Arya Stark and the Bastard Boy/King Pikrin

Arya Stark and the Bastard Boy King Pikrin The Ring→

In a forest somewhere in Westeros, a group of three gruff-looking bandits have captured a wiry young man. The leader of the bandits, a tall, chubby figure, his face bristling with blond scruff, gets in the captive’s face and growls. The captive turns away, as if disgusted by the bandit’s foul breath.

“Now listen here, boy! You tell us where you hid it, or we’ll-”

“Hid what?” interrupts a confident female voice from behind. The bandit whirls round to see a dark-haired girl wielding a sharp little sword.

“Who the hell are you?” the blond bandit roars. His compatriots shake off their surprise and draw their clubs.

“I’m Arya,” she answers calmly. “And who are you?”

They all chuckle heartily. “You don’t know who I am?” the blond bandit asks incredulously. The other bandits snicker, “She really doesn’t know…”

“Should I?”

“You stand in the presence of King Pikrin!” he declares.

“Who?”

“King Pikrin!” he repeats.

“Who’s that?”

“That’s me!” he exclaims. A long-haired bandit adds, “...Only the most feared outlaw in all of Westeros!” Another bandit with a missing tooth contributes, “...With a bounty of a hundred gold dragons on ‘is ‘ead!”

“Is that so?” Arya cocks her head. “I suppose I’ll have to collect it, then.” She lunges forward, poking Pikrin under the shoulder with her sword. “Aargh!” he roars, coming after her, but he trips and falls with a thud, sending a tuft of leaves airborne. Blood trickles visibly from his wound, and he doesn’t get up.

“Seven hells, she’s killed him!” frets the lean, long-haired bandit. “What should we do?” murmurs the other one.

“I’m not dead, you imbeciles!” groans King Pikrin, struggling to rise. “Get the bitch!”

Arya lets the two bandits come to her. She expertly disarms the long-haired one and slices a gash along his right arm, which he backs away clutching. The other bandit feels Arya’s swordpoint enter his skull through his toothless mouth, and perishes. Pikrin, crouched and coughing blood, perceives Arya’s purposeful approach and mouths “wait”, before the girl pokes him full of holes, turning to the long-haired bandit with a chilly glare as she does so. Still clutching his wounded arm, the trembling bandit wastes no time fleeing into the distant woods.

“So,” begins Arya awkwardly, standing over the wide-eyed captive boy.

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