Game of Thrones: Fanfic: Untrustworthy

[m_findlow]

Title: Untrustworthy
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Arya, Sandor Clegane
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 604 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "Game of Thrones, Arya, limited trust" at fic_promptly
Summary: Arya knows better than to trust anyone these days.

Arya watched her captor as he kept his gaze fixed in the flames of their campfire. He's afraid of them, she thought with no small amount of amusement. The one thing keeping them from freezing to death, and he was scared of it. What kind of so-called knight was afraid of fire? Even if his brother had shoved his face into some coals years ago, he should have gotten over it. He was a killer. Merciless and blood hungry, but scared of the most ridiculous thing. That didn't mean she trusted him, but it did give her leverage.

'Stop looking at me like that,' Clegane growled, shifting uneasily under her intense gaze.

'Like what?' Arya retorted.

'Like I'm about to stick my sword in your back.'

'Aren't you?' she queried, inciting him.

'I will if you don't stop looking at me.'

She huffed. 'Fine,' she said, rolling over on the ground so she had her back to him, just tempting him to try it. She was bored and there was nothing else to do. Sleep was overrated. If she wanted sleep she could do that during the endless miles on horseback. She'd learnt that it was possible to be in a half asleep state and still remain upright. She imagined that must be how the armies managed to cross so much distance and still have energy left for fighting.

'Are you sure you're a Stark?' he asked. 'Stubborn like your father, I'll grant you that, but nothing like that simpering sister of yours.'

'Sansa isn't my sister,' she replied, back still turned. A real sister wouldn't have stood there and let their father be killed. A real sister wouldn't have stayed in King's Landing playing their games in the hopes she might still be queen one day. A real sister would have tried to escape and to avenge their father's murder.

Clegane laughed at that. 'So, whose bastard child are you, then?'

That got her riled up. She turned over, sitting up. 'I'm a Stark of Winterfell. I have the blood of the North in my veins. I follow the old gods. I have a direwolf.'

Clegane laughed even harder. 'Oh, yeah? And where are your old gods to help you, now? Where's this direwolf gone? Should we be expecting a visit?'

That silenced her. Right now she had none of those things, not even her precious Needle. Even her name could scarcely be believed. Who would look at the scruffy little half boy, half girl, and be convinced that she was Ned Stark's daughter? Only her own blood would know her now. Robb would recognise her, as would her mother, if only barely. Her mother would have her sent straight back to Winterfell. That wasn't what she wanted. As soon as they reached Riverrun, she wanted to join Robb's army. She'd get her revenge by cutting down as many Lannisters as she could. Then they'd storm King's Landing and she'd kill Joffrey and Cersei personally.

'You're no good to me dead,' Clegane replied, settling down on his back. 'You're only worth gold if I can prove you are who you are. Alive and unspoiled. We'll find you a nice pretty dress before I hand you over to those folks at Riverrun. Then you and I can go our separate ways. I'll be glad to be rid of you and my pockets heavy with coin.'

She scowled at him. 'You say these things, but that doesn't mean I have to trust you.'

He barked in amusement. 'I'd be disappointed if you did. Starks are far too trusting, but you're not a real Stark.'