loss gracefully.”

“Fuck Trant.” Joffrey scoffed. “I never liked him, and now he’s dead. You’ve done me a favor really. You’re the champion of the day.”

“Speak of-” Loras said, eyes looking around the room.

“Looking for your prize?” Joffrey asked with a knowing smirk. “She’ll be down soon - she’s getting herself…prepared.

Back at the head table, King Robert was drunkenly laughing, fondling a poor servant girl who came to refill his goblet. Cersei decided that was well enough time for her to stand, and put some distance between her and the king. Jaime naturally followed her, and they began to walk around the room, appraising and judging the attendants.

“Where’s Lord Stark?” Cersei asked. “He’s missing his own ball in his honor.”

“Not sure. The head of his guard whispered into his ear just as the tourney was ending, and the two of them rushed off somewhere. You know Ned is quite the busy body.” Jaime responded

“Ned is being quite nosy - too nosy.”

“I told you if anything changes, I’d handle it. Right now he’s reaching around in the dark. He doesn’t know anything.”

“He’s from the North. They’re used to the dark.”

“Still, we can’t be too hasty in our actions.” Jaime countered. “We wouldn’t want to cut our little game with Sansa short.”

“And speak of the devils.” Cersei said, looking toward the entrance of the Great Hall. Seemed something had caught the attention of some attendants. That something was Sansa Stark.

She was wearing the dress so generously provided to her by Cersei Lannister. It was dark purple, and tight to Sansa’s body, showing her figure immaculately. The neckline went deep, showing a generous amount of cleavage, and it had an opening on its left side, right along Sansa’s ribs. The dress went to the floor, but a generous portion of the front was cut to her to show off her long leg. It was immodest to say the least.

Many guests stared as she entered, men with arousal in their eyes, and women with sneers at the amount of skin Sansa was showing. Sansa was a bit red in the face, and almost shaking as she walked into the Great Hall. She had to down another goblet of wine to push down her nerves, which didn’t help with keeping her steady on her feet. Sansa looked around and noticed no one was near dressed as she was. Her eyes found Cersei and Jaime, both of them having smiles on their faces.

‘Everyone is staring.’ Sansa thought, as her eyes darted around nervously. All eyes were on her. But that’s what she wanted, right? No - it’s what she deserved. She was betrothed to the prince, she was to be queen of Westeros. Of course all eyes would be on her. She needed a dress like this to stand out, to be a cut above everyone else like she deserved to be. Slowly confidence came to her, and she stood a bit taller. She saw Joffrey and Loras standing amongst the crowd, looking at her with raised eyebrows. She pushed out her chest, and raised her chin, walking over to them.

“Prince Joffrey.” Sansa greeted happily.

“Lady Sansa.” Joffrey returned with much less enthusiasm. Sansa’s smile faltered a bit at that - but took his rudeness as him having been tired from the day.

Loras was a bit more compassionate, grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. “Lady Sansa.”

Sansa nearly swooned at that.

“You were so brave today, Ser Loras.” Sansa said breathily. “A true knight.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I’m hoping to have a dance with you - if my betrothed would allow it of course.”

Joffrey frowned slightly, not particularly liking being called her ‘betrothed’.

“You may do as you like.” Joffrey said curtly.

“Dancing with you would be an honor.” Loras said charmingly. “And..and-”

Loras’ words trailed off, as he looked behind Sansa, eyes wide. Joffrey looked to where he was looking, and his eyes widened as well, jaw dropping a little.

“Ser Loras, Prince Joffrey?” Sansa asked, looking at the two of them in confusion.

There was a string of gasps near the entrance of the Great Hall, which finally prompted Sansa to turn around. Her own eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight.

It was Arya, making her entrance.

All eyes were glued onto her as she walked into the Great Hall, her heeled shoes clicking as she was led into the room by Vorenus. She was wearing the dress Joffrey gave her - if one could even call it that. The material of the dress was scant, and near sheer. The neckline was non-existent, the inside of her breasts showing as the material was parted all the way down to her waist to the point her belly button was showing. A belt separated the top and bottom portion of the dress, which were in reality just two strips of fabric that covered her ass and nether regions just barely - a breeze would have her on display. Her bare hips popped from the dress allowing her curves to show free. Her heeled boots made her stand several inches taller, making her already confident walk look even more bold. Her hair was braided in two falling over her shoulders, and her make up was done up with skill that Sansa didn’t think she even had.

If Sansa’s appearance was immodest, Arya's was downright obscene. Ladies looked openly scandalized while the men could barely tear their eyes away. Seems the attention Sansa got was fleeting, as all eyes were cemented on Arya.

Cersei and Jaime watched with as much surprise as the others, not knowing what to make of this.
“I- did you have something to do with this?” Cersei asked, looking to Jaime.

“No, I figured you did.”

Even the well drunken king took notice, looking at Arya with open lust. He wouldn’t remember in the morning, but he thought he looked like Lyanne - and wanted to fuck her as such.

“Pardons, Lady Sansa.” Loras said, excusing himself abruptly, and moving towards Arya. Sansa scowled deeply as the knight moved from her, forgetting her in an instant. She took a drink from a passing servant's tray, and downed it quickly.

Loras pushed through the ogling crowd, until he was right in front of Arya. She looked up at him with a ruby colored smirk.

“Lady Arya.” He breathed out.

“Ser Loras.” She replied, simply.

“You look absolutely…ravishing.” He stated honestly. Arya leaned forward, so only Loras could hear her.

“That’s the point, is it not?” She said with a sly grin on her face “Needed to make sure your prize was worth it.”

“Oh it will be. I’d fuck you right here on one of these tables if I didn’t think I’d have knighthood stripped the next day.”

“Tempting, but for now - let’s just dance.”

And dance they did. Loras grabbed Arya’s wrist, and dragged her to the middle of the dance floor with the other dancers. Loras grabbed her hand in one of his, and placed his other low on his hip, allowing his fingers to sink into the softness of her flesh. The music was uptempo, and they moved and swung to the rhythm. Arya wasn’t much of a dancer, but she was athletic - gliding and following Loras’ steps with relative ease. Loras held her right to his body as they danced, her barely covered nipples rubbing pleasantly against the fabric of her dress. His hips pressed into her, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her stomach. Slyly, she brought a hand between them as they moved, squeezing him through his breeches. He gasped, and twitched in her hand.

“Kept that up, and you’re getting fucked in the middle of this Hall - knighthood be damned.” Loras growled in her ear. His hand slid behind her, wanting to grab a handful of her ass, but she pushed him back and wiggled out of her grasp, spinning away from him. The hem of her dress flared up, showing off her bottom half to all who were looking, and her VERY slight small clothes - Lannister

“You’ll have to catch me first.” She said, before disappearing into the crowd.

Several feet away, Joffrey watched with envy at their dance. Sansa had badgered him into dancing with her, but he was simply going through the motions, doing very little more than swaying with her. Sansa looked at him as he clearly had his attention elsewhere. Sansa looked back at her sister, twirling around the dance floor, dress flying, skin showing without a care in the world. It was wanton, it was obscene, it was taking attention away from Sansa.

“Excuse me.” Joffrey said, dropping Sansa’s hand and letting her go unceremoniously, moving toward the center of the dance floor, and Arya. Sansa frowned miserably as she was left alone to stand there. She grabbed another goblet of wine from a servant.

Arya moved around the dance floor like a tornado of fabric and skin, moving freely, not much caring if she was basically flashing everyone every time she moved. She danced with a few people - naturally in their state of dress, they were handsy. She swatted them away easily enough, unless they were handsome or a Lannister guard, then she let them get a generous feel in. She found Pullo, and danced with him a bit, though in reality it was more him just pawing at her ass for a song, moving the back of her dress to the side causing her to basically moon the whole room. She didn’t mind. She offered Vorenus a dance, but he declined - she’d get him to break eventually. Even King Robert attempted to dance with her, but he was so drunk by that point in the night, he was barely able to stand, and had to be helped away by several guards, much to Cersei’s embarrassment.

Though she danced with others, she always found her way back to Loras or Joffrey, pressing her body against them, letting their hands roll over her freely, before spinning away again. A bit of a game for her, a bit of teasing. Very fun for her, but she could tell by their arousal pressing up against their pants, they were getting a little…frustrated.

At some point Jalabhar Xho made a request to the players of the ball to play some Traditional, Summer Isle music - percussion heavy, tribal, and fast paced. This only caused Arya’s movements to become even more free and sensual, her hips and bottom moving, her dress being more of a suggestion at this point as her lower half was exposed more often than not. When Joffrey or Loras would catch up with her, she;d dance with them back to front, her ass openly pressing against them, grinding into them to the strange beat of the music. The other guests got into the novelty of the Summer Isle tunes, dancing wildly and drunkenly into the night.

Sansa, who was at this point 5 goblets of wine deep counting the ones she had in her room, decided she wouldn’t be out classed by her little sister of all people. She was the oldest - she was the prettiest! She deserved all the attention. She began to drunkenly offer to dance with various noblemen, courtiers and guards, none of which she even knew. They were more than happy to oblige. But while Arya danced and moved with the grace of a cat, Sansa did little more than drunkenly stumble through dances. That was perfectly fine with her partners however, who took the opportunity to basically drag Sansa around the dance floor, grabbing and groping as they did, pushing her stumbling from partner to partner. One nobleman with a quill thin mustache, grabbed her hair and tilted her head back, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. She was quickly snatched away by a Lannister guard, who she thought might be saving her, but instead groped at her ass over her dress. Many hands pulled and tugged at her dress, shifting the fabric. The dress fell of her shoulder, revealing a nipple, and every time she tried to fix it, another partner would spin her around and grab at her, making it shift all over again.

As it turned out, Sansa’s manhandling at the hands of fellow ‘dancers’ allowed Joffrey and Loras to put an end to Arya’s little game. She had been dancing with Loras, pressing her ass against him, and letting his hands sink to her cheeks. She tried to spin away, only to run into the chest of Joffrey, who quickly grabbed her upper arm. Loras came up next to her, and grabbed her other arm. They basically dragged her from the Great Hall, unnoticed by the rest of the attendees. Her heeled shoes clacked loudly as she stumbled, trying to keep up with the two as they dragged her about. They pulled her into a secluded servant hall. The spun her around, bending her over slightly so her ass stuck out, and Joffrey planted his hand against the back of her head, pushing her face against the stone wall. Loras kicked her legs apart, making her take a shoulder with base, before lifting his hand up, and bringing it crashing back down on her ass with a loud crack. Arya gasped and humped, arching her back and sticking her backside out more for them.

“Caught you.” Loras said simply, before delivering another hard smack to her ass. Arya groaned, and her hips twicthed, desire shooting through her.

“You think you could be a little cock-tease and nothing would happen?” Joffrey growled, pushing her harder into the wall.

“I think…exactly what I wanted to happen is happening.” She purred back.

Loras made a growing noise, before grabbing Arya by the back of her shoulders, and spinning her around so that her upper back was pinned against the wall. She placed his hand on her throat, not squeezing, but firmly holding her there.

“That Northern cunt mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.” Joffrey barked.

“I like trouble.” Arya replied, smirk on her face, only for it to be slapped away a moment later with Loras’ palm connecting with her cheek.

If they fucked her right there in that corridor, she wouldn’t have complained. She was in heaven, her body tingling, and her head light.

“Arrrryaaa?”

Then of course something had to bring her down.

“Arrryaa? Is that you?” Came the drunken voice of Sansa, seemingly able to get away from the hands of the crowd. Joffrey and Loras let go of Arya, allowing her to collect herself as the drunken shuffling sound of Sansa’s fe3t came around the corner. When she came into view, they took in the state of her. Her hair was a mess, her neat bun mostly undone, and her hair falling over her face. Her lipstick was smudged from all the kisses forced upon her, and her dress hung off one of her shoulders, half her breast showing and her seemingly not being too bothered by it. The bottle of wine she was gripping tightly in her hand likely had something to do with it.

She looked at Arya hatefully, seemingly not even noticing or caring that Loras and Joffrey were right there.

“You!” She slurred, lifting her free hand and pointing at Arya. “You ruin everything.”

“Sansa, are you drunk?” Arya asked, eyebrows raised. Sansa ignored her statement, and pressed on.

“You ruin everything.” She slurred again, taking a step toward the three. “Taking all-all the attention, emberussin me. “I’m the old-eldest! “I’m the prettiest!”

Sansa’s voice came out as a pure whine, and Arya just sneered at her, Joffrey looked at her with disdain, and Loras simply shook his head. Sansa stepped forward, lifting her hand to seemingly smack Arya, but the sober girl simply shifted to the side, allowing Sansa to tumble to the ground beside her.

More footsteps came, this time a pair. Vorenus and Pullo came around the corner, at the ready. When they saw the sight in front of them, they relaxed a bit.

“We came after we heard…a disturbance.” Vorenus said, looking at Sansa struggle to push herself up from the wine she spilled on the ground.

“My sister was just leaving.” Arya said flatly. “Pullo, help my sister to somewhere quiet.”

Pullo raised an eyebrow to the youngest Stark girl. “And then what, my lady.”

“Do whatever you want.” Arya said, implication floating in the air.

“My lady, it would be no trouble for ME to assist Lady Sansa to her rooms, and-”

“No.” Joffrey interrupted. “Let Pullo do it.”

“...As you wish your grace.” Vorenus said, bowing his head. Pullo smiled nearly ear to ear, as he stepped forward., grabbing Sansa by her arm and yanking her to her feet.

“Who are you?” Sansa asked in drunken confusion.

“I’m Pullo - I’m gonna take you somewhere nice and quiet.”

Sansa seemed to verbalize some sort of argument, but it fell in her throat as Pullo began to pull her away by her arm, Sansa stumbling behind him.

“You coming Vorenus?” Pullo called behind him. Vorenus looked at Loras, Arya and Joffrey for a moment, before sighing and following after Pullo and Sansa.

When the coast was clear, Joffrey grabbed Arya by her wrist.

“Enough distractions, and enough dancing. Time for Loras to collect his prize.”
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The North Forgot