The Knight of the Laughing Tree

Lyonel's horse galloped across the city's streets, the noise of its hooves on the cobblestones making an unusually loud noise. Much of the city's inhabitants would still be back at the tourney grounds, animatingly chattering about the
exciting end to the archery competition, which left the rest of the city, usually so busy and bustling, oddly desolate. The feeling was compounded by the red comet in the sky. It was that time in the day in which the sun is down, and the moon is yet to rise, which left the red comet as the only source of light in the sky. It cast a red shadow across the entire city, which, combined with the silence, left an eerie impression on the young prince.

He had left the tourney grounds in a hurry to chase after this new Knight of the Laughing Tree, about whose identity he had a good guess. Lyonel lost track of the crafty challenger very quickly, but the clipping of his prey's horse reverberated across the emptied city, and that, along with the good hunch he had on who this person is, led him to where he wanted to be.

And it is on that sixth sense that Lyonel now entered into the Godswood of the Red Keep. It was a smart place to choose if one was seeking solitude. While the nobles of the castle would occasionally use the woods for a light walk in the daytime, by night the place was completely abandoned. The prince was all the more aware of this as he galloped through the woods, bringing the silence of the city with him, the only thing breaking the monotony being the steady evening breeze that blew his black curls back. Almost as if the Old Gods are warning me to keep away, the thought came unbidden to Lyonel and he tried to forget about it.

When he neared the center of the woods, Lyonel got off his horse, tying it to a tree and deciding to walk the rest of the way. Some two dozen steps further in, he reached the center of the Godswood, and saw his prey.

The Red Keep doesn't have any Weirwoods, no more than any other castle in the South, but it has designated a majestic oak tree growing at the center of the woods that predated the keep itself as the Heart Tree of the woods. And kneeling near its root was the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

She knelt with her back to Lyonel, helmet off, revealing a bob of black hair, while the rest of her was covered with a large red cloak too old and too big for her. The white bow she used, along with her quiver, lay at the foot of the tree, and her outstretched palm lay on its bark, in a silent prayer.

After a few seconds, he decided to break the holy silence. "Thought I might find you here."

Arya, for, indeed the mystery knight was Arya, just as he figured out, got onto her feet with the speed of a wolf. He big, grey eyes narrowed into slit. "Why are you here?" she hissed through gritted teeth. "How did you find me?"

"This is my city, you know," Lyonel drawled. "Nothing happens here without my knowing. But it didn't take much to figure out you were the one dressing up like the Knight of the Laughing Tree. You may have hid your face, but I'm quite familiar with the shape of your body." The statement made Lyonel smirk as it brought memories of their past together back to him, of him getting her to strip in their first sword training lesson, of the scandalous dress she wore when they were stuck in the Street of Silk...

Bringing up their shared memories didn't seem to mollify Arya, however. She grabbed her bow and arrows instead. "You have three seconds before I start using you for target practice."

"Oh, come Arya, please don't be dramatic-"

The first arrow soared above his head, making his hair fly.

"That was a warning shot," Arya said, knocking another arrow.

Lyonel frowned but didn't stop marching at his errant student. "This is really getting a little bit too -"

The second arrow hit him. It got stuck in the leather of his jerkin, so close to his face that its feathery hilt tickled Lyonel's chin. Arya smirked with pride at her own talent.

Lyonel has had enough with these games. Striding forward with a speed one would not expect from a man that size, he quickly narrowed the gap between him and Arya and grabbed the bow from her. He could feel its power the moment he touched it. The white bow, which he was now convinced of being made of Weirwood, was as warm as blood, and he could almost feel a heartbeat coming out of it. Lyonel hastily placed it atop a higher branch of the Heart Tree, at which Arya looked at petulantly, like a child whose favourite toy has been confiscated.

"Care to explain why you are acting like a brat?" the prince ventured.

"I don't have to answer to you," Arya hissed. "I'm neither your betrothed, nor your sister."

"Ah, this is what it is about. Your jealousy."

"Jealous?" Arya's shriek pierced the woods. "I'm not jealous of anyone."

"Sure, you are," Lyonel said with casual confidence that brooked no disagreement. "That's why you weren't to be seen ever since I crowned Myrcella."

Arya stared back at him for a couple of seconds, before deciding to throw in her act. "The crown was supposed to be mine! Sansa was sick, and I was her next of kin present. You should have crowned me!"

"That would have made the nature of our relationship a tad bit too obvious for some in the audience. Especially with the dress you decided to wear."

"What relationship?" Arya scorned. "And I wore that dress for you!"

"And I enjoyed it very much."

"You... did?"

"Of course," Lyonel said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair and placing his palm on her chin. "I enjoy you very much, you know. Both your personality and your... form."

That left Arya speechless for a minute, and Lyonel used the opportunity to finally lean over the petite girl and kissed Arya Stark for the first time. Her lips gave in surprisingly easily, and her tongue willingly submitted to his, as his hand laid at the back of her waist, right before her voluptuous behind began.

When the kiss ended and Lyonel drew back, Arya stared at him with wonder in her grey eyes. "What does this mean?"

"It means I like you very, very much," Lyonel said, stroking her chin with his thumb once again. "Perhaps even love you."

"Does that mean you will marry me? Arya asked hopefully. "Will you set Sansa aside, and have me as your queen?"

"No," the prince replied bluntly. "That agreement still stands."

Arya stared at him in shocked silence, before fury began to burn in her eyes again. "So what? Do you want me to be your whore? The mistress to my sister's husband?"

"Well..."

"That's exactly what you want me to be, isn't it?" Arya exclaimed unbelievingly. "How fucking dare you?" She shouted and raised her arm to punch him, but he was ready for that. Quickly catching her small, clenched palm, he bent her hand backwards and sandwiched her body between a tree and his own and kissed her again.

This second kiss was very different from the first. Instead of shocked compliance, this time Arya fought back, not just in trying to free her arms, but also waging a war inside their mouths. Their tongues battled for dominance, and her teeth bit down on his lower lip, blood filling up their mouths. Lyonel, however, did not let go until his tongue has established absolute control over hers.

Then he drew back, and after staring at Arya's wolfish eyes for a few seconds, spat out the blood in his mouth.

"What are you doing to me, Lyonel?" Arya whispered in earnest rage. Her red cheeks and the speed in which her breast rolled up and fell under her riding leathers made it evident that she was enjoying this physically as much as he did, though her emotions are conflicted.

"Do you remember what I told you the day we met? When we danced at Winterfell?" Lyonel queried.

"You said you would tame me," Arya whispered.

"Well, yes, that too. But I also said that I don't need to diminish you as a woman in order to tame you. That's why I taught you how to use a sword, when most men will forbid you from touching one. This is just like that," Lyonel said, leaning in for a quick third kiss. "Be my whore, if that's what you want to call it. And you'll be happier for it."

For a few seconds, only the sounds of Arya's pants filled the woods, before she crunched up her eyes and looked up at the sky, now filled with the full moon. "Ohh, Lyonel what are you doing to me?"

"I'm giving you a choice," Lyonel replied softly. "And, as always, you are having difficulties in making the choice you want to make."

Arya stared at him, pale grey eyes meeting dark blue ones. Eventually, Arya looked down. "Very well."

"Really?" the prince asked, quite surprised at her surrender this quickly.

"Yes. I will be your whore. As long as you prove yourself."

"What-"

This time, Lyonel did have his guard down. Arya's hand struck out and clawed his forehead, leaving a burning gash. As blood poured into his eyes, Arya disappeared into the darkness of the woods.

"What the fuck?" Lyonel shouted.

"You are not the first man that tried to tame me, and I'm still the bitch wolf of Winterfell," Arya's voice reverberated among the dark trees, making it impossible to locate her. "Just because I'm sweet on you doesn't mean I'll make this easy. Find me and tame me, really tame me, if you can, and I'll be yours."

Silence once again enveloped the woods, and Lyonel got onto his feet with a sigh. The bleeding has stopped (Arya only wanted a distraction, not to truly hurt him) but the pain of the gash remained. Lyonel was pissed but also amused at the very Arya way in which Arya behaved. Of course, the first time he tried to do something serious with her, he ended up with multiple wounds.

Lyonel walked around the grove, with no hint of his opponent. Then, a rustle of leaves told him what he suspected, that the wily wolf was hiding on top of a tree, but he didn't react to it. It was still impossible to find exactly which tree she was on with just moonlight, and he was never a good climber anyway. Even if he managed to locate the tree she was on and clamber on to it, she would just jump onto another tree before he could reach her.

Trickery, it seems, was the only way to go, and so Lyonel called out into the empty night air. "Ah, Lady Sansa, I didn't expect to see you here at this time of the night."

His gamble on Arya's jealousy over her sister paid off. A rustling of leaves could be heard on a nearby tree, most likely Arya climbing down to a lower branch to see if her sister was there. And when her leg landed on a lower branch, Lyonel's hand struck out, grabbing it and dragging her down.

Arya, furious at being tricked, retaliated by kicking his face with her other leg as hard as she could, almost dislocating his jaw. With a grimace, he slapped her face with half his might, before dumping her face down on the cold hard ground.

While the she - wolf was still disorientated, Lyonel got atop her. Snatching away her red cloak, he used it to tie her arms to a large root, while her legs were crushed in place as his own knees kept them in place.

Arya thrashed on the ground helplessly (causing her enormous buttocks to smash into one another in the process) and snarled animalistically.

"We are done playing your games," Lyonel said calmly, picking up one of her scattered arrows and using the arrowhead to cut through her leather riding garments. First was her top, which, cut open, revealed her shapely back. Lyonel was tempted to flip her around to play with Arya's perky tits, but that would also enable her to use her mouth as a weapon. No. Better to have her face on the ground for the moment.

Then he cut through her pants, revealing those unbelievably large, white mounds that made up the otherwise petite girl's behind. They wobbled even with the slightest breath she takes, and now, as she struggled to shake him off her, they moved tantalizingly. Having unimpeded access to Arya's ass for the first time, Lyonel put his hands on the wobbling buttocks, marveling at their softness, before giving them a couple of hard slaps, and then, finally, kissing each reddened globe delicately, eliciting the first moan of the night from Arya's unwilling lips.

Lyonel took of his trousers, letting Arya hear the deliberately slow unbuckling of his belt. He then put his hands between Arya Stark's legs. Amidst a bush of black hair (someone really needs to teach these Northerners how to shave) he found her nether lips, puffy and open and eagerly wet, drenching the black hair atop it.

His fingers circled the wettened slit, for a minute, for two minutes, for five.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Arya snarled, trying to twist her head as back as possible so she could glare at him properly.

"What do you want me to do?" the prince replied teasingly.

Once again refusing to verbalize her needs, Arya only snarled, before trying to push her body downwards and impale her body on his fingers. Lyonel, however, foresaw that, and quickly drew his hand away.

Frustrated, Arya began to pommel the ground with her tied up wrists, scattering dried up leaves.

"You can just ask what you want, you know," Lyonel said calmly.

Arya, after a few more minutes of snarling like the wolf that she is, finally spat out two words. "Fuck. Me."

"Oh, you have to do much better than that," Lyonel admonished.

"What?"

"If you want to be fucked you can't be the she - wolf anymore. Be my bitch. Beg."

Arya thrashed around impotently on the ground, beating at dead leaves a few more times, while he looked on, successfully hiding just how tempted he himself was. Finally, Arya threw her head upwards at the moon and howled. "Fine! Fine! You won! I'm your bitch, your whore, whatever you want me to be! Just please fucking fuck me already!"

"Well, that's all what you really had to say," Lyonel said, trying to be calm but unable to hide the excitement seeping into his voice.

Lyonel lined his cock into her wet slit, and finally, after all that back and forth, entered into Arya Stark's cunt. His attempt to moderate himself failed, and soon he was fucking with wild abandon.

They fucked like wild animals, Arya still writhing on the floor and punching the ground, this time with pleasure instead of frustration. Lyonel grabbed Arya by her dark hair and tugged hard, and she howled again and again at the full moon in pleasure and pain, living up to her epithet as the she - wolf in full. Lyonel could now put his hands front and grab her breasts, which is what he usually does, but the tantalizing, rippling waves of Arya's ass cheeks were too much to resist, and he grabbed them hard, making them red with his handprints.

Arya, now discovered to be a pain loving slut, just took all of it in and enjoyed the moment to the fullest.

Lyonel, recognizing this, slipped out of her.

"What are you doing?" Arya growled. "Give it back!"

He didn't deign to reply to her. Instead, he picked up a long, thin dead branch off the floor.

"My whores don't command me around" Lyonel growled. "And it's far time you had a lesson on respect."

With that, he lashed out, the stick falling harshly on Arya's massive behind. Immediately, a sea of waves rolled over the globe and Arya moaned in either pleasure or pain.

"Apologize for your disrespect," Lyonel commanded.

The only reply he got was a snarl, so he hit back, first one buttock, then the other, over and over again. The knobby branch left red welts on her velvety flesh, as Arya thrashed on the ground, her snarls transforming into whimpers.

"Don't pretend you that you don't love this," Lyonel said, crouching next to the girl, now using his hands to slap at her bouncy ass cheeks. "You have cummed so much that the ground near your legs is turning to mud!"

"Yes, I fucking love it!! Oh gods Lyonel I'm so sorry for doubting you! This is the best thing to happen to me!!" Arya screamed as more and more slaps fell on her ass. "Oooh, Lyonel, fuck meeee!" Arya howled again.

The prince was more than happy to oblige. He jammed the stick in between her ass cheeks. where it stood erect like a flagpole. It didn't even have to go inside her hole, the sheer amount of flesh on her buttocks sufficient to keep it upright. He then began to minister the bruised globes, kissing, licking spitting on the reddened ass cheeks, until they began to glow. Arya whimpered at the treatment, her lower lips leaking so much it drenched her torn clothes and the grounds beneath it.

Lyonel then stood up and cut the rope tying her hands to the root, throwing away the stick and flipping Arya around, revealing her muscled midriff, her bush of black hair, now drenched in both of their fluids and matted against her cunt, and her perky breasts jostling up and down every time he entered her. He leaned over her and bit on a pink nipple until it went red and Arya was mewling under his body. His mouth then went upwards, to find hers.

This kiss was the perfect one, neither passive nor aggressive, but both tongues acting in perfect accord with one another. Arya opened her eyes to see a set of blue eyes staring back at her. She cummed on his cock, and him deep inside her.

A few minutes later, Lyonel Baratheon and Arya Stark lay atop their clothes, panting. Arya leaned on her shoulder, her other hand absentmindedly stroking his chest. "Well, that was..."

"Wonderful?" Lyonel suggested. They looked at one another and giggled in a way only lovesick fools do.

Arya sobered up in bit. "What does this mean, Lyonel?"

"What?"

"Don't play the fool with me. We are not going to stop fucking, are we?"

"Of course not."

"And you are aware of just how dangerous this is for you? If Sansa finds out, if anyone finds out... wars have been fought over less."

"Danger to me?" Lyonel wondered. "I'll manage, if it ever gets that far. And what about you? If this is ever known by others, your prospects would be ruined. Your father will have to lock you in a tower until you are an old maid."

Arya shrugged, making her breasts roll wonderfully. "He can try. Anyway, it doesn't matter. This moment, here, this is the happiest I've ever been in. As long as the man who made me this happy remains safe, I'm content."

The sincerity in Arya's words made Lyonel's heart warm... and his cock hard.

"You are insatiable, you know," Arya smirked, grabbing the full length of his cock with her tiny hands and moving it up and down. The movements reminded her of the last time she did such a thing, disguised in Chataya's brothel. Lyonel wondered at how Arya could still blush after everything they did to one another today.

Arya began kissing him all over, starting with the wound she made on his forehead, going down to his mouth, chest, stomach, tugging at his lower hair with her teeth, before using her tongue to give a lick to the entire length of his dick. Their combined cum melted with her spit, and Arya remembered that single drop of Lyonel's cum she had before, how glorious it made her feel.

Soon, all senses of propriety were abandoned, as she gobbled up his dick, sucking any dried up cum before she could, before moving onto his balls, filling her mouth with one nut and then the other. Lyonel looked down and groaned at the heavenly sight of Arya Stark, her cheeks filled with one of his balls, his dick lying nestled atop her hair, all the while she maintained eye contact.

It suddenly dawned on him the full gravity of what he's doing. This was Arya fucking Stark! His betrothed's sister, one of his closest friends, his student, half the time his opponent, and now, his lover. The realization made him cum, streams of white goo falling on top of her head, while her mouth was busy dealing with his balls.

"Oh no!" Arya complained. "I wanted it in my mouth, not my hair!" With that, she began to take strand after strand of cum drenched hair and slowly putting them into her mouth, chewing the cum out of it and spitting shiny black strands out again.

The sight was so erotic that Lyonel's cock was twitching once again.

"Oh no," Arya said, while milking the last of her hair. "All my holes are sore enough as it is. Your thing is obscenely large."

Lyonel stood up while massaging his cock, bringing it closer to the now sitting Arya's face. "You'll get used to it, like my other whores."

Arya snorted in derision as her eyes narrowed but opened her mouth to him anyway. Lyonel grinned. His little wolf was far too competitive for her own good.

But then, it is that competitiveness that pushed Arya Stark forward, as it did so now, with her opening her mouth to an unimaginable level for an amateur, cramming in as much of his dick as possible. This time, Lyonel was able to acquiesce with her demand by shooting his cum directly into her stomach.

A few minutes later, they were lying down and panting again, Lyonel's hand on Arya's stomach, which seemed a bit bloated with all the semen of his that she has swallowed.

His hands, as always, slowly drifted towards her soft, unbelievably large buttocks.

"What's with you and my behind?" Arya asked, rolling her eyes.

"What's with you and my cum?" Lyonel retorted childishly.

"Your cum tastes good," Arya replied casually.

"So does your ass, probably."

The two looked at each other and giggled again.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Arya whispered into him. "But they'll soon send people to look for you. You have to go back."

"Yes, we -" suddenly he sat upright. "I have something to give you. I just remembered. Stay here."

With that, Lyonel unsteadily got onto his feet and stumbled into the woods, where his horse was still left tied to the tree he left it. Lyonel took a long package from his saddle and walked back to Arya.

"What is it?" Arya asked, curiously amused at Lyonel's boyish excitement.

Instead of replying, he simply offered the package to her. Arya took it and unwrapped the package. "My sword!"

"The smithy finished working on it yesterday morning. I was going to give it to you after the tourney but..." Lyonel stopped talking, seeing how enraptured Arya was.

The sheathe was still the same old beaten red leather, as was the hilt, but the pommel was new, a snarling wolf of ebony. When Arya unsheathed her sword, it was clear that it had now been reworked into fitting an adult. But more than the size, it was the colour that was striking. The infusion of Valyrian Steel has made the sword as black as a thundercloud, with streaks of silver from the older iron running through it.

"How do you like the new Needle?"

"It's not Needle," an enraptured Arya replied. "Needle was a girl's toy. This, I don't know its name yet, but it's something much more."

Arya broke out of her trance and stood up and hugged him. Bare flesh against flesh, he could feel her heartbeat on his own chest. "Thank you, Lyonel. You don't know what this means for me."

Lyonel smiled down at her. "It's what we do to people we love, right?"

Arya stared back at him in silence, before smiling mysteriously. "Follow me." she then went deeper into the woods without an explanation, still nude with trails of his cum running down her leg. Lyonel followed her swaying hips.

Arya stood at the Heart Tree. With a slash on her palm, she bloodied the blade of her new Valyrian Steel sword with her own blood and pressed the bloodied palm on to the bark of the tree. Before Lyonel could do anything, she was speaking to the gods. "Old Goods of the woods, hear my prayer. Today, I have taken this man in front of the gods. I am not to marry him, but that matters not to me. As far as I'm concerned, he is as good as my man, and I promise to never bed another man, to love him, hold him, cherish him and obey him. I swear this to the Old Gods and the New."

A breeze blew across the Godswood, as if the Old Gods witnessed the affair and now replied to their adherent's prayer. Arya turned back, her bare skin resplendent in the light of the full moon, and looked back at him, almost as if daring him to criticize her actions.

Lyonel, instead, walked up to her and held his hand, silently asking for the sword himself.

"You don't have to," Arya replied. "The vow was for me. You don't have to bind yourself just to make me feel any better."

Instead of replying, the prince wiped the wound on his forehead that Arya herself made earlier. Soon, he too was kneeling at the Heart Tree, pressing a bloodied hand onto its bark. "Old Gods, hear my prayer. Today, I have taken this woman in your presence. I cannot wed her, but that matters not to me, for I love her, and I will do so for the rest of my life. I will guide her, lead her and cherish her, and help her fulfil her goals. From now on, we are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

He could hear Arya's breath hitch as he invoked actual wedding vows in front of the gods, showing just how much she means for him. Lyonel looked back at her, almost daring her to criticize his decision.

Instead, she stepped forward to him. Their bloody hands entwined together, completing their union in the eyes of the Gods.