The Sword Master

Lyonel stood at the top of the Haunted Tower in the Red Keep, watching the sun set while the sea breeze caressed his face. The Haunted Tower was not its real name, of course, but it has been called so for the past decade and a half. According to castle rumours, Queen Rhaella, the wife to the old mad King Aerys the second would often flee to this tower to escape her husband's madness, a practice her children and grandchildren picked on as Aerys' madness worsened. After his father won the throne and most of the Targaryens died, a rumour began to spread that the tower was haunted by the ghosts of Rhaella and her kin, and most servants do their best to avoid it. It certainly looks haunted, Lyonel thought, watching the setting sun cast long shadows while a single, grizzled old cat silently stared at him. Still, he needed privacy for what he's about to do, and this tower is one of the few places where even a semblance of such a thing could be found in the whole damn city.

A polite knock on the door broke the stifling silence. A young man in Baratheon livery opened the door, bowed deeply, ushered in Arya and closed the door.

Once they were (seemingly) alone, Arya, dressed in the bland, long grey dresses the Star girls seem to favour, started speaking. For the first time since they have known each other, Arya seemed to have dropped her guard, and Lyonel noticed how pretty her face was when it wasn't marred by scowls of mistrust. "Lyonel!" the wolf girl gushed. "I cannot believe we are doing it! And you arranged it so quickly too! I was so surprised when father spoke to me yesterday -"

Lyonel interrupted her by putting a finger to his lips.

"What?" Arya asked, her permanently bitchy expressions returning.

Instead of answering, the prince snapped his fingers.

Arya jumped as a bunch of kids suddenly materialized in the room. She didn't notice a single one of them beforehand, and they seemed to have simply come out of the shadows and the woodwork. All of them looked like pre-teens, with the oldest, a boy who seemed to be their leader, looking thirteen or so. Arya wondered who they were. They had a common look about them but were well dressed and well fed than most people she had seen in the city.

"Did you see anyone, Tommy?" Lyonel asked.

The boy in the front shook his dirty blond hair. "No, m'prince."

"Good. Now go back to the home all of you, before the sun sets. The septas must be worried. My man Jarrick is outside, and he will take you back. Go on then! Your treats are back with the septas."

That caused an excited wave of whispers among the kids. However, before they left, they rushed towards the prince and hugged him and for a moment Lyonel almost seemed to disappear under the wave of kids. He seemed somewhere between exasperated and touched by the gesture, and Arya was warmly surprised to see that he knew each of the kids by name and addressed them individually.

Once they left, Arya turned to Lyonel. "Who are they?"

"Orphans."

"Orphans?"

"Yes. King's Landing being the biggest city on the entire continent means that it also has a lot of problems that big cities have, including orphans. That's why I've built a series of orphanages throughout the city. The kids get hot meals, a roof over their heads and basic teaching, reading, writing, religion, things like that, until they are fifteen. After that some boys pick up a trade or be a fisherman, while the occasionally smart kid goes to Oldtown to be a maester or a septon. But most want to pay me back by joining my service. Most of my guards, including the one that escorted you here, were once in the orphanages I built. The women too sometimes choose a trade, but most find a good boy afterwards and settle down to be a wife."

Arya was visibly annoyed by that last part, but it didn't distract her from her initial curiosity. "But what is a bunch of orphans doing here?"

"Because of spies. We are a little bit safer here than the rest of the castle because most people fear coming here, but a determined person would, and trust me, a lot of people would be curious to find out what the heir to the throne is doing after regularly meeting his betrothed's sister in a lonely tower. That's what the kids are for. They search everywhere in the tower, including Maegor's tunnels, to see no one's spying on us. I see your judgmental face, and before you say anything, I didn't coerce anyone to do anything. The kids think it's all a big game, visiting the castle and running around in the tunnels."

"Until they run into an actual spy," Arya said nonchalantly, while petting the old black cat.

That irked Lyonel a lot. More than he cared to admit. "The children are never in danger. Spies deal in stealth, and them hurting a kid would leave a trail. Anyway, are we here to talk of orphans or swords?"

"Oh yes!" Arya said, her old enthusiasm returning. From the folds of her dress, she took out a sheathed sword that Lyonel instantly recognized. It was Needle, of course.

"May I?" he asked, extending a hand. After a second of ****, she handed it over and Lyonel unsheathed the sword. "A good weapon. Castle forged steel, I see. It would serve you well, once you learn to use it."

"Thank you," Arya replied happily. "My brother Jon gave it to me when I was just a little girl, right before he went to the Wall."

"And what is it called?" Lyonel asked, knowing the answer full well.

"Needle," Arya replied a bit shily, as if the name she regarded to be very witty as a child now makes her a little bit embarrassed.

"Huh," Lyonel chuckled. "Interesting name. But we'll have to start with the wooden practice swords."

"But-"

"I'm sure you've seen your brothers do it a hundred times before. If you are going to learn how to wield a sword, the first thing you must do is to give the thing the respect it deserves and understand that if you start waving around a sharp bit of metal from the get-go, people will soon start to get hurt."

Arya scowled stubbornly but picked up the wooden sword without a word.

Lyonel sat on an empty ledge that resembled a bench. "Before we start, I have a question for you."

"What is it now?"

Gods this girl has an attitude, the annoyed prince thought, though he kept his voice calm. "Last time we had a proper talk, when we were dancing in Winterfell, I asked you a question. You called Sansa stupid. And I asked you who is more stupid; the woman who knows the world is skewed against her so she plays the game as it is, or the woman who knows it but still keeps blindly lashing out, knowing that there will be no victory. I told you to think it over. Did you?"

"Yes."

"And what is your answer?"

"The latter. The second girl may know she will lose, but she doesn't betray her principles, and fights honourably till the end."

Lyonel smiled cynically. "A very Stark answer."

"Do you disapprove?" Arya asked, arching an eyebrow.

"My approval doesn't matter," Lyonel said, standing up. "It seems like this is who you are, and that's that. Now... strip!"

"W-what?" Arya stammered, flummoxed by both the preposterousness of the question and the seemingly random change in conversation.

"Surely you don't expect to fight in a dress. And even if you did, how would you explain all the dirt in it to your maids after a simple dance lesson? Here, I brought you some more sensible things to wear. Now, strip."

"But why must I do it here, in front of you? Can't you give me some privacy?"

"Privacy?" Lyonel barked out a humourless laugh. "Do you think your brother or any of the other squires get any privacy down in the training yard? No. This is the life of a squire."

"But-"

"This is what you asked for. You wanted people to stop treating you like a lady and instead treat you like an equal. Well, this is a man's lot in life. No special allowances. Now strip... or leave."

Arya looked like she wanted to argue, but seeing that he was serious, she stopped herself. Instead, her calmly cynical mask set in, though Lyonel knew she was fuming inside. With a quick move she shrugged off her drab dress, revealing several layers of white under gowns, which she took off as well, seemingly determined to get this over with as soon as possible. Her last layer of undergarments was two simple strips of white cloth, one running around her breasts and the other around her hips. Lyonel stared at the younger Stark greedily, drinking her beauty in. Up until now, he had been focused so much on her ass that he had neglected her tits. They were round and plump, looking bigger than they are because of her short stature. However, as it always is with Arya, it is her ass that took the center of attention. Lyonel was (unfortunately) standing in front of her, but even then, he could see how massive Arya's ass was, as her plump buttocks peeking out from either side of her hips, and it took all of his willpower to not do anything drastic. Arya picked up the dun coloured tunic and pants given to her and tried to put them on as soon as possible... but her ass was so large that, much to the wolf girl's horror, she had to jump up and down several times to cram her big butt into the pants, causing everything to jiggle. For the second time, Lyonel cursed his own shortsightedness in not positioning himself behind Arya before she began to strip.

Eventually, Arya was standing in front of him, holding her sword with a glum expression, pretending that nothing had just happened.

"You have a good grip on your sword," Lyonel said truthfully.

"Thank you," the Stark girl replied sulkily.

"Now extend your arms forward while holding the sword with both hands."

Arya did as she was told, and Lyonel made no further comments. But it didn't take long for the silence to be broken.

"Why am I doing this?" she asked in an annoyed voice.

"It's an exercise, to test your stamina. If your own sword in your own hands can beat you, how can you hope to defeat an enemy sword in an enemy's hands? Now, shut up and keep doing it."

For the next ten or so minutes, Arya did as she was told. Lyonel was impressed by how unfazed she was, with not even a single tremor in her arms. Yet, while she was physically strong, her patience was thin. She dropped the wooden sword, which clattered loudly on the floor. "This is stupid!"

"What did you say?" Lyonel demanded.

Arya flinched, but didn't back down. "This is stupid. I've seen the men train in the yard a thousand times, and they never do this kind of thing!"

"It's not the kind of exercise they would have to do," the prince replied calmly.

"Is all of this done because I'm a girl?" Arya asked, narrowing her grey eyes.

"Yes."

"HOW DARE YOU? I -"

"But not for the reasons you think!" Lyonel snapped, raising his voice enough to overpower Arya's shouting. "You are a girl, but that doesn't make you less deserving of knowledge of sword fighting, if that's what you wish for. But the bitter truth is that the Westerosi style of fighting, of hacking and slashing, is based on brute strength. And in that category, you will lose, because you are a girl. That's why your brother gave you a Braavosi style sword, because you wouldn't even be able to lift a normal sword as a little girl if you were given one. And that's why I'm teaching you the Essosi styles of combat, those that rely on grace and speed and intelligence rather than brawn. Because you'll never match a Westerosi knight, or even a simple man-at-arms in pure strength, no matter how much you train!"

"You promised me that you'd teach me how to fight like a knight!" Arya whined stubbornly, not listening to reason, with nearly two decades of dreams in the balance.

"I promised to teach you sword fighting. I didn't specify any style," Lyonel replied calmly.

"Liar!" Arya shouted, nearly collapsing into tears. In the back of her mind, she knew that the prince made sense, and furthermore, she was wasting a once in a lifetime opportunity on a technicality. And yet, just like her brother Bran, all her life she had wanted to be a knight and all her life she had heard men mocking Essosi style of combat as 'girlish dances.' And now, when this prince said he would teach her sword fighting and ended up teaching her the supposedly inferior, supposedly feminine form of fighting because she is a girl, it broke something in her, and she spewed out a whole lot of filth other than 'liar' at the said prince.

Lyonel as well had hit his limit. The shouting, the disobedience and the disrespect all took a toll on his patience, and while he would never admit it, the horniness caused by Arya made it quite hard to think straight. "Enough!" he roared, walking up to her. "Very well, then. If you think you can learn how to fight like a knight, prove your worth to me. Come at me with your sword. If you land but a single blow on me, I will teach you how to be a knight!"

Arya looked at him with disbelief. Angry as she was, she still had enough clarity (and humility) to know that she could never beat him.

"Or is too much to ask of you, my lady," Lyonel asked mockingly, using the title she hated so much.

That did it. Arya lunged at him, waving her sword blindly. Immediately it was clear to Lyonel that while the girl obviously had no professional training, she also quite clearly has trained on her own, probably emulating what she sees on the yard. The prince immediately realized the potential she holds.

Whatever promise she may hold however, she was still clearly outmatched by Lyonel of course. He nimbly evaded her first few strikes, before deciding to put an end to the game with a single stroke of his own wooden sword, causing hers to fly away. Arya looked at it with despair.

"Go on, get it," Lyonel said in a far softer tone. "I guess you can have another chance."

Arya went over to her sword and bent down to pick it up. And gods damn it, her ass was round as the full moon, looking at him invitingly, the material of her pants stretched over it thinly. He couldn't resist it anymore. Drawing his hand back, Lyonel smacked Arya's soft ass causing a massive ripple through all of it.

"Hey! What in the seven hells was that for?" Arya asked angrily as she straightened up.

"You are picking up your sword, not picking damn strawberries off a field! If we had been using real swords, you would have been dead, and if you were this slow to pick up your sword, you would be dead twice over! Now come at me!"

Arya charged in, and this time Lyonel didn't even bother to use his sword, instead simply evading her blows easily. An increasingly frustrated Arya lunged at him, but he merely sidestepped her... and as she flew past him, the flat of his wooden sword met her ass with a solid THWACK!

"Bastard," Arya swore.

"You have once more chance," the prince said, ignoring her disrespect. And since you clearly proved yourself to be inept, you can use your sword this time."

A scowling Arya went ahead and picked up Needle, making sure that her rear was not facing the prince this time. She then rushed at him with the same stubborn hastiness, though Lyonel met her moves more slowly this time. He had a point to make. As Arya swung her sword with the might of both of her hands, he placed his sword on the way. There was a loud noise, and his sword had a deep cut in it. More importantly, Arya's Needle was now notched. She looked at it with wide grey eyes, the fight all but forgotten.

"It can be easily mended. But if you swung at a real weapon like that, both you and your sword would be in pieces now." With that, Lyonel swatted Arya's sword with his bare hands, which clattered onto the floor impotently.

Then he sat down on the ledge, and his hand lashed out to grab Arya. Before the Stark girl could even wonder what's going on, Lyonel dragged her towards him. She fell right on top of his lap, sideways, and he flipped her around, so that Arya Stark was lying across his knees, face down and ass up. And what an ass it is, Lyonel thought, as he finally did what he had been desiring to do since the day he saw her at Winterfell. His hand fell on her smooth, large ass, with the too small pants stretched thinly over it, and caressed through it, moaning as he felt the softness underneath his hand, before starting to get a bit rougher, kneading her meaty flesh, grabbing it by the handful, though he knew that even half a dozen arms would be insufficient to grab everything Arya's buttocks had to offer.

"W-what are you doing?" an indignant Stark asked as she recovered from her shock.

Oh yes. He's supposed to have a valid reason to do things, other than just being horny.

"I'm teaching you a different kind of lesson," Lyonel growled, and his raised hand fell hard on Arya's ass meat, causing it to jiggle.

"What?! Stop!"

"Silence!" Lyonel barked, as a twin spank fell on her other buttock.

"You came here to learn from me!" SPANK! "And then you not only disrespected my teachings" SPANK! "But you also disrespected me!"

"Stop this you bastard!" Arya cried out, though halfheartedly. She simply couldn't comprehend what's going on to fully resist it.

"And you don't even address me properly! I'm your sword master, for gods' sake!" SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"Ahh stop it! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Master Lyonel!" Arya cried out. Her use of his newest title fully hardened his already wakening mast, poking it in her stomach, but she was too preoccupied by her own dilemma as tears pooled into her eyes. The tears were not caused by pain. Oh no, her poor backside has faced far worse under hours in the saddle. It was because of the humiliation, of how she ended up in this damned position... and wondering how in the hell she is enjoying it.

Lyonel saw the tears too and immediately tried to remedy the situation. "Shh... it's alright. It's alright," he said, while gently rubbing her backside, before moving his hand to the small of her back, where he patted her gently. Slowly, with Lyonel's permission, Arya got into her unsteady feet, before sitting down on the ledge next to him. For a while, neither spoke as the last rays of the sun began to disappear in a purple sky. This thing with Arya had been completely spontaneous for Lyonel... and now it has permanently changed his relationship with her, and both were waiting to see what would happen next. He would have to tread very carefully now.

Fortunately, it was Arya who broke the silence. Without its brash confidence, her voice sounded small indeed. "Last week, I went to the training yard. We had news that you were close, and I was so excited to start, I couldn't help myself. I hid behind the yard and copied what the squires were doing. But then a couple of them saw me, and soon the whole lot was laughing at me. The freak from the North. Bran was there too. He didn't laugh, but he didn't stop them either. I knew that he agreed with them, that he also thinks that the training yard is no fit place for a woman." Arya stopped and took a long, quivering breath. She seemed to be actually close to crying now. "It has always been so with me. I once tried to be a good lady, you know, to make my parents happy. I did my best to learn sewing, dancing, the whole lot. But I was simply no good at it. And once my mother finally accepted that, she abandoned me and focused all her attention on Sansa, just as Septa Mordane did. Sansa and I haven't had a proper conversation in years, either. My father loves me, in his own fashion, but I know that he's embarrassed of me, that he's always trying to hide me behind his better daughter. The reason why he brought me to this damned city in the first place was that I'd feel ashamed amongst all these proper, Southern ladies and would finally try to fit in. The only person who really accepted me was my brother Jon, and he left for the Wall years ago. I was just so... lonely, all these years. And then, and then you came to my life. It was like a dream, what you offered me. Most men would stop me, some would laugh but accept, but here you were, offering to help. It was too good to be true, but I couldn't help but feel hope. And then when we started today, and you went on about me being weaker as a girl, and that I had to learn different styles, I thought you were just like the rest, just one more person who'd make a joke out of me. But you are different. I know that now." Arya finished her story, looking sadly at her notched sword.

What Arya said completely changed Lyonel's outlook on her. He had seen her as a pretty woman until now, but one with a bitchy attitude. Now, he understood her. She reminded him of Brienne of Tarth more than anything, but Brienne at least had the solace of pursuing her dreams. Arya, for all intents and purposes, had been stuck in a sort of prison, without the company of anyone or anything she enjoys. And with that, Lyonel's resolve hardened. "Arya..."

The Stark girl looked at him, big grey eyes laid bare.

"You did really well today. The fighting, I mean. Even without any proper training, I could see just how good you were. You have great potential, and I won't stop until you realize it, and become the greatest warrior woman Westeros has ever known."

"You would?" Arya whispered.

"I promise this by the old gods and the new."

Thank you," Arya said as her voice cracked. She wiped away the tears of joy in her eyes, and the two individuals stared at each other, clearly seeing one another for the first time, with genuine feelings. Until now, Lyonel's goals with Arya has been selfish, with everything he had said and done driven by his desires for her. But now, he genuinely felt a kinship and warmth towards this lonely girl and a genuine desire to help. The same was true for Arya. She had grown up into a suspicious woman who avoided company and tolerated Lyonel's presence to get the one thing she truly desired, the ability to wield the sword. But now, looking at the prince, she felt something she has not for a long time... a sense of friendship.

"We must also go to the city soon."

"Why?" Arya asked, startled at the apparent change in conversation.

"We must go to Tobho Mott's shop. He's the best smith in the city, and he will be able to fix your sword better than it ever was. I've also noticed your way of fighting and think you need something more. A buckler, maybe, to go well with Needle and your fighting style."

"You would do this for me?" A wide-eyed Arya asked.

"That is what friends are for."

"Friends..." Arya tasted the word in her mouth like an exotic fruit.

"But for now... let us train again!"

They stood up and Arya picked up her sword. Lyonel's instincts got the better of him, and another, considerably softer spank landed on Arya's ass. She jumped up in surprise and looked back... but then, she giggled shily. As she went and readied herself, a gob smacked Lyonel tried to unravel what had happened. It seemed like all that had happened, the spanking, the heart-to-heart, his promise, had broken down all the barriers between them, and the generally mistrustful Arya now seems to be completely trusting him. Perhaps he should let instincts guide him more often, rather than meticulous planning.

The rest of the training session went ahead without incident. Both Lyonel and Arya were physically and emotionally drained from everything that has happened, and Lyonel decided to cut the lessons short. Afterwards, while she was clearly still very shy, Arya undressed and put on her dress without a word, not even when Lyonel placed himself behind her to get a good look. The wolf girl again had to struggle to get the pants past her butt cheek, but after a jiggly jump or two, she managed. The white cloth strip around her waist, now damp with all the workout,and maybe some other reason was stretched across her ass thinly (to be fair, any article of clothing would struggle to cover that vast expanse of meat) but what struck Lyonel the most was the fact that it was so big that half her ass cheeks were squeezed out of her underwear, and even in the dim light he could still make out the glories her ass promised. For a moment, Lyonel was surprised that Arya would wear something so risqué, but then he realized that she has ****; while her ass was so fat, every other proportion of her body was quite slender. If she actually tried to wear underwear that would actually fit her butt cheeks, then it would just slide off her hips. To wear actually usable underwear, Arya had to wear ones that would only cover half her cheeks. Arya, too, was keenly aware of the prince's hungry eyes on her, but she didn't try to hide herself. In fact... the girl who was called ugly all her life now seemed to enjoy the attention she's getting, especially when it's coming from the handsome betrothed of the girl who made fun of her the most, and she made her movements slow and exaggerated, displaying much of her in this quickly darkening room. And when she bent down to pick up her dress, her ass pointed directly at the prince, Arya could hear him take a couple of hasty steps towards her before stopping himself. If Lyonel wasn't so focused on Arya's behind then, he would have noticed the triumphant smile on her face.

Afterwards, both left the tower, laughing, bantering and generally messing around with one another, and Arya, oblivious to all the spying eyes watching on this strange development, walked lightly for the first time in years, completely happy.