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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27904 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Suddenly awoken, Arya sat up slowly in bed. Turning onto her side, she looked out the window. The moon had risen high in the night sky, casting pale light through the window. Dimly she heard one of the bells in the city ring, marking the changing of the hour. Beside her Tywin lay on his side, facing her, fast asleep in bed. Arya smiled as she watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. He was so different asleep than he was awake. He appeared calm and content, happy almost. When awake, he was cold, collected, serious. She found she liked him better this way. He was more real, more human when he was asleep when his guard was down.
Arya shifted in bed, cuddling up against the pillows beside him, her mind wandering. She was married, to Tywin Lannister. Her beloved Lord was now her husband. It seemed surreal, almost impossible despite all that had happened between them, but the remains of her savaged wedding gown and the crimson wedding cloak with the Lannister lion lay nearby, on the floor, were evidence that it was not a dream, but in fact reality. Tywin had been impatient to strip her and claim her the night before. Climbing out of bed, Arya stretched and crossed to the wardrobe, pulling on a robe before walking out onto the balcony, looking out over the sleeping city below.
Tywin began to stir, sitting up in bed, he blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight spilling through the window in his chambers. His memories of the wedding and his young bride came flooding back as he looked up, spotting his young wife coming back into the bedroom, his eyes feasting on her small form. He stood slowly, walking over towards her and lifted her up, into his arms as she giggled, her small hands settling on his shoulders. Grinning he carried her back to the bed before dropping her gently onto the furs, his hands quickly untying her robe.
Looking up at him, Arya blushed as his hands settled about her hips, his nails raking across her pale skin, his touch causing her breath to hitch as he knelt before her, his lips closing around one of her nipples, sucking eagerly. She moaned as she tilted her head back, her hands settling on the back of his head, hugging him against her chest. Tywin’s tongue swirled around her nipple, his lips sucking, his teeth gently nipping at her flesh, drawing soft whimpers from her as warmth spread through her, her body heating up, becoming aroused at his touch.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Cersei was furious. She had stood in the entrance hall with her trunks for what seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes, forced to shout and curse for servants to come and help her with her luggage and show her to her chambers. When she finally caught the attention of a servant passing through the entrance hall on his way about his duties, she barked shrilly, demanding that he carry her luggage up to her rooms. When they reached her chambers, Cersei looked around the small, dimly lit and spartan furnishings. There were a single bed, a rough couch and set of chairs, a small table and a trunk at the foot of the bed for her clothes.
Snorting, Cersei turned back to the servant, demanding he find her more suitable chambers, but the servant had already gone, her luggage left behind her, piled on the floor. Cersei let out a loud shriek and collapsed into a wooden chair made from old driftwood and struggled to control her temper. “How could they possibly expect me to live like this? It is absolutely impossible.” She thought.
Shaking her head, Cersei stood and walked across the room, struggling with her luggage, working to unpack her things and settle in herself. Moving around the room, she stowed her things away and stuffed her trunks in the closet, before settling herself on the bed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She rarely cried but there was nobody around to see now. She hated the gods for being born a woman, for being denied the rights and privileges she knew she rightly deserved, simply because of her sex. She resented her brother, Jaime, for having the good fortune to be male and her father for sending her away into a second nightmare. Angry and resentful, her blood boiling in her veins she vowed to turn this marriage to her advantage. To make them all pay.
“Balon Greyjoy is a man like any other. I can manipulate him like I have all the others. This won’t be so bad,” She told herself as she wiped her eyes.
Cersei’s stomach rumbled. Starving, she left in search of the kitchens, intent on demanding a private meal in her chambers. Finding her way downstairs to the entrance hall, she wandered through the corridors until she found the kitchens. Pushing the doors open, she walked inside finding the kitchen staff working to prepare dinner. Looking around she found the cook and strode forward, intent on making more demands. Around her the kitchen staff pushed past her as they went about their duties, totally ignoring her as they worked. She glared at them though it did little good and finally caught the cook’s attention.
“What’dya want? I’m busy.” The cook said looking up at her with a scowl.
“I’ve come to arrange for a private meal to be sent to my chamber,” Cersei said, looking annoyed but pushing past it.
“Who’dya think you are?” He asked, not looking at her.
“Cersei Lannister. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and future wife of Balon Greyjoy,” She barked.
“Fine, fine, whatever.” The cook said, nodding as he pushed past her, fixing a plate of grilled fish and oatcakes and passing it to her along with a mug of ale. “There you go, now get out of my kitchen.” He said.
Cersei left the kitchen and headed upstairs to her chambers, settling in at her table with her meager meal. Tomorrow she would wed Balon Greyjoy and she was dreading it. She had told herself she would never be forced into another marriage, but her father had left her no choice in the matter.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Roose Bolton stood in the courtyard, watching as laborers rushed this way and that, working fast. They were working to repair the damage to Winterfell caused when his late son had set fire to the castle. He had everything he could want now. Wealth, power, vast lands, and the dominion of the North. The respect his House deserved and had been long denied. “Everything will be different now,” He told himself.
That morning a raven arrived from the capital, baring the news that he was confirmed as Warden of the North. In addition to being Lord of the Dreadfort, he was now Lord of Winterfell and Hornwood. He had annexed Hornwood shortly after the death of Lady Hornwood at his bastard son’s hands. Ramsay had locked her in a tower and starved her to death after marrying her for her claim to the lands. Sighing, Roose Bolton shook his head, relieved that the burden of his wayward son was now lifted. He was reluctant to admit it, but he had secretly feared Ramsay. The boy was cold, cruel and ambitious. He had murdered his trueborn son and heir Domeric so he could take his place. An act that Roose might have forgiven since he was his only other living child.
However, that hadn’t been enough for Ramsay. Ramsay, as it turned out, was far too ambitious. Unwilling to wait for his inheritance, he had led a failed coup against his father, setting an ambush for him as he arrived at Winterfell to claim the keep after the fall of the Starks. The plot had leaked out and Roose had turned the tables on his bastard son. Ramsay was captured in the ensuing battle and had been imprisoned until the weather was nice enough for a proper hunt.
He was now the most powerful lord in the North. Just as he had always dreamed. His ancestors would be proud. But now he needed a new heir with the death of his sons.
Settling in at Winterfell, he had considered his options, going through a list of eligible brides from the North and Riverlands. One of the offers was from Walder Frey in the Riverlands, who offered the bride’s weight in silver as a dowry. A fine offer and the money would certainly come in handy with the restoration work he was doing. But he was also in need of a well-born bride who could increase his standing in the North to help make his position more secure and the Freys, while rich were only a minor noble house from the Riverlands. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. A knock sounded at the door and he looked up. “Come in.” He called.
Maester Luthor entered, carrying a scroll. “A letter, my lord.” He spoke, offering up the scroll.
Taking the scroll, he considered it for a moment. A letter from the Wall, judging by the crow sigil, on the wax seal. Carefully, he broke the seal and opened the letter, skimming the contents.
“May I ask what it says, my lord?” the Maester asked.
“It’s a plea for aid, from the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Ned Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow. The boy claims that a vast host of Wildlings are marching south, planning to assault the wall.” Lord Bolton said, setting the letter down.
“Will you rally your banners and go to their aid, my lord?” Maester Luthor asked.
Lord Bolton sighed before speaking. “I’ll consider it. For now, our men have only just returned home after our war in the south. They’re tired. Many are injured and they long to be reunited with their families.”
The Maester fidgeted slightly, considering his words carefully. “If my lord truly desires to cement his place as the Warden of the North, what better way to raise your standing in the eyes of the northern lords than by going to the aid of the beleaguered Night’s Watch.”
Lord Bolton was silent for a moment, considering this. “I suppose you do have a point. I’ll consider sending a smaller force to aid them.” Shaking his head, he ruffled through the parchments on his desk, before picking up a response message to a letter he had received a few days back. He reread the contents before looking up at the Maester waiting nearby. I have a letter for you to send. It’s going to the Eyrie.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Shortly after dawn, a long column of soldiers decked in Lannister crimson set out, marching south through the Riverlands. Altogether they numbered a little over twelve thousand men. At the head of the column, mounted on a snow-white charger rode Jaime Lannister dressed in black steel armor, banded with crimson leather and golden lion’s heads on his shoulders and a matching crimson cloak, flanked by Stafford Lannister dressed similarly at his left and one of his lieutenants to his right.
They were traveling south along the Kingsroad making their way towards King’s Landing, their prisoners in tow in six heavily guarded wagons, in the middle of the column. Riding alongside the wagons as a guard, was Ser Gregor Clegane dressed in his customary steel armor. Jaime stifled a yawn and looked around at the landscape. “Where are we at right now, cousin?” He asked.
“Just passing the border of the Vale, right now. We’ll cross the border to the Crownlands in the next couple of days if we maintain a fast march,” Stafford replied.
“Can’t come soon enough. I intend to get shitfaced drunk when I get back.” The lieutenant to Jaime’s right said.
Just at that moment a loud horn sounded and from over the hills to their right, thousands of knights and men at arms charged forward from both sides, under the banner of House Arryn. “Shit. It’s an ambush.” Jaime swore as he drew his sword.
Turning about to face them, the soldiers in the column drew their weapons and prepared to meet the enemies charging at them from both fronts. Arrows whizzed past from all directions as soldiers fell, right and left, screaming as the projectiles found purchase between gaps in their armor.
Racing forward, towards the wagons, on a black charger, a tall man with graying hair and a short-cropped beard, the blackened trout emblazoned on his shield marking him as none other than the Black Fish himself. Brynden Tully cut down Lannister soldiers left and right as he made his way forward, towards the wagons guarded by Ser Gregor Clegane, an angry yet determined look in his eyes. This may well be the death of him but there was no way he was going to allow his kinsmen to be paraded through King’s Landing before being executed by the Lannisters.
Ser Gregor drew his massive broadsword, wielding it with one hand, his free hand reaching out and grabbing unwary enemies by the throat, choking them to death with his immense strength as his sword hacked and slashed on the other side, uncaring of whoever got in his way, be they friend or foe. Charging forward, flanked by various lords and knights of the Vale, the Blackfish confronted the monstrous Gregor Clegane as nearby a squad of crossbowmen armed with carefully designed armor piercing bolts fired at him. They were determined to put an end to him and free the last remaining Starks.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
Rushing through the halls of Fellwood, servants worked to make sure everything was packed and ready. They were to set out for the coast in less than an hour and Sansa was given the task of supervising the efforts. They couldn’t leave any traces of their presence behind. Sansa stifled a yawn and shook her head. She had gotten little sleep last night as Petyr and her Aunt Lysa had made so much noise last night, coupling in their bed. Rather it was Lysa who made so much noise. Gods but that woman could scream. They had delayed their journey to the Eyrie for two days so that a hurried wedding ceremony could take place in the Sept at Fellwood last night between the pair, with a proper ceremony to follow upon their arrival at the Eyrie.
Marillion walked past, pausing to leer at her before continuing his way to the stables to ready his horse, another gift from her Aunt Lysa. Sansa couldn’t figure out why her aunt would favor the likes of him. He was a bully and a whoremonger. He had tried once again to corner her as she left her aunt and Petyr after their reunion two nights previous, but once again Petyr’s henchman had come to her rescue, even escorting her to her room last night. She couldn’t be sure, but she believed that Petyr had ordered him to follow her in secret, to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t sure whether she should be comforted by that or not.
Finally, the small group set out on horseback for the coast with Petyr, Lysa and Sansa riding along in a small carriage. Petyr and Lysa laughed and joked, trading intimate kisses while Sansa turned her head, looking out the window, wishing it would end, so she could leave them to their own business. When they reached the coast, they boarded a small merchant vessel that had been hired to sail them to the Vale. The journey across the Narrow sea to Gulltown would take a few days, provided the conditions were favorable. Sansa sat at a small table in her cabin, mind drifting back to a time before she had traveled to King’s Landing before the King had come to Winterfell.
She and her family had been so happy back then and now she wondered why she had been so desperate to escape it all, desperate for an end to what should have been a time of joy for her. The sound of a knock on the door to her small cabin snapped her out of her thoughts and she looked up, seeing Petyr standing in the doorway, smiling at her. He crossed the threshold, moving to sit beside her. He placed his hand on her arm, causing her to stiffen slightly before she forced herself to relax.
“Hello, Petyr,” She said.
Petyr gave her what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. “How are you feeling, Sansa? I understand sea travel can be a bit rough for those who are unaccustomed to it. You should see that ridiculous singer of Lysa’s. He hasn’t stopped vomiting since we left the docks,” Petyr said with a smirk.
Sansa smiled despite herself. “I’m fine, Petyr. Really. I just have been thinking a lot about my mother is all. I wonder how she is. And Robb.” She said eyes downcast slightly.
Petyr gently patted her arm and nodded. “I’m told they're unharmed. They were taken prisoner by the Lannisters but are being treated well. I will do all in my power to find and rescue them. I promise you, Sansa, everything will be okay,” He assured her. With that he stood and left, leaving Sansa to her thoughts.
XxxxxxxxxxxX
He sat there, crouched in his hiding spot behind the grill in the empty fireplace, watching and waiting for his chance. It had taken hours of sneaking through the dark network of tunnels despite having been given the full layout by his employer before he found the right fireplace. He had arrived in King’s Landing the day before after a long and harrowing journey. Once his employer was satisfied, he had memorized all the necessary details, he had smuggled him inside the Red Keep and set him to his task.
Finally, the pair collapsed on the bed, quickly falling asleep in their bed after hours of passionate embraces. He waited another fifteen minutes, to be sure then quietly slid the grill aside and crept through the dark interior of the room, drawing his dagger as he moved towards the bed. Seeing his target, laying next to his young bride, the man swore under his breath. “How dare he defile a maiden of House Stark.”
His orders were to kill Tywin Lannister and rescue Arya Stark, sneak her back through the passages and out to the small hidden dock, delivering her to his employer who would deliver her safely to her mother. He crept to the side of the bed, his dagger held high. He slashed with the dagger just as Tywin Lannister stirred, awakened by a beam of light peaking through the window. The figure swore, bringing the dagger down hard, embedding it deep in Tywin’s side, causing him to cry out in pain. Nearby, Arya jolted awake at the sounded and spotting the intruder shouted for help as she charged at the masked figure, stopping him before he could land a finishing blow on Tywin.
Several Lannister guards rushed in, drawing their swords as they went and apprehended the masked intruder, stopping him before he could cause more harm. “Thank the gods, we’re safe. Are you alright, Tywin? Tywin…?” Beside her, Tywin lay unconscious in a pool of blood. “Help! Somebody help!” Arya shouted.

TBC
- 13
- 14
- 15
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl