got_exchange fic
Title: Wolf Sisters of Winterfell
Author: madamechataya
For: crossingwinter
Characters: Arya, Sansa, Gendry, Elia Sand, Trystane Martell
Pairing: Arya/Elia
Rating: T
Words: 1,764
Warnings: None.
Prompt: Something not shippy that examines the Stark Sisters' relationships
Summary: Future!fic. Arya and Sansa grow closer, and a Martell visit to Winterfell introduces Arya to a new love interest.
Note: crossingwinter, I tried writing some Lyanna/Elia smut as per your hot lesbian smut prompt, but it felt really forced. However, the other Elia seems like she'd have chemistry with the next generation's wolf maid so I added some Arya/Elia Sand to your sisters prompt. I hope you like it.
Arya doesn’t know what to do. There aren’t many problems that can’t be solved with a few drops of poison or a sword, but unfortunately this is one of them. Gendry is in love with her. He’s her friend and Arya cares about him. She even considers him part of her pack. But she will never be in love with him or desire him as a lover.
She can’t tell him why, so he won’t accept her rejection. He continues to pursue her, telling her how pretty she looks every time he sees her and giving her gifts. He’s made her a beautiful helm with a visor resembling a wolf’s face that Arya knows she shouldn’t have accepted.
“It’s sweet,” Sansa sighs. “You can’t marry him - maybe if King Robert had recognized him, you could - but you can have a grand, tragic romance like Naerys, who loved Aemon but had to marry Aegon.”
Once Arya might have thought her sister very stupid for saying such things, but not anymore. Sansa says and does the same things she did before the war, but it is only an act. When she thinks no one is watching, her eyes are disturbingly empty. Arya appreciates that her sister dons a mask of normalcy for the sake of their little brother - and for her, too, she supposes, although she was never fooled by it.
Arya doesn’t care about Gendry being a bastard; if she loved him, she wouldn’t let stupid rules prevent her from being with him. She can’t tell Sansa the reason she’s not interested in Gendry, however; she can’t tell anyone. No one criticizes her for wearing breeches and carrying a sword because she’s not the only one. Lady Mormont’s daughters are warriors, too, and there’s a whole castle at the Wall garrisoned entirely by wilding women. But the Mormont women have the usual relationships with men. One has children of her own (even if no one’s sure she has a husband), one has a wilding lover, and the youngest is betrothed. It is unheard of in the North for a woman to love other women.
Not that Arya’s ever loved another woman, not really. But she’s bedded quite a few and she knows that if she ever falls in love, it will be with a woman. She considers confiding in Sansa. Sansa is no innocent, though she still pretends to be. Arya catches herself biting her lip and for a moment, she thinks the Kindly Man will be angry with her. But she is Arya Stark, not no one, and Arya Stark chews her lip when she’s thinking. It’s the desire to fully return to being Arya Stark that prompts her to tell Sansa. Sansa is Arya’s sister and sisters keep each other’s secrets.
“I won’t ever love him. I don’t like men that way.” Arya can tell by the look of confusion on Sansa’s face that she doesn’t understand, so she puts it more bluntly. “I don’t fuck men; I fuck women.”
Sansa’s Tully blue eyes widen in shock. “How?” she blurts.
Arya smirks. Somehow it’s reassuring to know that Sansa is still innocent in some ways. “I lick their cunts and they lick mine. I fuck them with my fingers, too, and sometimes my whole fist. And one time in Braavos…”
“I don’t need to hear the intimate details, thank you.”
After their conversation, Sansa begins to flirt with Gendry herself and so too does her maid and the younger serving women. The onslaught of female attention flusters Gendry at first and he hides from them as Arya might have hidden from him if she was the sort of woman to hide from anyone. But soon she sees him preening for the serving girls who surround him at his forge to admire his muscles. He looks guilty when he notices her watching, but Arya smiles and saunters up to him like nothing’s the matter. Gradually he stop complimenting her and he goes back to just being her friend again.
It’s well-timed, too, because a party from Dorne arrives not long after. Trystane Martell is in the market for a wife and House Stark has two unmarried daughters, so his reason for visiting is obvious. Officially, though, he’s just stopping at Winterfell as a matter of courtesy on his way to see what remains of the Wall. Arya is cool towards him, not wanting to encourage him, and he quickly becomes enamored of Sansa’s beauty and charm. Sansa seems besotted with him, too, and Arya has to bite her tongue to keep from reminding her sister what happened last time she fell in love with a prince.
To be fair, Trystane is nothing like Joffrey. And his cousins do not seem likely to put up the sort of behavior Joffrey engaged in. Nym is the diplomat of the family, for all that Trystane is the prince, and Elia seems to fancy herself their shield. Arya likes the two Dornish women. Elia is brash and swaggers worse than any bravo, but she doesn’t sulk after Arya beats her at sparring so Arya knows she’s not a bad person.
One night at dinner, while Trystane, Nym, and Sansa attempt to explain to little Rickon how come it never snows in Dorne, Elia leans over and whispers to her. “I’ve got a nice bottle of red I’d like to share with you. Good strong Dornish wine, not that weak Arbor piss. Let’s go to my room.”
Arya thinks she knows what’s really going on, but if she’s wrong, at least she’ll get a cup of wine out of it. She excuses herself to Prince Trystane and Lord Rickon, saying there’s something she wants to show Elia. There’s an awfully knowing look on Nym’s face, which makes Arya almost certain of the real reason Elia wants to be alone with her.
Sure enough, as soon as they’re in the bedroom, Elia kisses her. Or maybe Arya kisses Elia. It doesn’t matter. Arya is demanding, but Elia is equally passionate, and their fucking is just as intense and almost as rough as their sparring.
They spend an enjoyable week together, pitting their swords against each other and racing their horses by day, and fucking at nights. Arya likes to be in control, but Elia does, too, so they come up with a system. The winner of the day’s sparring gets to do whatever she wants to the loser. It’s a good system and even when Arya loses, she finds defeat can be quite pleasurable.
Then comes time for Trystane and his entourage to travel on to the Wall and then back home to Dorne. Arya is angry and frustrated and she doesn’t want to admit why. She doesn’t join her brother and sister in seeing their guests depart. Instead, she goes to the godswood and hacks at an old tree. There’s quite a supply of firewood piled up by the time Sansa comes looking for her, but Arya’s not done yet.
“You’ll miss Lady Elia, won’t you?”
Arya pauses with her axe drawn back for another chop. “I could love her.”
Sansa sets down her basket and spreads her cloak on the ground. “I could love Trystane, too. But I am afraid to marry him.”
Arya doesn’t have to ask why her sister is afraid to marry. Her marriage will mean she has to leave Winterfell and make her home far away in her husband’s domain. Marriage is not about love and romance, Sansa’s learned that the hard way. Marriage puts a woman at her husband’s mercy, without any recourse save poison. Arya would never marry even if she liked men. “Good,” she says. “Don’t marry anyone. Stay here with me and Rickon. You can take any lover you want and we’ll help you raise your babes if you have any.”
“But I want to get married,” Sansa says. “I want to have a husband to love and who loves me, and I want to have trueborn babes. I know not all men are like Joffrey. I’m just afraid because Dorne is so far away and everyone says it is so foreign.”
Arya resumes chopping at the tree. “You could find a husband around here. Any northman would be happy to have you.”
Sansa makes a face, and Arya knows that however much she’s changed, she still prefers handsome southron princes to the rough, bearded men of the North. Arya can’t really fault her sister either. After living in Braavos, the North seems rather provincial. Arya won’t admit it aloud, of course. Winterfell is home, no matter how drab and boring its surrounding region.
“I had an idea,” Sansa says. “Come sit with me. I’ve brought bread and cheese and some berries.”
They’d rarely played together as little girls; their interests had been too different. But picnics are one of the few things they both enjoy. Arya throws down her axe and sits beside her sister. The berries are more tart than sweet, but Arya likes them best that way.
“I thought I could visit Dorne first before I made up my mind about marrying Trystane. You could come with me.”
It’s an excellent idea, and it shows Sansa has gotten smarter. Arya is suddenly eager to visit Dorne and not only because she’ll get to see Elia again. It’s an adventure waiting to be had. Arya grabs her sister and hugs her tight. “Let’s do it.”
Sansa hugs her back, before pulling away to reach into the basket. “We’ll do it,” she says placidly. “But first a taste of our new brewer’s ale.”
Home and family are secure; Winterfell is rebuilt and Rickon is growing into a strong lord. It’s time for the Stark women to pursue their personal happiness. “Maybe I’ll let you put my hair in one of those fancy braids,” Arya tells her sister.
Sansa smiles. “I’m happy you’re my sister, too, Arya.”
Arya tosses a berry at her, though she returns the smile. It’s taken them both many years to realize it, but it’s nice to have a sister.
Author: madamechataya
For: crossingwinter
Characters: Arya, Sansa, Gendry, Elia Sand, Trystane Martell
Pairing: Arya/Elia
Rating: T
Words: 1,764
Warnings: None.
Prompt: Something not shippy that examines the Stark Sisters' relationships
Summary: Future!fic. Arya and Sansa grow closer, and a Martell visit to Winterfell introduces Arya to a new love interest.
Note: crossingwinter, I tried writing some Lyanna/Elia smut as per your hot lesbian smut prompt, but it felt really forced. However, the other Elia seems like she'd have chemistry with the next generation's wolf maid so I added some Arya/Elia Sand to your sisters prompt. I hope you like it.
Arya doesn’t know what to do. There aren’t many problems that can’t be solved with a few drops of poison or a sword, but unfortunately this is one of them. Gendry is in love with her. He’s her friend and Arya cares about him. She even considers him part of her pack. But she will never be in love with him or desire him as a lover.
She can’t tell him why, so he won’t accept her rejection. He continues to pursue her, telling her how pretty she looks every time he sees her and giving her gifts. He’s made her a beautiful helm with a visor resembling a wolf’s face that Arya knows she shouldn’t have accepted.
“It’s sweet,” Sansa sighs. “You can’t marry him - maybe if King Robert had recognized him, you could - but you can have a grand, tragic romance like Naerys, who loved Aemon but had to marry Aegon.”
Once Arya might have thought her sister very stupid for saying such things, but not anymore. Sansa says and does the same things she did before the war, but it is only an act. When she thinks no one is watching, her eyes are disturbingly empty. Arya appreciates that her sister dons a mask of normalcy for the sake of their little brother - and for her, too, she supposes, although she was never fooled by it.
Arya doesn’t care about Gendry being a bastard; if she loved him, she wouldn’t let stupid rules prevent her from being with him. She can’t tell Sansa the reason she’s not interested in Gendry, however; she can’t tell anyone. No one criticizes her for wearing breeches and carrying a sword because she’s not the only one. Lady Mormont’s daughters are warriors, too, and there’s a whole castle at the Wall garrisoned entirely by wilding women. But the Mormont women have the usual relationships with men. One has children of her own (even if no one’s sure she has a husband), one has a wilding lover, and the youngest is betrothed. It is unheard of in the North for a woman to love other women.
Not that Arya’s ever loved another woman, not really. But she’s bedded quite a few and she knows that if she ever falls in love, it will be with a woman. She considers confiding in Sansa. Sansa is no innocent, though she still pretends to be. Arya catches herself biting her lip and for a moment, she thinks the Kindly Man will be angry with her. But she is Arya Stark, not no one, and Arya Stark chews her lip when she’s thinking. It’s the desire to fully return to being Arya Stark that prompts her to tell Sansa. Sansa is Arya’s sister and sisters keep each other’s secrets.
“I won’t ever love him. I don’t like men that way.” Arya can tell by the look of confusion on Sansa’s face that she doesn’t understand, so she puts it more bluntly. “I don’t fuck men; I fuck women.”
Sansa’s Tully blue eyes widen in shock. “How?” she blurts.
Arya smirks. Somehow it’s reassuring to know that Sansa is still innocent in some ways. “I lick their cunts and they lick mine. I fuck them with my fingers, too, and sometimes my whole fist. And one time in Braavos…”
“I don’t need to hear the intimate details, thank you.”
After their conversation, Sansa begins to flirt with Gendry herself and so too does her maid and the younger serving women. The onslaught of female attention flusters Gendry at first and he hides from them as Arya might have hidden from him if she was the sort of woman to hide from anyone. But soon she sees him preening for the serving girls who surround him at his forge to admire his muscles. He looks guilty when he notices her watching, but Arya smiles and saunters up to him like nothing’s the matter. Gradually he stop complimenting her and he goes back to just being her friend again.
It’s well-timed, too, because a party from Dorne arrives not long after. Trystane Martell is in the market for a wife and House Stark has two unmarried daughters, so his reason for visiting is obvious. Officially, though, he’s just stopping at Winterfell as a matter of courtesy on his way to see what remains of the Wall. Arya is cool towards him, not wanting to encourage him, and he quickly becomes enamored of Sansa’s beauty and charm. Sansa seems besotted with him, too, and Arya has to bite her tongue to keep from reminding her sister what happened last time she fell in love with a prince.
To be fair, Trystane is nothing like Joffrey. And his cousins do not seem likely to put up the sort of behavior Joffrey engaged in. Nym is the diplomat of the family, for all that Trystane is the prince, and Elia seems to fancy herself their shield. Arya likes the two Dornish women. Elia is brash and swaggers worse than any bravo, but she doesn’t sulk after Arya beats her at sparring so Arya knows she’s not a bad person.
One night at dinner, while Trystane, Nym, and Sansa attempt to explain to little Rickon how come it never snows in Dorne, Elia leans over and whispers to her. “I’ve got a nice bottle of red I’d like to share with you. Good strong Dornish wine, not that weak Arbor piss. Let’s go to my room.”
Arya thinks she knows what’s really going on, but if she’s wrong, at least she’ll get a cup of wine out of it. She excuses herself to Prince Trystane and Lord Rickon, saying there’s something she wants to show Elia. There’s an awfully knowing look on Nym’s face, which makes Arya almost certain of the real reason Elia wants to be alone with her.
Sure enough, as soon as they’re in the bedroom, Elia kisses her. Or maybe Arya kisses Elia. It doesn’t matter. Arya is demanding, but Elia is equally passionate, and their fucking is just as intense and almost as rough as their sparring.
They spend an enjoyable week together, pitting their swords against each other and racing their horses by day, and fucking at nights. Arya likes to be in control, but Elia does, too, so they come up with a system. The winner of the day’s sparring gets to do whatever she wants to the loser. It’s a good system and even when Arya loses, she finds defeat can be quite pleasurable.
Then comes time for Trystane and his entourage to travel on to the Wall and then back home to Dorne. Arya is angry and frustrated and she doesn’t want to admit why. She doesn’t join her brother and sister in seeing their guests depart. Instead, she goes to the godswood and hacks at an old tree. There’s quite a supply of firewood piled up by the time Sansa comes looking for her, but Arya’s not done yet.
“You’ll miss Lady Elia, won’t you?”
Arya pauses with her axe drawn back for another chop. “I could love her.”
Sansa sets down her basket and spreads her cloak on the ground. “I could love Trystane, too. But I am afraid to marry him.”
Arya doesn’t have to ask why her sister is afraid to marry. Her marriage will mean she has to leave Winterfell and make her home far away in her husband’s domain. Marriage is not about love and romance, Sansa’s learned that the hard way. Marriage puts a woman at her husband’s mercy, without any recourse save poison. Arya would never marry even if she liked men. “Good,” she says. “Don’t marry anyone. Stay here with me and Rickon. You can take any lover you want and we’ll help you raise your babes if you have any.”
“But I want to get married,” Sansa says. “I want to have a husband to love and who loves me, and I want to have trueborn babes. I know not all men are like Joffrey. I’m just afraid because Dorne is so far away and everyone says it is so foreign.”
Arya resumes chopping at the tree. “You could find a husband around here. Any northman would be happy to have you.”
Sansa makes a face, and Arya knows that however much she’s changed, she still prefers handsome southron princes to the rough, bearded men of the North. Arya can’t really fault her sister either. After living in Braavos, the North seems rather provincial. Arya won’t admit it aloud, of course. Winterfell is home, no matter how drab and boring its surrounding region.
“I had an idea,” Sansa says. “Come sit with me. I’ve brought bread and cheese and some berries.”
They’d rarely played together as little girls; their interests had been too different. But picnics are one of the few things they both enjoy. Arya throws down her axe and sits beside her sister. The berries are more tart than sweet, but Arya likes them best that way.
“I thought I could visit Dorne first before I made up my mind about marrying Trystane. You could come with me.”
It’s an excellent idea, and it shows Sansa has gotten smarter. Arya is suddenly eager to visit Dorne and not only because she’ll get to see Elia again. It’s an adventure waiting to be had. Arya grabs her sister and hugs her tight. “Let’s do it.”
Sansa hugs her back, before pulling away to reach into the basket. “We’ll do it,” she says placidly. “But first a taste of our new brewer’s ale.”
Home and family are secure; Winterfell is rebuilt and Rickon is growing into a strong lord. It’s time for the Stark women to pursue their personal happiness. “Maybe I’ll let you put my hair in one of those fancy braids,” Arya tells her sister.
Sansa smiles. “I’m happy you’re my sister, too, Arya.”
Arya tosses a berry at her, though she returns the smile. It’s taken them both many years to realize it, but it’s nice to have a sister.