Fic: Lya of the Dreadfort
This is the fic I wrote for asoiaf_equinox.
Title: Lya of the Dreadfort
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: older!Arya/Jeyne Poole, Jeyne/Ramsay Bolton
Word Count: 3,573
Summary: Lya serves Lady Arya at the Dreadfort and bides her time.
Warnings: Non-con, fisting, character death
"Aren't you excited, Arya? Prince Tommen is going to escort you to dinner!" Jeyne Poole squealed as though it was she who the prince would escort.
Arya ignored her. Tommen was just a chubby little boy. Jeyne could have him if she wanted. She tugged at the lace decorating the front of her gown. "It scratches," she complained.
"You can't even feel it," Sansa said. She was sitting still with her hands folded in her lap while her maid brushed her hair.
It was true. The velvet of the gown itself and the linen of her shift kept her skin well protected. Arya didn't let that stop her though. "It looks like it scratches."
"It looks pretty. Tommen will like it," Beth Cassel said. She looked pretty herself. She was little so she got the clothes Sansa outgrew and the ones that survived Arya.
"Who cares what he likes," Arya snapped. "If he likes lace, he's stupid."
"He's not stupid. He's a prince, Arya Horseface."
Septa Mordane wasn't here so Arya was free to shove Jeyne.
Jeyne picked herself up off the floor and brushed bits of rushes off her plain dress. "You're just jealous because you couldn't even curtsy to the king and queen properly." She executed a perfect curtsy to show that she could.
Arya rolled her eyes. Jeyne was stupid if she thought Arya was jealous of that. She might have pushed her again but Lady Catelyn entered the room. She'd finished dressing for the feast and she looked beautiful. She smiled when Arya told her so.
"You look very pretty too, Arya."
Arya knew she only said it because she was her mother and mothers had to tell you that you were pretty even when you weren't.
"Jeyne, take Beth and find your places in the hall."
Jeyne curtsied and Arya thought she looked disappointed when Arya's lady mother didn't comment.
"Are you ready, my lovely young ladies?"
Arya held her mother's hand until they reached the entrance to the Great Hall where the rest of the family and their royal guests were waiting. As the procession to the high table began, Arya caught sight of Jeyne staring at Sansa and handsome Prince Joffrey. She caught Jeyne's eye and glowered at her. Jeyne glared back.
Lya had been working at the Dreadfort for weeks before Lady Arya paid any attention to her. It wasn't surprising since Lya was a cook's helper and the lady rarely visited the kitchen. But the usual serving girls had come down with some sort of illness that kept them in the privy so Lya was tasked with carrying the soup to the high table. She walked carefully and spilled not a drop.
Lady Arya thanked her, which would have seemed odd for such a mundane task had it not been obvious that the lady was grateful for even such a minor interruption. Her lord husband sat beside her, his fat lips twisted into a cruel smirk. He met Lya's steady gaze and then his strange pale eyes flickered away, dismissing her thin figure and long stringy blond hair as unworthy before he put his hand on his wife's back.
"I believe we should retire early after the meal is done, sweetling."
Lady Arya's slender shoulders trembled. "As you will, my lord," she replied without looking at her husband. To Lya she said, "I'll have another bowl of this soup."
Lya bowed and headed back to the kitchen. When she returned to the high table, both of her hands were full. She set the bowl carried in her left hand down before Ramsay. "Cook sent this specially for you, m'lord. Found the last of the spices."
The lord left for the privy before the dessert course was served. His lady wife overindulged in wine, seemingly trying to finish the flagon before he returned. She was unsteady on her feet when she rose so Lya scurried to her side and slipped an arm around her unasked.
The lady shoved her away. "Do not presume to touch me."
"I only thought to help, m'lady."
"You don't think, you obey."
"Yes, m'lady. What would you have me do?"
Lady Arya eyed Lya's body with the interest that had been lacking in her husband's gaze, and Lya knew the things the maids whispered about her were true. But she made no advances. "Leave me be," she said. "Go spread your legs for some stableboy or whatever it is you do, but get away from me."
Lya bowed and backed away. She ate her own dinner in the kitchen and helped to clear away the hall before she crawled into her little corner in the room she shared with the others. She recited her prayers in her head so as not to disturb the others or be overheard and closed her eyes.
She made no sound as she stalked through the high snow drifts. There was nothing in her belly but the pain of hunger. Prey had become scarce. Even carrion, once so abundant in this land of rivers, was not to be found. She had lost many of her smaller brothers and sisters to the humans who hunted them and she was being tracked at this very moment. The she-wolf waited until the would-be hunter had outdistanced his fellows and then she turned and lunged.
“Tell the steward you will serve as my maid from now. Bria has gotten clumsy of late, and I cannot abide it," Arya Stark Bolton said to Lya the following morning.
"Yes, m'lady. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, just see that you do your job well."
Serving as the personal maid to the lady of the castle was a huge step up from working in the kitchen. Maids who had served at the Dreadfort longer than Lya, some their whole lives, were jealous. There was much speculation on whether it was Lord or Lady Bolton who've given her the promotion and what part of her body she'd used to earn it.
Lya moved her meager possessions to the windowless cell adjoining Lady Arya's chambers. She unwrapped a child's sword and touched the blade for a moment, biting her lip. Then it was quickly re-wrapped and stuffed into the straw of her bedding. That night when she lay down to sleep, she was free to pray aloud.
"Queen Cersei. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. All the Freys of the Crossing. Ramsay Bolton. Jeyne Poole."
She didn't have to rise as early anymore, not until the sun was already up, because Lady Arya liked to sleep late. Lya only had to be up a little before her mistress to add more wood to the fire and collect her breakfast from the kitchen. When she awakened, Lya had to comb the tangles from her hair and lace her into her gown.
At night she helped her to bathe, scrubbing her back and washing her hair. Lya moved the washcloth slowly over Lady Arya's body the first time, wondering whether she should pay particular attention to her breasts and her thighs and what lay between them. But she remembered that the lady didn't like her to do anything before she was told to do it.
Lady Arya presented her with some of her old clothing at the end of her third day. "You'll do," she said, "But you can't keep wearing those rags."
"Thank you, m'lady."
Lya was a little shorter than the lady, and slimmer in the bust and hips. The dresses needed to be altered. She was glad she'd discovered that her sewing was passable if she held the needle in her left hand instead of her right. It would have looked amiss if a serving woman could not sew and needed someone else to do it for her.
"You tore your new dress," Jeyne said gleefully.
Arya spun around, annoyed that Jeyne had managed to sneak up on her. There was no point in denying it since her left sleeve hung from her shoulder by a few threads and there was no need to offer an explanation since Jeyne was only the steward's daughter so Arya said nothing.
"Septa Mordane will scold you for hours."
Arya wasn't afraid of Septa Mordane. Whenever the septa lectured her on the importance of comporting herself as befit a noble lady, she escaped into daydreams about Nymeria and her ten thousand ships. But her lady mother had sewn this dress herself and Arya hated to think of her disappointed sigh when she saw the condition of it. She couldn't even try to fix it because her stitches were so untidy. However Jeyne's stitches were as neat as Sansa's.
"Mend it for me," Arya said.
"What will you give me if I do?"
"The doll Lord Manderly gave me."
Fat Lord Manderly had come to Winterfell a few moons ago and brought gifts for his liege's children. He had given Arya and Sansa beautiful dolls that he said came from Lys. Arya had put hers in the chest at the foot of her bed and forgotten about it, but Sansa still played with her doll and Arya had seen how enviously Jeyne watched her.
"Truly?"
"As soon as you finish mending this as neat as new. And you have to swear you won't tell."
"I won't, I promise."
Lord Bolton came to his wife's bed late one night. Lya was awakened by her mistress's screams and she pulled her small blade from its hiding place. But once she realized what she was hearing, she slipped the sword back under the bed. The timing was all wrong. Still, she had to do something.
Lya crept into the room where Ramsay Bolton was raping Arya Stark. Lady Arya scratched her husband and tried to push him off her, but Ramsay made no move to restrain her, though he slapped her face and breasts from time to time. Lya stood there watching and chewing her lip until he was done.
"Don't be shy next time," he said when he saw her. "Join us."
He reached out a hand to touch her as he passed by, but Lya took a step backward as though afraid. Ramsay laughed.
"Bring a washcloth," Lady Arya ordered after her husband was gone.
Lya wiped Lady Arya clean of her husband's seed and spittle. She found an ointment to soothe her bruised flesh and gently rubbed it into the skin of her breasts and thighs. She was shocked when the lady parted those thighs and gave her an impatient look. Surely she couldn't want that now; not after what had just happened.
"Gods, girl, are you stupid? Do it."
Lya gingerly touched her mistress's cunt. Lady Arya bucked her hips impatiently.
"You've got one of your own, don't you? Don't you know what to do?"
Lady Arya made a rude sound when Lya shook her head. "Lie back and I'll show you."
Lya was beginning to suspect that the lady shared her husband's tastes in more ways than one. "Please, m'lady. I don't want…"
"I've told you," Lady Arya said crossly, "What you want doesn't matter." But she allowed Lya to return to her own bed without further fuss.
Lya was furious with herself. Lady Arya would probably have her sent back to the kitchens. She should have just done it. She had never permitted anyone between her legs, nor had she ever cared to get between anyone else's. But she knew how to bring herself off and the lady wasn't made differently.
As she tended to Lady Arya that morning, she decided to try to get a second chance. "I'm sorry about last night, m'lady. M'lord frightened me."
"When he takes you, you should scream and struggle," Lady Arya said, in the same tone she used to tell Lya what gown she would wear today. "If you just lie there quietly, he'll hurt you more."
"Aye, m'lady." The knife in her boot would find its way into Bolton's belly if he tried anything, no matter the timing.
Almost a moon passed before anything eventful happened again. Lya was brushing her lady's hair one evening, wondering whether to wait longer or to do soon what she had come to the Dreadfort to do. A raven had arrived yesterday declaring Sansa Stark, wife of the Lord of the Eyrie, the rightful heir to Winterfell and Queen in the North. War was coming.
"Lya?" Lady Arya's voice was sharp. "Haven't you been listening to me?"
"I'm sorry, m'lady. What would you have of me?"
"I should send you to muck out the stables." Her face softened as she studied Lya. "You are loyal to me, aren't you? You're my girl?"
"Yes, m'lady. I'm your servant."
"Kiss me."
Lya did as she was bid. She pressed her lips to Lady Arya's, soft at first, feeling nothing. She was no more affected by kissing the lady than she was by lacing her gown every morning or brushing her hair every evening. Lady Arya kissed her harder and pulled her close, starved for pleasure. She thrust her tongue into Lya's mouth.
Her hands groped at Lya's small breasts through her old woolen gown. Lya gasped when she twisted the tip of one breast, unsure whether the sensation she felt was pain or pleasure. Lady Arya nuzzled her neck, whispering meaningless endearments. Then she bit her.
She was the leader of the pack, the alpha bitch. She did not submit - the others offered her their bellies.
Arya Stark grabbed Jeyne Poole's hair and yanked her head away from her throat. She pushed Jeyne down onto the bed and sank her teeth into her tender neck until she tasted a coppery tang. She licked the blood away before kissing Jeyne. Jeyne didn't like it this way. She tried to push Arya off her, but Arya held her wrists down. She sucked hard on Jeyne's tongue, and felt an urge to bite it off and swallow it down. The feeling shook her and she released Jeyne's mouth.
"I'll have you flayed for this," Jeyne shouted.
"You wanted to fuck."
"I am your lady and you will treat me with the respect due."
"You're a steward's daughter."
Jeyne's outrage turned to fear. "Who are you?"
"I'm Arya Stark."
Jeyne looked confused. Arya ended the glamour, allowing Jeyne to see her true appearance. It didn't take long for Jeyne to recognize her, though the face Jeyne had once likened to a horse's was now one anyone would call beautiful.
"You're alive."
Arya rolled her eyes. Jeyne was so stupid. There was no need for her to state the obvious when she could have asked how Arya had changed her appearance or what she intended to do. "I'm alive. And I'm not happy you've been pretending to be me and letting people think I married Ramsay Bolton."
"You want to take my place?"
"I don't want to be Lady Bolton. You're welcome to it."
Jeyne exhaled loudly, visibly relieved. "What will you do now?"
Arya was suddenly aware that she was lying on top of Jeyne. Jeyne shifted and their breasts rubbed against each other. Arya slipped her hand between Jeyne's legs.
"I'm going to fuck you."
"Arya…"
To be called by her own name after all these years felt strange. She yanked up Jeyne's skirts and pushed down her smallclothes. She figured it shouldn't be too different from what she did to herself at night in her tiny sleeping cell. She rubbed her forefinger in a small circle around the tiny nub at the top of Jeyne's cunt.
"Use your mouth," Jeyne suggested.
Arya ignored her. Jeyne might order her maid Lya around, but she couldn't tell Arya of House Stark what to do. Jeyne's breathing was loud and fast now, and she was moving her hips, grinding herself against Arya's finger.
"Inside. Put it inside."
She didn't take orders from the steward's daughter, but Arya did like the thought of penetrating Jeyne. She slid a finger into Jeyne's cunt and used her other hand to continue stroking her. When Jeyne begged for more, Arya gave it to her, putting another finger inside her. Jeyne gasped and made a low choking sound, her cunt squeezing at Arya's fingers.
“Oh, gods," Jeyne murmured, satisfied.
Arya didn't stop. She added a third finger and a fourth. It was a tight fit, but she had small hands. Jeyne was becoming aware of how wide she was stretched. She tried to wriggle away.
"Stop. That was enough."
"I'm not finished."
"I don't want…"
"The lady commands and the servant obeys; that's what you said. I'm the lady, Jeyne."
Jeyne groaned as she endured Arya's slow, careful fucking. Arya wondered whether she could fit her thumb in there too and decided there was no reason not to try. It wasn't easy, especially with Jeyne's moaning and begging distracting her, but she managed to do it.
"Arya, please."
"Keep saying my name. It's been such a long time since anybody's called me Arya. They've been calling you Arya," Arya said, staring at where her wrist disappeared into Jeyne. It amazed her that her whole hand was inside Jeyne. She flexed her fingers.
Jeyne chanted her name obediently. The discomfort on her face changed to arousal and then pleasure as Arya dipped her head and licked at her cunt. It wasn't really a bad taste, Arya decided. It was salty. That had been her name once, Salty of Saltpans.
When Jeyne tried to clutch her short hair, Arya slapped her hands away. She waited until Jeyne got off again before removing her hand. It was covered in slime. Arya made a face and wiped her hand clean on Jeyne's skirt.
"Gods, Arya," Jeyne said. "That was…" She sighed contentedly. "Lie back and let me do you now."
Arya was very aroused, but the thought of being exposed like that, of being vulnerable to Jeyne, was unbearable. "No," she said.
Jeyne put her hand on Arya's thigh. "I want to." She smiled. "I'll make you scream my name."
Arya chewed her lip. There had to be a way to let Jeyne pleasure her without giving up control. "All right," she said. "But not on the bed. On your knees."
She expected Jeyne to protest, but she slid off the bed and sank to her knees before Arya without a word. Arya hiked up her skirts and spread her legs. The very first flicker of Jeyne's tongue had her moaning. She had to fight the impulse to clamp her thighs around Jeyne and never release her. She didn't say Jeyne's name though, not even once; her cries were all wordless howls.
"What now?" Jeyne asked, afterwards. "Why have you come here?"
"To kill Ramsay Bolton," Arya answered. She'd come to kill Jeyne too for pretending to be her, but she wasn't sure what to do now. Jeyne had stolen her identity for years, but it didn't seem right to kill someone she'd fucked.
Jeyne gave her a doubtful look. "You?"
"I've killed lots of people." Arya stretched and drew the knife from her boot. "I killed a guard to escape from Harrenhal when Roose Bolton held it, and I killed lots more after."
"I won't tell anyone it was you. I promise."
"I would have mended your dress for you," Sansa told her the following day. "You didn't have to give Jeyne your pretty new doll. I would have done it for nothing."
Arya gritted her teeth. That stupid Jeyne Poole. She'd sworn she wouldn't tell anyone what she'd done for Arya. "I didn't," she lied.
"Jeyne stole it?" Sansa was shocked. "I didn't think she'd ever do something like that."
Arya snarled in frustration. This was even worse. Sansa would tell their mother and Lady Catelyn would ask Arya and Arya couldn't lie to her mother. "She didn't steal it. I gave it to her," she admitted.
"Why?"
"As payment. I didn't ask you because you'd have told Mother I tore my dress."
"I wouldn't have; not if you'd made me promise not to."
"I don't care about the stupid doll anyway." And it was true. Arya didn't care about dolls, but she cared about people breaking their word to her. She'd see how Jeyne liked a handful of worms thrown at her.
Lya screamed, so loud and so long her throat hurt. The sound drew everyone, the maester, the guards, the maids. They added their voices to hers until nobody could hear anything.
"Silence," Steelshanks Walton boomed. To Lya, he said, "Did you see anyone else?"
She shook her head and pointed at what everyone could plainly see. Lord and Lady Bolton lay dead in their bed, their throats cut from ear to ear. "I came in and they were like that. I didn't see anything else."
Silence filled the room. Lady Bolton had miscarried twice and Ramsay had killed off those cousins who might have threatened his claim after his lord father had died. There was no heir to the Dreadfort.
"It were the ghosts done it," one old man muttered. "The ghosts of the flayed."
"I shall send ravens," the maester said. "To King Stannis and Queen Sansa. They can fight it out between them."
Lya slipped out of the room, biting her lip and wondering whether Queen Sansa was Sansa Stark any more than Lady Bolton had been Arya Stark. She should make sure before she killed King Stannis.
Title: Lya of the Dreadfort
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: older!Arya/Jeyne Poole, Jeyne/Ramsay Bolton
Word Count: 3,573
Summary: Lya serves Lady Arya at the Dreadfort and bides her time.
Warnings: Non-con, fisting, character death
"Aren't you excited, Arya? Prince Tommen is going to escort you to dinner!" Jeyne Poole squealed as though it was she who the prince would escort.
Arya ignored her. Tommen was just a chubby little boy. Jeyne could have him if she wanted. She tugged at the lace decorating the front of her gown. "It scratches," she complained.
"You can't even feel it," Sansa said. She was sitting still with her hands folded in her lap while her maid brushed her hair.
It was true. The velvet of the gown itself and the linen of her shift kept her skin well protected. Arya didn't let that stop her though. "It looks like it scratches."
"It looks pretty. Tommen will like it," Beth Cassel said. She looked pretty herself. She was little so she got the clothes Sansa outgrew and the ones that survived Arya.
"Who cares what he likes," Arya snapped. "If he likes lace, he's stupid."
"He's not stupid. He's a prince, Arya Horseface."
Septa Mordane wasn't here so Arya was free to shove Jeyne.
Jeyne picked herself up off the floor and brushed bits of rushes off her plain dress. "You're just jealous because you couldn't even curtsy to the king and queen properly." She executed a perfect curtsy to show that she could.
Arya rolled her eyes. Jeyne was stupid if she thought Arya was jealous of that. She might have pushed her again but Lady Catelyn entered the room. She'd finished dressing for the feast and she looked beautiful. She smiled when Arya told her so.
"You look very pretty too, Arya."
Arya knew she only said it because she was her mother and mothers had to tell you that you were pretty even when you weren't.
"Jeyne, take Beth and find your places in the hall."
Jeyne curtsied and Arya thought she looked disappointed when Arya's lady mother didn't comment.
"Are you ready, my lovely young ladies?"
Arya held her mother's hand until they reached the entrance to the Great Hall where the rest of the family and their royal guests were waiting. As the procession to the high table began, Arya caught sight of Jeyne staring at Sansa and handsome Prince Joffrey. She caught Jeyne's eye and glowered at her. Jeyne glared back.
Lya had been working at the Dreadfort for weeks before Lady Arya paid any attention to her. It wasn't surprising since Lya was a cook's helper and the lady rarely visited the kitchen. But the usual serving girls had come down with some sort of illness that kept them in the privy so Lya was tasked with carrying the soup to the high table. She walked carefully and spilled not a drop.
Lady Arya thanked her, which would have seemed odd for such a mundane task had it not been obvious that the lady was grateful for even such a minor interruption. Her lord husband sat beside her, his fat lips twisted into a cruel smirk. He met Lya's steady gaze and then his strange pale eyes flickered away, dismissing her thin figure and long stringy blond hair as unworthy before he put his hand on his wife's back.
"I believe we should retire early after the meal is done, sweetling."
Lady Arya's slender shoulders trembled. "As you will, my lord," she replied without looking at her husband. To Lya she said, "I'll have another bowl of this soup."
Lya bowed and headed back to the kitchen. When she returned to the high table, both of her hands were full. She set the bowl carried in her left hand down before Ramsay. "Cook sent this specially for you, m'lord. Found the last of the spices."
The lord left for the privy before the dessert course was served. His lady wife overindulged in wine, seemingly trying to finish the flagon before he returned. She was unsteady on her feet when she rose so Lya scurried to her side and slipped an arm around her unasked.
The lady shoved her away. "Do not presume to touch me."
"I only thought to help, m'lady."
"You don't think, you obey."
"Yes, m'lady. What would you have me do?"
Lady Arya eyed Lya's body with the interest that had been lacking in her husband's gaze, and Lya knew the things the maids whispered about her were true. But she made no advances. "Leave me be," she said. "Go spread your legs for some stableboy or whatever it is you do, but get away from me."
Lya bowed and backed away. She ate her own dinner in the kitchen and helped to clear away the hall before she crawled into her little corner in the room she shared with the others. She recited her prayers in her head so as not to disturb the others or be overheard and closed her eyes.
She made no sound as she stalked through the high snow drifts. There was nothing in her belly but the pain of hunger. Prey had become scarce. Even carrion, once so abundant in this land of rivers, was not to be found. She had lost many of her smaller brothers and sisters to the humans who hunted them and she was being tracked at this very moment. The she-wolf waited until the would-be hunter had outdistanced his fellows and then she turned and lunged.
“Tell the steward you will serve as my maid from now. Bria has gotten clumsy of late, and I cannot abide it," Arya Stark Bolton said to Lya the following morning.
"Yes, m'lady. Thank you."
"Don't thank me, just see that you do your job well."
Serving as the personal maid to the lady of the castle was a huge step up from working in the kitchen. Maids who had served at the Dreadfort longer than Lya, some their whole lives, were jealous. There was much speculation on whether it was Lord or Lady Bolton who've given her the promotion and what part of her body she'd used to earn it.
Lya moved her meager possessions to the windowless cell adjoining Lady Arya's chambers. She unwrapped a child's sword and touched the blade for a moment, biting her lip. Then it was quickly re-wrapped and stuffed into the straw of her bedding. That night when she lay down to sleep, she was free to pray aloud.
"Queen Cersei. Ser Ilyn. Ser Meryn. All the Freys of the Crossing. Ramsay Bolton. Jeyne Poole."
She didn't have to rise as early anymore, not until the sun was already up, because Lady Arya liked to sleep late. Lya only had to be up a little before her mistress to add more wood to the fire and collect her breakfast from the kitchen. When she awakened, Lya had to comb the tangles from her hair and lace her into her gown.
At night she helped her to bathe, scrubbing her back and washing her hair. Lya moved the washcloth slowly over Lady Arya's body the first time, wondering whether she should pay particular attention to her breasts and her thighs and what lay between them. But she remembered that the lady didn't like her to do anything before she was told to do it.
Lady Arya presented her with some of her old clothing at the end of her third day. "You'll do," she said, "But you can't keep wearing those rags."
"Thank you, m'lady."
Lya was a little shorter than the lady, and slimmer in the bust and hips. The dresses needed to be altered. She was glad she'd discovered that her sewing was passable if she held the needle in her left hand instead of her right. It would have looked amiss if a serving woman could not sew and needed someone else to do it for her.
"You tore your new dress," Jeyne said gleefully.
Arya spun around, annoyed that Jeyne had managed to sneak up on her. There was no point in denying it since her left sleeve hung from her shoulder by a few threads and there was no need to offer an explanation since Jeyne was only the steward's daughter so Arya said nothing.
"Septa Mordane will scold you for hours."
Arya wasn't afraid of Septa Mordane. Whenever the septa lectured her on the importance of comporting herself as befit a noble lady, she escaped into daydreams about Nymeria and her ten thousand ships. But her lady mother had sewn this dress herself and Arya hated to think of her disappointed sigh when she saw the condition of it. She couldn't even try to fix it because her stitches were so untidy. However Jeyne's stitches were as neat as Sansa's.
"Mend it for me," Arya said.
"What will you give me if I do?"
"The doll Lord Manderly gave me."
Fat Lord Manderly had come to Winterfell a few moons ago and brought gifts for his liege's children. He had given Arya and Sansa beautiful dolls that he said came from Lys. Arya had put hers in the chest at the foot of her bed and forgotten about it, but Sansa still played with her doll and Arya had seen how enviously Jeyne watched her.
"Truly?"
"As soon as you finish mending this as neat as new. And you have to swear you won't tell."
"I won't, I promise."
Lord Bolton came to his wife's bed late one night. Lya was awakened by her mistress's screams and she pulled her small blade from its hiding place. But once she realized what she was hearing, she slipped the sword back under the bed. The timing was all wrong. Still, she had to do something.
Lya crept into the room where Ramsay Bolton was raping Arya Stark. Lady Arya scratched her husband and tried to push him off her, but Ramsay made no move to restrain her, though he slapped her face and breasts from time to time. Lya stood there watching and chewing her lip until he was done.
"Don't be shy next time," he said when he saw her. "Join us."
He reached out a hand to touch her as he passed by, but Lya took a step backward as though afraid. Ramsay laughed.
"Bring a washcloth," Lady Arya ordered after her husband was gone.
Lya wiped Lady Arya clean of her husband's seed and spittle. She found an ointment to soothe her bruised flesh and gently rubbed it into the skin of her breasts and thighs. She was shocked when the lady parted those thighs and gave her an impatient look. Surely she couldn't want that now; not after what had just happened.
"Gods, girl, are you stupid? Do it."
Lya gingerly touched her mistress's cunt. Lady Arya bucked her hips impatiently.
"You've got one of your own, don't you? Don't you know what to do?"
Lady Arya made a rude sound when Lya shook her head. "Lie back and I'll show you."
Lya was beginning to suspect that the lady shared her husband's tastes in more ways than one. "Please, m'lady. I don't want…"
"I've told you," Lady Arya said crossly, "What you want doesn't matter." But she allowed Lya to return to her own bed without further fuss.
Lya was furious with herself. Lady Arya would probably have her sent back to the kitchens. She should have just done it. She had never permitted anyone between her legs, nor had she ever cared to get between anyone else's. But she knew how to bring herself off and the lady wasn't made differently.
As she tended to Lady Arya that morning, she decided to try to get a second chance. "I'm sorry about last night, m'lady. M'lord frightened me."
"When he takes you, you should scream and struggle," Lady Arya said, in the same tone she used to tell Lya what gown she would wear today. "If you just lie there quietly, he'll hurt you more."
"Aye, m'lady." The knife in her boot would find its way into Bolton's belly if he tried anything, no matter the timing.
Almost a moon passed before anything eventful happened again. Lya was brushing her lady's hair one evening, wondering whether to wait longer or to do soon what she had come to the Dreadfort to do. A raven had arrived yesterday declaring Sansa Stark, wife of the Lord of the Eyrie, the rightful heir to Winterfell and Queen in the North. War was coming.
"Lya?" Lady Arya's voice was sharp. "Haven't you been listening to me?"
"I'm sorry, m'lady. What would you have of me?"
"I should send you to muck out the stables." Her face softened as she studied Lya. "You are loyal to me, aren't you? You're my girl?"
"Yes, m'lady. I'm your servant."
"Kiss me."
Lya did as she was bid. She pressed her lips to Lady Arya's, soft at first, feeling nothing. She was no more affected by kissing the lady than she was by lacing her gown every morning or brushing her hair every evening. Lady Arya kissed her harder and pulled her close, starved for pleasure. She thrust her tongue into Lya's mouth.
Her hands groped at Lya's small breasts through her old woolen gown. Lya gasped when she twisted the tip of one breast, unsure whether the sensation she felt was pain or pleasure. Lady Arya nuzzled her neck, whispering meaningless endearments. Then she bit her.
She was the leader of the pack, the alpha bitch. She did not submit - the others offered her their bellies.
Arya Stark grabbed Jeyne Poole's hair and yanked her head away from her throat. She pushed Jeyne down onto the bed and sank her teeth into her tender neck until she tasted a coppery tang. She licked the blood away before kissing Jeyne. Jeyne didn't like it this way. She tried to push Arya off her, but Arya held her wrists down. She sucked hard on Jeyne's tongue, and felt an urge to bite it off and swallow it down. The feeling shook her and she released Jeyne's mouth.
"I'll have you flayed for this," Jeyne shouted.
"You wanted to fuck."
"I am your lady and you will treat me with the respect due."
"You're a steward's daughter."
Jeyne's outrage turned to fear. "Who are you?"
"I'm Arya Stark."
Jeyne looked confused. Arya ended the glamour, allowing Jeyne to see her true appearance. It didn't take long for Jeyne to recognize her, though the face Jeyne had once likened to a horse's was now one anyone would call beautiful.
"You're alive."
Arya rolled her eyes. Jeyne was so stupid. There was no need for her to state the obvious when she could have asked how Arya had changed her appearance or what she intended to do. "I'm alive. And I'm not happy you've been pretending to be me and letting people think I married Ramsay Bolton."
"You want to take my place?"
"I don't want to be Lady Bolton. You're welcome to it."
Jeyne exhaled loudly, visibly relieved. "What will you do now?"
Arya was suddenly aware that she was lying on top of Jeyne. Jeyne shifted and their breasts rubbed against each other. Arya slipped her hand between Jeyne's legs.
"I'm going to fuck you."
"Arya…"
To be called by her own name after all these years felt strange. She yanked up Jeyne's skirts and pushed down her smallclothes. She figured it shouldn't be too different from what she did to herself at night in her tiny sleeping cell. She rubbed her forefinger in a small circle around the tiny nub at the top of Jeyne's cunt.
"Use your mouth," Jeyne suggested.
Arya ignored her. Jeyne might order her maid Lya around, but she couldn't tell Arya of House Stark what to do. Jeyne's breathing was loud and fast now, and she was moving her hips, grinding herself against Arya's finger.
"Inside. Put it inside."
She didn't take orders from the steward's daughter, but Arya did like the thought of penetrating Jeyne. She slid a finger into Jeyne's cunt and used her other hand to continue stroking her. When Jeyne begged for more, Arya gave it to her, putting another finger inside her. Jeyne gasped and made a low choking sound, her cunt squeezing at Arya's fingers.
“Oh, gods," Jeyne murmured, satisfied.
Arya didn't stop. She added a third finger and a fourth. It was a tight fit, but she had small hands. Jeyne was becoming aware of how wide she was stretched. She tried to wriggle away.
"Stop. That was enough."
"I'm not finished."
"I don't want…"
"The lady commands and the servant obeys; that's what you said. I'm the lady, Jeyne."
Jeyne groaned as she endured Arya's slow, careful fucking. Arya wondered whether she could fit her thumb in there too and decided there was no reason not to try. It wasn't easy, especially with Jeyne's moaning and begging distracting her, but she managed to do it.
"Arya, please."
"Keep saying my name. It's been such a long time since anybody's called me Arya. They've been calling you Arya," Arya said, staring at where her wrist disappeared into Jeyne. It amazed her that her whole hand was inside Jeyne. She flexed her fingers.
Jeyne chanted her name obediently. The discomfort on her face changed to arousal and then pleasure as Arya dipped her head and licked at her cunt. It wasn't really a bad taste, Arya decided. It was salty. That had been her name once, Salty of Saltpans.
When Jeyne tried to clutch her short hair, Arya slapped her hands away. She waited until Jeyne got off again before removing her hand. It was covered in slime. Arya made a face and wiped her hand clean on Jeyne's skirt.
"Gods, Arya," Jeyne said. "That was…" She sighed contentedly. "Lie back and let me do you now."
Arya was very aroused, but the thought of being exposed like that, of being vulnerable to Jeyne, was unbearable. "No," she said.
Jeyne put her hand on Arya's thigh. "I want to." She smiled. "I'll make you scream my name."
Arya chewed her lip. There had to be a way to let Jeyne pleasure her without giving up control. "All right," she said. "But not on the bed. On your knees."
She expected Jeyne to protest, but she slid off the bed and sank to her knees before Arya without a word. Arya hiked up her skirts and spread her legs. The very first flicker of Jeyne's tongue had her moaning. She had to fight the impulse to clamp her thighs around Jeyne and never release her. She didn't say Jeyne's name though, not even once; her cries were all wordless howls.
"What now?" Jeyne asked, afterwards. "Why have you come here?"
"To kill Ramsay Bolton," Arya answered. She'd come to kill Jeyne too for pretending to be her, but she wasn't sure what to do now. Jeyne had stolen her identity for years, but it didn't seem right to kill someone she'd fucked.
Jeyne gave her a doubtful look. "You?"
"I've killed lots of people." Arya stretched and drew the knife from her boot. "I killed a guard to escape from Harrenhal when Roose Bolton held it, and I killed lots more after."
"I won't tell anyone it was you. I promise."
"I would have mended your dress for you," Sansa told her the following day. "You didn't have to give Jeyne your pretty new doll. I would have done it for nothing."
Arya gritted her teeth. That stupid Jeyne Poole. She'd sworn she wouldn't tell anyone what she'd done for Arya. "I didn't," she lied.
"Jeyne stole it?" Sansa was shocked. "I didn't think she'd ever do something like that."
Arya snarled in frustration. This was even worse. Sansa would tell their mother and Lady Catelyn would ask Arya and Arya couldn't lie to her mother. "She didn't steal it. I gave it to her," she admitted.
"Why?"
"As payment. I didn't ask you because you'd have told Mother I tore my dress."
"I wouldn't have; not if you'd made me promise not to."
"I don't care about the stupid doll anyway." And it was true. Arya didn't care about dolls, but she cared about people breaking their word to her. She'd see how Jeyne liked a handful of worms thrown at her.
Lya screamed, so loud and so long her throat hurt. The sound drew everyone, the maester, the guards, the maids. They added their voices to hers until nobody could hear anything.
"Silence," Steelshanks Walton boomed. To Lya, he said, "Did you see anyone else?"
She shook her head and pointed at what everyone could plainly see. Lord and Lady Bolton lay dead in their bed, their throats cut from ear to ear. "I came in and they were like that. I didn't see anything else."
Silence filled the room. Lady Bolton had miscarried twice and Ramsay had killed off those cousins who might have threatened his claim after his lord father had died. There was no heir to the Dreadfort.
"It were the ghosts done it," one old man muttered. "The ghosts of the flayed."
"I shall send ravens," the maester said. "To King Stannis and Queen Sansa. They can fight it out between them."
Lya slipped out of the room, biting her lip and wondering whether Queen Sansa was Sansa Stark any more than Lady Bolton had been Arya Stark. She should make sure before she killed King Stannis.