Game Of Thrones Imagines/Oneshots

Playing Swords~(Arya Stark x Reader)

(A/N): Ahhh she's too cute especially with her old mentor please no one hurt her. I wish we could live in season 1 again.

*Fluff*

~

   The loud sounds of wood clacking echoed off of the elegant stone pillars in the Kings Landing courtyard.

   You and the youngest Stark daughter, Arya, had been practicing with wooden swords all day and laughing at each other in the process. You two had traveled to the well populated Iron Throne city not too long ago with the highly praised Eddard Stark, Arya's father, and Sansa Stark, Arya's formal, older sister.

   Arya had already learned a handful of tricks from her dance master, Syrio Forel, as she had mentioned many times, as she wanted to pass on what she had eagerly learned to you. You remembered how excited she was when you agreed, and how sore she had been when she complained about her sword training her first day. You remembered tending to her bruises when she complained of not wanting to see a Maester, bandaging her knees after she fell trying to catch a street cat.

'I swear I almost got that damned tabby!' She huffed in annoyance when you had wrapped a bandage around her bloody knee.

   You smiled to yourself at the thoughts of the eager Stark girl as your grip on the hilt of your wooden sword tightened, filling you with determination.

"Ok, repeat after me." She nodded her head, moving her body in a water dancer pose, a term she had used to eloquently describe her movements, her feet sliding across the stone floor smoothly.

   Her body was sideways, as she put it, to make the enemy's target, being her, smaller, you recalled. She was already very skinny, so it didn't make much of a difference. You imaged she would be very hard to hit if she stayed the same size as she aged, especially against a brooding older soldier.

You at least hoped she would be.

"Ok. After me." You looked at her as her grip on her wooden sword faltered a bit.

   She started laughing as she smiled, baring her whiteish teeth. She shook her head at you and sighed.

"No! That's not what I meant!" She giggled. She resumed her stance gracefully, tightening back her grip to its original force. "Ok, repeat what I do. Copy that?" She raised a brow at you.

"Yes, yes I copy." You rolled your eyes a bit, taking her seriously now, as you slid into the same pose as her, double checking her form as your eyes darted up and down.

Arya suddenly lowered her stick. "No, no, hold on." She walked over to you, holding her stick away from you.

   She threw it down on the ground carelessly, the wood clacking loudly as it thumped on the marble tile, slowly rolling away. You looked at it, then looked back at her. You raised a brow and looked down at your stance.

The brunette moved her hands to your waist, moving your hips slightly as she bent over. "See, your posture is supposed to be loose, not stiff. Then you would not be able to move so swiftly when someone tries to attack you." Arya moved her hands to yours, adjusting your fingers around the handle. "They'd whack your hip and make you bleed if you don't step out of the way too soon." Her stubby nails twisted your hips into a more relaxed position, yet still making you feel movable, swift, fast.

You shifted your body weight on your right foot, then your left foot, testing out the new form. It felt much more comfortable.

Arya looked up at you and raised her arm. She poked you in the middle of your forehead with a pale finger and smiled a smug smile. "That's how you die." She said simply.