The She-Wolf and the Dragon (Arya/Viserys)
Inspired by @fromtheboundlesssea‘s Into the Unknown series, “Action Speaks Louder” and previously, “Porcelain, Ivory, Steel.”
Summary: Arya spar with Viserys.
Warning(?): “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Viserys knew he’s not as good as his older brother when it comes to combat, but that does not stop him from trying his best. It is his duty, after all, to help his brother.
After a long moment of sparing with the few knights of the Kingsguard, they finally left and he also decided to retire to his room to clean up and rest until someone emerges from the shadows.
Viserys somehow knew he was not alone. “I believe you’re too late. The knights already left,” he said, without looking at the person as he was busy returning the blunted swords from their proper place.
“Yes, I know,” said the female voice.
He jumped then snapped his head towards the owner of the voice. “Lady Arya! I didn’t know you’re here—”
Then, he gave her a wild-eyed, slack-jawed expression of shock.
She’s not wearing a dress. Instead, Arya wears a grey wool tunic and a black trousers. Her long hair is pulled away from the face, gathered and secured at the back of the head with a black ribbon.
Was she allowed to wear such a thing?
Maybe that question is better left unanswered.
And yet, she still looked radiant.
“L-lady Arya, what can I do for you?” he stammered.
“Would you spar with me, Prince Viserys?” Arya answered without batting an eye.
Viserys almost choked as her regarded her with wide eyes. “What?”
“Please, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me, my Lord,” she said. “I want to sword fight.”
Viserys then walked towards her, using the advantage of his height to intimidate her. “Have you gone mad, woman? Absolutely not!”
Apparently… it didn’t work.
Arya’s red tainted lips curved into a an amused smile— and no, Viserys was truly not staring. “What was that, my Lord? Are you afraid to lose against a girl?” she whispered teasingly.
He stiffened. “I’m not afraid to fight and I would not lose against a girl… especially not you,” he said.
She walked towards the place where he left the swords, picked one then kneeled into a fighting stance. “Fight me then, old man. You have nothing to lose, do you?”
His ire rose with every word she said. He knew she was provoking him, but Seven Hells, it was working.
“Fine,” Viserys said as he picked one of the swords and also lowering himself into a fighting stance. “Prepare to lose, woman.” He’d make sure her loss will be one she’d never forget. “On the count of three,” he said, and Arya nodded.
Their swords clashed together as they struck each other at the same time. They circled each other, trying to detect an opening in each other’s defense.
Whenever Viserys would hit, Arya parried, and whenever Arya would hit, Viserys parried. They aimed, deflected, dodged, and struck. Viserys is then amazed on how great she is with a sword, and soon, both of them were breathing heavily. Sweat trickled down both their foreheads, and their muscles already ached, but that didn’t stop them until one of them lose, so they resumed their stances, eyeing each other warily, deciding when to strike.
Viserys’ stance was feeble around the edges — he was already tired — and Arya saw her chance.
Quickly, before he could react, Arya spun around, and struck, successfully disarming him. His sword landed less than two feet away, and Viserys would have gone to retrieve it if not the tip of Arya’s sword not be pointed too close to his throat.
He was trapped, and he knew it.
“Do you yield?” Arya asked softly.
Defiant lilacs met victorious grays. “No.”
Her eyes widened. “What? No— Viserys!” she protested, her sword is still on his throat.
“I refuse to yield, woman.”
“That’s not fair! I won; you’re supposed to yield!”
Viserys just shrugged and smiled. “I don’t care.”
Arya snarled and he tackled him. They wrestled briefly, but she successfully pin him underneath her, despite his protests, her sword was still pointed at his throat. “Do you yield now, old man?” she asked softly.
Viserys struggled to free himself. “No, woman! Let me go!”
Arya sighed in annoyance, rearranging herself so that she was directly above him, hands at his shoulders and their foreheads almost touching.
Their eyes locked, and Viserys forgot how to breathe.
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, when she spoke again. “If you don’t yield, old man, I’m going to kiss you.”
Viserys could only stare at her in shock, having been successfully robbed of words.
“You have three seconds to stop me.”
This isn’t about pride anymore. Viserys realized that she was giving him a time to back away. If he told her that he yielded, she wouldn’t kiss him, and that will be the end of it.
But did he want to yield?
His heart is beating wildly on his chest right now. Viserys could force the words out now, and nothing would happen. He will be safe.
Involuntarily, his eyes went to her mouth, and he found himself mentally tracing her lips, wondering what she would taste like.
“Time’s up,” Arya murmured, grinning wickedly as she crashed her lips to his.
A bolt of electricity ran through him when their lips met. Viserys almost groaned when he felt her shift above him, her hands coming down to tangle themselves around his hair and neck.
“More” was the only rational thought in their mind.
Arya explored his mouth, moaning when Viserys tugged none-too-gently at her hair, one of his arms circled around her waist. He kissed, sucked, and then nipped at her neck, and Arya could only gasp, turning her head to bite in his shoulder. Arya groaned, “Viserys,” before her mouth found his again.
They broke apart a little while later, and Arya took in Viserys’ flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and awry clothing with satisfaction, knowing that she fared better. Arya stared at him for a split-second before Viserys help her up, brushing the side of her face tenderly with his knuckles.
“We should spar more often,” she said jokingly, and he smiled, pretending not to think about it.
Viserys cleared his throat and began to speak. “U-um… I believe we should get inside, there would be a feast later. I suppose Lady Sansa was already looking for you.”
“Well, see you at the feast, then,” she winked, placing a soft kiss right at the corner of his mouth, before she left. He was sure that he’s still on fire. His fingers went to trace his lips, and Viserys smiled.
She tasted like lemon cakes.
“What did I just wrote??”
