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Into My Arms	By : Famous_Blue_Raincoat Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 2669 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: George RR Martin owns these characters in the Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire FANDOM, and I am merely playing with them for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
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Anguy was the first to enter the dwelling. He had to duck to get through the door. At first he could see nothing, as the only light was the fading sun coming through the door. Manfred and Lou the Pig squeezed past him. “Can't see a bloody thing,” mumbled Lou. But Manfred had spotted something in the corner. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? Come out, girl. We don't bite.”
The young woman remained crouched on the floor in the corner opposite the door. “I said come here,” Manfred demanded. When she didn't move, Manfred turned to Lou. “Bring the bitch to me.” Lou grabbed her by the arm and hauled her towards the light. Manfred grabbed her around the waist and yanked a handful of her light brown hair in his fist. “Looks like we’ll have some fun tonight.”
Anguy could tell this was turning ugly quickly and stuck his head out the door to summon Thoros and Beric who were deep in conversation some feet away. Before Anguy could say anything the men heard a high-pitched wail and came running. Thoros ran in first. “What is going on here?!” he demanded. Then he saw Lou and Manfred with their hands groping a girl. Her eyes were terrified. Thoros lunged at them as Beric came into the small room, sword drawn. Thoros had pushed the Pig against the wall and had a hand on his throat. The little weasel was starting to cry, “We didn't mean nothing, I swear! Just having a laugh.”
“Shut your mouth,” Thoros screamed in his face and shoved him harder against the wall. Meanwhile, Beric had the taller man in a chokehold from behind and his sword at the ready.
“What have I told you before?” Beric said in a low growl. His voice usually dropped half an octave when he was angry. His quiet, calm, angry voice was more frightening than another man’s yell. “We do not hurt women and children. This is your last warning. Next time you and your little friend will be hanging from a tree.” Beric dropped him suddenly, and Manfred fell to his knees, gasping for air. For the first time since entering the house he looked at the girl the men had been fondling. She had wild golden brown hair, and her yellow dress was stained. It looked as though they had torn it at the neckline. She was breathing rapidly and looking wildly from one man to another, clearly panicked. Beric didn't think she could be more than 16 or 17.

He bowed deeply and introduced himself. “Do not be afraid, child. We are not here to hurt you, I promise. We assumed the cottage was unoccupied and were going to shelter here tonight. I apologize for these two. They will be dealt with,” and at this Beric pinned the men with his eyes. No one dared breathe.
“Who are you?” asked the young lady, still shaking. Thoros, having left Lou sniveling in the corner, drew next to Beric and answered. “We are from the Brotherhood Without Banners. My name is Thoros of Myr, and this is our leader, Lord Beric Dondarrion.” After a few seconds, Anguy said uncertainly, “And I'm...Anguy.” Thoros rolled his eyes at Anguy’s awkwardness. “And those two,” Thoros continued, “aren't worth being named.”
Beric ventured a little closer to the woman, his hands spread out in a calming gesture, and said, “We have no right to ask anything of you, but we have not eaten in days. If you have a little food to spare, we would be deeply grateful if we could have some.”

The girl stepped forward unsteadily and looked Beric full in the face. Her eyes widened when she saw the scars and the eyepatch. He was afraid she might start screaming, but instead she smiled at him shyly and said, “Yes, my lord.”
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It was nearly an hour before Sylvie stopped shaking. Every few minutes a shudder would pass through her body. She hoped no one could see her fear and was glad to be busy in the kitchen, away from scrutiny. The tall, freckled man, whose name she couldn't remember, checked the traps behind the house and found a plump rabbit for their dinner.
I don't even remember setting the trap, Sylvie thought. As the man skinned the rabbit and roasted it on the fire, Sylvie boiled the few desiccated carrots she had, along with two large onions. She could hardly believe she would be able to provide stew for them. Since arriving at the cottage, she had not bothered to cook for herself, instead subsisting on the sickly root vegetables she was able to glean from the abandoned garden.
While she cooked, Sylvie listened to snatches of the men’s conversations. The one they called Thoros was keeping an eye on the two who had grabbed her. Occasionally, she heard whispered voices from that corner. The shorter of the two, the one they called Pig, looked sick and miserable. His companion, the one who frightened her the most, glared at Thoros mutinously.
From time to time she would hear Lord Beric’s voice, and she strained to make out what he was saying to the others, but his voice was too low. Lord Beric. When she first saw his scarred face and his eyepatch Sylvie had wondered if she ought to be more afraid of him than the others. But that fear only lasted a half-second. It was replaced by...something. She did not know what she was feeling, or why, only that she wanted to be near him. His strength made her feel safe. Perhaps she was only missing her father.
Shortly after the man who had roasted the rabbit brought it to her, and as she stirred it into the stew, she felt the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Quickly, she turned and saw Lord Beric watching her. “Don't let me keep you from your work,” he said. “I only wanted to apologize again for...everything. No one will bother you tonight, and I'm sorry we are using up the last of your food. Do you really live here alone? Do you have someone looking after you?”
Sylvie didn't know where to begin. The sobs and shudders she thought she had managed to stuff down exploded out, and she told him everything.
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Beric was completely caught off guard when the young woman rushed into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She had sobbed convulsively as she recounted the tragic story of her family. He was moved by her plight and regretted that he had no words of comfort or consolation for her. But it didn't seem to be words she was seeking. For a few stunned moments after she embraced him, his body went stiff, and he was unsure whether or not to return her embrace. But soon he found himself holding her, stroking her hair, and murmuring useless platitudes about how she would be fine.
They were both silent now, except for the slowly ebbing sobs and sniffles that escaped her. Beric opened his eyes, wondering how he could politely extricate himself from this situation, when he noticed Thoros frozen in the doorway, his mouth hanging open slightly. Beric jumped and gently pushed Sylvie away. To his deep embarrassment he felt himself coloring. Hopefully no one could tell in the dim, flickering candlelight.
Thoros recovered quickly from his shock, and now his eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Sorry to interrupt, but the smell of that stew is driving us mad. Is it ready?”
“Oh! Yes, forgive me,” the girl said in a breathy voice. She couldn't meet their eyes and busied herself with carrying the pot and ladle to the front room. Beric and Thoros looked at one another, but neither spoke. Beric could see a smirk starting to play across his friend’s face, so he abruptly turned, grabbing the three bowls next to the stove. “If you're so eager for your stew, why don't you help?” With this he handed Thoros the bowls and joined the group.
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Sylvie sat as close to Beric as she could without actually touching him. She was ashamed of her weakness earlier, and yet, she wasn't sorry.
The group sat on the floor in a circle around the pot. Having only three bowls and four spoons, everyone had to share. Thoros insisted Sylvie have her own bowl, which she reluctantly accepted. The two “bad men,” as she thought of them, had been welcomed into the circle, though they were ignored. The Pig looked contrite and offered her a mumbled apology. She nodded in return. The other man, though, alternately smirked and glared through the dinner. Everyone seemed to love the stew, though she knew they would have gladly eaten whatever was available.
As the evening wore on, all the men began to relax and share stories. Although she was still on edge, painfully aware that Lord Beric had not once acknowledged her presence except to thank her for the stew, Sylvie was drawn into their tales, mesmerized. To her surprise, Thoros was a priest! He did not seem like any priest she had ever seen, but his religion was foreign to her. Her family and neighbors, while not particularly pious, had followed the Seven.
But Thoros’ status as a priest was not the most surprising thing she learned. If they were to be believed, Beric had died, several times, and the Red Priest had brought him back. “Not I, m’lady,” Thoros said humbly. “It was the Lord of Light who brought him back. I am just his instrument.”
For a moment Sylvie wondered if this was some joke they were having at her expense. If so, it was terribly cruel. She turned to Beric, who was watching her carefully as if to gauge her reaction, and tried to suppress the shiver that went through her. She felt like laughing, hysterically. Beric cast a glance at the priest that seemed laden with meaning. “Go on,” Thoros said quietly. “Show her.”
“No, Thoros. I have no wish to scare our host any further,” and glanced at her briefly before looking down. Anguy piped in immediately. “It's true. I've witnessed it with my own eyes.”
Sylvie did not know what to think. It was impossible. The men all looked gravely serious, each in his own reverie, and she contemplated what it would mean if this extraordinary claim were true. Was their Fire God real? And what manner of man was this sitting next to her, who had held her so gently earlier, and was clearly marked for greatness?
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Into My Arms