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Arya Stark: The Orphan Master (Part 2)
🕑 Added 2021-04-22 04:19:42 +0000 UTCWhen Arya and Hektor reached the caravan, the rest of the guards were milling about straightening the wagons and calming the horses, while the unfortunate slaves cowered in their cages. None of them, not even the guards, were soldiers, and they were skittish at the first sign of danger. The only reason anyone was getting any work done was the Orphan Master was bawling orders at them from his carriage.
“Lash that down again!” he pointed, “It loosened when the horses spooked. If it falls, I’ll take it out of your wages! Stop looking around and focus on your work! If more were coming, they would have been here already! Gently with the horses!”
Hektor pushed his way into the open with a rustle of leaves and many guards jumped, several of them even crying out in alarm. Spooked by the guards’ reaction, the young slaves shrieked in their enclosures, grabbing onto each other and looking about with wild eyes.
Liram himself whirled, his eyes wide, color drained from his face. He shifted one foot back, ready to run for the safety of his carriage.
“All is well, all is well!” Hektor gave his limp bundle a playful bounce, “I have our troublemaker! Be at your ease!”
Arya squirmed at the jostling, but it was feeble and half-hearted, little more than a brief kicking of her feet.
Recognizing his guard captain, the Orphan Master visibly slumped with relief, but quickly straightened himself up once more.
“Th-there!” he cleared his throat, “There, you see?! It’s just Hektor! Everything is well! Stop acting like a bunch of nervous chickens and get us moving again!”
The guards stayed where they were for a moment, hands still on their weapons, reluctant to lower their guard despite their captain’s assurance. They warily watched the woods around them, as if expecting this was a herald of an attacking army.
Liram smoothed down his blue tunic to calm himself, readjusting his silver chain. He opened his mouth to call out to Hektor but stopped when he saw his men weren’t moving.
“DO AS I SAY, YOU COCKLE-HEADED SHITS!”
His shout made the guards flinch. He glared at them until the continued their work, then turned back to his approaching guard captain.
“Hektor!” he called more jovially, “You have my assassin? Good, good! Bring him here and let’s have a look!”
Turning and restraightening his tunic, the skinny slaver threw his head back and strutted towards his carriage, the undisputed master of all he surveyed once again. Marching up the steps, he plopped down on the seat and faced the open door. Making himself comfortable took a bit of scrunching around, but once settled he crossed his legs and placed a smug smile on his face, waiting for his guard captain to approach.
When Hektor and Arya arrived in front of him, Liram was seated like a king in his throne, his elevated position allowing him to be at eye level with the bigger man.
“Such a strange turn of events, wasn’t it?” he stroked his chin, “Our entire sortie attacked by a single boy with fireworks! Well, go on, then, let’s have a look!”
Hektor gripped the collar of Arya’s tunic and turned her around, holding her out like a puppy by the scruff of her neck. She kicked at the initial sensation of being suspended, but quickly gave it up and hung limp, still huffing beneath her scarf. She drooped like one half dead, eyes lowered, hollow and spent.
“This one is a girl.” Hektor chuckled, “Feisty little thing too!”
“Is she really?” Liram reached out.
He pinched the scarf over her mouth drew it down with a single yank. Still not pleased with the angle, he then crooked a finger under her chin and tilted it up.
Arya’s haunted eyes fixed on him without much aplomb. Her hair was clumped and messy, falling down almost to her chin in oily strings, matching the dirt smudged on her face.
Frowning, the musing slaver snuck his hand under her stringy bangs, making sure they all laid on the back of his hand before combing them out of the way of her face. His palm smoothed over her forehead to her scalp, holding her hair in place.
Without the hair veiling them, her almost oversized gray eyes stood out like shining coins on her dirty face. She was cuter than pretty, lips full but top teeth a bit too big, giving her a chipmunk aspect, with thick, expressive eyebrows one wouldn’t normally picture on a female. There was a pinched vulnerability about her, again like a small squirrel or mouse, but a defined girlishness beneath the dirt that his sharp eyes didn’t miss.
“And so she is.” the slaver nodded, “Quite unexpected.”
Out of professional habit, Liram gave her a quick inspection, gauging the placement of her eyes, checking for signs blemish or illness. He pinched her jaw and squeezed carefully, checking for any rotting teeth, then gave her hair a little tug.
The girl winced and made a small sound, but none of her hair came out, which meant she was decently well fed.
“Hmm…” he mused, pulling her jaw down to peer into her mouth.
Arya blinked then slowly frowned as the man held her mouth open, craning his head around to check all her teeth. She was too tired and embarrassed to care much about the other stuff, but his grip on her jaw was annoyingly painful, not to mention the discomfort of keeping her mouth wide.
“Aa-aaww…” she protested, kicking her feet.
Larim arched an eyebrow as he continued to search her teeth.
“Hmm!” he sounded surprised, “All her teeth. None broken, no rots. Tongue nice and pink.”
Arya tried to wiggle her head away, then finally managed to paw at his hand.
The slaver let her close her mouth but continued to scrutinize her. He squinted and looked in her eyes, leaning close. Then he drew back, canting his head. He frowned like something was nagging at him.
“There’s something about her as well, isn’t there?” he turned her face side to side.
“She’s a willful mouse,” Hektor shrugged, “Had some training with the sword too.”
Liram nodded slowly, “Perhaps… It’s strange, almost a resemblance…”
He drew back, reaching into his tunic for his handkerchief. His eyes still on the dangling girl, the slaver carefully wiped his hands of any dirt or sweat he might have picked up off the dirty little thing. He scrubbed deliberately, one digit at a time, lips pursed in thought.
“What do you think, Hektor? Is she working for someone?”
Hektor laughed, ruffling Arya’s hair, “Hire this one to attack our caravan?”
Arya grunted as her head was wobbled around by the big man’s paw, a scowl starting to crinkle her small features. She kicked her feet and even managed to grab at his hand, but he withdrew before she could reach. Afterwards, she sagged, panting again.
“It’s a good point,” Liram admitted, tucking his handkerchief away, “If someone had this perky little thing as an agent, there would be much more effective ways to do me in.” he paused, clearing his throat, “What is your name, girl? Or should we just call you mouse?”
Arya glared sullenly into his eyes, shame burning her cheeks. Part of her wanted to tell him she wouldn’t tell him anything, that he was an evil, cowering worm, but the words died in her throat. She was simply too tired.
Giving up the glare, she lowered her eyes.
“Well, mouse it is, then.” the Orphan Master said, “Hektor?”
The guard captain perked up.
“I think our little mouse requires… some behavior adjustment,” said Liram.
“Right you are, sir!” the big man replied cheerfully.
“In front of the other children, please. This will be a learning experience for all of them.”
“Excellent!” Hektor said, then without further explanation turned on his heel and carried Arya away.
Arya grunted in surprise as she found herself moved, being bounced past the master’s carriage towards the slave cages. She cast her eyes wearily around, observing her changing surroundings.
The guards had straightened the wagons and were finishing the last small jobs, adjusting baggage, tightening down the horses’ bridles. As they saw their diminutive attacker being carried towards them, they began to look up from their work. Grins grew and they called out to each other, alerting their comrades to the approaching fun. A few of them chuckled and glanced at each other, anticipating what was about to happen.
The slaves in the cages looked up as well, although with less interest than the guards. Dressed in ill fitting sack cloths, at oldest only several years older than Arya, they leaned against the bars or laid down in the largest open space they could find. There was no sympathy in their eyes as they stared, just an idle curiosity and hopeless solemnity. They’d seen this routine many times before and knew the inevitable ending.
Dread sank into Arya’s stomach, making her rate heart pick up. She kicked her feet lightly, getting more worried as she noticed the look in everyone’s eyes.
Liram Wynch followed with a bounce in his step, hands folded over his chest and twiddling his fingers.
“If you wanted to join my orphanage, you had only but to ask, little mouse.” he piped up, “Instead, you gave my guards quite the fright! And wasted almost 15 minutes of my time! Right there is excellent, Hektor.”
Hektor stopped and dropped Arya down onto her feet, but her legs immediately buckled. She let out a small cry of surprise and would have fallen flat, if the big man hadn’t retained his grip on the back of her tunic.
“That will not do,” Liram stepped to where he could have a good view, still twiddling his fingers, “That will not do at all.”
Arya’s brow crinkled as she looked around at all the eyes on her. The entire caravan had stopped to watch the show and that couldn’t be a good thing.
Her suspicions were soon confirmed. Hektor undid her leather belt and dropped it in the road, then took her by the shoulder and turned her around to undo the strings on the front of her tunic.
Still a bit dazed from sheer exhaustion, Arya blinked and looked down at what he was doing.
“I find there is a singularly effective and entertaining technique to modifying the behaviors of young ones,” Liram narrowed his eyes, “It doesn’t seriously injure them, but it gives them enough pain, and most importantly reminds them of their place.”
Before Arya could do much to resist, Hektor had yanked the heavier green tunic from her shoulders and thrown it away. She yelped, grabbing clumsily at the waist of the white shirt she wore beneath, but that wasn’t the big man’s target.
Still supporting her with one hand on her shoulder, Hektor sank down to one knee and undid the draw string on Arya’s trousers with a single yank.
“It sets little girls like you right as rain,” Liram chuckled nastily, “You’ll see soon enough.”
Arya tried to grab for her pants, but too late. Hektor yanked them down to her ankles, revealing her pale, slender, surprisingly toned thighs and calves.
“NEEK!” she cried out before she could stop herself, tugging down on her shirt to make sure it covered her modesty.
The other guards snickered, crossing their arms and watching with immense pleasure. They felt this punishment was well-deserved.
“Over the knee you go, little mouse.” Hektor told her.
With another easy yank from her large captor, Arya was pulled forward and upended over his thigh. She made a surprised squawk and tried to kick her legs, but her own pants were restraining her, tangled about her ankles so she couldn’t pedal her feet.
The unbalanced girl pushed at the ground, trying to force herself off his thigh and onto her feet, but the big man laid his gauntleted hand on her back, keeping her pinned in place.
“The little mice are always better after this.” Hektor said, “You will be too.”
With that, he flipped Arya’s shirt away, laying it on her back to expose her creamy bottom.
Arya immediately stiffened, eyes widening.
Due to sheer exhaustion, shame at her own failure, and hopelessness, the former noble girl had been fairly stoic when she was presented to Liram, mocked, handled like an infant. She had been taught that Starks took what came their way without complaint, particularly if it was the consequences of their own mistakes.
This was different. They couldn’t just do… THIS to her! She was a warrior! She was a Stark! She’d rather have her throat slit than be humiliated like she was a little girl that had spilled milk on the floor!
“N-NO!” she shouted.
Even though her arms still felt like limp noodles, she reached back and grabbed the waist of her shirt, hugging it back down over her rump.
“I won’t… let you…!” the miniature assassin rasped with as much venom as she could muster, “I’ll… k-kill you if you… try!”
Having expected her to try what she did, Hektor was already calmly taking her hands and prizing them from her shirt before she finished speaking.
“Stop, I said!” Arya’s voice grew shrill, “STOP!”
Overpowering her with lazy ease, Hektor moved her hands back around in front of her and brought them together. Closing one fist around both to hold them in place, firmly and gently, he reached with his other hand to take her belt. He began winding it around her wrists as the young Stark squirmed and kicked as much as her spent body allowed.
“I’ll… c-cut out… your HEART!” she panted between threats, her tone growing ever more shrill and desperate, “Stop! STOPPIT!”
A murmur of laughter came from the guards, Liram himself letting out a squeaky giggle.
“Oh my, Hektor, you had better be careful!” he clapped with delight, “She IS spirited! What fun!”
Hektor looped the belt through and yanked it tight, binding Arya’s hands in front where she couldn’t reach her hindquarters.
The little would-be assassin let out a wordless shriek, kicking her tangled feet in a fury.
“She does like to squeak and squirm!” the guard captain chuckled, “This will settle her down.”
He picked up Arya’s shirt once more, laying it on her back.
The displayed bottom belonged to a small person, but was filled out, ripe with young muscle. The two shapes parted slightly due to her bent position, the dark shadow between them a contrast to the white moons. While Arya’s faced was scraped, smudged with dirt and darkened from the sun, her rump was almost pristine, smooth and perfect, a little peach shape of polished marble that bounced as the girl kicked.
The Orphan Master’s eyes gleamed.
“Oh yes…” he giggled again, “Very entertaining.”
Arya kicked both her legs up at once, trying to completely upend herself off Hektor’s knee, but the big guard placed his hand on her waist and guided her back.
“I’ll put out… your eyes!” the Stark girl shrieked, “With a bl—AAAAA-AAAH!”
The first hard smack upon her rump took her by surprise, her head jerking up and eyes snapping wide.
The guards let out a huzzah and Hektor drew back his big palm once more.
“You slime eating troll!” Arya snapped, only to squeal as his hand smacked down, “NYEEEAAAH!”
Another huzzah rang out.
“S-STOP YOU—AAAAIEEEE!”
Another huzzah.
The spanking started slow. Hektor wore an easy smile, drew his hand back, took careful aim, then swung down, striking a loud clap on the precise place he wanted before drawing back again. Each blow rocked the unfortunate Arya forward, drawing a shrill cry until she stopped trying to shout threats and simply gritted her teeth. Sounds still came from between her tight lips, but they were short and pinched, squeaks that matched her new nickname.
Gradually, however, Hektor began to pick up the pace. The loud claps were closer together as the big man got his rhythm, Arya bucking up in pain and barely able to drop before she bucked up again. The guards began to fall behind with the huzzahs, becoming intermittent.
“Neek… eek… nrk… eek!” she clenched her eyes shut and tried to bear through it, but she jumped with every smack, the pain worse every time. A scream was trying to burst from her mouth, her behind growing cheerier pink with each smack.
With lidded eyes and a sly grin, Liram Wynch relished his chosen business.
“Why oh why would you ever try to kill me? Hm?” he said over the claps and squeals, “I’m a friend to all urchins, orphans, and unfortunate children! Why would a little mouse like you try to hurt the Orphan Master?”
Tears spilled from Arya’s closed eyes, running down her cheeks. It hurt to even kick any more. A faint whimper escaped her lips as the unrelenting torrent of smacks rocked her forward and back.
Liram came closer, still twiddling his fingers on his chest, approaching with the patient gait of a schoolmaster. He held up a hand and Hektor stopped his work with his hand drawn back, the claps going silent for a moment.
“I’d like an answer, please,” he said, “Why would you do that? Were you angry with me? Did someone tell you to? Did someone make you?”
Arya continued to grit her teeth, her fists clenched; the pain didn’t stop with the spanking. Even now her bottom throbbed and stung in the same cadence as Hektor’s clapping hand, like someone with prickly pears for hands was squeezing her over and over. She tried to ignore it, but a sob choked its way from her lips, more tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Answer, mouse.” Liram leaned down to meet her eyes, “Do as you’re told. Then it can stop.”
Arya sniffled and lifted shining eyes to the Orphanbane, her face almost as pink as her backside, expression crumpled in misery. She tried to speak but her voice caught, a small sob escaping once she opened her mouth.
“B-bec… bec-cause you’re…” she choked, voice riddled with sobs, “You’re an-an evil… l-lying toad!”
She tried to glare, but was trying too hard not to cry, her bottom lip trembling.
“Awww…” Liram shook his head, clucking his tongue.
Hektor’s hand came down before she was ready, drawing a shrill howl from the tormented girl.
Clap! Smack! Whap! Clap! Whap!
No longer able to hold herself back, each cry drew a pained shriek, broken up only by sobs.
“But I’m not evil.” Liram continued to shake his head, “What would be evil is to leave you children on the streets to starve, be killed by soldiers, or freeze during the winter. I take you poor things and feed you, clothe you, shelter you, then find you homes and jobs. I don’t ask for praise; the pleasure is payment enough, along with the money. But honestly, evil? Such a silly thing to say.”
Arya’s flanks were so tender, each smack felt like a million bees were stinging her at once and now that she’d started crying, she couldn’t stop. Her cheeks burned and her heart clenched with shame, which only made her sobbing worse rather than gave her the strength to stop. Her face was wet, shining, contorted in grief, helpless to keep from bawling like the little girl they taunted her as.
Clap! Clap! Smack! Pop! Whap!
“There.” Liram grinned, “Now you know. And now that you do, I think it’s time you apologized.”
Smack! Smack! Clap!
“AAAA-AAAH! NAAAA-AAAH! AAAAH-AAAAH!”
“Go on,” the Orphan Master laughed, “Ask my forgiveness and you shall have it, my mousey. Just ask, sweetly and nicely.”
Arya was in so much pain, both in her heart and other places, that she could barely think beyond escaping her torture. Each time a thought tried to cross her weary mind, it was obliterated by a loud clap and the flesh-gripping sting that came with it. She could only react to each punishing spank, mouth agape and face screwed up, wailing in anguish.
“S-STOP AAAAAH STOO-OO—OWWWWWW!” she shrieked, “PLEA-EEEEK! PLEASE!”
Several of the guards grunted with satisfaction, particularly the one she’d checked in the groin.
A few of the slaves unconsciously slipped their hands over their own hindquarters, protecting themselves if not in sympathetic pain.
Liram shared a knowing look with Hektor and grinned again.
“Why, of course we’ll stop, you poor, pitiful little girl!” he chided, “After you apologize so everyone can hear!”
Arya clenched her eyes closed and for an instant tried to resist. The next smack on her tender rump smashed that last wall of resistance into kindling, even before she’d finished putting it up.
“NEEEEEEE! FORGIVEME—AAAAAHHHH! FORGIVEMEFORGIVEMEFOR—EEEEEAAAAH! PLEEEEASE!”
The guards gave one more HUZZAH as the last spanking landed, a loud pop that left a few of the slaves’ ears ringing.
Arya squealed, head bucking up and eyes bulging, then sagged, from rigid to instantly slack. She hung limp over the big guard’s knee, blubbering and sobbing in a small, broken voice.
“Hm!” Liram crooned, “Thaaaaaat’s better.”
Arya’s back and shoulders continued to heave rapidly, her full little flanks practically glowing. She whimpered squeaky apologies over and over between gulps and sniffles.
“I would think that’s a job done,” Liram crouched down, “What do you think, Hektor?”
Hektor patted the girl’s rump, drawing a squeak and a slightly louder apology.
“I think she’ll be good now,” he beamed, “They always are.”
Liram normally didn’t get quite this involved in his new charges, but this girl had proven both disruptive and entertaining enough to garner his interest. He cupped under her jaw and lifted her head, staring at her curiously.
Arya’s face was red and wet, her eyes lidded and delirious. There was still a small crinkle of discomfort in her brow, but her expression was softened with weariness, drooping as all her pain and struggles caught up with her. She panted raggedly through slack lips, her glassy eyes unable to focus on the man in front of her.
“Msorry… umsorry… ums-sorry… …” she slurred, her voice getting fainter, “sor… sorr… ee…”
Finally, it all became too much. Her brow softened, her words slurring into unintelligible mumbles. Her eyes crossed, then drifted closed as she fell into a welcome darkness. She let out one last mewl before she went entirely slack, peaceful and unconscious.
Liram raised his eyebrows, grinning with amusement.
“Oh dear,” he said, “I believe the little thing has just fainted!”
Hektor massaged the girl’s warm little rump, assuaging the pain she’d feel later.
“All tired out, eh?” he smiled, “Poor stubborn mouse. She’ll need a good bit of rest after this.”
Still peering curiously, Liram stroked away some tears with his thumb, then combed his fingers through her hair. There was still something about her he couldn’t quite pinpoint, something vaguely familiar about the big eyes, the mischievous little mouth. She was a cute little thing, but it was something else that nagged at him.
“Hmph…” he grunted, unable to place it.
He gave it up for the moment and laid her head back down to hang.
“All right, then.” The Orphan Master stood back up, dusting off his hands, “It appears we’ve picked up a spare, haven’t we?” he grinned, “Put our little mouse in the second cage, please, then let’s be on our way. We’ve dallied enough here.”
The show over, the guards went back to their work, finishing the last few jobs, while Hektor took care of the newest addition to the stock. He unwound the belt from her wrists, worked off her boots and trousers altogether, then picked her up under the arm and carried her to the second wagon. When he reached it, the slaves inside made way of the door, keeping clear as they’d been taught to do.
“There we are,” Hektor said as he laid the sleeping girl down, “You rest there now, little mouse. Right where you should be.”
He gently lay Arya down on her stomach, where her reddened bottom wouldn’t rub against the floor, then closed the gate and locked it back.
“Be nice to your new friend, now,” Hektor chuckled to the other slaves, “We’ll be at Riverrun very soon.”
With that he strode away, gathering up Arya’s loose garments and making his way to the lead wagon.
The other children stared at the slumped girl curiously. Then, when no one was watching, a few of them scurried over to rifle through her shirt, feeling around for anything valuable. One girl poked at Arya’s face a few times, waiting to see if she reacted, while the others just watched.
The searchers felt around under her sleeves, over her back, under her collar, then gave it up with grumbles of disappointment. One of them even gave Arya’s exposed rump a wobbling smack for not having anything they could trade or use.
After that brief moment of curiosity, the slaves moved back to their spaces and let the new girl slump where she lay, no longer interested. She was just another one joining them on the trip, not important.
Soon whips were cracked and the wagons lurched on their way once more, the slaves settling in for the rest of the long, boring ride to Riverrun.
* * *
