Fic Entry #4: Shadows of the Past
Author: theaveryrule
Title: Shadows of the Past
Pairing: Arya Stark/Edric Dayne
Prompt(s): "Shake It Out" - Florence + the Machine
Word Count: 3,256
Rating & Warnings: Sex.
Summary: It's always the last place you expect that you find someone from your past, someone who knows exactly how to remind you of everything you've struggled so long to forget.
Sweat rolled off her brow and down the side of her face to her neck, but Arya paid it no mind. The sun had only just started to rise over the dunes and it was already sweltering. There was no way she or her horse - as acclimated as he was to the sandy reaches of Dorne - could go much further that day. She dismounted as soon as they reached Starfell, letting the gray steed drink before they started looking for an inn. Her days in Essos had darkened her skin enough that no one paid her any mind, not with her black hair and coal-colored eyes, and that was an advantage.
She'd lost the fascination with masks and glamour when she was still a girl, and now she preferred mummer's tricks and hiding in plain sight to the complicated methods of some of her contemporaries; the trick was easy enough. She'd picked up clothes when she bought the horse - a pair of loose, sand-colored linen pants, a nearly sheer white tunic, and a scarf that draped over her head and across her shoulders then wrapped around her middle. The sandals were her own, she'd ruined her boots on the ship from the Summer Isles and the sailor she'd shared a cabin with gave her a pair of his to wear ashore. She'd twist her hair up under the scarf, binding it place with a strip of rust-colored satin braided and knotted through the heavy curls. Arya enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on her skin and the sand against her almost-bare feet, but the heat was starting to get into her lungs and she knew her horse couldn't be faring much better.
A street merchant pointed her towards an inn when she stopped to browse his cart full of fruit, and she thanked him by buying a bag stuffed full of pomegranates, dates, and pitahaya. The fruits reminded her of home - not the North, but Braavos and the Free Cities, the places she'd come to know as home when she forgot her name. She was sure she'd have her fill of them by the time she reached her destination, but for now her mouth still watered at the promise of finding a cool place to rest for the day and indulging her fill of the fruit.
The inn was quiet, but crowded. Men, women, and barefoot children huddled inside, finishing their breakfast before they went about their days. It smelled like orange, mint, almond, and heat inside. Arya managed to find someone to tend to her horse, slipped a few coins into the young boy's palm to make sure he was careful with the steed, and edged her way through the crowd. An older woman with silver-white streaks in her dark hair commanded the counter, and she took one look at Arya before making her for a traveler.
"You'll be wanting a room and a meal, then?" she asked with a nod, pulling out the roll of parchment that served as a ledger.
Arya adjusted her bags on her shoulder and nodded. "Just until dusk."
"Smart girl," she answered, "not so many are keen to take the dunes at night, but they pay for it by midday. Have you been through Dorne before?"
She shook her head, pushing her hood down and running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. "This is the first time the gods have blessed me with the opportunity," she smiled, and the woman offered her a kind, motherly smile in return.
"Eat," she said, "and I'll have some water sent up to your room so you can wash up before you rest."
Arya smiled and paid her, then made her way through the closely-clustered tables and chairs to a dark corner away from everyone else. From there she could watch, listen, and be unseen. This wasn't her final stop, but she knew the value of new information wherever it came from, and these quiet little inns were the best places to hear gossip.
Most of the other people there looked like merchants - both local and those who'd traveled up the Torentine from the Greenblood. Small merchant towns tended to grow up around castles and strongholds, and Starfall was just on the edge of town. The rest were local people, men in light leather armor with squires by their sides, young women and old women alike with children clinging to their skirts. It wasn't the typical inn, she quickly realized, but a place more familiar to the townspeople than any traveler. The people here were usually more friendly, and the service was almost always better. She made a note to herself to thank the merchant again in the evening when she made her way out.
It wasn't long before a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, brought her out a plate loaded with bread and cheese, a small bottle of chilled honey wine, and another platter with dishes of fig jam, palm syrup, honeyed yogurt, and oil that smelled of orange blossoms and almonds. Arya ate her fill, sopping up the oil with chunks of thick bread, and hen she'd finished there was still enough for her to wrap and stick in her bag with the fruit for later. She was thankful for that, because she had no intention to stop again between here and her destination. The God of Many-Faces may work in his own time, but Arya worked in hers.
But no sooner did she finish than the door to the inn swung open again and a few quiet conversations hushed entirely for a moment. Arya found the sudden change in noise jarring, and she looked up from where she was buckling her bag closed. The first thing she noticed was the sword on his hip, the metal so pale it seemed almost white. All she needed to see was the star engraved on the hilt to know what it was, and who carried it. She settled back in quietly, shoving her bag under her seat and leaning over her wine to watch the young man out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't more than a couple years older than her, well-built and smiling, with sun-bleached hair and dark eyes. Every inch of him spoke Dayne and the people greeted him like a young lordling. She hadn't expected to get so lucky, but the presence of nobles always brought with it an interesting air.
She turned her attention back to her wine, looking and listening carefully, aware that the young man was slowly making his way over to her. She tried to keep calm, taking a heavy drink as he stopped next to her table and leaned a hand on the back of the chair across from her.
"Weasel," he smirked.
Arya's heart skipped and she slowly looked up at him, dark eyes hidden by thick lashes. "I think you've got the wrong person."
He laughed and dragged the chair out, dropping down to sit across from her. Now that he was closer Arya could see that his eyes weren't blue at all, they were violet. The sudden jolt of recognition ran through her and she didn't know whether to be terrified or amused. Recognition could be the end of her or it could be as meaningless as the sand that clung to her pants.
"Ned," she murmured, and a smile broke wide across his face.
"There we go. I was worried you forgot about me."
"How could I forget," she tipped her head, "we're almost family, aren't we? I see it's Ser Edric now."
He grinned and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, lowering his head. "It's been Ser for a while, my uncle knighted me. This I had to fight for."
It was so strange to sit across from him again after so many years. He still looked so much like the boy he had been, the same easy smile and deep eyes. But he carried himself like the Sword of the Morning, not some orphan boy trailing along after his aunt's formerly betrothed. She finished her wine in one quick drink and twist the cork down into the bottle to save the rest, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.
"We were all sure you were dead," Edric said. "We figured the Hound killed you after what happened at the Twins."
Arya smirked and shook her head. "It was the other way around," she lied. "Then I went away, somewhere safe, until the fighting was over."
That was the easiest way to lie, wrapping it in just enough truth to make it seem plausible. Besides, Edric had seen her fight, he knew what she was capable of. If he didn't believe her, he hid it well, still smiling softly at her from across the table.
"Do you have a room?" he asked.
Arya barely had time to nod before he stood, sweeping her bags out from under her chair and hauling them over his shoulder. "Lead the way, my lady."
She glared at him from where she sat, but grabbed the bottle of wine and rose, sliding her chair back in with her foot. She didn't know what room she was in, but one glance at the innkeeper and she had a key pressed into her hand with a number carved into the metal. She kept a close eye on Edric as they climbed the stairs - he may have been a knight, but he still had all her belongings slung over his shoulder. He watched her as well, and she knew that look well enough to know what was going through his mind. Were it anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to run him through, but this was Edric, one of the last true friends she had before she left Westeros behind.
The lock clicked open easily to a small room with a narrow bed, dark red cushions, and a table next to the window with a clay bowl of water and a rag. Orange and red drapes covered the window and cast the room in a warm glow. She set the wine bottle on the table and drew the drapes open, looking down over the buildings and people of Starfell. She heard her bags drop to the floor behind her and Edric's heavy footsteps across the room. He kept one hand on his hip and the other on his sword hilt as he stood behind her, looking at the window towards Starfall. The walls of the castle were visible in the distance, lavender and silver flags rippling in the wind.
"You look better in Dornish silks than you ever did in that dress Lady Smallwood gave you," he murmured.
Arya laughed, "I'm surprised you remember."
"How could I forget," he chuckled, "you looked ridiculous."
She remembered that Gendry liked the way she looked done up like a proper lady, but she'd never felt more uncomfortable than she did in that acorn dress. For all that the Faceless Men tried to make her forget herself, there was a time and a place for memories, for Arya Stark of Winterfell. She'd tried so hard to leave her old self behind when she went across the Narrow Sea, but as long as there were people in the world who remembered Arry, Weasel, or unkempt Lady Arya, the little lady of Winterfell would never truly die.
Arya turned towards him, meeting his gaze with a faint smirk. A moment passed where neither of them spoke or moved, but all it took was a faint raise of her eyebrow and his hands found her. He pulled her in against his chest, the feeling of his unforgiving armor hard against the silks and linen that covered her. But it only enticed her more, drove her further. She nipped at his lip as he bent down to kiss her, earning a faint growl and the rough brush of his lips across her jaw.
She reached for the buckle on his belt and he reached for her scarf, untwisting it from her waist as her fingers deftly loosened his sword. They broke apart for long enough for her to set Dawn on the table, then his hands were on her again, pushing the scarf from her shoulders and following it down her back with the tips of his fingers. Once it puddled on the floor at her feet, his hands were back into her hair, working loose the ribbon that bound it in place while she made quick work of the buckles on his breastplate. This had never been her favorite part, the awkward moments where they were trying to get to flesh, but Edric's hands seemed to know their way around much better than some of the other fools she'd had in her bed.
The feel of his hands dragging through her hair as the ribbon fell loose made her pause, and her eyes fell closed at the touch. She could almost feel him grinning at her, but it didn't matter.
"Lose the armor," she breathed.
He chuckled and pulled his hands away, dragging breastplate, skirt, and pauldrons over his head. He set it next to the table, loosening the laces of his shirt as he backed away towards the bed. Though she was still a bit dazed, Arya had enough sense to smirk at him - dark and daring - before she advanced. He met her with an arm around her waist and his lips against hers, lifting her up off her feet and onto the bed. Then his hands were in her hair again and hers were curled tightly in his shirt, pulling his body against hers as they kissed. Arya wasn't thinking about much of anything at that moment - not the hasty way they continued to undress each other or the fact that she may never see him again after today. The only thing she cared about was how soon her hands could reach flesh and whether he would keep twisting and tugging at her hair like that.
When his hands fell to loosen his pants, she dropped back on the bed to watch him, her own tunic hiked up around her ribs and the laces of her pants loose. But her attention was focused entirely on the smooth expanse of lightly-tanned skin and pale blonde hair that trailed under his pants. He grinned at her and shoved them down in one quick movement, kicking them to the side and tugging his shirt off over his head. She reached out for him, wiggling her fingers to entice him closer.
Edric came with the same eagerness as he'd always shown, settling his weight on top of her and dragging his hands under her tunic. She squirmed playfully under his touch, arching against him, hands sliding along his bare shoulders and up into his hair. He burrowed his face against her neck, his hand coming to rest over her breast.
Arya tugged her tunic off over her head and dropped it to the floor, arching her hips to shove down her pants. Edric managed to help her pull them off and then, finally, he lowered himself down on top of her. She hooked a leg around his hip and pressed against his thigh, smirking as he groaned into the hollow of her throat.
"What are you waiting for?" she murmured.
He stared at her for a moment, looking a little unsure of himself for a moment. She imagined, being nineteen and the Sword of the Morning, he had young Dornish women throwing themselves at him constantly, but how many of them had let him into their beds; how many knew exactly what they wanted from him. She smirked at him, grabbing his hand from where it rest on her hip and pressed it between her legs. He groaned, his fingers slowly slipping into her, and Arya let out a breathy moan of her own, rocking forward against his hand.
She laid back, dropping one leg off the side of the bed, and dragged her hand along her stomach and between her legs, sliding her fingers down with his to show him exactly how, and where to touch her. He caught on quick, and in no time he had her breathing heavily and squirming under him. The more she reacted, the more confident he grew, until his body was stretched over hers again, his lips and teeth teasing the soft flesh of her breast. When she couldn't stand the wait any longer, Arya shoved his hand away; Edric didn't need any more coaxing than that before he slipped inside her, hands gripping tightly at her blankets.
She drew him back for a kiss, sliding her tongue across his lower lip as his breath shuddered. "I'm going to roll you over," she said, "stay right where you are."
He nodded, his arm sliding around her waist to keep them snug against each other as Arya rolled him onto his back, settling on top of him. His head fell back with a long groan and she slowly lowered herself down, her hands braced on his slim chest, knees pressed tight to his hips. It was easier to get lost in the act this way, without having to worry about what he was doing. He'd get his end either way, but she wanted to be sure that she would get hers too. What was the point if she didn't? He didn't seem to mind; when his eyes were open they were focused intently on her, seeming even more vibrant now than they did before. His hands trailed over the gentle slope of her breasts, held tight to her waist, pressed to the inside of her thighs. She responded easily to every touch, giving him all the encouragement he needed to keep doing exactly what he was doing.
It wasn't long until the coiling tension started growing even faster, and Arya dropped forward to brace her hands above his shoulders. Edric's hands found their way into her hair again, curling and tugging on the dark strands just as they had before, his short nails scraping her scalp. She moved quicker, their moans consumed by a heavy, heated kiss. He shuddered under her but she didn't stop, not until her muscles burned and she didn't think she could move any more without collapsing from exhaustion. He dragged his hands down the back of her neck and braced them against her collar. That was all it took before Arya tumbled over the edge, her body tensing on top of his.
She slumped down against his chest, breathless. Edric buried his face in her hair, his hands running up and down her back until their breathing calmed. They were both soaked in sweat, hair wet, and the sheets beneath them not faring much better. For a while the only sound between them was their breathing and sounds of the town outside the window.
"I've been thinking about that for eight years," he finally said.
"You must not have met many women in that time," she replied, shifting to the side so she could rest her head against his shoulder.
Edric chuckled. "None like you."
She glanced up at him with a smirk and shook her head. "All the women in Dorne and you wait for a Stark?"
"Oh, I never said anything about waiting," he teased. "Just that the deadliest snake and scorpion in the world will never stand against a wolf."
Arya rolled her eyes, "I think you've spent too much time in the sun, Ned."
Title: Shadows of the Past
Pairing: Arya Stark/Edric Dayne
Prompt(s): "Shake It Out" - Florence + the Machine
Word Count: 3,256
Rating & Warnings: Sex.
Summary: It's always the last place you expect that you find someone from your past, someone who knows exactly how to remind you of everything you've struggled so long to forget.
Sweat rolled off her brow and down the side of her face to her neck, but Arya paid it no mind. The sun had only just started to rise over the dunes and it was already sweltering. There was no way she or her horse - as acclimated as he was to the sandy reaches of Dorne - could go much further that day. She dismounted as soon as they reached Starfell, letting the gray steed drink before they started looking for an inn. Her days in Essos had darkened her skin enough that no one paid her any mind, not with her black hair and coal-colored eyes, and that was an advantage.
She'd lost the fascination with masks and glamour when she was still a girl, and now she preferred mummer's tricks and hiding in plain sight to the complicated methods of some of her contemporaries; the trick was easy enough. She'd picked up clothes when she bought the horse - a pair of loose, sand-colored linen pants, a nearly sheer white tunic, and a scarf that draped over her head and across her shoulders then wrapped around her middle. The sandals were her own, she'd ruined her boots on the ship from the Summer Isles and the sailor she'd shared a cabin with gave her a pair of his to wear ashore. She'd twist her hair up under the scarf, binding it place with a strip of rust-colored satin braided and knotted through the heavy curls. Arya enjoyed the feel of the warm sun on her skin and the sand against her almost-bare feet, but the heat was starting to get into her lungs and she knew her horse couldn't be faring much better.
A street merchant pointed her towards an inn when she stopped to browse his cart full of fruit, and she thanked him by buying a bag stuffed full of pomegranates, dates, and pitahaya. The fruits reminded her of home - not the North, but Braavos and the Free Cities, the places she'd come to know as home when she forgot her name. She was sure she'd have her fill of them by the time she reached her destination, but for now her mouth still watered at the promise of finding a cool place to rest for the day and indulging her fill of the fruit.
The inn was quiet, but crowded. Men, women, and barefoot children huddled inside, finishing their breakfast before they went about their days. It smelled like orange, mint, almond, and heat inside. Arya managed to find someone to tend to her horse, slipped a few coins into the young boy's palm to make sure he was careful with the steed, and edged her way through the crowd. An older woman with silver-white streaks in her dark hair commanded the counter, and she took one look at Arya before making her for a traveler.
"You'll be wanting a room and a meal, then?" she asked with a nod, pulling out the roll of parchment that served as a ledger.
Arya adjusted her bags on her shoulder and nodded. "Just until dusk."
"Smart girl," she answered, "not so many are keen to take the dunes at night, but they pay for it by midday. Have you been through Dorne before?"
She shook her head, pushing her hood down and running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. "This is the first time the gods have blessed me with the opportunity," she smiled, and the woman offered her a kind, motherly smile in return.
"Eat," she said, "and I'll have some water sent up to your room so you can wash up before you rest."
Arya smiled and paid her, then made her way through the closely-clustered tables and chairs to a dark corner away from everyone else. From there she could watch, listen, and be unseen. This wasn't her final stop, but she knew the value of new information wherever it came from, and these quiet little inns were the best places to hear gossip.
Most of the other people there looked like merchants - both local and those who'd traveled up the Torentine from the Greenblood. Small merchant towns tended to grow up around castles and strongholds, and Starfall was just on the edge of town. The rest were local people, men in light leather armor with squires by their sides, young women and old women alike with children clinging to their skirts. It wasn't the typical inn, she quickly realized, but a place more familiar to the townspeople than any traveler. The people here were usually more friendly, and the service was almost always better. She made a note to herself to thank the merchant again in the evening when she made her way out.
It wasn't long before a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, brought her out a plate loaded with bread and cheese, a small bottle of chilled honey wine, and another platter with dishes of fig jam, palm syrup, honeyed yogurt, and oil that smelled of orange blossoms and almonds. Arya ate her fill, sopping up the oil with chunks of thick bread, and hen she'd finished there was still enough for her to wrap and stick in her bag with the fruit for later. She was thankful for that, because she had no intention to stop again between here and her destination. The God of Many-Faces may work in his own time, but Arya worked in hers.
But no sooner did she finish than the door to the inn swung open again and a few quiet conversations hushed entirely for a moment. Arya found the sudden change in noise jarring, and she looked up from where she was buckling her bag closed. The first thing she noticed was the sword on his hip, the metal so pale it seemed almost white. All she needed to see was the star engraved on the hilt to know what it was, and who carried it. She settled back in quietly, shoving her bag under her seat and leaning over her wine to watch the young man out of the corner of her eye. He wasn't more than a couple years older than her, well-built and smiling, with sun-bleached hair and dark eyes. Every inch of him spoke Dayne and the people greeted him like a young lordling. She hadn't expected to get so lucky, but the presence of nobles always brought with it an interesting air.
She turned her attention back to her wine, looking and listening carefully, aware that the young man was slowly making his way over to her. She tried to keep calm, taking a heavy drink as he stopped next to her table and leaned a hand on the back of the chair across from her.
"Weasel," he smirked.
Arya's heart skipped and she slowly looked up at him, dark eyes hidden by thick lashes. "I think you've got the wrong person."
He laughed and dragged the chair out, dropping down to sit across from her. Now that he was closer Arya could see that his eyes weren't blue at all, they were violet. The sudden jolt of recognition ran through her and she didn't know whether to be terrified or amused. Recognition could be the end of her or it could be as meaningless as the sand that clung to her pants.
"Ned," she murmured, and a smile broke wide across his face.
"There we go. I was worried you forgot about me."
"How could I forget," she tipped her head, "we're almost family, aren't we? I see it's Ser Edric now."
He grinned and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, lowering his head. "It's been Ser for a while, my uncle knighted me. This I had to fight for."
It was so strange to sit across from him again after so many years. He still looked so much like the boy he had been, the same easy smile and deep eyes. But he carried himself like the Sword of the Morning, not some orphan boy trailing along after his aunt's formerly betrothed. She finished her wine in one quick drink and twist the cork down into the bottle to save the rest, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear.
"We were all sure you were dead," Edric said. "We figured the Hound killed you after what happened at the Twins."
Arya smirked and shook her head. "It was the other way around," she lied. "Then I went away, somewhere safe, until the fighting was over."
That was the easiest way to lie, wrapping it in just enough truth to make it seem plausible. Besides, Edric had seen her fight, he knew what she was capable of. If he didn't believe her, he hid it well, still smiling softly at her from across the table.
"Do you have a room?" he asked.
Arya barely had time to nod before he stood, sweeping her bags out from under her chair and hauling them over his shoulder. "Lead the way, my lady."
She glared at him from where she sat, but grabbed the bottle of wine and rose, sliding her chair back in with her foot. She didn't know what room she was in, but one glance at the innkeeper and she had a key pressed into her hand with a number carved into the metal. She kept a close eye on Edric as they climbed the stairs - he may have been a knight, but he still had all her belongings slung over his shoulder. He watched her as well, and she knew that look well enough to know what was going through his mind. Were it anyone else, she wouldn't hesitate to run him through, but this was Edric, one of the last true friends she had before she left Westeros behind.
The lock clicked open easily to a small room with a narrow bed, dark red cushions, and a table next to the window with a clay bowl of water and a rag. Orange and red drapes covered the window and cast the room in a warm glow. She set the wine bottle on the table and drew the drapes open, looking down over the buildings and people of Starfell. She heard her bags drop to the floor behind her and Edric's heavy footsteps across the room. He kept one hand on his hip and the other on his sword hilt as he stood behind her, looking at the window towards Starfall. The walls of the castle were visible in the distance, lavender and silver flags rippling in the wind.
"You look better in Dornish silks than you ever did in that dress Lady Smallwood gave you," he murmured.
Arya laughed, "I'm surprised you remember."
"How could I forget," he chuckled, "you looked ridiculous."
She remembered that Gendry liked the way she looked done up like a proper lady, but she'd never felt more uncomfortable than she did in that acorn dress. For all that the Faceless Men tried to make her forget herself, there was a time and a place for memories, for Arya Stark of Winterfell. She'd tried so hard to leave her old self behind when she went across the Narrow Sea, but as long as there were people in the world who remembered Arry, Weasel, or unkempt Lady Arya, the little lady of Winterfell would never truly die.
Arya turned towards him, meeting his gaze with a faint smirk. A moment passed where neither of them spoke or moved, but all it took was a faint raise of her eyebrow and his hands found her. He pulled her in against his chest, the feeling of his unforgiving armor hard against the silks and linen that covered her. But it only enticed her more, drove her further. She nipped at his lip as he bent down to kiss her, earning a faint growl and the rough brush of his lips across her jaw.
She reached for the buckle on his belt and he reached for her scarf, untwisting it from her waist as her fingers deftly loosened his sword. They broke apart for long enough for her to set Dawn on the table, then his hands were on her again, pushing the scarf from her shoulders and following it down her back with the tips of his fingers. Once it puddled on the floor at her feet, his hands were back into her hair, working loose the ribbon that bound it in place while she made quick work of the buckles on his breastplate. This had never been her favorite part, the awkward moments where they were trying to get to flesh, but Edric's hands seemed to know their way around much better than some of the other fools she'd had in her bed.
The feel of his hands dragging through her hair as the ribbon fell loose made her pause, and her eyes fell closed at the touch. She could almost feel him grinning at her, but it didn't matter.
"Lose the armor," she breathed.
He chuckled and pulled his hands away, dragging breastplate, skirt, and pauldrons over his head. He set it next to the table, loosening the laces of his shirt as he backed away towards the bed. Though she was still a bit dazed, Arya had enough sense to smirk at him - dark and daring - before she advanced. He met her with an arm around her waist and his lips against hers, lifting her up off her feet and onto the bed. Then his hands were in her hair again and hers were curled tightly in his shirt, pulling his body against hers as they kissed. Arya wasn't thinking about much of anything at that moment - not the hasty way they continued to undress each other or the fact that she may never see him again after today. The only thing she cared about was how soon her hands could reach flesh and whether he would keep twisting and tugging at her hair like that.
When his hands fell to loosen his pants, she dropped back on the bed to watch him, her own tunic hiked up around her ribs and the laces of her pants loose. But her attention was focused entirely on the smooth expanse of lightly-tanned skin and pale blonde hair that trailed under his pants. He grinned at her and shoved them down in one quick movement, kicking them to the side and tugging his shirt off over his head. She reached out for him, wiggling her fingers to entice him closer.
Edric came with the same eagerness as he'd always shown, settling his weight on top of her and dragging his hands under her tunic. She squirmed playfully under his touch, arching against him, hands sliding along his bare shoulders and up into his hair. He burrowed his face against her neck, his hand coming to rest over her breast.
Arya tugged her tunic off over her head and dropped it to the floor, arching her hips to shove down her pants. Edric managed to help her pull them off and then, finally, he lowered himself down on top of her. She hooked a leg around his hip and pressed against his thigh, smirking as he groaned into the hollow of her throat.
"What are you waiting for?" she murmured.
He stared at her for a moment, looking a little unsure of himself for a moment. She imagined, being nineteen and the Sword of the Morning, he had young Dornish women throwing themselves at him constantly, but how many of them had let him into their beds; how many knew exactly what they wanted from him. She smirked at him, grabbing his hand from where it rest on her hip and pressed it between her legs. He groaned, his fingers slowly slipping into her, and Arya let out a breathy moan of her own, rocking forward against his hand.
She laid back, dropping one leg off the side of the bed, and dragged her hand along her stomach and between her legs, sliding her fingers down with his to show him exactly how, and where to touch her. He caught on quick, and in no time he had her breathing heavily and squirming under him. The more she reacted, the more confident he grew, until his body was stretched over hers again, his lips and teeth teasing the soft flesh of her breast. When she couldn't stand the wait any longer, Arya shoved his hand away; Edric didn't need any more coaxing than that before he slipped inside her, hands gripping tightly at her blankets.
She drew him back for a kiss, sliding her tongue across his lower lip as his breath shuddered. "I'm going to roll you over," she said, "stay right where you are."
He nodded, his arm sliding around her waist to keep them snug against each other as Arya rolled him onto his back, settling on top of him. His head fell back with a long groan and she slowly lowered herself down, her hands braced on his slim chest, knees pressed tight to his hips. It was easier to get lost in the act this way, without having to worry about what he was doing. He'd get his end either way, but she wanted to be sure that she would get hers too. What was the point if she didn't? He didn't seem to mind; when his eyes were open they were focused intently on her, seeming even more vibrant now than they did before. His hands trailed over the gentle slope of her breasts, held tight to her waist, pressed to the inside of her thighs. She responded easily to every touch, giving him all the encouragement he needed to keep doing exactly what he was doing.
It wasn't long until the coiling tension started growing even faster, and Arya dropped forward to brace her hands above his shoulders. Edric's hands found their way into her hair again, curling and tugging on the dark strands just as they had before, his short nails scraping her scalp. She moved quicker, their moans consumed by a heavy, heated kiss. He shuddered under her but she didn't stop, not until her muscles burned and she didn't think she could move any more without collapsing from exhaustion. He dragged his hands down the back of her neck and braced them against her collar. That was all it took before Arya tumbled over the edge, her body tensing on top of his.
She slumped down against his chest, breathless. Edric buried his face in her hair, his hands running up and down her back until their breathing calmed. They were both soaked in sweat, hair wet, and the sheets beneath them not faring much better. For a while the only sound between them was their breathing and sounds of the town outside the window.
"I've been thinking about that for eight years," he finally said.
"You must not have met many women in that time," she replied, shifting to the side so she could rest her head against his shoulder.
Edric chuckled. "None like you."
She glanced up at him with a smirk and shook her head. "All the women in Dorne and you wait for a Stark?"
"Oh, I never said anything about waiting," he teased. "Just that the deadliest snake and scorpion in the world will never stand against a wolf."
Arya rolled her eyes, "I think you've spent too much time in the sun, Ned."