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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.

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Beric was uncomfortable under the girl’s gaze, which seemed to be one of awe mixed with fear. In truth, he had been uncomfortable since their embrace in the kitchen. It had been a very long time since he had held a woman, and even longer since one had sought him out. He knew the proper response toward her should be one of brotherly concern. As young as she appeared, he was hardly old enough to be her father, but Beric knew he looked much older than his years. Each resurrection left him more haggard than the last. Surely she saw him as a father figure? Surely she would have been horrified to know the way his body had begun to respond to her touch.
And that was the strangest part. After his last resurrection his desires had completely left him. He had not felt himself grow hard in nearly a year. All his appetites were slipping away, his need of food and sleep diminishing, replaced with a feeling of constant tiredness and a hollowness that frightened him.
There had not been many women to begin with. Since his second resurrection there had only been two, and they were whores. Beric was ashamed of those encounters. Every few months he allowed his men a trip to a brothel. There had been no shortage of them on their journeys. He had never felt right about using women in that way, but on those occasions Thoros had convinced him to go along, worried about his friend’s increasing despair.
Thoros. That was an entirely separate matter, or at least he told himself so. They never spoke about the things they did on those lonely nights, fumbling in silence, making it up as they went along. Beric had heard of men who lived like that, but he had never considered himself and his friend in quite the same category. They were both attracted to women, Thoros often telling stories of outrageous things he had done with a seemingly endless stream of women. If the stories were even true.
Beric had never looked at another man like he looked at the priest. He knew his recent lack of interest had disappointed his friend. Sometimes he indulged the man’s desire, even though Beric got nothing out of it besides the warm glow of friendship. And wasn't that enough? He thought so, but tonight his nerves were on fire, and he longed to experience those things again, with this young woman.
Could she even be called a woman? He had begun lowering his estimation of her age as he listened to her story. But when she pressed herself against him he could feel the womanly softness beneath her dress. He definitely felt like a man in that moment.
His thoughts were interrupted by Thoros’ voice. “We’re tired, Beric. I think it's time to sleep. Let's carry these dishes away and find everyone a spot by the fire.”
“Of course,” Beric replied, as he helped clear the floor. “We should let our host retire to her bed.” He had seen a tiny room off the kitchen. A small bed had taken up the entire space.
When he turned to Sylvie, she was looking at him intently. Her brown eyes were unreadable, but her posture suggested indecision. And, perhaps, fear. He didn't want her to leave the room but could think of no excuse for keeping her there. Finally, she moved closer to him and said in a whisper, “Will you stay with me tonight?”
Several emotions hit Beric at once. Panic was the predominant one. Disbelief was a close second. He literally could not speak. Her shoulders seemed to droop, and, without a word, she hurried to her room and shut the door.
“What’s wrong?” Thoros had clapped his companion roughly on the back. “You look spooked, and you've been distracted all evening. Lie down and rest.”
Beric turned slightly to the priest and shook his head. Then he went to her.
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Stupid, foolish girl! Sylvie couldn't believe she had uttered those words to him. I must be going mad, she thought. What must he think of me? Could he and his group be laughing about it now? She knelt on the bed, for there was no space in the small room to pace, and rocked back and forth. In shame and self-loathing she hit herself on the forehead repeatedly. This was something she used to do as a child when overwrought about some trivial argument with her sister, or when she felt she had disappointed her parents.
Lowering her head to the mattress, Sylvie muffled the sounds of her tears as best she could. At least, she thought, they would be unable to hear her cry. She could not bear another indignity heaped upon her.
And then the door opened a fraction. Her head snapped up. “May I come in, m’lady?” His voice. Her heart rose in her throat, and she couldn't make a sound. He came into the room, started to close the door, and then seemed to think better of it. He left the door cracked and stood awkwardly to the side of it. Sylvie had yet to light her candle, and the only illumination came from the fire in the front of the house. It made a slight halo around Beric, and his hair glowed a reddish gold, as if on fire.
He took a deep breath, and with his voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “What do you want from me? If you are frightened I can assure you that no one will bother you tonight. I can sleep outside your door if…”
“No,” Sylvie heard herself say. She knew she ought to be ashamed, she was ashamed, but she felt a desperate longing that threatened to undo her. “I don't want you to sleep outside my door,” and walked into his arms.
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Into My Arms