#anyways sometimes the others rope him into drinking and he gets smashed so fast. he fuckin hates it when he wakes up

[nerosdayinanime]

vigilante doodle to Never There (CAKE)- giyuu doesnt have fun at the office's friday night outings</3

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 6:

Boondocks

Man! I Feel Like A Woman

Dumo’s house was full, the entire team was over to watch the last ride of Leo’s summer in the US. After this he was going to Brazil to finish out the season, Clayton’s season would be over after tonight but he and Regulus would be joining Leo anyway. They had decided that the day after Leo got home from Brazil that the team and some of their significant others would travel down to Leo’s ranch and stay there. Finn and Logan tried to convince Leo to let the team stay somewhere else because there was no way there would be enough room but Eloise insisted.

So everyone decided to get together to watch this rodeo, kids, adults, babies and all. Finn was sitting on the couch with Marc on one side and Katie on the other. Logan flopped into his lap and rested his head back on his shoulder as Finn sent his usual good luck texts to Leo. Every time the event came on after commercials a song that reminded them all of Leo would play and there would be highlights of the people competing. The only part of the song that would play is: “ I feel no shame, I’m proud of where I came from.”

The only little shot of Leo they could find in the weird transition was of him swinging around the Louisianan flag after hearing his scores. It was kinda cute.

Today Leo was scheduled to ride Canadian Mist, a big bad bucking bull from up north. This bull had its states read off while they were showing Leo getting comfy on him. He was already trying to slam him off, Leo would just pat his side anytime he jolted him around and smiled. Leo was just about ready when suddenly the chute door opened and Mist went flying out the doors.

Leo, having not been completely ready, was thrown forward so his head smashed his face on the poll of the bull, right where the horns meet the forehead. Letting go of the rope he flies off, standing he sees Canadian charging towards him so he gets himself in the chute and closes the door. Catching his breath he waits for an announcement of a reride or of a score.

Logan was now on his feet and Finn was sitting forward as everyone watched the camera zoom in on his face. Leo looks up as someone hands him his hat, he nods a thank you, they see a small dribble of blood coming from a minor cut just below his eye.

The speakers come on and announce Leo is granted a reride after watching the footage back. The smile he has on his face basically lights up the whole arena.

Once Canadian Mist was back in the chute and Leo was properly situated this time. The doors were opened. Mist is a forty-five degreer, pulling those angles like it's nothing. Leo held tight for as long as he could, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he concentrated. After one wildly sharp turn his arm gave out and he got bucked off. Mist was much easier to corral this time back into the pens. Leo rolled his shoulder a little and started walking towards the arena exit gates to get checked over by sports medicine.

A camera followed him back to the table to catch his reaction while they read off his scores. He nodded at his alright scores and gave a thumbs up to the camera knowing he wasn't going to place this time.

Clay didn’t compete for another hour and was on the phone with his mother while Reg used Peanut like a bed and took a nap. Leo decided it was too loud near the arena to call his boys so he walked back to the trailer. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he clicked on Finn’s sleeping face to Facetime him.

Finn heard the ringing of his phone and knew exactly who it was. He grabbed Logan and answered the phone in the living room where everyone was chatting and watching other people ride.

“Nice Ride!” Finn smiles bright at him, wrapping an arm around Logan who just sinks into his side.

“Why do you do this to yourself, you’re going to get hurt Leo.” Logan looks at him worried but also smiling which is an odd combination.

“ I’ve been doing it since I was 10. I'll be fine.” He sees them say something but can’t hear them from how loud people are cheering in the background. “I can’t hear you, can you go somewhere quieter?”

Finn and Logan share a smirk and wander downstairs to Logan’s room. Closing the door they flop on the bed stomach first and set the phone up against the pillows so it's standing on its own.

“Do you get an adrenaline kick from riding bulls?” Logan asked as he felt Finn’s hand oh so casually slip under his shirt rubbing his back.

“Yes I do, that's why I keep doing it.” Leo smiles as he sets his phone up on a table against a wall as he starts changing out of his rodeo get up into his normal yeehaw clothes.

“Hey, give us a peak!” Finn smiles as he hears Leo’s laugh, Leo turns on the lamp they have in the back and he puts his arms out to the side and spins around.

“Good?”

“Non.”

“... Okay horndogs, I’ll get naked if you do.” He smiles smugly and crosses his arms, he was not expecting them to get naked so fast at A FAMILY FUNCTION. What the hell. He just blinks at them for a minute and then laughs. “ Okay, okay hold on, I don’t want to scratch my new buckle.” Leo smiles as he hears them sigh at him, rolling his eyes he unbuckles his belts and slips it off carefully setting it next to his phone. Slipping off the rest of his clothes he looks up at them.

Now Leo has never been one for being shy but when two extremely beautiful people are looking you up and down like they want to gobble you up. You have this urge to cover yourself. Finn and Logan had moved round so Logan was sitting in between Finn’s legs and leaning back into his chest. Logan already looked dizzy with pleasure, his face was red and his breathing was already heavy.

Leo’s mouth was suddenly very dry, he felt himself harden at the snap of a finger. Finn smirked at him, having accumulated lube sometime when Leo was distracted he wrapped a hand around Logan and gave him a tight tug, quickly covering his mouth with his other hand because they suddenly remembered other people were in the house.

Logan pushes back into Finn’s chest and looks directly at Leo as Finn keeps working him, trying to keep himself quiet but also losing all self awareness in the moment. His eyes met Leo’s who just stared at him like he was frozen.

“Like what you see?” Finn smiles at Leo as his own breath catches as he grinds against Logan’s back. Leo nods slowly and looks around for a second, clay usually brings lube because… well he's Clayton. Leo shuffles through his bag to find some because he really didn’t feel like using his fucking spit. Making a noise of triumph he helps himself to his best friend's lube, he'd apologize later, or not.

Moving back into view he sees that Logan has taken Finn’s fingers into his mouth to keep him quiet as Finn moves his hand faster up and down Logan's leaking cock. Leo starts stroking himself in time with Finn’s hand and takes a shaky breath, reaching his hand into his hair he tugs out of habit and groans, closing his eyes for a second. Lazily opening his eyes half way he watched as Finn shifts a little and he flushes from his ears down to his neck.

Logan feels himself getting close and grips Finn’s thighs tight to let him know, he feels the hand on him speed up and twist at the head and his whole body goes taut. His head goes empty while he rides out his organism with Finn holding him in place with the hand back over his mouth, holding him to his chest. His heart is beating fast and he is lightly covered in sweat. When he comes back to his senses he blinks his eyes open to see Leo staring in awe, he looks up to see Finn wiping his hand on a towel that was balled up on the end of the bed because Logan can’t seem to figure out where the laundry basket is. Finn gives him a kiss on the side of the head and reaches to move Logan over to lay down. But, Logan has other plans: he grabs Finn’s hand and puts them on his waist.

“One more, I can do it.” He looks up at Leo who groans at Logan’s words. Finn tilts his head to the side a little confused at first, now that Logan has regained most of the feeling in his limbs he reaches over to grab the lube. Maneuvering Finn how he wants him, he straddles his thighs facing Leo, who is looking as confused as he is horny.

Finn catches on and takes the lube from Logan’s slightly shaky hands and whispers for him to relax as he reaches down to feel how lose Logan is from when they had sex earlier in the day. Feeling that he's still ready for Finn, he lubes up and puts his hands on Logan’s waist. Kissing between his shoulders as he feels Logan sink down on his cock. A little tight but nothing Logan doesn’t love.

Leo watches as Logan’s face completely opens up, his eyes going glassy and unfocused. His thighs shake slightly as he lifts himself up and down. Leo grips himself at the base as he watches Logan set the pace, he refuses to cum until Finn has. He sees the way Finn’s fingers dig into Logan’s side and Leo wants to mark Logan like that too. He could tell that Logan was already close again, Finn was resting his face in the crook of Logan’s neck as he moved his hips just right.

It isn’t long until Finn gives a warning to Logan, who pulls off and moves to the side to finish Finn off by sucking him off. Finn grips his hair as his eyes roll back and he cums down Logan's throat. Logan pulls off and has a familiar glow to him, he has cum again making a mess on Finn’s leg. Leo, watching the whole thing, finally cums into his hand and cleans up with some paper towels he has in the trailer. He tugs his boxer briefs back on and sits on the ground for a minute to catch his breath.

“Jesus Christ, we should do this more often.” Leo smiles at them as they laugh a little.

“It would be better if you were here with us wouldn’t it?” Leo nods and stands up again to get dressed in jeans and a shirt. “When does Clay compete? We didn’t make you miss it did we?”

Leo looks at the time in his phone as he buckles his belt back up. “I should probably go.” He lifts his hands over his head to stretch and yawns a little, putting his hat on. “I’ll call y’all when I get home alright?” They all say their goodbyes and hang up.

“Come on, let's get cleaned up?” Finn cups Logan's face and smiles when he leans into his hand, his eyes are tired but swimming with happiness.

“Finn.” Logan calls his attention as he finishes wiping them up, tossing his clothes on he looks at Logan who had stretched out on the bed like a starfish. Smiling he crawls on top of Logan and brackets him in with his hands on either side of Logan's head and his knees on either side of his hips. Resting his forehead on the brunets he hums.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” Logan can’t help the laugh that rushes out of him as Finn starts peppering his face in kisses and blows a raspberry on his cheek. Still giggling he catches Finn’s face in his hands and rubs a thumb under his eye. “We are going to love Leo.”

“Yeah we are.”

Climbing the stairs after having a dick in your ass was not ideal, having Finn carry him he gets set down in the kitchen and drinks a glass of water. What they failed to notice was Dumo was in the kitchen watching them.

“Boys, I have one rule… Do you remember what it is?” His arms were crossed and he was tapping his foot. A real stereotype.

“....Don’t have sex in the house.” Logan was looking into his glass as Finn was looking everywhere but at Dumo.

“Remember that!” He huff and ruffles Logan’s hair and pats Finn’s cheek, a little aggressively mind you, walking past them to the living room.

Brazil was very warm and Reg was melting. He has seen so many spiders and animals just following around Leo like some weird ass Disney princess. The bulls weren't as aggressive but knew how to throw people off. Leo was doing extremely well.

“Here.” Leo hands Reg his sixth bottle of water in the last four hours. “Are you sure you want to do this? We can always go without you?”

“Rude.” Reg was finishing filling out the paperwork so he couldn't sue the skydiving company. “I want to go, it's something I’ve always wanted to do.” He smiles when Leo ruffles his hair, they haven’t gotten hair cuts in a while and all their hair was long. Reg’s was curling around his neck and ears. Leo’s was past his chin and almost always pushed back under his hat. Clays has gotten so wild he can’t wear a hat anymore without having Leo braid his hair. They all decided that when they got back to Gryff they were going to cut each other's hair.

Blowing his hair off his forehead Reg hands his papers to the secretary who gave him a flirty wink. He just nodded awkwardly back and looked at Leo for help. Reg has been trying to figure out why he isn’t like Leo and Clay during this trip around the country and now out of the country.

Girls would throw themselves at him but he wasn’t interested in the slightest and the guys noticed. So, they started acting like his ‘boyfriend’ to get him out of the situation. Reg also wasn’t interested in men or anyone who identified as others, he didn’t feel anything for anyone. At least not in a sexual or romantic way.

It scared him.

He was never one who wanted relationships, but being around Clay who exudes hypersexal energy and Leo who is so smitten with his boys that he can talk about their faces for an eight hour drive. He just wasn’t interested, he wanted to talk to Clay and Leo about it but he didn’t want to scare them off. They are the only friends he has ever had that weren’t only friends with him because of parents, or hockey, or money…. But never just for him.

Sometimes he wonders if Sirius asked them to be friends with him.

“Ready!” Clay and Leo both clap a hand on his shoulder and smile as they all finish getting into their diving gear. He nods, his mind still reeling with all the feelings he's been keeping to himself. Maybe he should take the fall and tell his friends about his feelings.

Up in the plane Reg was realizing what he had gotten himself into. The instructors who have known Leo and Clay for years, of course, Reg was standing in between the two yeehaws and fidgeting with a strap on his pack. He was still lost in his own world when they got the okay to jump.

Clay went first, throwing himself out of the plane without hesitation.

Leo was next, turning around to make sure Reg was behind him. Smiling, he falls backwards out of the plan while saluting Reg.

Walking towards the open door he looks down seeing the other two falling without fear. He decides he wants to fall without fear as well, checking the monitor on his wrist that tells him when to pull the chute.

He jumps.

Logan was bouncing in his seat as Finn followed the Google's directions to Leo’s ranch, Noelle and Lily were in the back talking about how nice it was not listening to James and Thomas squeal about seeing cows. The whole team and their significant others were coming to stay at Leo’s, they don’t know where they are going to stay because Ranches are usually small and dusty with a couple of horses.

Or at least they were on TV. Looking out the windows as the trees opened up into a huge open plot of land. Horses were wandering in pastures looking majestic, like horses do. It was a good five more minutes of driving and looking at all these horses playing around with each other, when they finally reached the entrance gate. They pull to a stop as the gates are closed and there is a speaker. The few cars and the van behind them come to a stop as well.

The gate and arch above it was giant. The arch was made of thick metal with a swinging board with ‘Knut’s Walking Ranch’ in rustic looking lettering swinging in the wind. The gate was beautifully made with little shapes of horses in the pattern. Finn cautiously rolls down his window and presses a button.

“Hello?” He waits for an answer from Leo but instead Clay and Reg start shouting over the intercom.

“WELCOME TO BOOTCAMP BITCHES!” The gate makes a clicking noise and slowly opens. Noelle was laughing in the back seat and sending the video she got of those two yelling and sending it to her boyfriend.

They weren’t expecting to drive another four minutes until they pulled into a large dirt parking lot. Parking and getting out, Finn puts a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and looks around. There are circle fences with single horses in them, these horses don’t look like the ones in the pastures.

Finn knows nothing about horses and he doesn’t try to act like he knows but he thinks they are different breeds. He looks to the other side of the parking lot and there are more fences, one with Leo in it. He is in a dark grey cut off and his normal jeans, belt, boots, and hat. He is swinging a rope in a circle by his side as he follows a horse in a circle.

Watching him he sees the rest of the team also looking at Leo, who appears to be in his own world. The horse tries to go the other way and Leo clicks at it, the horse goes the other way and Leo praises him.

After a couple of minutes Leo turns around and stands still, breathing hard, the horse walks up behind him and sniffs his neck. The relieved smile that platers itself on Leo’s face is one that makes the sun seem dull, turning to rub the snoot and kiss the side of the horse's head he finally realizes that an entire hockey team was watching.

“Oh, Hi!” He laughs and climbs over the fence to walk over to them. “Welcome to the ranch, I know it's not much but it's home. Now, let's get y’all settled. Follow me.” He leads them over to a large house next to the gigantic barn, opening the door he lets them in. “This is the ranch hands house, they help Mama take care of the ranch during the summer. My cousins take over the ranch during the fall and winter because Mama and I are usually on vacation.” He gives them the grand tour and lets them choose rooms and unpack. “I think Clay and Reg have the radio that is connected to the speaker out front. Did they tell you where they were?”

“Your hair is so long.” Finn runs his hands through Leo’s hair as he is using his hat to fan himself. “I like it.” Leo kisses the side of his head. And Logan makes a noise of offense.

“I want one!” Leo rolls his eyes but can’t help but feel special. Giving Logan his own forehead kiss he corrals everyone back outside. Just in time to see Clay and Reg racing each other on Leroy and Peanut down the fence line. “I swear”

“I WON SUCK IT REG!” Clay trots over to them triumphantly, having rode horses all his life it was obvious that he was going to win. He smiles, his perfectly white teeth and tips his hat at Noelle, winking. He stops in front of the group and starts counting all of them. “Ma is gonna want to make a lot of food for y’all. Especially because Eloise isn't here.” He pulls out his phone and starts texting his mother.

Thomas was just staring at Clay with a cluster fuck of emotions, Noelle notices and takes his hand. Her heart is hammering in her chest as well. They had both been talking to Clay for the three months he was away over the summer. It all started friendly but then one night Thomas slipped up and mentioned how he flirts with Clay without even realizing it.

Noelle and him had a long talk about Clay that night. It’s different discussing him as someone they only interact with over the phone. Seeing him in person, tall, lean and being highlighted in the sun. They shared a look of ‘What the fuck are we going to do?’ Thomas has been sending memes and slightly flirty texts for about a month longer than Noelle has but they know this isn’t something they can just shove under the rug and forget. Clay was someone who would stick with them forever.

“Hey, that's not fair Peanut is fat!” Reg trots over and pats Peanuts head when he snorts in protest.

“Oh my god, he is not fat Reg, he is a different breed.” Leo rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I have someone coming to pick up Trixie in four hours so lets go to the main house.” Leo starts walking towards the house and everyone but Clay, Thomas, Noelle, Reg and Sirius follow him. They go to the stable to set peanut and Leroy up for the next couple of hours.

That night after Judy comes over with a feast of food and everyone eats themselves into a coma, everyone goes to their rooms for the night. Reg and Clay stayed in two of the guest rooms. Leo, Finn and Logan all go up to Leo’s room.

Opening the door to a room the size of Finn’s living room in his apartment, which is quite large mind you, Logan and Finn stop in their tracks. Posters and mirrors are everywhere, the bed that takes up half the room with camouflage covers on it and four posts with curtains stares them right in the face. The wood floor is smooth and matches the wood paneling on the walls. Leo turns on the lights and it shows off the glossy wood stain on his tables and chairs set up in the corner with the book cases overflowing. Some pieces of clothing are thrown on the floor and several pairs of boots line the entire left side of the room. The windows are from floor to ceiling behind the boots with heavy curtains bunches gracefully on the side.

“Y’all can set your stuff in the closet if you want.” Leo leads them over to these two heavy wooden doors and opens them by sliding them. Walking into another smaller room with carpet and white walls, they notice how many clothes Leo has. It’s a lot but most of it seems to be…

“Do you have an entire section just dedicated to sexy clothes?” Logan walks over to some satin thigh high socks that are hung up so they don’t wrinkle.

“I take a lot of sexy pics, and I might as well look good. Do you like it?” Leo smirks a little as those two drop their bag and start rummaging through all his clothing.

“Love it!” They start working together to put an outfit together for Leo to put on. Leo just sits on his little ottoman in the middle of the room and watches them, amused. They end up pulling out some red thigh high fishnets and a pair of black silk jock strap…

“Remind me to never let y’all pick out my clothes.” Leo laughs a little at their offended faces and shoos them out of the closet so he can get dressed, or undressed. He ends up trading out the jock for a matching red high waisted thong. Losers can’t even pick out sexy clothes right.

He hears some stumbling around the room outside the closet and just shakes his head. He opens the doors and pokes his head out to hear Finn and Logan trying to stifle their laughter behind the closed curtains around his bed. ‘I swear they are younger than me sometimes.’ Leo thinks to himself. Walking over to the curtains he throws them open scaring Finn so he screeches. Bursting out laughing Leo holds his stomach and throws his head back.

“Scare ya? What are you doing anyway?” He puts his hands on his hips and smiles. Forgetting what he is wearing for a second he raises an eyebrow at how the boys have gone completely silent and their mouths are hanging up. He looks down and remembers, snorting. “Horndogs” He reaches his hands under both of their jaws and closes their mouths. “You’ll catch flies.” He stands back up and grabs the back of the necks of their shirts and pulls them off as the two raise their arms still in a daze. Turning around he hears a groan and a loving sigh, smiling he folds the shirt and tosses them on the floor for no reason.

Next thing he knows there is a slap on his ass right where his skeleton hand is and he whips his head around to see Logan standing and smiling innocently at him with his hands behind his back while Finn has a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, both have obvious flushes on their faces down to their chests. Finn’s being super red compared to Logan's because of his pasty skin.

“Alright boys, what's the plan for tonight, we can be as loud as we want.” He winks as he pushes Logan back on the bed and straddles him. “The room is soundproof.” He looks at Finn and motions him over with his finger. Finn scrambles to his side like a puppy.

“I want to try something…” Logan looks at both of them with a nervous look on his face as he runs his hands up and down Leo’s sides and thighs. “I want both of you… at the same time.” He looks up at them, nervous and hopeful. He has never wanted something like this before but the thought of it already has him hardening in his shorts.

“Baby that's a lot… are you sure?” Finn runs a hand through his hair looking as shocked as Leo, both getting that horny glint in their eyes that Logan loves. Smiling dopily Logan nods.

“That's going to take a lot of prep, I know you’re impatient but you will need to be patient with this okay?” Leo is looking at him seriously, biting his lip. “You can tell us to stop at any time and we will stop, no matter when it is or what we are doing, okay?”

“Leo I know, I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn't already trust you two with everything.” Logan smiles into a sweet kiss that Leo steals from him after he finished talking.

“Let's get started then.” Leo smiles when he pulls away, putting his hand on the back of Finn’s neck he pulls him close and whispers something in his ear. Leo slides off Logan and wanders back into the closet for a moment.

Finn undresses Logan the rest of the way and starts to suck him off, he gets Logan to a state of almost coming in minutes. Feeling a hand on his back he pulls off, looking at Leo he leans in for a kiss and Leo shoves his tongue into his mouth wanting to taste Logan. Speaking of Logan, Leo pulls away and looks at him.

“This is how it’s going to go, I have never done this before but I want to make sure you are 100% comfortable while we do this. I’ve got lube, obviously, I have a viberator that’s small.” Leo shows him the baby blue vibe that was the length of his palm, Logan could barely focus as Finn has gone back to deep throating him as Leo Talks. Just nodding to Leo that he sees it. “And we have our fingers, I want to get you off twice before we even start prepping you. From the crazy amounts of porn I watched when I was younger, aka up until last year, I think I have an idea of what I’m doing.” He smiles innocently as Finn choked from laughing at what he said. Pulling off and coughing/laughing he pats Leo’s chest.

“I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.” Finn shakes his head smiling and gives Logan a couple of tugs with his hand and watches as he cums on his hand and his own stomach.

Not giving him enough time to blink himself out of his daze, Leo and Finn flip him over, face down ass up. Getting him off a second time, one jerking him off, one leaving hickeys on his thighs and ass.

They get Logan’s verbal consent to start prepping him. One finger soon turns to one of each of theirs, to three, to two of each, to the vibe , to two and the vibe. Logan came for a third time when a third finger was added with the vibe. Logan was so loud and they loved it, he was completely gone on the feelings of pleasure running through his body.

“Imready” Logan mumbles as Finn sits him up and cradles him in his lap, he is sweating and hot all over. He sees Leo in front of him and smiles a little delirious.

“I’m guessing you said you were ready?” Finn whispers in his ear, Leo puts Logan's legs over his hips and scooches as close as he can get. Logan nods and leas his head back on Finn’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. Finn lifts Logan by his hips and lines up whispering how much he loves Logan into his ear, Slowly pushing in Logan lifts his head and grabs Leo’s shoulders pulling him impossibly closer.

“Toi aussi! Toi aussi!” Leo smiles and gives him a quick peck as Finn slowly moves in and out of Logan making his horse voice crack. Leo looks at Finn for the okay. Finn nods a little and leans forward so the kiss over Logan’s shoulder.

Pulling away Leo lines himself up after adding a generous amount of lube, pressing his forehead to Logan’s and starts to press in. Logan pressed his forehead against Leo’s harder and some tears fall from his eyes. Leo pauses halfway in.

“Tell me how- fucking hell- how you're feeling Lo.” Leo is panting and spares a second to look at Finn who looks like he is about to explode from how he is completely still for Logan.

“More.” He looks at Leo in a way that is pleading for more but he is mumbling so fast that more is the only word either Finn or Leo catch. Leo continues to press the rest of the way. Logan tries to start moving up and down on them but his legs are so tired and shaky he can’t. Making a noise of frustration, he whines and digs his nails into Leo’s back as he starts to move out of sync with Finn. Dragging his nails across Leo’s back he throws his head back pulling Leo’s face into his chest as Finn marks up his neck.

Finn broke first, Wrapping his arms around Logan’s waist and pulling him tighter to his chest he groaned as he felt it dripping down Logan’s thighs. Logan breaks second, for the fifth time and he tenses up between the two and just falls back onto Finn after he finishes. Leo followed Logan by a few seconds. Being the first to pull out, Leo gets up to go grab warm wash clothes and to start running a bath, knowing Logan is going to need it.

He comes back after cleaning himself off, realizing he is still in his fishnets… he doesn’t even remember taking off his underwear but whatever. He peels them off and tosses them near the laundry basket.

Getting Logan into a bath is much easier said than done, the man does not like baths… at all. Eventually the endorphins faded with him being held between Finn and Leo who were reading jokes out of a joke book Finn found in Leo’s side table.

“Okay… can we go to the bath now?” Logan sighs defeated but he was starting to feel the soreness that will plague him for the next… honestly he didn’t know. Finn kisses his forehead and gets off the bed. Logan takes his hand and slowly sits up, Leo rubbing his back. Helping him stand Leo catches him as he stands for a few moments, shakily, and then falls back into his chest. “I can’t walk right now…” Logan is looking at the ground almost ashamed.

Leo and Finn share a look of worry, they decide Leo would carry him to the tub and set him down. Hours later after Logan has finally fallen asleep in Leo’s shirt and Finn’s boxer’s in the middle of the giant bed. Leo and Finn talked about how tomorrow would go before crawling on either side of Logan and holding each other tightly.

Leo was gone the next morning, they vaguely remember Leo telling them he was going to do chores. They looked at the clock, it was about eight in the morning. They made their way downstairs. Finn carrying Logan like a back pack. They were greeted with Leo and Judy in the kitchen making food for the team as a song played over the speakers.

Clayton and Reg had their arms linked and were skipping in the circle while singing, Regulus had really come out of his shell. Smiling Noelle hops in for Reg and Celeste hops in for Clayton.

Spinning the women around to the song the guys watched and James even sang along. Finn sets Logan down carefully in a chair and just watches them be rowdy in this multi-million dollar house.

“Man! I feel like a woman!” All the girls, plus James, Reg, and Clay shouted. Judy laughs behind them and whispers something to Leo who nods.

“Breakfast Y’all!” Leo wipes his hands on his apron after he finishes setting out plates and silverware. Everyone comes rushing over for food and moving to sit at the dining table that fits them all plus some more. Logan and Finn on either side of Leo, Thomas and Noelle oddly close to Clay who was chatting animatedly with Reg and Remus about how he got his scar on his face.

It was homey.

[667-darkavenue]

young legends die all the time (part two.)

allurance gang au. heads up for mention of blood and injuries.

read part one here

or read the whole thing on ao3 here

The next day, Allura introduced him to Shiro—The friendly neighborhood paladin that everyone and their mother knew, idolized by all the boys on this side of town. Lance’s first assignment was to shadow him, learn the ropes from him. It felt like being promoted from valet guy to vice president.

Just from trailing behind Shiro, Lance became a somebody overnight. Everybody seemed to know him. And they treated him like... well, pretty hot shit. He didn’t wait in line for a bagel and coffee in the deli anymore. The owner knew who he was with and he’d beckon Lance out of the queue, right up to the counter. He memorized Lance’s order and made sure he was taken care of first, every single morning. The neighbors didn’t park in his family’s space anymore, even though Lance’s family didn’t have a car at the moment. One day, some random kids carried his mother’s groceries all the way home for her.

It felt amazing. And it was all because of the royal family. The people of the city knew Lance was one cog in the system that kept them taken care of. Serving the royal family was serving everyone. Paladins got more love than the cops.

Things escalated quickly on the job, though. Lance found out that he could kill. And that killing could feel fine.

Lance’s first kill was a cop who’d been acquitted three times for the murders of three different teenagers of color. He hit the target in one shot. Quick, clean, possibly painless. Even on these so-called “dirty” assignments, Lance felt like a guardian angel. When reported back to Allura, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

Most businesses depended on the royal family’s protection from criminals that came from the bad side of the city. So, Alfor got tributes from everyone living on the nice side of town.

In what seemed like no time at all, Lance was making more money than both his parents. The money freed them from exploitative jobs and worrying about bills and taking the subway to work. They could stay home, cook five meals a day, and take care of the grandkids.

The icing on top of this fantastic cake? He got to see his favorite person most days and nights! After enough time paying his dues and proving his chops, Shiro put a good word in for Lance. He got promoted from grunt to personal driver. “Driver,” however, was a loose title that didn’t encapsulate most parts of the job.

Allura was untouchable. As her driver, it was Lance’s responsibility to make sure that remained an unbreakable fact. Stay by her side, obey her, watch her back, and keep her hands clean. Allura would never ever sever an ear or break a finger or toss someone in the trunk. Yet still, every bad guy in a 30 mile radius had nightmares about her.

Sometimes Lance worried what she thought of him. Times like when he popped open the trunk in the garage and fumbled with black-gloved fingers to unbutton his shirt. She lingered at his side and stared like she wanted to help. But she knew better than to get her hands on the evidence. If anything at all got traced back to her father, the entire castle would come crumbling down. Lance eventually managed to get the white shirt speckled with red open and shrugged it off, tossed it into the trunk. Bloody gloves got flung in there after it and he pulled a clean shirt on.

This time, Allura reached out to help with it. “I’m going to verify if what we learned about the location is true.”

Lance carefully tucked the rosary dangling over his chest beneath his shirt as she buttoned it up for him. “Naw, it’s gonna be over by the time we do that. We can finish this tonight, while we still have the element of surprise.”

Tonight’s mission was to interrupt an attempted ransom. Some guy found himself on the wrong side of town and didn’t make it back. His family were well off enough to afford the price the Witch forced them to pay to see their son again, but the King couldn’t let this slide. Watching out for your own means everything.

“But it’s Friday,” Allura argued.

Friday nights were milkshake night.

“The diner doesn’t close! Late night shakes are the best.”

“It’s already late night.”

“I’ll pop in and out. You just sit somewhere looking pretty while I collect your money. I’ll be looking pretty, too.”

Her lips twitched, trying not to smile and failing. “See you at the diner, then.”

Shiro’s team went into the Witch’s territory to rescue the kidnapped son while Lance and Allura investigated the ransom money’s location. Everything would be returned to the Holt family. And if the family wanted to let the King keep the ransom money as a thank you, well... That’s just being polite, isn’t it?

Lance dropped Allura off at the Moonstruck Diner, then drove on to the drop location by himself. The spot turned out to be the parking lot of a dinky little shopping center on the bad side of town. He only needed to drive by once to spot the best vantage point. Lance parked his car in the back alley of an apartment complex across the street and quietly crept all the way up the fire escape. On the roof, he found a spot where the shadows could hide him well and got to work assembling his rifle. Clicking the pieces into place was strangely calming work. So was leaning down to look through the eyepiece and preparing to wait.

Unlike Allura, Lance was not untouchable. Far from it.

He didn’t know how long someone had been in the shadows of that rooftop with him, also waiting. A hand clapped over the bottom of Lance’s face, smothering a rag over his mouth and nose. He tried to hold his breath as he was yanked backwards, against a broad chest. That wasn’t much use. He refused to inhale as he struggled, but a massive punch on the side of his head knocked Lance right the fuck out anyway.

A slap to the face brought him back. He winced, clenching his teeth and eyes shut. His arms and legs were numb. His vision was blurred and drowned out by a way too bright lamp swinging right in his eyes, drilling a headache straight through to the back of his head. He was disoriented, but simultaneously adrenalized by a fight-or-flight response. It felt like his nerves were lighting up beneath layers of gauze.

“Hel-lo!” Another slap stung his cheek.

Through the blinding lamplight, a redhead with wide blue eyes came into focus for him. Pretty cute. In the shadows of the room beyond her, Lance spotted three other girl. A huge one, a short-haired one, and… Oh, wait. One’s a guy.

“Look at this, Allura’s dog has left her lap for once,” he drawled.

The redhead giggled. “Nah, he was just fetching her something.”

Lance looked down. His arms and legs were bound several times over.

“Tell us where she’s waiting for you.”

“Pfft,” Lance scoffed.

The girl pinched his chin between two fingers and yanked his face back up. “We have ways of making you ta-alk,” she sing-songed.

“What, slap me again? Jokes on you, I kinda like it.”

Her draw was extraordinary. Some hella Bruce Lee movement, almost too fast for the eye to see. He only realized she’d taken a gun out when he felt the butt of it bash against his cheek hard enough to rattle his teeth. His head snapped to the side with a breathless yelp. Fuck, that hurt. Warmth trickled down the side of his face. It dripped red on the clean shirt he’d changed into.

The girl lifted his chin up with the barrel of the gun, making Lance meet her eyes again. “Keep acting cute and see what happens.”

She smiled, sweet and bubbly. He tasted copper in his mouth. Now, Lance started to get really scared. He had heard of this gang and he knew how ugly interrogations can get. Hell, he’d conducted one himself that same night—which was a trap he walked right into, Lance realized several hours too late. He should’ve listened to Allura instead of rushing off to impress her.

“Let’s bring it back now,” the guy said. “Where is Allura meeting you?”

Lance swallowed, feeling the gun barrel tap his throat as he did. The ropes around his legs were bound too tightly for Lance to move a centimeter. Still, he kept his mouth shut. It was weird. He wasn’t the quiet type. But he could stay quiet. He could hold out. His people would be coming for him. Any minute. Any minute now. Please, fuck, someone had to be coming for him.

The huge girl stepped forward, into the light. “C’mon, let me smash some fingers as a warmup.”

“That’s a start.” From a scabbard Lance had not noticed hanging from the ringleader, Lotor’s, waist until now, he pulled out a freaking sword. How tacky.

Nonetheless, the whisper of it unsheathing made Lance’s blood run cold. His eyes went from the glint of the blade, to the big one’s knuckle cracks, to the quiet one cocking her own gun. A pair of hands slid down his shoulders, almost gentle. From behind, the redhead slipped her fingers beneath his half-buttoned shirt and pulled out a rosary. She twirled the cross in her fingers and hummed. Then, started winding the beads around her hand.

“We got alllll night to play with you,” Ezor cooed, tightening the beads around his neck until it hurt. Until he couldn’t breathe. Until the beads snapped.

.

A neon sign that spelled “Moonstruck” flickered pale blue light across Allura’s face. Throughout the diner, friends and couples chattered loudly, laughed obnoxiously. She was the only one sitting alone.

The whipped cream on top of her milkshake had melted to a white puddle that spilled down the sides of her untouched drink and pooled around the glass base. The waitresses kept looking in her direction with sad, sympathetic expressions. At first, Allura felt embarrassed. Now, she felt afraid.

.

When Lance came back to consciousness, his lungs were filled with smoke. His own coughing had startled him awake. He didn’t know he had blacked out in the first place. How long had he been out?

His eyes opened to plumes of grey drifting across the sky, covering the stars. And a view right up Shiro’s nose. Lance was being carried, apparently. Not gently, either. Shiro was running. Lance’s nerves seemed to wake up a few seconds behind, but the rough jostling sparked them right back to life. In a split second, he went from feeling numb to his bones to feeling like every inch beneath his skin was made of exposed wires rubbing against each other. Lance tried a garbled attempt at screaming a curse, but it sounded more like someone shouting “Fuuuuck!” while tumbling face-first down a flight of stairs.

“Sorry!” Shiro huffed.

It sounded sincere, but that was undercut by the fact that Shiro unapologetically flung him into the open backseat of a car moments later. Lance made a sound like someone screaming “SHIT!” while hurtling face-first down a flight of stairs.

Everything happened in the span of three seconds. Shiro climbed in after Lance and someone else dove in from the other side, smushing him into the middle seat. “Owowowow,” he complained at being shoved to sit upright with absolutely no tenderness. The engine roared and tires screeched against asphalt. The car was already peeling out of there before every open door had slammed shut.

Then silence. Only the sounds of five people panting filled the car. Keith in the driver’s seat, frowning at the road as he weaved around traffic and refused to stop at a single red light. On the passenger side, Allura spun in her seat to look at Lance—or tried to, but something tugged her back.

“Are you—” She whipped back around mid-sentence. “Ah, shit, my skirt’s caught in the door.” She turned again, more carefully this time. “Are you okay?”

The slight wince when she got a proper look at him in between passing streetlamps was a hint that he didn’t look okay. Lance took stock of everything he remembered before passing out. His right leg: fucked. His right fingers: fucked. Both sides of his previously beautiful face: fucked.

And he took stock of new fuck-ups he didn’t remember, so probably happened post-blackout. Most notably, his nose and his shoulder: fucked.

Without waiting for an answer, Allura assured, “We’re taking you to emergency. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, well, my lucky necklace broke. Will emergency fix that?” Lance turned to the paladin on his other side in an attempt to include them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized it was not one of them. “WHOA. The fuck is she doing here?”

For the past minute, he’d been literally rubbing elbows with one of the girls from Lotor’s squad.

“Acxa’s a double agent,” Keith chimed in.

“She shot me back there!”

“I grazed you.”

Lance groaned. “Ugh, pedantics.”

“Semantics,” Acxa corrected.

“Ughhh,” he repeated.

At that point, Shiro intervened. “We wouldn’t have known where you were taken if it wasn’t for her. We couldn’t have gotten in, either.”

“Fine, thanks, but I’m just saying—You let me think I was gonna get murdered. I mean, you coulda winked or something!”

“A wink would help?” Acxa asked flatly.

“Uh, yeah! Gimme some hope, y’know.”

“I’m pretty sure Ezor winked at you at some point. And she was definitely going to murder you.”

After a long pause, Lance admitted, “You know what. Touche.”

In the front seat, Allura unzipped a Burberry purse in her lap. Plastic crinkled as she opened a makeup wipe. Lance watched her wipe her hands with it, flickering between darkness and orange light from posts outside. The white towelette came back red.

“Is that mine?” he asked.

“No,” Allura answered, something heavy in her voice.

Another tense silence descended on the car.

Keith was the first to break it. “Do you have any idea what we started?”

No one answered.

Lotor, like Allura, was untouchable. Supposed to be untouchable. Tonight, because of Lance, they broke the one rule between the warring families that was sacred.

Now, all bets would be off. No one and no place would be untouchable. They were in some deep shit.

“Hey. Hey.” Shiro tapped Lance’s cheek, snapping him out of it.

“Wha?”

“Try to stay awake. We’re almost there.”

“I’m awake,” Lance mumbled.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Allura added. “Keep them open. And keep talking.”

“Okayokayokay, um…” Yeah, he was slurring his words. “Turn the radio on.”

Allura leaned forward in her seat to switch the radio on.

She humored him even when he started getting picky with stations, guiding her on the dial. “That sucks, change it. Nope, next. Next. Next—Yes! Right there—I like dollars, I like diamonds, I like stuntin’, I like shinin’—”

Listen. She told him to stay awake and keep talking.

At first, it was Lance jamming by himself and bobbing his head to the extent that he could without disturbing the messed up shoulder. Then Allura swooped in for the pre-chorus. Shiro caved and joined in a couple seconds after she did. The other two kept playing it like they’re too cool for car karaoke, but Lance could see a smirk on Keith’s lips in the rear view mirror. And, up against his side, he felt Acxa chuckle softly right after the three of them barked the first line of the chorus in unison.

Lance still sang beneath his breath even as he was hauled out of the car in the hospital’s driveway.

.

“Can you believe I woulda died without Cardi B?”

All quiet in the diner. It was nearly empty, except for a handful of old timers getting breakfast. A little early for milkshakes, but Lance had a tradition to uphold.

The window behind Allura outlined her in a bright halo of early morning sunshine. “Mhm. You have some nerve, you know.”

Lance raised an eyebrow and took a doubtful slurp of his chocolate and banana shake.

She raised one right back at him. “You stood me up. No one’s ever done that to me.”

“Oh, c’mon. That’s not fair. I was literally taking a bullet for you.”

“She says it grazed you.”

“Come on.” He slumped back in his seat, smiling despite the offended tone in his voice.

It felt nice to act normal. Like things could carry on as always after last night. Lance didn’t even receive a single odd look when he lumbered in on a crutch with his cheek bandaged and lip stitched. The grandpas in the corner booth kept their heads down, politely staring at their bacon and eggs until he and Allura passed. The waitress was warm as always, but she didn’t take her eyes off her notepad when it was Lance’s turn to order.

He thought of when he was young, playing in the schoolyard, pretending to be something he wasn’t. Now, he played with Allura over milkshakes, both pretending they didn’t need to worry about what would come next.

END.

[vowel-in-thug]

Number 75 for the writing prompts, could be either of them saying it ;D

lmaoooooo so like three months ago i got a bunch of prompts and did two of them and then did no more :|

but i wrote this back in april and i didn’t like it and then i had the big bang to worry about so i just left it, and then i looked at it again in may and i made some edits and i still wasn’t sure about it so i left it again. then i looked at it tonight with only one eye opened because i’m sleepy and made some edits and straightened out my metaphors and now i like it i guess? the moral of the story: it just be like that sometimes. don’t force something if it’s not feeling right. come back to it later. even if it’s a month or a year later, you’ll be looking at it as a different person.

anyway i can’t remember the prompt but i think it was something about fainting pretty clear from the very first like that this is That Scene from 3x1 with even more Leg Angst, my favorite. i love you allie! xoxox

“But in my head, you are not welcome.”

The words hit Silver like tangible things. He doesn’t know why it does – he has plenty of other aches to worry about, but still they tangle with the pain that’s already curled itself around him. They wrap around his throat like seaweed, and he’s unable to respond.

He hadn’t meant to bring this up now. He hadn’t even meant to disturb Flint’s sleeping. He hadn’t been looking for Flint at all. He’d been up on the deck, speaking with Dobbs about the vanguard, when a fire had begun raging beneath his skin, starting at the kindling remains of his left leg. He’d been handling it, leaning a little heavier on the ropes maybe, but he’d been fine. It hadn’t been until he’d been making his way down those stupid stairs, each step jolting him with fresh agony, that his visit to Howell had gone from scheduled to violently necessary to unable to make.

He’d thought the cabin would be empty, so he could just take a moment in private. Flint had meant to be taking his meal in the galley.

But Flint looks just as fine to go without eating as well as sleeping. He’s lost weight in the last few weeks, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. On anyone else, it would have looked a great deal like weakness. But not on Flint.

“Are you coming?” Flint asks, halfway out the room. It’s not a Flint thing to not want strangers alone in his cabin. All Captains generally disapproved of it. The only reason he’d snuck in here before had been out of desperation and proximity, not that it would ever matter to Flint.

He lets go of Flint’s table, pivoting on his foot towards the door, but when his iron leg lands, his whole vision shifts with a cloud of smoke as the fire in his body roars to life.

“Fuck,” he gasps, gripping the table again, this time leaning forward.

Through the waves of pain threatening to pull him under, he hears an unexpected and awkwardly stilted, ”Are you… alright?”

Silver still can’t see, but now it’s because he’s got his eyes squeezed shut. He wonders if this is the only blow he could ever hope to land on Flint – to deny him a dramatic exit. “Yes,” he manages. “Just… give me…. I’ll be right there.”

All he needs to do is stand upright, and walk a short way to his own cot, to where Howell is likely waiting for him. He needs to stand on his own. Once he can do that, once he can leave as he pleases, he’ll be fine.

“Should…” Flint closes the door and moves closer. “Should I fetch –”

“No!” Silver forces his eyes open. He doesn’t want to look at Flint, but he’s standing in the way of the only exit. “It’s fine. I was…. I’m just on my way to see him now, after stopping in to you.” He forces a small laugh. “I… I’d been hoping our argument would last longer, to give me more time to lean.”

Flint doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move further away either. Eventually, like it usually does, the pain slowly resides, leaving only the usual throbbing flare in the remains of his left leg, the weak, trembling feeling in his right one, and the severe pounding in his skull.

“It’s fine,” he says again. Tentatively, he releases his hold on the table. “I’m sorry to keep you.” He circles round to avoid walking by Flint, chin down to avoid his gaze.

He probably would have made it out okay, had he not caught the end of his peg on an uneven plank in the floor. He jerks to the side, the pain returning as swiftly as a bad memory. He shouts, just once, before his sight dramatically darkens.

He comes to what is hopefully only a minute later, with Flint setting him down on the cot.

“What – ah –” He grips Flint’s elbow as he starts to pull away. Without the support on his upper body, the pressure starts his back spasming again, his head spiking, his leg, God, his fucking leg –

Flint puts his hand over Silver’s. He forces Silver to look into his eyes, unblinking, let it might help him focus. It does. “Let me go get Howell.”

“No.”

“Let me go get you some water,” he says with a sigh.

Silver hesitates before nodding, if only because there’s at least one thing Flint will listen to him about.

“You fainted,” Flint says, over by his desk, his back to Silver. “I think I caught you before you could do more damage to yourself.”

Flint had been on the other side of the cabin, with a table between them. He would have had to move very fast in order to catch him, yet Silver doesn’t feel any new bruises. Silver doesn’t say anything.

“If this is about the vanguard,” Flint says, returning with a cup of water, “you needn’t go to such extremes to make me hear your point.”

He hands Silver the cup, and the gesture is like sand suddenly poured on a campfire; instantly he’s cold all over. He tries to focus on drinking and not choking, tries to focus on the pain calming down once more, tries to focus on if he can make it down to Howell without having to remove the peg in front of Flint. He doesn’t want to remember how Flint had smiled at him that day, as good as any killing blow, except not the kind he’d been asking for when he’d told Flint the truth about the gold.

Silver supposes this is a good argument about the vanguard, though. He and Flint are meant to lead these men, but they’re both too much of a liability to themselves.

“I didn’t –” He swallows thickly. “It – comes on quickly, sometimes. Like the… wound is brand new. The pain is so sharp like that, almost like being struck by lighting.”

Flint nods, eyes sweeping over him. “Lightning strikes generally come and go a lot quicker than that.”

Something new burns through Silver – anger. That same tone, that soft, uncaring voice of Flint’s can be used to discuss his own idiocy, his own safety. But not this. “Okay,” he says through gritted teeth, gripping the cup too tightly. “It’s like having your leg smashed to a pulp by the an axe, forcibly removed by a dull knife, seared repeatedly with a dirty poker, fitted with a tight, painful metal rod that forces you to walk at odd angles on a ship constantly tilting so every muscle and joint aches and bleeds while the full weight of your body presses the cauterized, disgusting, fresh stump down into hot leather and itching lace, all with the knowledge that this is your life now from which there is no escape. It’s like that.”

He’s panting when he finally stops, and he has to look away from the shock and, God help him, the faintest fucking bit of pity on Flint’s face. It would be much better if Flint could find it in his heart to fully hate him. Silver might not be welcome in Flint’s mind, but he’s always gone to the places he isn’t allowed. He knows Flint thinks this is a worthy punishment for his suspected crimes. He just feels guilty sometimes for thinking that. It has nothing to do with Silver at all.

Silver’s still looking away, shaking, while Flint moves to lean on the table. They’re now an even reflection of where they’d stood moments ago.

“Why must you make everything so difficult?” Flint asks softly. His voice isn’t the same as before, which is the only reason why Silver can look at him. He seems like he’s asking the question in earnest, although more like he’s just wondering aloud without needing an answer. The trace of pity has gone, though.

Silver takes a deep breath. The tightening in his stomach at the start of his rant had loosened, and as it goes, so does most of his pain. He’s able to relax his hold on the cup of water, and he takes another sip, his mouth dry and sore.

“If we weren’t making things complicated for each other,” he says eventually, “would we even recognize ourselves anymore?”

Flint looks at though Silver had hit him, which is almost a relief. It’s the first real expression Flint has made in awhile. His brow furrows, his mouth agape, and he looks, just for a moment, truly pained. Silver knows Flint is in pain, but he gets the luxury of being able to conceal it. It’s enough to soothe Silver’s aches like a balm. Not from the knowledge of Flint’s suffering, but from the notion that he might not be completely alone.

And then the looks slides away again, leaving that same blank, cold stare. It doesn’t matter. All Silver needs is to see the cracks once. He’ll never be able to unsee it, no matter how far Flint backs away from him.

“Thank you for the water,” Silver says, looking down into it. “And for…. catching me.  I’m fine to go see Howell now.” He inches off the side of the bed, bracing himself to stand.

“Stop.” And then Flint is in front of him, again. Inches from him, except Silver is still sitting, so he towers over him. Once again, Silver can’t speak. For some reason, the fear he feels this time seems different. Earlier, he had felt it down his spine and into his fingertips, itching with the urge to run. Now, this fear sits right on the end of his tongue. He knows he wants to move. He’s not sure if he wants to run.

“Don’t strain yourself even further,” Flint continues, taking the cup away. He looks down at the water, too, before meeting Silver’s eyes again. “You can stay here another moment. Get your bearings.”

He seems to be waiting for Silver to argue, but Silver just says, “Alright.”

He’s suddenly very aware of the moving of the ship, the ripple of sails overhead, his own knees against Flint’s thighs. Everything, including his pain, feels further away, just traces of smoke hanging in the air after a night of burning.

It seem neither of them have anything else to say, or anything they’re capable of saying. Flint finally steps back. He finishes the water himself, placing the empty cup on the table. Before he leaves, he glances around the cabin once more. He looks at Silver for a long second, wearing a mask filled with a multitude of invisible cracks. He’s quiet about shutting the door.

When Silver stands again, he’s shaky from the strain of his body tensing with pain. But at least the pain is manable. He looks around the cabin, too. It’s infinitely smaller without Flint inside it, but here Silver is. Inside. In a place of the Captain’s he should not be welcome.

Silver barely recognizes himself these days, but right now he knows himself. The sensation will leave him soon enough, but right now he knows. Flint had said he is not welcome in his mind, and Silver thinks Flint truly means it. But Silver is a pirate, and Silver is Silver, and this all started when he picked a lock and snuck into the Captain’s space in the dead of night. He did it then. He’ll find another way in now.

[readbookywooks]

Arya

There's ghosts, I know there is." Hot Pie was kneading bread, his arms floured up to his elbows. "Pia saw something in the buttery last night."

Arya made a rude noise. Pia was always seeing things in the buttery. Usually they were men. "Can I have a tart?" she asked. "You baked a whole tray."

"I need a whole tray. Ser Amory is partial to them."

She hated Ser Amory. "Let's spit on them."

Hot Pie looked around nervously. The kitchens were full of shadows and echoes, but the other cooks and scullions were all asleep in the cavernous lofts above the ovens. "He'll know."

"He will not," Arya said. "You can't taste spit."

"If he does, it's me they'll whip." Hot Pie stopped his kneading. "You shouldn't even be here. It's the black of night."

It was, but Arya never minded. Even in the black of night, the kitchens were never still; there was always someone rolling dough for the morning bread, stirring a kettle with a long wooden spoon, or butchering a hog for Ser Amory's breakfast bacon. Tonight it was Hot Pie.

"If Pinkeye wakes and finds you gone—" Hot Pie said.

"Pinkeye never wakes." His true name was Mebble, but everyone called him Pinkeye for his runny eyes. "Not once he's passed out." Each morning he broke his fast with ale. Each evening he fell into a drunken sleep after supper, wine-colored spit running down his chin. Arya would wait until she heard him snoring, then creep barefoot up the servant's stair, making no more noise than the mouse she'd been. She carried neither candle nor taper. Syrio had told her once that darkness could be her friend, and he was right. If she had the moon and the stars to see by, that was enough. "I bet we could escape, and Pinkeye wouldn't even notice I was gone," she told Hot Pie.

"I don't want to escape. It's better here than it was in them woods. I don't want to eat no worms. Here, sprinkle some flour on the board."

Arya cocked her head. "What's that?"

"What? I don't—"

"Listen with your ears, not your mouth. That was a warhorn. Two blasts, didn't you hear? And there, that's the portcullis chains, someone's going out or coming in. Want to go see?" The gates of Harrenhal had not been opened since the morning Lord Tywin had marched with his host.

"I'm making the morning bread," Hot Pie complained. "Anyhow I don't like it when it's dark, I told you."

"I'm going. I'll tell you after. Can I have a tart?"

"No."

She filched one anyway, and ate it on her way out. It was stuffed with chopped nuts and fruit and cheese, the crust flaky and still warm from the oven. Eating Ser Amory's tart made Arya feel daring. Barefoot surefoot lightfoot, she sang under her breath. I am the ghost in Harrenhal.

The horn had stirred the castle from sleep; men were coming out into the ward to see what the commotion was about. Arya fell in with the others. A line of ox carts were rumbling under the portcullis. Plunder, she knew at once. The riders escorting the carts spoke in a babble of queer tongues. Their armor glinted pale in the moonlight, and she saw a pair of striped black-and-white zorses. The Bloody Mummers. Arya withdrew a little deeper into the shadows, and watched as a huge black bear rolled by, caged in the back of a wagon. Other carts were loaded down with silver plate, weapons and shields, bags of flour, pens of squealing hogs and scrawny dogs and chickens. Arya was thinking how long it had been since she'd had a slice off a pork roast when she saw the first of the prisoners.

By his bearing and the proud way he held his head, he must have been a lord. She could see mail glinting beneath his torn red surcoat. At first Arya took him for a Lannister, but when he passed near a torch she saw his device was a silver fist, not a lion. His wrists were bound tightly, and a rope around one ankle tied him to the man behind him, and him to the man behind him, so the whole column had to shuffle along in a lurching lockstep. Many of the captives were wounded. If any halted, one of the riders would trot up and give him a lick of the whip to get him moving again. She tried to judge how many prisoners there were, but lost count before she got to fifty. There were twice that many at least. Their clothing was stained with mud and blood, and in the torchlight it was hard to make out all their badges and sigils, but some of those Arya glimpsed she recognized. Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They're northmen. My father's men, and Robb's. She didn't like to think what that might mean.

The Bloody Mummers began to dismount. Stableboys emerged sleepy from their straw to tend their lathered horses. One of the riders was shouting for ale. The noise brought Ser Amory Lorch out onto the covered gallery above the ward, flanked by two torchbearers. Goat-helmed Vargo Hoat reined up below him. "My lord cathellan," the sellsword said. He had a thick, slobbery voice, as if his tongue was too big for his mouth.

"What's all this, Hoat?" Ser Amory demanded, frowning.

"Captiths. Rooth Bolton thought to croth the river, but my Brafe Companions cut his van to pieceth. Killed many, and thent Bolton running. Thith ith their lord commander, Glover, and the one behind ith Ther Aenyth Frey."

Ser Amory Lorch stared down at the roped captives with his little pig eyes. Arya did not think he was pleased. Everyone in the castle knew that he and Vargo Hoat hated each other. "Very well," he said. "Ser Cadwyn, take these men to the dungeons."

The lord with the mailed fist on his surcoat raised his eyes. "We were promised honorable treatment—" he began.

"Silenth!" Vargo Hoat screamed at him, spraying spittle.

Ser Amory addressed the captives. "What Hoat promised you is nothing to me. Lord Tywin made me the castellan of Harrenhal, and I shall do with you as I please." He gestured to his guards. "The great cell under the Widow's Tower ought to hold them all. Any who do not care to go are free to die here."

As his men herded off the captives at spearpoint, Arya saw Pinkeye emerge from the stairwell, blinking at the torchlight. If he found her missing, he would shout and threaten to whip the bloody hide off her, but she was not afraid. He was no Weese. He was forever threatening to whip the bloody hide off this one or that one, but Arya never actually knew him to hit. Still, it would be better if he never saw her. She glanced around. The oxen were being unharnessed, the carts unloaded, while the Brave Companions clamored for drink and the curious gathered around the caged bear. In the commotion, it was not hard to slip off unseen. She went back the way she had come, wanting to be out of sight before someone noticed her and thought to put her to work.

Away from the gates and the stables, the great castle was largely deserted. The noise dwindled behind her. A swirling wind gusted, drawing a high shivery scream from the cracks in the Wailing Tower. Leaves had begun to fall from the trees in the godswood, and she could hear them moving through the deserted courtyards and between the empty buildings, making a faint skittery sound as the wind drove them across the stones. Now that Harrenhal was near empty once again, sound did queer things here. Sometimes the stones seemed to drink up noise, shrouding the yards in a blanket of silence. Other times, the echoes had a life of their own, so every footfall became the tread of a ghostly army, and every distant voice a ghostly feast. The funny sounds were one of the things that bothered Hot Pie, but not Arya.

Quiet as a shadow, she flitted across the middle bailey, around the Tower of Dread, and through the empty mews, where people said the spirits of dead falcons stirred the air with ghostly wings. She could go where she would. The garrison numbered no more than a hundred men, so small a troop that they were lost in Harrenhal. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was closed off, along with many of the lesser buildings, even the Wailing Tower. Ser Amory Lorch resided in the castellan's chambers in Kingspyre, themselves as spacious as a lord's, and Arya and the other servants had moved to the cellars beneath him so they would be close at hand. While Lord Tywin had been in residence, there was always a man-at-arms wanting to know your business. But now there were only a hundred men left to guard a thousand doors, and no one seemed to know who should be where, or care much.

As she passed the armory, Arya heard the ring of a hammer. A deep orange glow shone through the high windows. She climbed to the roof and peeked down. Gendry was beating out a breastplate. When he worked, nothing existed for him but metal, bellows, fire. The hammer was like part of his arm. She watched the play of muscles in his chest and listened to the steel music he made. He's strong, she thought. As he took up the long-handled tongs to dip the breastplate into the quenching trough, Arya slithered through the window and leapt down to the floor beside him.

He did not seem surprised to see her. "You should be abed, girl." The breastplate hissed like a cat as he dipped it in the cold water. "What was all that noise?"

"Vargo Hoat's come back with prisoners. I saw their badges. There's a Glover, from Deepwood Motte, he's my father's man. The rest too, mostly." All of a sudden, Arya knew why her feet had brought her here. "You have to help me get them out."

Gendry laughed. "And how do we do that?"

"Ser Amory sent them down to the dungeon. The one under the Widow's Tower, that's just one big cell. You could smash the door open with your hammer—"

"While the guards watch and make bets on how many swings it will take me, maybe?"

Arya chewed her lips. "We'd need to kill the guards."

"How are we supposed to do that?"

"Maybe there won't be a lot of them."

"If there's two, that's too many for you and me. You never learned nothing in that village, did you? You try this and Vargo Hoat will cut off your hands and feet, the way he does." Gendry took up the tongs again.

"You're afraid."

"Leave me alone, girl."

"Gendry, there's a hundred northmen. Maybe more, I couldn't count them all. That's as many as Ser Amory has. Well, not counting the Bloody Mummers. We just have to get them out and we can take over the castle and escape."

"Well, you can't get them out, no more'n you could save Lommy." Gendry turned the breastplate with the tongs to look at it closely. "And if we did escape, where would we go?"

"Winterfell," she said at once. "I'd tell Mother how you helped me, and you could stay—"

"Would m'lady permit? Could I shoe your horses for you, and make swords for your lordly brothers?"

Sometimes he made her so angry. "You stop that!"

"Why should I wager my feet for the chance to sweat in Winterfell in place of Harrenhal? You know old Ben Blackthumb? He came here as a boy. Smithed for Lady Whent and her father before her and his father before him, and even for Lord Lothston who held Harrenhal before the Whents. Now he smiths for Lord Tywin, and you know what he says? A sword's a sword, a helm's a helm, and if you reach in the fire you get burned, no matter who you're serving. Lucan's a fair enough master. I'll stay here."

"The queen will catch you, then. She didn't send gold cloaks after Ben Blackthumb!"

"Likely it wasn't even me they wanted."

"It was too, you know it. You're somebody."

"I'm a 'prentice smith, and one day might be I'll make a master armorer . . . if I don't run off and lose my feet or get myself killed." He turned away from her, picked up his hammer once more, and began to bang.

Arya's hands curled into helpless fists. "The next helm you make, put mule's ears on it in place of bull's horns!" She had to flee, or else she would have started hitting him. He probably wouldn't even feel it if I did. When they find who he is and cut off his stupid mulehead, he'll be sorry he didn't help. She was better off without him anyhow. He was the one who got her caught at the village.

But thinking of the village made her remember the march, and the storeroom, and the Tickler. She thought of the little boy who'd been hit in the face with the mace, of stupid old All-for-Joffrey, of Lommy Greenhands. I was a sheep, and then I was a mouse, I couldn't do anything but hide. Arya chewed her lip and tried to think when her courage had come back. Jaqen made me brave again. He made me a ghost instead of a mouse.

She had been avoiding the Lorathi since Weese's death. Chiswyck had been easy, anyone could push a man off the wallwalk, but Weese had raised that ugly spotted dog from a pup, and only some dark magic could have turned the animal against him. Yoren found Jaqen in a black cell, the same as Rorge and Biter, she remembered. Jaqen did something horrible and Yoren knew, that's why he kept him in chains. If the Lorathi was a wizard, Rorge and Biter could be demons he called up from some hell, not men at all.

Jaqen still owed her one death. In Old Nan's stories about men who were given magic wishes by a grumkin, you had to be especially careful with the third wish, because it was the last. Chiswyck and Weese hadn't been very important. The last death has to count, Arya told herself every night when she whispered her names. But now she wondered if that was truly the reason she had hesitated. So long as she could kill with a whisper, Arya need not be afraid of anyone . . . but once she used up the last death, she would only be a mouse again.

With Pinkeye awake, she dared not go back to her bed. Not knowing where else to hide, she made for the godswood. She liked the sharp smell of the pines and sentinels, the feel of grass and dirt between her toes, and the sound the wind made in the leaves. A slow little stream meandered through the wood, and there was one spot where it had eaten the ground away beneath a deadfall.

There, beneath rotting wood and twisted splintered branches, she found her hidden sword.

Gendry was too stubborn to make one for her, so she had made her own by breaking the bristles off a broom. Her blade was much too light and had no proper grip, but she liked the sharp jagged splintery end.

Whenever she had a free hour she stole away to work at the drills Syrio had taught her, moving barefoot over the fallen leaves, slashing at branches and whacking down leaves. Sometimes she even climbed the trees and danced among the upper branches, her toes gripping the limbs as she moved back and forth, teetering a little less every day as her balance returned to her. Night was the best time; no one ever bothered her at night.

Arya climbed. Up in the kingdom of the leaves, she unsheathed and for a time forgot them all, Ser Amory and the Mummers and her father's men alike, losing herself in the feel of rough wood beneath the soles of her feet and the swish of sword through air. A broken branch became Joffrey. She struck at it until it fell away. The queen and Ser Ilyn and Ser Meryn and the Hound were only leaves, but she killed them all as well, slashing them to wet green ribbons. When her arm grew weary, she sat with her legs over a high limb to catch her breath in the cool dark air, listening to the squeak of bats as they hunted. Through the leafy canopy she could see the bone-white branches of the heart tree. It looks just like the one in Winterfell from here. If only it had been . . . then when she climbed down she would have been home again, and maybe find her father sitting under the weirwood where he always sat.

Shoving her sword through her belt, she slipped down branch to branch until she was back on the ground. The light of the moon painted the limbs of the weirwood silvery white as she made her way toward it, but the five-pointed red leaves turned black by night. Arya stared at the face carved into its trunk. It was a terrible face, its mouth twisted, its eyes flaring and full of hate. Is that what a god looked like? Could gods be hurt, the same as people? I should pray, she thought suddenly.

Arya went to her knees. She wasn't sure how she should begin. She clasped her hands together. Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Help me get those men out of the dungeon so we can kill Ser Amory, and bring me home to Winterfell. Make me a water dancer and a wolf and not afraid again, ever.

Was that enough? Maybe she should pray aloud if she wanted the old gods to hear. Maybe she should pray longer. Sometimes her father had prayed a long time, she remembered. But the old gods had never helped him. Remembering that made her angry. "You should have saved him," she scolded the tree. "He prayed to you all the time. I don't care if you help me or not. I don't think you could even if you wanted to."

"Gods are not mocked, girl."

The voice startled her. She leapt to her feet and drew her wooden sword. Jaqen H'ghar stood so still in the darkness that he seemed one of the trees. "A man comes to hear a name. One and two and then comes three. A man would have done."

Arya lowered the splintery point toward the ground. "How did you know I was here?"

"A man sees. A man hears. A man knows."

She regarded him suspiciously. Had the gods sent him? "How'd you make the dog kill Weese? Did you call Rorge and Biter up from hell? Is Jaqen H'ghar your true name?"

"Some men have many names. Weasel. Arry. Arya."

She backed away from him, until she was pressed against the heart tree. "Did Gendry tell?"

"A man knows," he said again. "My lady of Stark."

Maybe the gods had sent him in answer to her prayers. "I need you to help me get those men out of the dungeons. That Glover and those others, all of them. We have to kill the guards and open the cell somehow—"

"A girl forgets," he said quietly. "Two she has had, three were owed. If a guard must die, she needs only speak his name."

"But one guard won't be enough, we need to kill them all to open the cell." Arya bit her lip hard to stop from crying. "I want you to save the northmen like I saved you."

He looked down at her pitilessly. "Three lives were snatched from a god. Three lives must be repaid. The gods are not mocked." His voice was silk and steel.

"I never mocked." She thought for a moment. "The name . . . can I name anyone? And you'll kill him?"

Jaqen H'ghar inclined his head. "A man has said."

"Anyone?" she repeated. "A man, a woman, a little baby, or Lord Tywin, or the High Septon, or your father?"

"A man's sire is long dead, but did he live, and did you know his name, he would die at your command."

"Swear it," Arya said. "Swear it by the gods."

"By all the gods of sea and air, and even him of fire, I swear it." He placed a hand in the mouth of the weirwood. "By the seven new gods and the old gods beyond count, I swear it."

He has sworn. "Even if I named the king . . . "

"Speak the name, and death will come. On the morrow, at the turn of the moon, a year from this day, it will come. A man does not fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another and one day a man is there, and a king dies." He knelt beside her, so they were face-to-face, "A girl whispers if she fears to speak aloud. Whisper it now. Is it Joffrey?"

Arya put her lips to his ear. "It's Jaqen H'ghar."

Even in the burning barn, with walls of flame towering all around and him in chains, he had not seemed so distraught as he did now. "A girl . . . she makes a jest."

"You swore. The gods heard you swear."

"The gods did hear," There was a knife in his hand suddenly, its blade thin as her little finger. Whether it was meant for her or him, Arya could not say. "A girl will weep. A girl will lose her only friend."

"You're not my friend. A friend would help me." She stepped away from him, balanced on the balls of her feet in case he threw his knife. "I'd never kill a friend."

Jaqen's smile came and went. "A girl might . . . name another name then, if a friend did help?"

"A girl might," she said. "If a friend did help."

The knife vanished. "Come."

"Now?" She had never thought he would act so quickly.

"A man hears the whisper of sand in a glass. A man will not sleep until a girl unsays a certain name. Now, evil child."

I'm not an evil child, she thought, I am a direwolf, and the ghost in Harrenhal. She put her broomstick back in its hiding place and followed him from the godswood.

Despite the hour, Harrenhal stirred with fitful life. Vargo Hoat's arrival had thrown off all the routines. Ox carts, oxen, and horses had all vanished from the yard, but the bear cage was still there. It had been hung from the arched span of the bridge that divided the outer and middle wards, suspended on heavy chains, a few feet off the ground. A ring of torches bathed the area in light. Some of the boys from the stables were tossing stones to make the bear roar and grumble. Across the ward, light spilled through the door of the Barracks Hall, accompanied by the clatter of tankards and men calling for more wine. A dozen voices took up a song in a guttural tongue strange to Arya's ears.

They're drinking and eating before they sleep, she realized. Pinkeye would have sent to wake me, to help with the serving. He'll know I'm not abed. But likely he was busy pouring for the Brave Companions and those of Ser Amory's garrison who had joined them. The noise they were making would be a good distraction.

"The hungry gods will feast on blood tonight, if a man would do this thing," Jaqen said. "Sweet girl, kind and gentle. Unsay one name and say another and cast this mad dream aside."

"I won't."

"Just so." He seemed resigned. "The thing will be done, but a girl must obey. A man has no time for talk."

"A girl will obey," Arya said. "What should I do?"

"A hundred men are hungry, they must be fed, the lord commands hot broth. A girl must run to the kitchens and tell her pie boy."

"Broth," she repeated. "Where will you be?"

"A girl will help make broth, and wait in the kitchens until a man comes for her. Go. Run."

Hot Pie was pulling his loaves from the ovens when she burst into the kitchen, but he was no longer alone. They'd woken the cooks to feed Vargo Hoat and his Bloody Mummers. Serving men were carrying off baskets of Hot Pie's bread and tarts, the chief cook was carving cold slices off a ham, spit boys were turning rabbits while the pot girls basted them with honey, women were chopping onions and carrots. "What do you want, Weasel?" the chief cook asked when he saw her.

"Broth," she announced. "My lord wants broth."

He jerked his carving knife at the black iron kettles hung over the flames. "What do you think that is? Though I'd soon as piss in it as serve it to that goat. Can't even let a man have a night's sleep." He spat. "Well, never you mind, run back and tell him a kettle can't be hurried,"

"I'm to wait here until it's done."

"Then stay out of the way. Or better yet, make yourself of use. Run to the buttery; his goatship will be wanting butter and cheese. Wake up Pia and tell her she'd best be nimble for once, if she wants to keep both of her feet."

She ran as fast as she could. Pia was awake in the loft, moaning under one of the Mummers, but she slipped back into her clothes quick enough when she heard Arya shout. She filled six baskets with crocks of butter and big wedges of stinky cheese wrapped in cloth. "Here, help me with these," she told Arya.

"I can't. But you better hurry or Vargo Hoat will chop off your foot." She darted off before Pia could grab her. On the way back, she wondered why none of the captives had their hands or feet chopped off. Maybe Vargo Hoat was afraid to make Robb angry. Though he didn't seem the sort to be afraid of anyone.

Hot Pie was stirring the kettles with a long wooden spoon when Arya returned to the kitchens. She grabbed up a second spoon and started to help. For a moment she thought maybe she should tell him, but then she remembered the village and decided not to. He'd only yield again.

Then she heard the ugly sound of Rorge's voice. "Cook," he shouted. "We'll take your bloody broth." Arya let go of the spoon in dismay. I never told him to bring them. Rorge wore his iron helmet, with the nasal that half hid his missing nose. Jaqen and Biter followed him into the kitchen.

"The bloody broth isn't bloody ready yet," the cook said. "It needs to simmer. We only now put in the onions and—"

"Shut your hole, or I'll shove a spit up your ass and we'll baste you for a turn or two. I said broth and I said now."

Hissing, Biter grabbed a handful of half-charred rabbit right off the spit, and tore into it with his pointed teeth while honey dripped between his fingers.

The cook was beaten. "Take your bloody broth, then, but if the goat asks why it tastes so thin, you tell him."

Biter licked the grease and honey off his fingers as Jaqen Hghar donned a pair of heavy padded mitts. He gave a second pair to Arya. "A weasel will help." The broth was boiling hot, and the kettles were heavy. Arya and Jaqen wrestled one between them, Rorge carried one by himself, and Biter grabbed two more, hissing in pain when the handles burned his hands. Even so, he did not drop them. They lugged the kettles out of the kitchens and across the ward. Two guards had been posted at the door of the Widow's Tower. "What's this?" one said to Rorge.

"A pot of boiling piss, want some?"

Jaqen smiled disarmingly. "A prisoner must eat too."

"No one said nothing about—"

Arya cut him off. "It's for them, not you."

The second guard waved them past. "Bring it down, then."

Inside the door a winding stair led down to the dungeons. Rorge led the way, with Jaqen and Arya bringing up the rear. "A girl will stay out of the way," he told her.

The steps opened onto a dank stone vault, long, gloomy, and windowless. A few torches burned in sconces at the near end where a group of Ser Amory's guards sat around a scarred wooden table, talking and playing at tiles. Heavy iron bars separated them from where the captives were crowded together in the dark. The smell of the broth brought many up to the bars.

Arya counted eight guards. They smelled the broth as well. "There's the ugliest serving wench I ever saw," their captain said to Rorge. "What's in the kettle?"

"Your cock and balls. You want to eat or not?"

One of the guards had been pacing, one standing near the bars, a third sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, but the prospect of food drew all of them to the table.

"About bloody time they fed us."

"That onions I smell?"

"So where's the bread?"

"Fuck, we need bowls, cups, spoons—"

"No you don't." Rorge heaved the scalding hot broth across the table, full in their faces. Jaqen H'ghar did the same. Biter threw his kettles too, swinging them underarm so they spun across the dungeon, raining soup. One caught the captain in the temple as he tried to rise. He went down like a sack of sand and lay still. The rest were screaming in agony, praying, or trying to crawl off.

Arya pressed back against the wall as Rorge began to cut throats. Biter preferred to grab the men behind the head and under the chin and crack their necks with a single twist of his huge pale hands. Only one of the guards managed to get a blade out. Jaqen danced away from his slash, drew his own sword, drove the man back into a corner with a flurry of blows, and killed him with a thrust to the heart. The Lorathi brought the blade to Arya still red with heart's blood and wiped it clean on the front of her shift. "A girl should be bloody too. This is her work."

The key to the cell hung from a hook on the wall above the table. Rorge took it down and opened the door. The first man through was the lord with the mailed fist on his surcoat. "Well done," he said. "I am Robett Glover."

"My lord." Jaqen gave him a bow.

Once freed, the captives stripped the dead guards of their weapons and darted up the steps with steel in hand. Their fellows crowded after them, bare-handed. They went swiftly, and with scarcely a word. None of them seemed quite so badly wounded as they had when Vargo Hoat had marched them through the gates of Harrenhal. "This of the soup, that was clever," the man Glover was saying. "I did not expect that. Was it Lord Hoat's idea?"

Rorge began to laugh. He laughed so hard that snot flew out the hole where his nose had been. Biter sat on top of one of the dead men, holding a limp hand as he gnawed at the fingers. Bones cracked between his teeth.

"Who are you men?" A crease appeared between Robett Glover's brows. "You were not with Hoat when he came to Lord Bolton's encampment. Are you of the Brave Companions?"

Rorge wiped the snot off his chin with the back of his hand. "We are now."

"This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar, once of the Free City of Lorath. This man's discourteous companions are named Rorge and Biter. A lord will know which is Biter." He waved a hand toward Arya. "And here—"

"I'm Weasel," she blurted, before he could tell who she really was. She did not want her name said here, where Rorge might hear, and Biter, and all these others she did not know.

She saw Glover dismiss her. "Very well," he said. "Let's make an end to this bloody business."

When they climbed back up the winding stair, they found the door guards lying in pools of their own blood. Northmen were running across the ward. Arya heard shouts. The door of Barracks Hall burst open and a wounded man staggered out screaming. Three others ran after him and silenced him with spear and sword. There was fighting around the gatehouse as well. Rorge and Biter rushed off with Glover, but Jaqen H'ghar knelt beside Arya. "A girl does not understand?"

"Yes I do," she said, though she didn't, not truly.

The Lorathi must have seen it on her face. "A goat has no loyalty. Soon a wolf banner is raised here, I think. But first a man would hear a certain name unsaid."

"I take back the name." Arya chewed her lip. "Do I still have a third death?"

"A girl is greedy." Jaqen touched one of the dead guards and showed her his bloody fingers. "Here is three and there is four and eight more lie dead below. The debt is paid."

"The debt is paid," Arya agreed reluctantly. She felt a little sad. Now she was just a mouse again.

"A god has his due. And now a man must die." A strange smile touched the lips of Jaqen H'ghar.

"Die?" she said, confused. What did he mean? "But I unsaid the name. You don't need to die now."

"I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he changed. His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls.

Arya's mouth hung open. "Who are you?" she whispered, too astonished to be afraid. "How did you do that? Was it hard?"

He grinned, revealing a shiny gold tooth. "No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way."

"Show me," she blurted. "I want to do it too."

"If you would learn, you must come with me."

Arya grew hesitant. "Where?"

"Far and away, across the narrow sea."

"I can't. I have to go home. To Winterfell."

"Then we must part," he said, "for I have duties too." He lifted her hand and pressed a small coin into her palm. "Here."

"What is it?"

"A coin of great value."

Arya bit it. It was so hard it could only be iron. "Is it worth enough to buy a horse?"

"It is not meant for the buying of horses."

"Then what good is it?"

"As well ask what good is life, what good is death? If the day comes when you would find me again, give that coin to any man from Braavos, and say these words to him—valar morghulis."

"Valar morghulis," Arya repeated. It wasn't hard. Her fingers closed tight over the coin. Across the yard, she could hear men dying. "Please don't go, Jaqen."

"Jaqen is as dead as Arry," he said sadly, "and I have promises to keep. Valar morghulis, Arya Stark. Say it again."

"Valar morghulis," she said once more, and the stranger in Jaqen's clothes bowed to her and stalked off through the darkness, cloak swirling. She was alone with the dead men. They deserved to die, Arya told herself, remembering all those Ser Amory Lorch had killed at the holdfast by the lake.

The cellars under Kingspyre were empty when she returned to her bed of straw. She whispered her names to her pillow, and when she was done she added, "Valar morghulis," in a small soft voice, wondering what it meant.

Come dawn, Pinkeye and the others were back, all but one boy who'd been killed in the fighting for no reason that anyone could say. Pinkeye went up alone to see how matters stood by light of day, complaining all the while that his old bones could not abide steps. When he returned, he told them that Harrenhal had been taken. "Them Bloody Mummers killed some of Ser Amory's lot in their beds, and the rest at table after they were good and drunk. The new lord will be here before the day's out, with his whole host. He's from the wild north up where that Wall is, and they say he's a hard one. This lord or that lord, there's still work to be done. Any foolery and I'll whip the skin off your back." He looked at Arya when he said that, but never said a word to her about where she had been the night before.

All morning she watched the Bloody Mummers strip the dead of their valuables and drag the corpses to the Flowstone Yard, where a pyre was laid to dispose of them. Shagwell the Fool hacked the heads off two dead knights and pranced about the castle swinging them by the hair and making them talk. "What did you die of?" one head asked. "Hot weasel soup," replied the second.

Arya was set to mopping up dried blood. No one said a word to her beyond the usual, but every so often she would notice people looking at her strangely. Robett Glover and the other men they'd freed must have talked about what had happened down in the dungeon, and then Shagwell and his stupid talking heads started in about the weasel soup. She would have told him to shut up, but she was scared to. The fool was half-mad, and she'd heard that he'd once killed a man for not laughing at one of his japes. He better shut his mouth or I'll put him on my list with the rest, she thought as she scrubbed at a reddish-brown stain. It was almost evenfall when the new master of Harrenhal arrived. He had a plain face, beardless and ordinary, notable only for his queer pale eyes. Neither plump, thin, nor muscular, he wore black ringmail and a spotted pink cloak. The sigil on his banner looked like a man dipped in blood. "On your knees for the Lord of the Dreadfort!" shouted his squire, a boy no older than Arya, and Harrenhal knelt.

Vargo Hoat came forward. "My lord, Harrenhal ith yourth."

The lord gave answer, but too softly for Arya to hear. Robett Glover and Ser Aenys Frey, freshly bathed and clad in clean new doublets and cloaks, came up to join them. After some brief talk, Ser Aenys led them over to Rorge and Biter. Arya was surprised to see them still here; somehow she would have expected them to vanish when Jaqen did. Arya heard the harsh sound of Rorge's voice, but not what he was saying. Then Shagwell pounced on her, dragging her out across the yard. "My lord, my lord," he sang, tugging at her wrist, "here's the weasel who made the soup!"

"Let go," Arya said, wriggling out of his grasp.

The lord regarded her. Only his eyes moved; they were very pale, the color of ice. "How old are you, child?"

She had to think for a moment to remember. "Ten."

"Ten, my lord," he reminded her. "Are you fond of animals?"

"Some kinds. My lord."

A thin smile twitched across his lips. "But not lions, it would seem. Nor manticores."

She did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

"They tell me you are called Weasel. That will not serve. What name did your mother give you?"

She bit her lip, groping for another name. Lommy had called her Lumpyhead, Sansa used Horseface, and her father's men once dubbed her Arya Underfoot, but she did not think any of those were the sort of name he wanted.

"Nymeria," she said. "Only she called me Nan for short."

"You will call me my lord when you speak to me, Nan," the lord said mildly. "You are too young to be a Brave Companion, I think, and of the wrong sex. Are you afraid of leeches, child?"

"They're only leeches. My lord."

"My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers."

This time she knew better than to say that she'd sooner work in the stables. "Yes, your lord. I mean, my lord."

The lord waved a hand. "Make her presentable," he said to no one in particular, "and make certain she knows how to pour wine without spilling it." Turning away, he lifted a hand and said, "Lord Hoat, see to those banners above the gatehouse."

Four Brave Companions climbed to the ramparts and hauled down the lion of Lannister and Ser Amory's own black manticore. In their place they raised the flayed man of the Dreadfort and the direwolf of Stark. And that evening, a page named Nan poured wine for Roose Bolton and Vargo Hoat as they stood on the gallery, watching the Brave Companions parade Ser Amory Lorch naked through the middle ward. Ser Amory pleaded and sobbed and clung to the legs of his captors, until Rorge pulled him loose, and Shagwell kicked him down into the bear pit.

The bear is all in black, Arya thought. Like Yoren. She filled Roose Bolton's cup, and did not spill a drop.