A Comment on Age

All characters in this story are 18 years or older, despite their ages in the original fiction.

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Sansa pulled her woolen cloak tighter to her body, being the only thing she had worn at all that night. The boldness of her actions only seemed to just catch up to her as she rubbed the warmth back into her arms. The chill of the night air caught her, even within the shelter of the Godswood. The outstretched limbs that loomed over her failed to completely hide the moonlight and the stout trunk of the Heart tree wasn’t enough to block all of the cutting breezes. She looked at the great white trunk and its face that wept blood, though only for lack of much else to look at. While a cryptic sight, she knew enough of the Heart trees, or weirwood trees as they were also known. They weren’t terribly common here in the South, but there tended to be one in every castle garden. She grimaced at the ominous thing; bark that resembled bone, sap that ran like blood, and leaves shaped like outstretched and grasping hands made for a rather gruesome plant. The traditional face was carved into its trunk, the bloody sap running from its crude eyes and mouth like wounds. She supposed that was really what they were, anyway, when you considered the whole tree instead of merely the face.

She only stopped staring when she thought she’d heard her name. Looking up, she saw that is was just the gargled call of a raven in the Heart tree’s branches. It hopped on the limb before seeming to decide that Sansa was no threat to its nest, returning to mend it with some twigs. The ravens seemed to love to nest in these things, perhaps because the eerie nature of the weirwood unsettled other animals as much as they did people. The black birds quieted down so that the night air held nothing louder than the sound of shifting leaves and feathers.

Another wasted day, Sansa thought with a sigh. It had almost been a full week, and she’d gotten nowhere. It should have been simple. How hard could a man, any man, be to seduce? It’s not like I didn’t learn things, though. That was true. For one, the Prince had obviously lusted after her. She’d seen it in his eyes, in the way his eyes would follow her back as she walked across the halls.

It was in the way he’d pause when she’d step in, find time for here where he otherwise had none. It only took a little encouragement on her part. All she’d really had to do was wear lower cut dresses -he seemed to favor those – and indulge him in whatever he had in mind. Compared to how distant he’d been at the start, Sansa had made more progress than she could have believed.

Except it wasn’t enough. She didn’t have time for a slow courtship. Sansa had needed to be bold, except that’s the one thing a Lady couldn’t be. Having to be subtle about this was maddening. What made it worse was that bitch, Arianne. She had her claws just as deeply in the Prince, and she’d found that his smiles for her weren’t that special at all. Sansa thought she’d been forward, her dresses hardly left much to the imagination. Arianna had proved her wrong; that Dornish tart wore clothes that were little more than undergarments. She hadn’t gone that far to appease him, not yet. 

And time was running out. Her spies had all but told her that just about every Queen in the seven Kingdoms was already making her way here, to Storm’s End. It didn’t take Littlefinger to tell her why. Sansa had to settle things with Arianne before things spiraled out of control. Arianne wasn’t stupid either. That maddening woman knew all of this, and was just as desperate when the Prince wasn’t looking. They were the biggest thorns in each other’s sides, and something had to give. Sansa was half ready to sneak into his bed.

Then again, maybe I’ll have the advantage once the others arrive. What did he teach me again? Ah yes, chaos is a ladder.

The rustling of leaves drew her away from her own thoughts. Sansa didn’t know what brought her here but she supposed it was long overdue. Every great castle had the Godswood, the one place where you could feel the Old Gods the strongest. She slowly made her way through the crunching leaves, sitting down on a clear patch of ground.

Sansa had never liked this place as a child, at least, not the Godswood back in Winterfell. As a child, she’d always much preferred the Seven, with their ceremonies and traditions. The Old Gods weren’t like that, they left their followers directionless, having to worship them of their own accord. It was hard not to think of them as anything more than overgrown trees. Compared to the Seven, each figure so alive and real, how could they ever hope to compare in the eyes of a young Lady?

And yet the Seven didn’t lift a finger when my father was on the chopping block. They’d been silent. No Gods, Seven or Old had answered her prayers then. Sansa stared up at the almost demonic faces carved on the great trunks. You were as powerless as I was. No-one believed more in the old ways than father. It didn’t matter though, did it?

She was under no illusion now about why she came here. No God could help her where she was. This was just the only place in this accursed land that she could feel closer to her family, to her pride as a Stark. She blinked. That her family wasn’t a thought she’d wanted to have, not now; especially not now. You always taught us to be kind and honorable, She thought furiously. To be fair and generous. And where are you now? Dead, every single one of you. I won’t make that same mistake.

Sansa wiped her eyes with her arm, surprised they’d been wet at all. I will be strong. I’m not who I was. Never again. There would be time to rest, someday, but that day wasn’t today. Today she had to be strong. She had to be Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Queen of the North, and pray she lived up to it. The faint rustling of leaves jerked her out of her reverie. Sansa turned, staring at the entrance she’d just come through.

Arianne arrived, clearly responding to her challenging stroll from earlier. While Sansa wore only her wool cloak, Arianne was clad in nothing but moonlight. It was the first time Sansa has witnessed her rival’s nudity, and it was shocking and stunning to see. The woman was on the short side, but beautiful and generously curved. Sansa was briefly captivated by her large dark eyes and lovely face before she naturally looked to Arianne’s round, olive-skinned breasts tipped by her huge, dark nipples. Thick black curls ran down her shoulders and to her middle back like some voluminous short cloak. Arianne’s full lips smiled at the obvious admiration in Sansa’s eyes as she quietly compared everything her rival had to her own assets.

It was nearly a full minute before Sansa smiled and shrugged off her cloak. Suddenly it was Arianne’s turn to look surprised as the slightly slimmer woman boldly showed off her figure to her rival and whoever else should happen to see on a lonely night.

“It’s always such a pleasure to see you, Lady Stark. I just rarely get to see so much of you.”

“The same goes for you. I’m simply surprised you had the confidence to come and meet me like this.” Sansa greeted her opponent in love with her carefully applied taunt.

“I’m glad you have the courage to admit to my own,” Arianne replied politely. “But after I saw your interesting choice of attire for the occasion, I just knew I had to attend this little garden party.”

Sansa smiled, some sincerity behind the curl of her lips. “Yes, well not everyone has the audacity to wear something of such a natural cut. Plus it’s so hard to recommend a tailor for this sort of thing.”

Arianne gave a small laugh. “Well whatever the tailor, it seems we were cut from the same cloth, you and I.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Perhaps just the wool of the same breed of sheep. I’d expect such a taste in clothes and conversation from a bitch.”

Arianne nodded back subtly, making no immediate moves for her rival. “That really means something coming from a Stark. Your people always did know your way around dogs. Still, i’m surprised you were able to keep up with me when I came to court the prince.”

Sansa hesitated for a moment before nodding herself. “You didn’t make it easy. If I were any less comely or careful, he might have slipped out of my grasp.”

“I felt the same way, but we both know how the game is played. That’s why I came here to deliver a warning.”

“Then say your piece, though I’m sure we both hope you do not waste your words.”

“I’m simply telling you to step away from this.” Sansa masked her response as best she could. “Bad things happen to those who get in my way, and you are most decidedly in the way of my plans. You’re a clever, pretty little thing. I’m sure you could manage to do just fine somewhere else with another husband.”

“Starks don’t settle for second best,” Sansa replied. “And whatever you think will happen to me if I stay around, I’m sure that worse will come to you just as quickly. Take your own advice for once and walk away. Give our mutual friend his space.”

“Neither me, my people, nor my honor would bear to see me leave,” Arianne said with a casual tone that still showed she was immovable on the matter.

“I sympathize more than you might think,” Sansa admitted, though her tone was one closer to annoyance than noble. “So what if we both decide to do the unthinkable?” Arianne met her eyes with a surprised expression. “We could share him.”

The proposition seems to take Arianne aback, but she soon collected herself and flashed a naughty smile. “Why if I didn’t know better I’d say that you’ve been working your way to the prince to get to me.” Mocked Arianne as she sauntered seductively towards Sansa. “Could it be that the mighty she-wolf I’ve heard so much about is secretly a pervert?” Gently Arianne placed a hand on Sansa’s breast. Firm, she thought, firmer than mine. “If it is me you want just say the word, we Dornish hold no shame for such feelings.” Slowly, Arianne’s hand crept towards Sansa’s private parts “just leave the prince to me and I promise I‘ll make time for you. I might even let you sneak into our bed once in awhile. Just ask my sisters, I’m generous with my man.”

“Or,” smiled Sansa, catching the hand reaching for her pussy, “You could leave the king to me and I’ll make you our bed warmer.”

Arianne snorted to let her know what she thought of that proposition and backed away. “If there’s no other way to settle this, there is always the time-honored traditions.”

“You mean backstabbing and treachery? Wouldn’t that be fun,” Sansa joked with an amused smirk. “But as much as I’d enjoy that, I don’t think we’d have the time for such games.”

“Afraid, then?” Arianne inquired as if it were an innocent question. “Is the little lady too noble to get her hair messy?” Sansa glared back at her quietly, but the fact that she was putting in the effort to conceal her anger was sign enough for Arianne that her jab had connected with her ego.

“You are nowhere near strong enough to get rid of me by any means,” Sansa said curtly. “Every move you make against me would be a waste of your efforts and resources.”

“And are you so sure you’d be the one to endure the might of Dorne?” She stepped closer to Sansa, but she didn’t flinch. “You have a lot of promise to you, Stark. It would be a waste to end up with such a pretty face on a spike.”

Sansa took the last step for her, butting their chests together. “I’ve accomplished enough on my own without armies or titles. I don’t imagine you’d fare so well without someone there to protect you, and I certainly don’t see any guards around.” One of the ravens cawed overhead as a lonesome reminder.

“In Dorne, a woman must be able to do things for themselves. Princess or not.” Arianne gazed deeply into Sansa’s eyes, fearless and steady in such intimate reach of her rival. Arianne had to stick to her bluff for pride and investment in the cause. If things went well, Sansa would listen to reason and back down. If not, she was certainly intrigued by the idea of facing down her rival. All things considered, she was also convinced that she could beat Sansa head-on like this. It just wouldn’t be easy.

Sansa buried her fingers into Arianne’s hair. She pulled straight backwards putting her opponent off balance, but Arianne caught herself by grabbing hold of Sansa’s scalp in return. The women set their jaws, emitting short hissing breaths as if trying to contain their screams. They didn’t want to give the other the slightest edge, and that included any sign of pain they could suppress.

The ladies clawed and yanked the other’s hair, tearing out the occasional strands. They cringed from the stinging pain, but they made no efforts to run or maneuver away from their catty engagement. Part of it was certainly that each already had a grip on the other, but their pride kept them in place. There was no backing down from this crude but genuine duel, and to break that contest felt like it would be a sign of defeat for themselves and almost an insult to the other. There would be no one to witness it besides the ravens and their ghastly tree, but Sansa and Arianne would know. They wouldn’t stand to let themselves lose.

Sansa grit her teeth to focus through the pain, jerking Arianne’s head back and forth with hard tugs meant to rattle her brain around inside her skull. Arianne went for a more direct twisting, wrenching on her rival’s hair to concentrate the agony into a more precise spot. Even with her head being shaken about, Arianne kept her eyes locked with Sansa. Even when they watered from pain, her defiant stare remained focused as if trying to break her will with her gaze alone.

“You’re not winning him away from me,” Arianne hissed as she poured more pressure onto her hold. 

“You won’t be winning anything if you stay around here long enough.” Sansa joined in the challenging speak. “Save yourself the struggle and go pack your things.” She adjusted her grip to start tearing at Arianne’s hair from an angle, ripping out individual hairs rather than going for one big clump. Arianne’s lip curled into a pained sneer, starting as a thin crack at the corner of her mouth but sliding wider as it grew out of her control. Her pained expression was clear for just a moment before she released Sansa’s hair, moving her hands to rake her nails over her breasts. Sansa gave a short but sharp intake of breath, a stifled gasp as she moved her claws to match Arianne’s. 

It was an unspoken pact as part of their contest that night. There would be no one there to uphold it, but they didn’t want to simply hurt the other woman. They wanted to beat them. They wanted to show them that they were superior, and to prove it to the side of them that respected their opponent. Sansa had won their test of endurance concerning their hair, but she wanted to test the rest of her as well. Winning the one round wasn’t enough as she redirected her attack to pinch and pull on Arianne’s nipples.

This showdown started with more of the same. Both Arianne and Sansa clawed and squeezed, staring each other down while trying to force any visible sign of the terrible pain out of them. Arianne was rewarded with the gleam of Sansa’s watering eyes, the equivalent of a shout of pain as far as the Stark was concerned. They were both incredibly capable of concealing their reactions and dealing with suffering, so they were as focused on their attacks as they were looking for the subtlest of signs. While Sansa pulled and stretched her nipples, scratching up her breast’s flesh in the process, Arianne grabbed as much of her rival’s bosom as she could an crushed her fingers inward. In particular she gouged her thumbnails at Sansa’s areolas, hitting the dark and sensitive circles with quick, stinging strikes.

Of course, the only real bloodshed was from the twisted tree behind them. On top of their ever-present pride, they knew that they couldn’t escalate things too far. If one started drawing blood and scarring up their opponent, they would return the favor (and with matching efficiency, judging by how things were going so far). If they returned to Aegon’s castle with ruined faces and bodies, their hopes of winning him over would be dashed. They would have much to explain for, and with Aegon having his pick of the litter, they felt certain that another incoming suitor would gladly take their place.

Arianne bit her lip to distract herself from the aching muscles in her chest. Sansa pulled back and forth to bounce them uncomfortably and slap together in her grasp, but Sansa’s breathing started growing deeper and more unsteady. Arianne sensed she was keeping the upper hand, and it was all but stated when Sansa resorted to biting. She leaned close enough to sink her teeth into the soft but tough skin of Arianne’s chest, getting a sharp hiss from between her teeth. Even with her face pressed into her breasts, their eyes remained locked together to gauge each other’s response. Sansa bit as hard as she dared without breaking the skin. Arianne’s face strained with effort but she still hooked her nails further up Sansa’s breasts and pulled down on them like a pair of udders. Sansa’s face twisted from the extended scratching and pulling, emitting a short gasp of pain. 

Much like Arianne, Sansa deemed her brief sound as a clear enough sign of submission as she was willing to allow. She retreated her mouth and hands from Arianne’s breast and grabbed her by the pussy instead, changing their battleground once again. Arianne quickly got the message as her loins tightened defensively. Her hands replied in kind and slapped Sansa squarely on the crotch, hitting shockingly close to her clitoris. Arianne mixed in short-range slaps and quick scratches while Sansa crooked her finger and buried it just inside her rival’s labia. She didn’t bother to go deep, only looking to hurt the woman rather than leave any lasting damage. Even if the worst happened, she wanted her to leave shamed, not infertile. 

Both grit their teeth to keep themselves from shouts or moans. “You’re not winning this one,” Sansa insisted. They started to shift their grips to up the ante, delivering fresh agony on the opposing pussy. 

“I’ll see your loins fail you yet. If you ever want to see an heir of your own, you’ll let go and walk away,” Arianne threatened as she pinched and scratched Sansa’s groin.

“You just try it and I’ll pop your clit off so you’ll never know pleasure again,” Sansa retorted as she hooked her finger to jab deeper into her rival. They both cringed and hissed, spitting threats instead of curses or moans as a means of venting their agony. 

“You don’t have the strength or the nerve to try it,” Arianne defied her. “And I doubt that the Starks built their women to be as sturdy as their walls.”

“And you seem far more wet than one would expect from a woman of the deserts. Perhaps your life out there hasn’t made you as hard as you think.” Sansa bit her lip to contain a moan, but she still fell to her knees. Her eyes lost focus for a moment, but when they cleared she saw that Arianne had fallen at the same time.

“Not so strong now, it would seem,” Arianne said as her own watering eyes met Sansa’s. Sansa nodded and twisted her hand as if Arianne’s pussy was an especially stubborn jar in need of opening. Arianne choked back a squeak of pain and squeezed Sansas crotch like she was wringing out a fleshy sponge. Finally, both seemed to break as they let go and fell to either side. Their gaze and their grip broken, the sudden air of shouts made the black birds hop in surprise as if ready to flee from whatever made such a racket. Their small and curious cawing mingled with the women’s desperately heavy breaths. 

“Had enough?,” Arianne observed between panting breaths.

Sansa rubbed her raw and reddened snatch. It wasn’t anything that wouldn’t heal in a day or two, but it was still burning with fresh claw marks. “Depends on you, I haven’t even warmed up yet.”sneered Sansa, even as her glowing clit betrayed her tenuous bravados.

Arianne’s weary face sneered, but the curl to her lips showed some bitter amusement as she clearly sharing the notion. There were certainly women stronger than Arianne, but she didn’t think that there were any that were exactly as dangerous. “I haven’t finished yet. And as you see, I am not running away.”

“Give it time,” Sansa replied, adjusting her position. She tried to close her legs as best she could without rubbing her thighs against the scratches. “I have more weapons than brute force to bring against you. Allies, armies… perhaps I’ve even bribed or seduced a few choice guards in the castle to do my dirty work.”

Arianne gave a small scoff. A controlled but mocking laugh. “You don’t seem the type. I’d be able to match any wealth and promises that you’d be able to offer, and I don’t imagine that seduction is your strong suit.”

Sansa scowled at the backhanded comment about her sexual prowess. “Then perhaps we do not settle it with arms, but another test of the flesh.” Sansa’s glare was joined by a smirk as she boosted herself onto one elbow. “This is a competition for love.“ said Sansa, biting the last word so hard that she chewed all the love out of it. 

Arianne nodded as she got to her feet. She forced herself to rise back to her feet, dirt and grass sticking to her sweaty skin. She kept her legs apart to show her clawed and gently parted vagina. She didn’t want to reveal to much about her experience in such a competition just yet, wanting every advantage she could get. “I imagine my body would still be too much for you.”

“Let’s find out, shall we? I’m sure you’re even more lovely when you’re broken.” Sansa replied. Both women stood, though their bodies strained to do so after their initial showdown. Similar to the first, they grabbed each other by their privates in near unison. Arianne braced a hand on Sansa’s shoulder for leverage while Sansa grabbed her rival’s breast, but they both started to finger each other. Sansa’s fingers rubbed and explored inside her latest opponent, curling her fingers and twisting her wrist. All the while she watched Arianne closely, looking and feeling for any indication that she was hitting the perfect spot.

Arianne gave her a sign when she hissed through her teeth. Sansa knew better than to go right for her clitoris, but she hit it at just the right angle that Arianne couldn’t help herself. The competition and the shamelessly nude Stark had excited her whether she wanted to show it or not, but her pussy was getting too wet to even consider concealing. She found a similar response in Sansa’s pussy as well, so she firmly pressed into her clit to force her to break first. By the feeling in her lower belly and Sansa’s wetness, she knew they wouldn’t hold out for long. Their fingering grew more desperate and Sansa lashed out with a kiss to lock them together even tighter. 

Their tongues dueled while their fingers kept up their sexual attack, stroking and striking as roughly as they could without hurting their aggressive lover (only because it would distract them from their arousal and give them an advantage). Their pussies were sore and red from the recent clawing, making the gentler (but no less offensive) touches that much more appealing. Arianne felt Sansa’s lips purse together and her tongue thrust out desperately, a sure sign she was about to submit to her urges… but so was Arianne. Arianne’s short and passionate cry collided with Sansa’s in between their mouths, both of their sweaty bodies trembling as they orgasmed together.

As the strength left them, the women leaned on each other for balance. Their simultaneous orgasms made their legs give out, crumbling to the ground in opposite directions. They panted while staring up at the assembly of ravens, their only remaining contact with each other in their tangle of legs.

“You think you have the stamina to keep up with me, desert rat?” Sansa challenged. The weariness on her voice was clear to one as keen as Arianne.

“I’m certainly flexible enough to outmaneuver you,” Arianne defied, raising one of her shaky legs. She rested her foot on Sansa’s privates in an obvious sexual challenge to one who knew how to recognize them. Sansa gave an amused little sniff, taking in the smell of sweat and sex before she mirrored the move with her own foot. “I’m certainly flexible enough to outmaneuver you,” Arianne defied, raising one of her shaky legs. She rested her foot on Sansa’s privates in an obvious sexual challenge to one who knew how to recognize them. Sansa gave an amused little sniff, taking in the smell of sweat and sex before she mirrored the move with her own foot. Fresh off their previous orgasms, the curling of their toes was enough to stimulate the naked women into shuddering. Their bodies may have been exhausted but Arianne showed surprising skill with her feet. Her soles rubbed along Sansa’s labia and thighs while her flexing toes rubbed closer to her rival’s clitoris.

Sansa had slid a few of her larger toes inside Arianne’s slit, making them rise and fall with a tensing of her thigh. It resulted in a phallic sort of pumping, and one that was quickly arousing Arianne while she was still recovering from the first wave of their attack. It wasn’t the more graceful going, but with their bodies as drained as they were from all the sex and pain it proved to be one of their few options to keep their contest going. Arianne hissed her breaths through her teeth as Sansa’s rubbing became smoother, lubricated by her juices. Arianne adjusted her footing to actually insert her big toe, pressing and tapping it against Sansa’s clitoris with just enough force to threaten crushing it against her pelvis.

“You’re a weak excuse of a woman hiding behind your family’s legacy. I don’t need to raise a hand to defeat you,” Arianne hissed, trying to hide that she was edging towards weakness herself. 

“You’ll be lucky if you still have them once I’m done with you,” Sansa threatened back at her. She slid her foot roughly from side to side, brushing each other toes across Arianne’s clit in rapid succession. Arianne shuddered as she held back a cry of pleasure and pressed her toe against Sansa’s tenderest bit of flesh, flexing and wiggling her big toe for a subtle but effective pummeling of her clitoris. The women began to sweat and pant until with another shuddering and simultaneous cry, they came together. They both collapsed to the ground, shivering as their controlled and patient demeanors were broken by the erupting orgasms. Once again, neither of them was satisfied with this conclusion.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to last this long.” Sansa finally managed to gather enough of her breath to send a fresh volley of taunts towards her enemy. “I thought you would have run crying to your pathetic hole in the desert by now.”

“You had always seemed like a frail and spoiled thing yourself,” Arianne added a bit of a scowl to her stare. She hated to realize she was wrong, and certainly wouldn’t admit it outloud. “It’s just a shame you had to waste what little talent you had by getting in my way.”

“Well when you plan to go down so many paths at once, you’re sure to get in someone’s way. Must come with being a whore who traveled so far to feed her brainless lust. It’s just a matter of being solid enough to stare them down until they back off.”

“Or to be dangerous enough that they know to run,” Arianne said, pushing herself into a sitting position.

“Yes, I suppose that’s another way we could compare you to an elephant,” Sansa noted dryly. “You’re certainly as stupid and homely as one.”

“Excuse me, but I thought we were talking about you.” Arianne’s simple quip still irritated Sansa. More than anything else right now, she detested hearing how similar they were. Even if she was making the same realizations herself. Their wits, skills, endurance, and even their sexuality seemed to be too closely matched for her liking.

After a few more slow and seething breaths, Sansa responded. “Again. Once more should be more than enough to finish you off.”

“Then I hope you die trying,” Arianne replied bitterly as she spread her legs and moved into a sitting position. Sansa slid closer and raised her weary leg over Arianne’s. Her opponent did the same with the opposite leg, leaving them loosely mounted on each other and their womanhoods resting close together. With their eyes fixated on each other, there was little in the way of an official start. Once Sansa started grinding, Arianne was hatefully humping her to match.

The two started out slowly, but they were beginning to find their paces. They had a rough map of the other’s womanhood from their earlier probing, applying their memory of their sweet spots to make the most out of each thrust. Their labias rubbed and pushed together until they were forced to part, mingling their wet folds. The juices from their previous orgasms made the rubbing smooth and slick, letting them move as quick and firm as they dared. Arianne leaned harder into the duel, unwilling to withdraw when her overworked pussy pulsed with arousal from her own movements. Sansa’s grinding only added to that excitement, though she could see Stark’s veil of confidence breaking. Her cold gaze remained locked with Arianne’s eyes but they flickered like faltering candlelight. They returned with an even more intense ferocity, just to fade again after a few thrusts. It would have given Arianne more confidence on the matter but she was biting her lip to try to restrain her grunts and moans.

“You’re breaking,” Arianne hissed under her breath. “You’re going to fail and lose just like everything else you’ve done with your life. Just like every famous failure to share your blood.” With their intentions exposed and literally nothing left between them, Arianne had no problem baring her fangs properly now.

“Even the weakest Stark can still best a streetwalking desert rat,” Sansa grunted, though her voice came out alongside a shudder. Their clits had made direct contact, and they were both lunging for the same target to clash repeatedly. The growing heat and tingling sensations ran from their hips up through their spines.

“At least a streetwalker knows how to fuck,” Arianne growled but she felt her arms growing weak. All of her remaining strength was directed into her hips as they clashed with Sansa’s over and over. She gasped as even those scarce remains of her energy left her. She clung to Sansa to stay up right, keeping their pussies locked together and their clits grinding together in their short, rapid tribbing.

Their bodies couldn’t take the arousal. Once again they slumped into each other and shook violently, nails raking over the other woman’s back. Soon the only movement they could maintain was their humping hips and even they tired. Their bodies couldn’t withstand another orgasm, leaving them completely drained on the damp grass. Sansa could feel and smell Arianne’s heavy breath on her skin and loathed to admit that even their gasping breaths seemed to be synchronized.

“Are you really too stupid to give up already,” Arianne growled once she finally had air enough to speak.

“I had always heard that sand fleas were hard to crush,” Sansa replied with a similarly irritated venom to her voice. “I suppose you’re just living proof.”

“I’m not giving up. You still haven’t beat me,” Arianne insisted. “Not in the slightest.”

“And you have a long way to go before you can win against me. I don’t mind a gradual victory. But you’ll fall… just like everyone else in my way.”

“I’ve too much at stake to retreat, so I’m not going anywhere. A long game is better than a loss.”

Sansa pursed her lips as she considered this. She begrudgingly agreed, but wouldn’t dare say so. “Then I suppose I’ll be seeing you around the castle,” she said, seeming to concede on the matter. “Best hope that you’re not alone when I do.”

Arianne took a steadying breath, though it wavered through the filter of her pain and exhaustion. “Just because I am away from my homeland, do not think I do not have plans and men in motion,” she warned coldly. “Or that I am anything less than a fighter in my own rigt.” After such a deep evaluation of her nemesis, she saw things proceeding in much of the same way. They were both going to end up married to the prince at this rate. Anything further than a showdown like this would raise suspicion and spoil the chances for either woman succeeding. She was sure they could outdo the newcomers, but Sansa, Arianne and Targaryen all seemed to have grown accustomed to their game of three players. The women were willing to play the long game.

“But,” Arianne added. “When I do outlast you… when I do find you at your weakest and I’m able to get you away from him once and for all, I will do it without a hint of guilt or evidence against me. You can die now that your end will be one that I had calculated.”

Sansa nodded, returning the sentiment with a grim grin. “Then may our next contest be our last.” She took her cloak and with what little energy and elegance she hd let in her body, she returned to her room.

Back in bed, they checked their damage while they failed to get much sleep. They were wide awake from the pain and arousal they’d gone through at the other woman’s hands. Sansa in particular had a restless sleep as she reconsidered her position. Not that she was having second thoughts on her threatening stance with Arianne, but mostly towards what Petyr had told her; that Doran Martell may have sent a representative to keep a piece in the game. She knew that Myrcella and Margaery were on their way, and suspected that Daenerys was up to something similar, though she doubted Doran’s influence over them. Still, Petyr had always seemed cautious about the man, which was giving them a lot of credit for the kind of sway he held over things. 

She couldn’t settle all of her pains and concerns that night, but she took some time to strategize. If worst came to worse, she figured that she had her bodyguard to do her real dirty work. Ser Lyn Corbray was a man with a sword worthy of legend and an expert hand for wielding it. The man seemed to only long for blood and battle, so it seemed as though an order to slit Arianne’s throat would not be met with any objections. The man might even be looking forward to it. The duelist always seemed showed a flicker of pleasure whenever his skills rewarded him with a spurt of his opponent’s blood or a life taken. Sadistic, perhaps, but he was also loyal and effective. It was just a matter of waiting and striking when the time was right… even if that meant waiting for years.

Rather than simply letting herself suffer, Sansa brought her attention to these new players. She had heard or experienced enough of them to know where they stood with her and their odds in the game. Now it was simply how to deal with them.

She certainly didn’t like Margaery. The woman had essentially stolen her betrothed when she married Joffrey. Sansa admitted she had never been fond of him, but the principle was still there. She felt like it was an insult more than a grudge, but not something to be completely ignored. She was more concerned that Margaery’s grandmother had killed Joffrey (again, something she found to be a forgivable act on its own) and proceeded to pin the blame on Sansa. She knew that whether or not Margaery gave a damn about the dead brat, the public would expect her to take action against his killer. Sansa was certain that Margaery would make some move against her, but knowing where she was coming from was a comfort. She decided that she could work something out with Margaery if given the chance to speak straight with her. If not… then she always had the tried and true methods of dealing with meddlers.

Myrcella, meanwhile, had more of an actual reason to hate her. Myrcella would blame her for the deaths of Joffrey and Tyrion Lannister. Again, she knew she had no hand in Joffrey’s death, though she imagined that would be a difficult point of infamy to escape from. She’d have to see about that once she was in a seat of proper power. Then again, Sansa did leave Tyrion to face a headsman’s axe. His death was at least partly because of her. Sansa held nothing against Myrcella herself, but even if she could somehow convince her about Joffrey, there was no escaping the Tyrion matter. The girl had some promise and Sansa thought of herself at her age. It reminded her of how naive and passionate she had was at the time. Simpler and happier days when she was too weak to change anything. No matter how she felt about her, she would need to be deal with Myrcella’s wrath. It seemed that there was just one enemy after another that kept rising to the occasion.

The End

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