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The North Forgot	By : ArizonaIceT Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 83465 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter List
- 8
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The Tourney of the Hand had the Keep buzzing.

The King found it fit to honor the naming of Ned Stark as Hand of the King, with an extravagant tourney. The king always did love his tournaments.

Arya had never been to a tourney. Her father was hesitant to hold any in the North given what happened with his sister at the last one of note.

She was absolutely giddy with excitement. The prospect of seeing all the weaponry, fighting, and knights - she was like her sister when she read her silly poems. The tourney was less than a sennight out, and the contestants were filling into the city. Most stayed at accommodation within the castle itself, gods knew it had enough rooms to keep them. The King had taken Joffrey’s free time, introducing him to the various knights and lords who arrived. It was a redundancy, as Joffrey had already met most of them at his name day a year ago, but the King had a short memory and it could not be helped.

That left Arya to her own devices, moving around the castle and seeing who she could bump in to. Her father of course wanted her to stay far away from the combatants of the tourney, but he should’ve known by now that that was a fool's request. This was what Arya craved.

She would see who she could run into, watch them train, trying to absorb what she could. She always watched the guards and her brothers train back home - it was a great way to learn in lieu of actually being allowed to pick up a sword.

She tried to talk to a few of the men training. Some were polite, and talked to her a bit. She could tell they were a bit off put by her specific questioning about techniques and thought she was speaking just from ignorance. They humored her. She hated being humored.

Others just ignored her, mumbling things about the training ground being a sacred place for men, not women. Arya rolled her eyes, thinking that her mother would love hearing this.

The rest weren’t interested in humoring her nor dismissing her. They looked at her with open lust and attempted to sway her into coming somewhere more private with them. Arya might have respected their attempts more if they just outwardly came out and said they wanted to fuck her. Their attempts at being suave were laughable. Eventually she wandered away from the main courtyard into one of the sub yards towards the back of the keep. There were scant contestants there, only banners of lowly houses, most of whom Arya had never heard of.

All except one. A large green banner with a golden rose on it.

The sigil of the Tyrells.

The Tyrells were the second most powerful house in all of Westeros as far as wealth and army size went, second only to the Lannisters. Arya always wanted to visit the Reach. She heard the weather was lovely there. They got sun for more than 6 hours a day!

The banner was propped up next to a door of a stone building. Arya looked to see if the coast was clear, before entering. The building looked to be a general guest house, nothing fancy, but everything needed for someone to stay comfortably temporarily. Someone was clearly occupying the room, as there was food and wine on the table. Not only that, on the bed was a sheathed sword, and the most beautiful set of armor Arya had ever seen. It was made of silver, but it was dyed a pale green. The jewels adorning it and the gold accents made it look like flowers on a green plain. Arya rubbed her fingers against it, feeling it’s smoothness and hardness.

Besides the armor, leaning against one of the posts of the bed was a sheathed sword. The scabbard looked to be fine leather, and had the Tyrell sigil stitched into it. Arya picked it up - it was heavier than she thought, but not too heavy. Heavier than the downsized practice sword her brothers snuck and made for her.

She unsheathed the blade halfway. The steel glimmered, and she could see her reflection in it. In the center of the rain gard was a large emerald, sparkling green. Arya smiled at the sight of it. The swords she knew back home were so plain and dull. This...this was a work of art.

“What are you doing?”

Arya jumped, nearly dropping the sword onto the ground. She spun around to see none other than Ser Loras Tyrell staring at her. Well she didn’t KNOW it was Ser Loras Tyrell, she’d never met the man before, but she heard about him. Ser Loras was known to be the most beautiful man in all the Seven Kingdoms; not handsome but BEAUTIFUL. He had long curly brown hair that fell past his neck, slightly longer than her fathers. His were said to be enchanting, deep pools of light brown with stars in them. His facial features were almost feminine in nature, yet it was impossible to mistake him for a woman - he was all man. He was wearing an expensive looking light grey tunic with a maroon patterned shirt underneath.”. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for an answer to his question. Arya hadn’t realized she had just been dumbly staring, admiring the beautiful man.

“I was just-” She began, but he held up his hand, halting her words.

“You were snooping where you shouldn’t be.” He said a matter of factedly. She couldn’t deny him there. “I swear, I tell my squire to make sure the room was secure before he left, and the help simply waltzes in here.

‘The help?’ Arya thought confused. She looked down at herself and realized that she was wearing one of the less flashy dresses Cersei had gifted her. It was light grey and shoulderless, simply wrapping around the back of her neck to stay up, and a wrap around her waist. She did almost look like a servant, she realized.

“What’s your name?” Loras asked.

“Arya.” She answered truthfully. She didn’t give her last name. She wanted to let Ser Loras believe she was a servant - to see where this went.

“Come here Arya.” He said, pointing to the spot directly in front of him. Loras’ soft, yet commanding voice shot a surprising bolt of excitement through her. She placed the sword back against the bed, and did as she was told. As she walked closer, she realized how tall Loras was, near a foot taller than her. It wasn’t hard to be taller than Arya, she was a short girl afterall, inheriting neither her father nor mother’s height. She craned her head slightly to look at him, waiting.

Loras looked at her curiously. Arya noted that he didn’t seem mad that she intruded on his space and touched his belongings; he just looked her over repeatedly.

Suddenly, he reached out, grabbing her by the chin - not hard, but firm enough where he had control over her head. He turned her head left, and then right, examining her like she was a horse of some sort.

“Where are you from girl?” He asked.

“The North.” Arya answered again honestly.

“Ha!” Loras laughed to himself. “I knew it. Knew it the moment that dreadful accent of yours left your lips. I hardly can believe we speak the same language.”

His words were unnecessarily rude, but that only sent another bolt of excitement through her. His hand moved from her jaw, trailing up her cheek, and into her hair. He moved his hand to the back of he head, taking grip of one of her twin braids, once again gentle, but firm. He gave it a tug, indicating he wanted her to look up at him more.

“Tell me, is it customary for smallfolk in the North to completely forgo noble titles?” He asked, giving her braid another tug. Arya hissed in pain and pleasure, and tried to shake her head.

“No my lord.” She answered, leaning into her guise as a servant. Loras’ mouth formed a thin line, as he brought his free hand level with Arya’s face. He swung his hand, slapping her against her right cheek. It wasn’t too hard, about as hard as her mother did whenever Arya did something particularly unladylike, but it was enough to turn her head to the side, and leave a light stinging.

“I worked hard for my knightley status, so kindly refer to me as Ser.” Loras reprimanded.

“Yes ser.” Arya corrected, realizing she liked the prospect of calling him ser.

“Good.” He said, giving her face another light slap for good measure.

Arya’s cunt was nearly dripping at this point. Ser Loras spoke so lightly, so delicately, yet he radiated Southern regalness and domination. Joffrey but with chivalry.

Arya thought of Joffrey a moment, how he might react if he saw her like this now. She knew he was horribly possessive, a trait she loved about him, but at the moment she didn’t really care.

Ser Loras examined her face where he had slapped her, a red outline clear.

“You Northern women are pale.” He pointed out, rubbing his hand against her cheek. “You color so easily.”

“Yes ser.” Arya responded automatically. Loras let go of Arya’s hair, and began to slowly circle her, looking her up and down.

“We have many Northerners come to the Reach during the spring and summer, looking for work in fields and nobles' homes and such.” He informed her. “Not a particularly bright or useful demographic. Always need to be told things twice. Low intellect I imagine. They can’t help it though - the genes of the First Men run through you.”

Loras spoke as if talking about an invalid child who needed to be cared for at all times. Ser Loras was known for his chivalry and knightly skills, but he was a Southron through and through. He was always told by his grandmother how his ancestors helped bring order and knightly culture to Westeros - helped civilize the land. It was ingrained in him from youth that the Northmen were remnants of the savage past, and should be considered such.

He stopped circling her, positioning herself behind her. Arya attempted to turn her head, but Loras placed a hand on the back of her neck. Arya got the message, and looked forward, keeping herself still. He stepped closer, his chest only an inch or so from her back.

“I must say, I’ve never seen a Northerner up close before.” He admitted. “Tell me, are your women all as...well proportioned as you?”

His free hand went to her ass, digging his finger into its bubbly thickness over her dress. Arya let out a mix of a gasp and a moan, arching her back, pressing more of her ass into his palm and long fingers. After a moment, he removed his hand, much to Arya’s displeasure. The lack of contact was brief however, as his hand swung down, smacking her ass, causing her to jump to her toes.

“I asked you a question.” Loras said in a stern, reprimanding voice. “Do other Northern women have fat arses like yours?”

He gave her ass another spank before she could answer, this time to the other cheek. She moaned out at the pleasurable stinging, her ass jiggling under her dress.

“I-I don’t know ser?” She answered. Loras soothingly ran his hand over Arya’s ass before wrapping his other arm around her torso, and pulling her flush against him, her bottom pressed firmly against his crotch.

“Now, no need to be modest.” He stated. He rolled his hips against her, causing her to moan out again. She pressed back on him, feeling the outline of his cock through his trousers. She couldn’t see it, but by the way it pushed against her, she just knew it was beautiful like the rest of him.

“...I’ve been told it’s my best quality.” Arya gasped out lustfully.

“Certainly isn’t your intellect.” Loras commented, grinding against her, and palming all over her backside with the hand not holding her. “Suppose you had to make up for your Northern heritage somehow. Guess that makes you something unique. I like unique things.”

Arya just moaned, pressing her thighs together. She thought she was liable to cum right there on the spot if he kept talking to her like that.

“My ass is the jewel of the North.” Arya said playfully

“Only thing of worth up there.”

Loras gave her ass another hard smack, enjoying how it moved and molded around, before letting Arya go, and stepping back. Arya looked at him in dismay, wanting him to continue. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her.

“Bend over the desk.” He ordered plainly. “And lift your dress.”

Arya nearly tumbled overself trying to obey. She cleared the desk, and bent forward, pressing her chest and forehead against the wood. Slowly, she grabbed the material of her dress, pulling the fabric upwards over her calves, thighs, and finally her ass.

She heard Loras take a hiss of breath, and she smiled to herself. She gave it an enticing little wiggle for the knight.

“No smallclothes?” He pointed out.

“I’m still getting used to the Southern heat ser.”

*Smack!*

Arya bit her lip and moaned as he slapped her bare ass hard. The proof of her arousal dripped down her legs.

“I think you’re lying.” Loras said.

*SMACK!*

“I just think you’re a Northern girl who has a cunt instead of a brain.”

*SMACK! SMACK!*

Arya was near delirious at his point from her arousal

“Y-yes!” She moaned. “I’m just a useless Northern whore! This ass is all I’m worth!”

Loras ran a soothing hand over her red cheeks, admiring his handy work. He really did like how clear his handprint was on her pale skin.

“See. Honesty bring it’s own rewards.” Loras crooned. The knight grabbed the back of her neck, pinning her to the desk. With his other hand, he began to work at his breeches.

Arya’s heart beated in anticipation, and her cunt burned with need. She was lost in the sensation and degradation, wanting, NEEDING relief. And Loras was about to give it to her.

“See you’re making yourself comfortable.” She heard someone say.

That someone being Joffrey.
___________________________________________________________________________

Joffrey absolutely hated being dragged around by his father. It wasn’t even mid-day, and his father was drunk, trying to stumble through conversations with lords and knights from around Westeros. He did love his tourneys.

Joffrey had better things to do than shadow his father.

Fucking Arya was one of them naturally-

-but another was to see Ser Loras again.

Joffrey had met the knight at his name day the previous year. A fun affair Joffrey had to admit. Someone had gotten accidentally decapitated during the melee, something Joffrey had never seen before.

His uncle Jaime competed in the tourney, and many thought he was going to win. Joffrey thought so as well. Afterall, his uncle was legendary in tourneys - he won his first melee at 13, and first tourney joust at 15. However Loras was also a prodigy in tourneys, participating in them since he was 11 as a squire. Still, Jaime, the older and more experienced jouster was thought to have the victory solidified. Thus it came as a shock to everyone when Ser Loras unhorsed his uncle in rather quick fashion. Joffrey guessed it was because his uncle Jaime ultimately underestimated the young Tyrell.

Bets were made on the tourney - it seemed most bet on Jaime except his father, and even then that seemed to be more to disliking the man than belief in Tyrell’s skill. The King won a valyrian steel dagger from Littlefinger. He was too busy gloating about it to give his champion a proper congratulations, so Joffrey did in his stead.

The young men found to have gotten along well. Loras stayed in Kings Landing for several more days after his victory, and the two men formed a bond of sorts.They were close in age, and heirs of the most powerful houses in Westeros. Joffrey didn’t have many he would refer to as ‘friends’. Sure there were sons of bannermen and guards, and the sons of nobles who were sycophants of his father’s court. Their son’s were sycophants too as it seemed, trying to curry favor with Joffrey, to be at his side when he became King.

Tyrell experienced much of the same. While leagues more sociable and polite than Joffrey he found that most were interested in what he could give them, or outright envied him.

In a sense, their loneliness brought them together.

Once Loras left to return to the Reach, he and Joffrey stayed in contact through ravens.Ser Loras did return a few months later, but he could not spend too much time with Joffrey, as he had appointments with Joffrey’s uncle Renly as it seemed. Still, the short time they spent Joffrey enjoyed. He was hardly sentimental, but Joffrey looked forward to the times they spent together.

The Tourney of the Hand presented an opportunity for Joffrey to both enjoy violence and his friends' company. Unfortunately his boor of a father had decided to occupy his time with drivel, so he couldn’t personally welcome Loras into the keep. Once Joffrey was free of the burden of being dragged around by his father, Joffrey went off to look for his friend. He knew that Loras had a thing about staying in the Red Keep for Tourneys - something about keeping his strategies confidential. Other lords and knights were giddy to stay in the home of the king - Joffrey figured it was mind games of some sort, he could appreciate that.

Last year he stayed in a small stone house built in the secondary courtyard, away from the center and attention. Joffrey thought it was hardly sufficient for a man of Loras’ standing, but he made it his home while in the city.

Joffrey made his way to his dwelling, hoping to catch his friend before he went about training.

He did certainly catch his friend.

“I think you’re lying.”

*SMACK!*

That was Loras’ voice alright, but clearly he wasn’t alone.

“I just think you’re a Northern girl who has a cunt instead of a brain.”

*SMACK! SMACK!*

Whoever it was, Loras was giving her what for. He was glas Loras seemed to have the same taste for domination as he did. Another thing they had in common.

“Y-yes! II’m just a useless Northern whore! This ass is all I’m worth!”

Now, Joffrey did not expect to hear another familiar voice coming from the House.

The voice of Arya. HIS Arya. She sounded like she was enjoying herself. Sounded like she did when she was with him.

One might think that this would send the very temperamental Joffrey into a blind rage - he’s done so for far less.

But something about this was different. Joffrey was possessive. He was territorial. Yet he did not feel the same burning rage as he did when the butcher boy, or the stable hand had the audacity to look the direction of Arya.

In fact, hearing Loras with Arya...well it was having the opposite reaction. A fire burned in him, but a fire of intrigue, and lust.

Loras WAS his friend after all. What harm would it be to share his toy from the North.

Still, HE did find Arya first, and as he heard it Loras was moments away from splitting her in half. That wouldn’t do at all...not yet at least.

Joffrey decided to make his presence known. He opened the door to the small house, to see the admittedly very enticing image of Loras with Arya folded over his table, dress hiked over her bare hips, ass wobbling for him.

“See you’re making yourself comfortable.” He said, catching their attention. Arya’s head snapped up from the desk at the sound of his voice. Her eyes were wide, cleary surprised to see him, but her pupils were blown out, and her nostrils flaring like she was in heat. Her face was unsure, clearly not knowing how Joffrey was going to react to the sight. Joffrey in fact paid her little mind, instead focusing on Loras, his friend he had missed. Loras gave him a toothy smile, still pinning Arya to the desk.

“Joffrey!” He said jovially. “I would embrace you, but as you can see I’m a tad occupied with this fat bottomed Northerner. Greet your prince.”

Loras gave Arya’s ass a hard smack, causing her to moan out.

“H-hello your grace.” She gasped out. Joffrey raised an amused eyebrow at her. Wanton thing he thought. But he noticed something else as well.

“As you can see her manners are lacking, as tends to be the case with Northerners.” Loras said, giving her ass another smack. Joffrey did love how it rippled, even when it wasn’t his own hand. Loras began to work at his pants, fully intending to continue his conquest.

“Loras, where did you find her?” Joffrey asked, playing coy.

“She wandered in here.” Loras answered. “Touching things Northerner smallfolk shouldn’t touch. Just doing my duty as a man of the Reach and showing her civility.”

Arya moaned at that.

“Well, you’re half right.” Joffrey said, amused smirk on his face. “She is a North girl who is all trouble.”

Loras gave him a strange look, straightening his back.

“And where am I wrong?” The Tyrell asked.

“She’s not smallfolk.” Joffrey answered. “Right now, you have the daughter of the Hand bent over your desk.”

Loras went still, and stared at Joffrey, who just stared back with a small smile. Arya was a tad annoyed that she wasn’t getting filled with cock at the moment.

“Ha! You almost had me going there Joff!” Loras laughed, but not sounding all too confident. Joffrey didn’t say a word, his smile just growing larger. Loras’s face fell, and he looked down at the girl who’s ass was red with his handprints.

“Ser.” She spoke, putting her normal highborn inflection on. “I think you should let me up at this point.”

Loras’ eyes went wide as the realization hit him. He immediately released her and stepped back. Arya stood back up straight, and looked over her shoulder at her abused bottom.

“You really did a number on me.” She said in a faux pouty voice.

“M-my lady!” Loras rambled out. “Please forgive me, I didn’t-”

“Oh calm down.” Arya laughed. “I’m a Northern girl. We’re made tough.”

Arya let her dress fall back down her legs, and smoothed it out. She walked to the door, stopping only to give Joffrey a glance. She searched his eyes to try and see what he was thinking, but he just smiled down at her. She was confused, and terribly horny, but nevertheless, she understood that he was waiting for her to go.

“Your grace.” She said formally

“Lady Stark.” He answered just as formally.

Arya took her leave, leaving Joffrey to watch her hips sway as she walked away, and a very confused and uncomfortable Loras standing there with the most awkward erection of his life.
___________________________________________________________________________

Joffrey took Loras to his chambers and sat him on his balcony looking over the city, so that they could talk and catch up. Loras of course was not in much of a talking mood, still perplexed at what had just happened moments prior.

“Oh will you wipe that look off your face?” Joffrey sighed. “You’ve look as if you have a scepter up your ass.”

Loras gave him a funny look, not understanding how Joffrey didn’t see the daftness of the situation that just happened.

“I’m sorry that my discomfort displeases you.” Loras said snippily. Joffrey thought the man could be so dramatic. “I’m just worried that Eddard Stark will burst in at any moment to geld me.”

“I doubt that will happen.” Joffrey said, rolling his eyes. He poured his friend a goblet of wine to try and calm him down, but the Knight ignored it.

“Oh? After all I said, the Stark girl is probably crying to her father about how I nearly defiled her.”

“Hm, and here I thought knights had to be observant.”

“Piss off.”

“Loras, really?” Joffrey said, getting annoyed. “Did she look displeased? Did she sound displeased? Did she FEEL displeased?

Loras opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he didn’t actually have a good response. Joffrey was right. The girl, although under false pretenses seemed to respond to his harsh words and touches positively. Still though, he was a gentleman above all else.

“I would not have treated her so...firmly if I knew she was high-born. Northerner” Loras said formally.

“Yes, Arya does like to play these little games.” Joffrey said with a smile. Loras quirked a well-groomed eyebrow at him.

“Games?” Loras repeated. Joffrey didn’t answer, just letting his smirk explain all that was needed. “You’ve been with her.” Loras said in realization.

“Repeatedly, and vigorously.” Joffrey answered.

Suddenly Loras turned in his chair, face serious.

“I did not know you two had been intimate.” Loras said seriously. “I would have NEVER spoken but a kind word to her and kissed her hand had I known. I consider you among my friends - I would not dishonor you or her knowingly.”

Joffrey just stared at the Tyrell with raised eyebrows for a moment.

Then he started laughing. Rather hard actually.

Loras frowned at him. He was being completely sincere. That’s what Joffrey found so funny.

“Holy Hells man, you’re entirely too chivalrous for your own good.” Joffrey said, trying to catch his breath. “Do I even look as if I’m the slightest bit upset.”

“...No, I suppose you don’t.” Loras conceded.

“I consider you amongst my friends as well.” Joffrey admitted. “Perhaps my only real friend.” He added quietly.

Loras gave him a smile. He knew how much the young man hated sentimentality.

“-And Arya...she’s something special. Not superstitious and conservative like those other Northerners. She’s a lady of the south, born in the wrong place.”

Loras snorted humorously at that.
“Laugh if you want.” Joffrey continued. “You’ve only taken a glimpse at her. I’ve tasted her, devoured her.”

Loras swallowed a bit. He had to admit, he was left at the edge of pleasure, curious at to what might have happened if Joffrey didn’t walk upon them.

“Her fat wobbly ass, the best in all of Westeros, her tolerance - her willingness for subjugation, degradation, submission.” Joffrey purred out. “The fire in her belly and her eyes, there’s really no one like her.”

“You’re just gloating at this point.” Loras sighed. He moved to stand, but Joffrey grabbed his forearm. He looked at the younger blonde with a raised brow.

“Tell me friend...would you like to taste her too?”
____________________________________________________________________________

The Targareyns certainly had style, Arya had to admit.

The bath houses of the Red Keep. Well bath house now, singular. There used to be several that were scattered throughout the castle, but as the reign of the Targaryens deteriorated, and power transitioned after the war, they all fell into disrepair except for one. Evidently Cersei demanded her husband keep one operational so that she could use it from time to time.

It was a large room, with smooth stone floors, walls carved with depictions of dragons and the Targaryen history. Nothing at all this interesting in Winterfell. In the center there was a large pool, filled with hot water that was piped in from outside the Keep, and heated by servants before reaching the pool.

Arya peeled her dress off. She hadn’t realized how much she had been sweating. She lowered herself in the pool, enjoying the heat of it... but it was nothing compared to the heat between her legs.

Not but a few hours ago, she was utterly dominated by Ser Loras Tyrell, the flower of the Reach, and a true Southron. Her heritage, her home, her very being disparaged, and the whole time, her cunt was dripping.

And Joffrey-

Joffrey saw them, saw them together, and his reaction was...confusing. He didn’t fly into a rage as one might’ve thought. He just stood there, smiling, looking as confident and prideful as ever. She didn’t know what to think.

What she did know is the two Southrons were going to be the death of her. The slow, pleasurable death of her. Maybe Starks riding south was a curse afterall. She didn’t mind though - dying in one’s bed of old age seemed so boring to her.

Arya closed her eyes and let a hand wander between her legs - she was left rather unfinished earlier, a true tragedy. She slipped two fingers within herself, thinking of how Loras had spanked her, manhandled her, put her in her place. She thought of Joffrey watching, encouraging the Reachman to be rougher, to degrade her more. They’d switch places, taking turns lording over, and controlling her. Such imagination.

“Mind if we join you?”

Arya’s eyes snapped open, looking towards the door. She was so entranced in her fantasy, she didn’t notice the door open and close, and Ser Loras and Joffrey standing in front of her.

She looked between them. They both had small smiles on their faces. Ones that looked sinister. Ones that intrigued her.

“I’m surprised Northerners bathe.” Loras said, looking down at her. There it was, that same degrading tone shot a bolt of excitement through her.

“On occasion Ser.” Arya said, a slight smirk on her face. She waded in the bath, waiting for them to make the next move.

It was Jofffrey who spoke next, walking around the edge of the large pool until he was close to her.

“I think you owe Ser Loras an apology, Arya” He said smoothly.

“And why is that?” Arya asked, casually watching herself.

“For dishonesty of course.” He answered. “You led the poor Ser astray, lied about your identity.”

Arya moved closer to the edge, closer to Joffrey.

“I didn’t lie about anything.” Arya commented. “I never said I was smallfolk. He just assumed I was.”

Arya Loras a smirk. He looked a bit contrite at that, given how that was technically true. Joffrey’s eyes narrowed at Arya, but his smile grew wider. She was playing coy. Well that would never do.

Joffrey reached out his hand, and grabbed a handful of Arya’s bwet brown hair and pulled. Arya hissed in pain and pleasure at the sensation, bracing her hands on the edge of the bath. If she wanted to, she could’ve easily pushed back and pulled Joffrey into the water, but she liked the feeling of his thigh grip in her hair.

“I said, you owe Ser Loras an apology.” Joffrey repeated, harder this time. He pulled back with a grip on her hair, indicating for her to get out of the bath. She climbed from the water, neck crooking as Joffrey maintained a grip on her hair like a leash, and led her to Loras.

The knight watched as Joffrey brought the wet, naked Stark to her, like a beautiful, depraved gift. Joffrey brought her right before him, before using his other hand to push down on her shoulder, pushing her down to her knees.

Arya sat on her thighs with her hands in her lap, and looked up at the Tyrell with wild, lusty eyes.

“Well?” Joffrey asked expectantly, standing at her side.

“I’m sorry Ser for deceiving you.” Arya said.

“That sound very convincing to you?” Joffrey asked Loras.

“Hardly.” Loras answered, before suddenly slapping Arya across the face. She gasped out and bit her lip, turning her head back to look up at him. “You can surely do better than that.”

Arya swallowed, and spoke once more. “I am sorry for deceiving you ser.” She said, with more emphasis in her voice.

“See, I’m just still not convinced.” Loras stated.

“Me either.” Joffrey concurred.

Loras pressed his head to the top of Arya’s head, craning her head up more to look at him.

“Perhaps you need to SHOW just how sorry you are.” Loras purred. Keeping his hand on her head, he used his other to work at his breeches. Arya’s eyes looked over to Joffrey, to see his reaction. There was nothing but excitement and intrigue on the prince’s face.

When Loras untied his breeches. Arya brought his hand up to the waist.

“Allow me Ser.” She whispered. Loras didn’t stop her, so she moved forward, pulling his pants down his hips. Slowly, his brown pubic hairs came into view, followed by his impressive cock.

‘Gods, It’s perfect.’ Arya thought. Like everything else on the Tyrell knight, his cock was very pretty. Symmetrical, blemish free, and large, even Joffrey seemed impressed by the sight of it, though he’d never admit that.. He was slightly larger than the prince, his cock nearly a foot long - that made sense, Ser Loras being older and larger of the two. It was already half hard when Arya brought her small hand to him, and began to stroke him. He hissed out in pleasure, as she pumped his cock. As he swelled in her hand, her fingers barely touched as they circled around his girth, stroking him from base to tip.

“You’re meant to be apologizing?” Joffrey said breathlessly. “Not fucking toying with him.”

Arya stared into Ser Loras’s large brown eyes, before leaning her head forward and pressing an open mouth kiss against his tip. Her tongue swiped against his slit. She began to pepper open mouth kisses along the length of his cock, wanting to cover every inch of his perfection.

“Hmm. I guess you Northerners are good for something.” Loras groaned, massaging her scalp as she lavished his shaft, with her tongue and lips.

“Stop toying with him Arya.” Joffrey ordered, his own arousal evident by the bugle in his trousers. He wanted to see her SWALLOW him.

Gingerly, Arya licked her way back to Loras’ tip before pressing it against her lips. Slowly she opened her mouth in a wide ‘o’ engulfing his cock. His hand on her head turned into a tight grip as she sank her mouth down on him.

“Yesssss” Loras hissed, Pulling her forward to slide his cock into her tight throat. She gagged slightly around his girth, but simply folded her hands back into her lap, and allowed him to take the reins.

Loras bobbed her head up and down on his cock at a firm, but rhythmic pace. He was more controlled than Joffrey, likely had more experience. He was less interested in making her swallow the full length of his cock every time, but rather maintain a constant level of pleasure. He instructed Arya on how to pleasure him more as she sucked him.

“Hollow your cheeks when you pull back.” He instructed. “Tighten your throat, hum around me.”

Arya obeyed his instructions, earning groans of approval from the Tyrell. She glanced over to Joffrey, who had his pants down his hips, and was firmly stroking his cock at the sight. She pulled back off of Loras’s cock with a wet pop, and turned to Joffrey. Meeting eyes, the prince stepped closer, and brought his hands to the side of her head, pulling her mouth onto his length. In contrast to Loras, Joffrey was wild and savage as usual, fucking into her thought, causing her to gag and drool all around him.

“HRUCK...HRGGK..GLUURCK...GLACK..” Arya gagged and sputtered, head moving rapidly on the prince. Loras grabbed one of her hands, and brought it back to his cock to stroke it with. The pair passed her mouth between them for the next several minutes, Arya almost having whiplash at their techniques as she went back and forth between their cocks.

She was right- those two would be the death of her. There were certainly worse ways to go.

Eventually, she was stood back up, Joffrey roughly grabbing Arya under her arms, and pushing her toward Loras. Her wet chest smacked against his tunic. His hands immediately went to her ass, smacking both cheeks with open palms. He was quickly becoming addicted to her bottom, kneading and pulling at it. Arya moaned wantonly, and grinded against him. Loras helped her by pressing his thigh between her legs, her cunt rubbing back and forth against the fabric of his pants.

“You may be a lady, but look at you.” Loras barked, giving her ass another particularly hard slap. “You’re just a Northern whore!”

“Yes!” Arya moaned. She grinded against his leg faster, breath ragged. “I’m just a Northern whore.”

Loras brought a hand to Arya’s throat and squeezed. Arya let out a gurgled moan, and held onto Loras’s bicep for dear life. She didn’t think she could last much longer, the release that alluded her earlier was upon her.

Suddenly, Joffrey came up from behind, and yanked her from Loras’ grip. Arya didn’t have time to be annoyed, because she was quickly bent at the hips, and Joffrey’s cock drove into her. Her eyes widened, and she moaned out loudly, pressing her hands to the ground as she was folded in half and driven into.

Joffrey had a firm grip on her hips, and rode her hard. He looked at Loras, who despite being aroused, had an annoyed look on his face. This was the second time he was left unsatisfied by Arya. Joffrey smiled wide with teeth. Joffrey liked Loras, but HE was still the only prince in the room, and princes got preferential treatment.

Plus, he found Arya first.

“This what you want, Loras?” He teased, as he snapped his hips forward rapidly. Arya was past words, just moaning and mewling with her head down. “You want to be where I am, fucking into this Northern cunt?”

Loras turned red in the face a bit.

“You know I do.” He answered honestly through gritted teeth. Joffrey laughed, and gave Arya’s bubbly ass a hard smack at his response

“Then, I guess it’d be in your best interest to win the tourney of the Hand. To the winner, goes the spoils.”
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The North Forgot