Comment fic meme #2
After the first round of got_exchange we had a surprisingly successful comment fic meme going for a while (here's a list of all the fics that were written last time), so I thought it might be fun to do this again. (Like last time, it's posted on the mod account journal because I don't want to enable anonymous comments on the exchange community.)
I changed the ( Read more... )
I changed the ( Read more... )
“I could tear your face apart with it in a second, so quick that you’d never even have time to scream.”
Her grey eyes- Ned Stark’s eyes, Lyanna Stark’s eyes- come alive at once, and Jaime feels a cold sting in his belly- How many people have looked into those eyes as they heaved their dying breaths? It distresses him more than he’d care to admit, to think of this wispy little noblewoman, the younger sister of the sweet, deliberate, patient Lady of Winterfell, Ned Stark’s runty little daughter as the country’s most feared assassin. And it isn’t her age- he’d been younger than she when he received his white cloak. Nor is it her gender- he’s spent too much time with Brienne to hold Arya’s womanhood against her. But this girl is not a warrior in the traditional sense...she’s not a knight. She’s something far more savage, far more deadly.
The last time Arya appeared in Winterfell, he’d come upon her in the stables, throwing knives at a target on the wall. As she flung each blade through the air, she recited something under her breath- as he drew closer, Jaime recognized the litany of names- “King Joffrey...The Tickler...Raff the Sweetling....Queen Cersei...” He hitched his breath at the last, and she whirled around, brandishing her knife in his direction.
“What are you whispering about?” he inquired, unsure whether he wanted to hear an answer.
He quite expected her to leave without a word, as she usually did whenever he addressed her- he blinked with surprise when she stepped toward him, her little bird-like face stretched in an unnerving approximation of a smile.
“A list. A list of all who’ve wronged me, who’ve wronged my family. It’s an older list, this one- most of the people are dead already.” Her smile broadened, and Jaime felt a sudden urge to turn and run, run as fast as he could.
“It’s about time to start a new one, I suppose.”
He forced the panic down and tried to make light of her words, returning her smile and saying casually, “Should I be worried, my lady?”
She spun the knife in her hand- blade over and under and over and under. “If I wanted you dead, Kingslayer, you’d be dead already.” When she finally stilled the knife and slipped it into the little scabbard at her waist, he breathed an exhale of relief.
But she made no move to leave. Her voice- still lightly tinged with a Braavosi accent- dropped low and quiet- “If I did anything to harm you, my sister would not like it. Sansa’s problem, you see, is that she forgives anyone who is kind to her.”
Jaime couldn’t quite agree with that statement- the image of Petyr Baelish’s bleeding corpse still lingered too vividly in his mind- but he kept his counsel.
“She says that you’ve redeemed yourself and sworn your sword and your person to the North. She says that should be enough for me.”
And is it, Lady Arya? he wanted to ask, but she sidestepped around him and exited the stable before he could say another word.
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