Stories of Tie Up Games

Written in conjunction with @Egyptianboytoy

Quick disclaimer, this story uses characters, locations, etc. from the Game of Thrones/ASOIAF series. While knowledge of the series isn't mandatory to enjoy the story, it does help in recognizing some of the characters. Furthermore, there may be some spoilers within the chapters, so if you're in the middle of watching the series, make sure you're beyond a certain point before reading. The first few chapters will cover a good portion of the key events throughout season 1 of the show, so keep that in mind. I'll do my best to warn when the timeline shifts.

With that in mind, please enjoy!

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Chapter 1: The Watchmen and the Thief


The North; a simple enough title, yet a symbol of ancient power in Westeros. The North was the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, and possibly the most dangerous. Its people, aptly labeled "Northerners," survive through the blood of their ancestors, the First Men. It is here, in the Northern capital of Winterfell, that our tale begins.

Winterfell is old and gloomy, matching the tone of the Northern Kingdom. Its walls were high, made of thick stone, always with a small layer of frost on the top. It had the basic elements of every high-functioning hold: A blacksmith, kennelmaster, stablemaster, various cooks, the soldiery, guard and working citizens. It was a simple hold, refusing to adopt the more lavish lifestyle of the rest of the Kingdoms, instead staying loyal to their roots embedded in the Old Gods and their teachings.

But of course, kids will be kids, regardless of their upbringing. Our story begins with one of these children, a young girl. She dressed in a simple brown tunic and pants, with soft brown boots. They muffle the sound of her footsteps as she slowly sneaks along the corridor. A scarf is tied snugly over her mouth and nose, silencing her breathing, and disguising her appearance. The scarf did not match the rest of her clothes, being a little too lavish for such a common looking girl. Was this but an ordinary thief? Well, sort of.

The girl was Arya Stark, second daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Never known for being much of a lady, she spent a good portion of her time doing what the boys did, despite it being against the rules. While her elder sister Sansa would spend her time practicing her knitting skills, Arya would spend time practicing archery in secrecy. The scarf belonged to Sansa, who was a much better example of a proper lady. But Arya was not much concerned with her sister's scarf, or anything ladylike. Her only goal was to win the game.

The game was simple, created by her and her two brothers, Bran and Jon. Despite being children of the Lord of Winterfell, their various circumstances allowed them much free time. Jon was a bastard in his teens, and Bran was the younger son. The rules of the game were simple: Bran and Jon hid an object, the “treasure,” and had to hunt down Arya before she could steal it. Arya’s goal was to retrieve the treasure, and return it to her camp before being apprehended by her brothers. For Arya, stealth was of the utmost importance.

Arya had successfully completed the first half of the task. She had found the hiding place of the treasure behind a pillar in the hall, and picked it up carefully without much hesitation. As they kept their game to the lower halls of the Keep, she could hear footsteps if someone were coming. With one more look around, she quickly turned and made her way back to her base. Unbeknownst to her, a lone pair of eyes was watching from a window high above.

Arya kept her senses alert as she quietly made her way down the halls towards her base. Although her hearing was second to none, she was still unable to perceive the threat until it was right above her. Working on instinct, she dropped the treasure and jumped to the side, as her assailant landed behind her. Turning around, Arya saw exactly who she suspected: her younger brother Bran.

Bran always had a knack for climbing. He climbed often and everywhere, scaling walls and towers that everyone else thought impossible. Unlike Arya though, Bran's clothings were much more reminiscent of a child of wealth, a simple tunic and trousers but made of much finer cloth than her rough rags.

“Not as stealthy as you thought,” Bran remarked, almost cocky.

Arya lowered the scarf from her face. “I don’t need stealth to beat you,” Arya snarled back, really getting into character. She was almost ready to pounce on him.

Bran simply chuckled in response. Just as Arya was about to charge him, a powerful pair of arms lifted her up from behind, clean off the floor. One arm wrapped around her body, pinning her arms to her side. The other hand went over her mouth, stifling her surprised cry. She kicked and flailed, but the arms wouldn’t budge.

“But you do need stealth to beat me,” Arya’s older brother, Jon, said from behind her.

Not again, Arya thought to herself, continuing to try and break Jon’s iron grip. This was the fifth time she had lost to her brothers, despite coming so close to winning!

After a bit of feisty struggling she eventually gave up and lowered her head, resigning herself to her fate. Being lowered to the floor, Bran approached her with the same cocky grin. She stared daggers at him as she allowed him to stuff a rag into her mouth, closely followed by another rag tied between her teeth. The scarf-mask she wore was then taken and tightly tied over her mouth and nose, concealing the gag.

She put up a bit of a fight as Jon tried to wrench her arms behind her, but stopped resisting as soon as she felt the rope being tied around her wrists. In addition to being an excellent climber, Bran was surprisingly amazing at tying knots. She felt the final knot being cinched, and tested them, to find that they held as usual. With another coil Bran tied her arms to her chest wrapping it around a few times then knotting it firmly behind her back. Jon grabbed one of her arms, and marched her down the hall, Bran in tow.

“It was good that you saw her in the treasure room when you did,” Jon said, looking at Bran. “Who knows what would’ve happened had you not been waiting by that window.”

What window? Arya thought. Apparently Bran knew this Keep better than she thought.

“I’m just lucky, I guess,” Bran responded, smiling. “Perhaps this thief will learn to better check her surroundings next time.”

Arya endured the back and forth banter of her two captors, done in a way to almost mock her. In truth, she hated being tied up, and only went along with it because that’s how the boys played. Arya was pretty sure it wasn’t in the original rules, but she played along because it made sense in the context of the game. Though, seeing as she lost every time, one might assume she liked it.

As the trio walked the halls, a sharp “Jon!” pierced the air. The voice belonged to Ser Rodrik, Master-at-Arms of Winterfell. No doubt looking for Jon to help train some of the younger soldiers.

“Ah, seven hells,” Jon whispered. “Bran, I’ll leave her here with you.”

Bran nodded, and Jon turned and left. Once he left, Bran decided to take no chances, and approached his captive with more ropes. Not wanting to be tied up further, Arya turned and ran. Bran ran after her, and although she was usually much faster, it was hard to run with her hands tied behind her. Bran caught up, and wrapped her up before tackling her, ensuring she didn’t hit the ground hard.

“Nice try,” Bran said, dusting himself off and pulling the rope out from his belt. He began tying Arya’s ankles, as she lay face down on the floor, defeated.

A voice called out. “Bran! Where are you? You're getting late for your lessons with the Maester!” The voice belonged to his mother, Catelyn.

“Not me too,” Bran muttered. He hastily finished tying Arya’s ankles together, before running off without another word.

“Mrph?” Arya asked, bewildered that her brothers would just leave her here.

Not wanting to be left alone under the Keep, she tried kicking away at the sloppy ankle tie. It took a few tries, but the rope soon loosened, and fell off. Sighing a breath of relief, Arya slowly stood up, bracing against the wall to help her. Once she was on her feet, she began slowly walking through the halls, trying to figure out how she would get out of this.

The blacksmith, she thought. They were on good terms, perhaps he would understand and help her.

Slowly, quietly, she snuck out of the Keep. Sticking to the walls, not wanting to be seen, she slowly made her way to the blacksmith’s hut. She had to block out her thoughts on his reactions, making sure to stay positive and trust that he would help her. And so she snuck, which was somewhat tricky without the use of her arms. Soon, she was right next to the hut. As she was about to round the corner, a person appeared in her way and she collided into him.

“Mph!” Arya exclaimed, the force of the collision causing her to fall backwards. As she braced for the impact of the floor, she felt herself being caught.

“Hrph?” she asked, confused. Looking up, she saw that it was the person who ran into her.

He was a much older man, not like any she had seen before. His eyes were drawn shut, his skin a very different shade than those around here. He wore a cloak, not quite like that of a Maester's, but similar. Arya looked up curiously at this odd foreign man.

The man gave a wrinkled smile, barely visible through his thick bushy beard, “My apologies,” the man said, in a shrill foreign accent. He helped her back to her feet. “Turn around, I will free you.”

Arya turned around, and felt a gust of air behind her. At the same time, the ropes loosened and fell away. She turned around to see they had been cut, a small blade in the hand of the mystery man.

Arya reached up to her mouth and tore away at the rags. “Thank you,” she muttered, barely able to make eye contact with the man.

“Oh, it was no trouble,” the man said, smiling warmly. “Though what, if I may ask, was the reason for a highborn lady such as yourself, running around with her arms bound?”

Arya hesitated, unsure as to how the man knew her. “I was, uh,” she stammered.

The man chuckled. “Oh, never mind, I know all about the games you and your brothers play down below the Keep.”

What? Arya thought. How would he know that?

“I know a lot more about you than you think,” the man said, as if reading her mind. “I know of your past, of your present, of your family.. and of your future.."

“My future?” Arya asked. “Nobody knows the future yet; it hasn’t happened.”

The man smiled once again. “You don't believe me? Well.. I can show you..”

The man gently reached out and grabbed Arya’s hand, covering it with both of his. He closed his eyes and remained silent for a moment. "Now close your eyes young one.. and think.. of .. nothing.."

Arya did as she was told, and for a few moments nothing happened. Suddenly, from out of thin air, images began flashing before her. She saw herself among crowds in a great square, they all cheered but she did not know why. She saw the waters of the sea, and a grand ship that sailed past her that seemed to dwarf her own boat. She saw a woman wearing a black garment, covered head to toe, only her eyes showed. This woman sat bound with rope and gagged with a bit fastened tight over the mask that covered her face. Lastly she saw a woman, pleading before her, her face was not clear but her voice was. She saw her hands rising and striking at this woman, and then the vision ended with a splatter of blood over her face. Arya screamed in shock and took a step back, she looked at the old man in horror.

The man no longer smiled, adopting a very grim expression in its place. He jerked open his eyes, revealing a pair of ominous grey pupils. "These hands will end many lives," he murmured. "But they will also bring about many challenges for you.

“What?” Arya was confused. “What does that mean?”

The man said nothing, but simply gazed longingly at the pool of ropes lying on the ground. Arya looked at them for a second, receiving no further visions, and returned her attention to the man.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Arya said. “Tell me the truth!” she demanded

The old man gave an enigmatic smile as he closed his eyes again. “But who knows..as you said, the future has yet to pass.” He turned to leave, leaving Arya with a confused look on her face. “Best of luck, lady Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Before Arya had time to ponder, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Arya Stark!” her mother exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Arya turned around to face her red-headed mother, Catelyn Stark. Born into House Tully, her red hair and fiery eyes were set her apart from most people in Winterfell. It gave her a certain beauty, even as she aged. Arya was now looking into those angry eyes, trying to process everything.

“Sorry mother, there was this man, and I-” she started.

“What man? The blacksmith?” Catelyn asked, interrupting her. “Stop bothering him and let him work.”

“No, it was someone else,” Arya muttered, but the point was moot.

“Come, we have much to do,” Catelyn ordered. “The King rides for Winterfell, he’ll be here in but a few days. We must prepare - oh!” She picked up Sansa's scarf that had been dropped on the floor. "Sansa has been going mad looking for this!" she admonished Arya.

Arya only nodded, uninterested by the news. All of her attention was on the old man, who had mysteriously vanished. What his prediction for her future meant, Arya had no idea. She said a quick prayer to the Old Gods, then followed her mother inside, hoping to forget everything she had seen.

a good start for the story. I'm looking forward to seeing more of arya and how she is being tied up. I am very curious how it goes on.

For the sake of convenience, I've altered the timeline slightly, meaning that Bran's fall has not happened yet, however the crew is almost ready to head out to King's Landing. While Bran will probably not be mentioned much in this story, feel free to assume he falls somewhere in between the 2nd and 3rd chapters.

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Chapter 2: Needle


We return to Winterfell once more, at the start of our second installment. This time, however, our point of interest will be within the main halls of the Keep. The decorations are rather simple, candles in various windows, the Stark family banner hanging from the walls. The grey, stone walls had little done to cover them up, another testament to the Starks’ lack of interest for extravagance.

It is within these halls that we find Bran and Arya walking. They were dressed very similar to how they were when they last played their game, minus Sansa’s scarf that Arya no longer had(you better believe Sansa kept that under close watch!). They moved briskly, past servants and housekeepers, through the long hallways.

“I wonder what Jon wants from us,” Bran asked quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Arya replied, “but it seemed like he wanted it to be a secret.”

Bran nodded, and they picked up the pace. While Jon was a bastard, Lord Ned Stark was gracious enough to give him his own room in the Keep regardless. Upon reaching it, Bran knocked. Hearing a “come in” from inside, they opened the door. Jon was dressed in a black leather tunic and pants, very similar to his usual attire. He was pacing back and forth, scratching at his thin facial hair as if in deep thought. He had a nervous look in his eyes, and gritted his teeth slightly as he paced.

“You wanted us, Jon?” Bran asked.

Jon stopped pacing, walking towards the door. “Yes, come in, come in,” he quietly ushered, closing the door behind them.

Arya and Bran watched Jon as he walked back and sat on his bed. Placing his elbows on his knees, he interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on top of them. Arya especially was getting a bad feeling about everything.

“Well,” she finally broke the silence, “what is it?”

Jon sighed deeply. “I’m joining uncle Benjen and the Night’s Watch,” he said. “I leave for the Wall tomorrow morning.”

Silence. Neither sibling could believe what they just heard. Jon was hardly a man at sixteen, and now he was running off to join the Night’s Watch at the Wall, and face who-knows-whats. It was something neither sibling could understand.

“I’m a bastard,” Jon explained, seemingly reading their minds. “I can’t hold lands or titles, or marry into a good family like you two can.” He smiled, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “At least I can make a name for myself at the Wall.”
This explanation didn’t make it any easier for the two. They both stared blankly at Jon, Arya fighting back tears.

“Hey, don’t cry now,” Jon said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “How about one more game, will that cheer you two up?”

They both nodded, and Jon pulled them in close. They shared a group hug for a moment, before making their way outside.


Today, their game took place in the woods just outside of Winterfell. It was about early afternoon, just after lunch, so the three were raring to go. Arya especially was feeling rather good about the situation, as she believed she was winning. Once again she had located the treasure without interruption, and once again she recovered it easily. Knowing that there were no windows for Bran to hide in, she carefully made her way back to her hiding spot.

She snuck so very carefully through the bushes, staying out of anyone’s potential line of sight. She had explored these woods enough by now to know them by heart, and expertly traversed her path back to her safe zone. This is too easy, she thought. No way they’re going to let me win without a challenge.

Now she approached the difficult part. From her location to her safe zone, there remained only a large clearing. Nowhere for her to really sneak, she would have to sprint down the middle and hope nobody catches her. Of course, being the fastest sprinter, she wasn’t too concerned, but she still had to think this through. Listening to her surroundings, and hoping nobody else was around, she went for it.

“Hey Jon, over here!” she heard Bran yell.

Shit, she thought, and started sprinting.

Glancing to her right, she saw Jon emerge from the bushes, barreling towards her at full speed. Arya wasn’t sure if she would beat him to the goal, so she continued sprinting, formulating a plan. Eventually realizing it wasn’t going to work, she quickly jumped into action. Once he was right on top of her, he dove at her. She kicked her feet in front of her and slid(baseball style) underneath him, and right into her safe zone. She had won.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, jumping up into the air. She tossed the treasure into the air at the same time in celebration.It flew upwards and arced out, landing just outside of the safe zone. Arya was too busy celebrating to notice, however Bran quietly walked over and picked it up. Smiling to Jon, they both nodded.

“Say, Arya,” Bran said.

“Yes?” Arya replied, turning to look at him, a smug smile on her face.

“It doesn’t look like the treasure is in the safe zone,” Bran said. “I have it right here.”

“What, no, I alre- mmph” Arya couldn’t finish her though as both brothers charged her.

Fight as she may, she was quickly wrestled to the ground. Her mouth was again stuffed with a rag as her wrists were tied behind her. She continuously cursed behind the cloths of her gag, knowing full well that she won but the boys would never admit it. Deciding to chill here instead of finding another place, Jon and Bran sat down in the previously known safe zone. To kill time, Bran also tied Arya’s knees, thighs, and tied her arms to her torso. These extra precautions were irrelevant, Bran’s ties were not rushed so Arya had no chance of escaping regardless.

“Arya,” Jon said, breaking the silence. “We know you won, but it wouldn’t be right to leave you without doing this to you one more time.”

Arya stared daggers at him, shifting in her bonds, but she couldn’t really be mad at him.
This was his last day here, after all.

“Alright Bran, untie her and let’s get back.” Jon stood up. “And Arya, I’ll be stopping by later tonight, just so you know.”

Arya cocked her head and looked at him confusedly, but he turned and left without another word. Arya hardly paid attention to Bran untying her as she thought about what he wanted.


It was after supper, and Arya was in her room, packing her things. She had to prepare for the family’s trip to King’s Landing, and that meant taking everything of value with her. Septa Mordane had made her redo her packing, as her clothes were folded incorrectly, so she spent her working time muttering curses under her breath. Her direwolf, Nymeria, was helping, so that was at least a positive.

Soon enough, Jon entered into her room. He smiled at her, a blanket wrapped around something in his hand.

“Septa Mordane says I have to do it again,” she sighed, folding another tunic. “‘Your things weren’t properly folded,’ she says. Who cares how they’re folded? They’re going to get all messed up anyway!”

Jon looked down at Nymeria. “It’s good you’ve got help,” he noted.

Arya smiled. “Watch.” She turned to her direwolf. “Nymeria, gloves.”

Nymeria stared back at her, blankly. Arya gestured with her head towards the gloves sitting on the table. Nymeria whined lightly, but didn’t move.

“Impressive,” Jon said.

“Shut up,” Arya responded. She once again faced her direwolf. “Nymeria, gloves,” she commanded, with more authority. Nymeria cocked her head, but remained sitting.

“I have something for you,” Jon interjected. “And it has to be packed very carefully.”

Arya’s eyes lit up. “A present?” she asked.

“Close the door,” Jon responded.

Arya ran to the door, looking around to make sure nobody was watching before she closed it. As she did, she watched Jon unravel the blanket on the bed, and produce a sai. It was a smaller knife, with two prongs on either side like a trident. It was short, no larger than the average dagger, but it was only sharpened at the top, where it came to a point as sharp as a pin.

“This is no toy,” Jon warned. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself.”

Arya took the hilt, and held it in front of her. “It’s so skinny,” she commented.

“So are you,” Jon responded, chuckling. “I had the blacksmith make it for you special. It can’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re quick enough.”

“I can be quick,” Arya said, a smug smile on her face.

“You have to work at it every day,” Jon warned. Arya nodded, continuing to test the weight of the blade. “How’s it feel,” he asked. “Do you like the balance?”

“I think so,” she said. She had never held a true sword before, though this one felt rather natural to her.

Jon bent down, and put a hand behind her head. “First lesson: stick them with the pointy end.”

Arya shook his hand off her head. “I know which end to use.”

Jon slowly stood up and smiled, admiring his sister and her new blade. “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

Arya carefully set the sai down on her bed, before jumping up and bear hugging Jon. He caught her, and they embraced for many moments.

“All the best swords have names, you know,” Jon said.

Arya thought for a second. “Sansa can keep her sewing needles,” she declared. “I have a Needle of my own.”

nice new chapter. sad for arya that she will not see Bran and Jon again for now. I'm curious what arya will expect in King's Landing. and by whom arya is tied up next. I can not wait for next chapter .

We're back, excellent. So the story has progressed as normal, the team has left Winterfell, and all of the drama along the Kingsroad has passed. We now find ourselves at the capital of Westeros, where the next chapter of our grand tale is told...

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When the Stark caravan first arrived at the Western gates of King's Landing, they were greeted by an awe-enducing sight. The Red Keep could be seen from a distance towering above the rest of the sprawling city. It certainly awed Arya, but that feeling soon passed once they entered the city. The citizens lived in poverty, the streets were covered in dead animals, feces and rotten food. Arya and her sister had to cover her face to keep the stench out, she concluded that King’s Landing was like jousting: better to be a spectator.

As royal guests, the Stark caravan remained far from the poorest areas of the city, Fleabottom. The city seemed to get cleaner as they approached the Red Keep. The structure was grander than Winterfell for sure; adorned with the colours and banners of houses Baratheon and Lannister, it served as a great reminder of who held the power in the Kingdoms.

After they had settled in their rooms, Arya decided to explore the Red Keep a bit. She walked down the halls, alone, wondering just how many people lived in this building alone. Surely almost as many people as the whole of Winterfell, maybe more. However there were two people she sorely missed, Jon and Bran. The former had gone to join the Night’s Watch, while the latter remained at Winterfell. Despite having servants and handmaidens available at all times, it just wasn’t the same. Nobody could replace her brothers, nothing could pass the time like their favourite games. Arya truly felt alone.

The only person that had come with her was her sister, Sansa. Not like it made much of a difference, the two were as different as fire and ice. Things only got worse after the fiasco with Joffrey and Lady, and Arya thought it was unfair of Sansa to blame her for what happened to Lady. Their father Ned had tried to patch things up with the two, but with very little success. Still, Arya needed to talk to someone, so she made her way over to her sister’s room, and knocked on the door.

“Yes?” a voice called from within.

“It’s Arya,” she responded.

A slight pause, followed by an audible sigh. “Come in.”

Arya opened the door and entered her sister’s room. In looks, as in behaviour, the two were polar opposites. Sansa had taken the red hair of her mother, a trait of house Tully, instead of the usual Stark brown. Her hair had been done up and braided like a southerner, Sansa clearly having adapted well to her new home. She had donned a light purple dress, and was sitting at her desk doing some writing. Arya only wore her usual boyish tunic, breeches and trousers. Her hair was open and messy.

“Can I help you?” Sansa asked, clearly not very amiable.

“I just wanted to talk,” Arya said, not moving from the door. “We’re sisters, are we not allowed to?”

“Fine,” Sansa sighed, only now turning up from her writing. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Well,” Arya said, taking a seat. “How are you liking the city?”

“It’s alright,” Sansa responded. She sat there and stared are Arya, saying nothing else.

Now it was Arya’s turn to sigh. “Look, I get that you’re mad about Lady. I lost Nymeria too, don’t think I don’t know what that feels like.”

Sansa stood up. “You don’t know what it feels like!” she yelled, getting right in Arya’s face. “Lady died! Joffrey hates me!! You can’t even begin to imagine what that feels like!”

“You’re right,” Arya said. “Your wolf was killed, and the Prince despises you, because you didn’t tell the King that Nymeria and I cut him.” Arya smiled “So thanks for that.”

“Huh?” Sansa asked. She turned away. “I didn’t do it for you.”

“No, but you did it anyways,” Arya continued. “So thank you.”

There was a moment of silence as Arya and Sansa both pondered the situation. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell the truth.” Sansa finally admitted.

“That’s ok,” Arya responded. “It was a hard choice.”

She stood up to hug her sister, who at first remained still, but soon returned the hug. Arya was now grateful for her sister’s ladylike habits. She smelled great, her hair was quite soft, her dress too.

“Nice dress,” Arya said after they broke off. “Very soft.”

“Do you like it?” Sansa said. “I’m sure there’s one like it in your size?”

“Oh, no I-” Arya was cut off.

“I know. I’ll have my handmaidens give you a makeover.” Sansa said. “Would you like that?”

“I -” Arya was about to reject, then paused. Surely this would be a good way to make amends with her sister. “I would like that, yes.”

Sansa smiled, and called in her handmaidens. It all seemed like a bad dream as Arya was whisked out of the room, her clothes removed, and her thrown into a bath. She was scrubbed down by multiple women, efficiently yet softly, as they messed around with her body. Her body was shaved, her nails cleaned and filed, her hair washed and brushed. The shaving bothered her a great deal, as when her now hairless body stepped out of the bath, she was freezing.

After being dried and having a basic robe thrown on her, she was returned to Sansa’s room, where a number of clothes had been laid out for her. Hands moved quickly yet expertly as some undergarments were slid onto her. She lifted one leg at a time as stockings were applied to her now hairless legs, which she did admit felt quite pleasant. A corset was put on her and tightened, forcing Arya to sit up straight and suck in her gut.

This is ridiculous, she thought. Nobody can even see this stuff.

She continued to sit through the torture as more stuff was thrown on her newly feminine body. Ointments and perfumes were dabbed on various parts of her body, as well as some in her hair. Her feet were slipped into shoes that were a lot tighter than her usual ones, and that elevated her heel, forcing her to remain on her toes. Finally, the dress was slid on and tied off at various points. It was an olive green colour, with a similar design to Sansa’s.

Her chair was turned around, allowing her to see herself. She could hardly believe what she saw. The face was the same, though the hair was way off, and the dress was like nothing she’d ever worn before. She looked like a… woman. Yes, Arya definitely looked like she could be a princess, and she absolutely hated it.

She put on a fake smile regardless. “Thank you,” she told the handmaidens. “You may go now.”

They all bowed and left the room. But a few moments later, Sansa came in. “Oh Arya!” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her cheeks. “I knew you could look like a lady.”

Arya laughed awkwardly. “Heh, I suppose you were right.”

“Oh this is wonderful,” Sansa said. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Arya’s hands were grabbed by Sansa as she was pulled to her feet. She had a bit of trouble standing with the shoes, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad.

“So, how often do you have one of those… makeovers?” Arya asked as they sat down at Sansa’s table.

“Oh, two, three times in a fortnight,” Sansa replied. “Aren’t they amazing?”

“It was certainly something,” Arya answered, not quite sure how to word her answer.

“Well, what would you like to do now that you’re a proper woman?” Sansa asked. “We could write some poetry, do some knitting, play a game…”

This piqued Arya’s interest. “What sort of game?”

Sansa smiled. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, got it?” Arya nodded. “Alright then.”

Sansa opened up her wardrobe and pulled out a box, Curious, Arya looked inside, and discovered it was filled with ropes. Not the kind that Bran normally carried, these looked soft, almost elegant.

“Let’s play a roleplaying game,” Sansa said. “One of us will be the evil person, who ties up the princess.”

Arya’s eyes widened. Although getting tied up wasn’t necessarily her favourite part of her games with Jon and Bran, it was certainly an important aspect. “How do you win?” Arya asked.

“Win?” Sansa seemed a bit confused by the question. “You win if you escape before the bad man can do anything to you.”

Arya nodded. “Makes sense. Ok, let’s play.”

Sansa smiled. “Alright. But since you’re new to being a lady, I think you should be the princess.” Sansa altered her voice, sounding deeper and more malicious. “Now turn around and give me your hands, if you know what’s good for you.”

Arya groaned, however stood up, turned around and put her hands behind her. She felt her wrists grabbed by Sansa’s soft hands, and soon encircled by the ropes. As Sansa quickly tied her wrists, Arya couldn’t help but notice that even her ropework was ladylike. The rope was soft, tight yet comfortable. The knots were well placed, leaving Arya more or less stuck in her soft bindings.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Arya said in a heightened voice, trying her best to get into character.

“I will if you’d stop talking,” Sansa replied, an evil grin on her face. She held up some fabric to Arya’s face. “Now open up, sweet girl.”

Arya decided to play along, and opened up her mouth so that it could accept the fabric. It was larger than Arya expected, as Sansa struggled to cram it all in her mouth. It tasted stale, but a different kind of stale than the cloth she was usually gagged with; she didn’t really like this one at all. As Sansa produced another cloth, this one with a large knot in the center, she moaned as the knot was shoved in between her teeth, the cloth tied behind her head. She could feel the fabric in her mouth being pushed back, but it was too large to get very far.

“In your mouth is yesterday’s undergarments,” Sansa said, breaking character. “I hope they don’t taste too bad.”

Arya was confused, but had no time to ponder it as Sansa shoved her. She fell backwards and landed softly on Sansa’s bed, unharmed. Sansa quickly flipped her onto her stomach, and Arya could resist very little as Sansa forced her elbows together. She cried out, more in shock than in pain, as she was flexible enough to endure it. She felt more ropes being tied around her elbows, and she buried her face into the bed.

Is she still angry at me? Arya thought.

She was quickly lifted up as Sansa dragged her to the open wardrobe. Pushing clothes aside, Arya saw that it went much deeper than she first imagined. Sansa pushed clothes out of the way, leaving a nice hole which she pushed Arya into. Arya stood there silently as Sansa spread her legs apart, and tied them each to a corner of the inside of the wardrobe. Arya’s feet were now beginning to get uncomfortable in the shoes, especially now that her legs were spread.

“I think you’ll like this one,” Sansa said, as she stepped into the wardrobe and behind Arya.

She felt more rope being wrapped around her elbows, as well as a bit brushing by the back of her head. She looked up and saw the bar that the clothes were hung from, and feared the worst. Sure enough, she felt her elbows rise up and away from her body, and she bent forward to compensate. Her arms rose until she could feel the ropes connected to the bar, at which point she felt Sansa tie off the ropes and step in front of her.

“Isn’t this fun?” Sansa asked. “Ok, time for you to escape.”

Sansa produced a scarf, the same one that Arya had stolen from her previously, and tied it tight over her mouth and nose, concealing the gag. Sansa kissed Arya on her masked nose, before shutting the door to the wardrobe.

Darkness engulfed Arya, save for a small hole from which she could see her sister return to her desk and continue writing, as if nothing was different. Arya uselessly tugged on the ropes, but found they all held. Her arms were trapped behind her and tied to the bar above her, her body doubled over to prevent her shoulders from popping out. Her legs had been spread and tied to different corners of the wardrobe, making standing increasingly uncomfortable. While Arya had never been an escape artist, she decided that now was a good time to start.

Her struggles were short lived as she heard someone else enter the room. Through her small hole, she saw a dark-skinned woman, wearing the same garments as the handmaidens. Was this one Sansa’s personal girl?

“Can I help you, Lady Sansa?” the girl asked. Her accent was thick, not like anything from around King’s Landing.

“Yes, I think my hair could use a brush,” Sansa replied, standing up and moving to her mirror.

Arya could just barely see the dark-skinned woman at the corner of her hole, completely oblivious that there was a young woman tied up in Sansa’s wardrobe. Not like Arya wanted to be discovered, so she slowed her breathing and made sure to remain very still, in order to not attract attention. She remained that way for what felt like forever, as the girl slowly and methodically brushed Sansa’s hair.

Finally, with Arya’s legs beginning to shake and her arms starting to go numb, she watched the dark-skinned woman leave. Sansa closed the door, and Arya was almost blinded by the light as the door was opened. Sansa said nothing as she quickly untied the wrist and elbow ropes, leaving Arya to do the rest.

“Keep the clothes,” Sansa said as she sat down. “And tell nobody about this, or I will ruin your life.”

For the first time, Arya actually felt afraid of her sister. She hurriedly untied her ankles, not even giving herself time to stretch before quickly walking out of the room. Though it wasn’t easy to walk in the shoes, she moved as quickly as she could to her room, shutting the door behind her. She disregarded being ladylike as she flopped onto her bed, rubbing at her wrists.

Welcome to King's Landing.

until now is that my favorite chapter. I really liked Arya's bondage . and arya interactions with sansa. it seems that sansa is still angry. I am very curious how it goes on. and I'm looking forward to the next chapter .

Sadly final exam season has left me no time to write. Hopefully I'll have a continuation up by the weekend.

OK. thanks for the information. let you the time that you need. I am patiently waiting for the new part and looking forward to it .

Unfortunately the Christmas season left me less time than I'd have liked to produce another chapter. While this was not meant to be the entirety of the 4th section, I reckon I should post something. The next part(or rather, the second half of this part) will hopefully not be delayed too long...

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Chapter 4: Shinryu(part 1)

These past weeks in the Capital had been rather eventful for Arya. Ever since her and Sansa’s first game, Sansa had invited Arya back on multiple occasions. These invitations were not the typical ‘send her a nice letter, she prepares herself and arrives at her leisure’ invitations. Arya was lucky if Sansa’s handmaiden, Sydonia, didn’t come and literally drag her out of her chambers some days. One thing Arya knew for sure, was that her sister was very adamant. Besides, faced with the prospect of boredom and this, Arya decided she preferred being trussed up and playing 'The Silent Sister.' Sort of.

Fortunately for Arya, Sansa had retired the wardrobe tie that had left her so drained the first time. The majority of Arya’s time at her sister’s mercy was spent tied to a chair, forced to watch as Sansa knitted, explaining every detail of her work such that Arya could follow along. Of course, every session was preceded by another full body makeover, one that Arya found naturally worthless; Sansa naturally insisted, claiming that this is what proper ladies do. Sansa was thoughtful enough to provide her sister with multiple dresses and shoes to wear, so that she would never be lacking when the time came.

Speaking of clothing, Sansa had grown out of the idea of using bits of her clothes to silence Arya. Rather, on their third session, Sansa surprised Arya by presenting her new gag that she had commissioned. It was a large leather ball fixed to a large panel on one side - which covered the face from the bridge of the nose to under the chin - and had two leather straps joining it around the head. Sansa found her sister much more pleasant once the rubber ball was inserted in her mouth, and the straps tied behind her head. Although not very elegant, Sansa justified it with claims that Arya had "a boyish face," and should therefore be covered up.

Arya had enough. She had been paying close attention to Sansa’s instructions while she knitted and sewed, and learned a thing or two. Over the past two days, she had taken one of the darker dresses and had managed to modify it into a costume, fashioned on those she heard assassins of Essos wore. The ninja wore an all black outfit which covered its wearer from head to toe, leaving only their eyes open. Arya's dress was an inelegant patchwork of brown, grey and black, that did cover most of her body, but clearly not the same thing. Once the dress donned and the hood drawn up, escape was possible. Arya knew that Sansa planned to have her handmaiden come for her today, so she planned her escape around that.

Arya put on the dress and began to walk out of her room. Hearing the footsteps of Sansa’s handmaiden, she briefly increased her pace, however not so much that she’d draw attention to herself. She could hear the handmaiden by her room, no doubt looking for Arya, however she would find nothing. Arya couldn’t help but snicker to herself as she continued her brisk pace. She took a deep breath, enjoying herself as she outsmarted her sister, until a hand on her shoulder took the air right out of her.

“Wha-” Arya said, spinning around.

“Nice try, my lady,” Sansa’s handmaiden, Sydonia, responded. “But Lady Sansa was very demanding when she asked for your presence.”

Arya had little time to speak before she was swiftly picked up and thrown over Sydonia’s shoulder. The tall, dark-skinned woman was surprisingly strong, lifting Arya up with ease. Arya decided there was little purpose in fighting, as the handmaiden would likely waste little time in catching her if she decided to run. For the time being she accepted her fate, saving her energy for later.

The pair soon found themselves in Sansa’s room, where Arya was dumped onto the floor. She landed on her feet, however with Sansa, Sydonia, and a another handmaiden, she realized she would be stuck here for a while.

“Arya,” Sansa said in a very friendly tone, almost singing her name. “Did you try to leave? Don’t you enjoy our game?”

“No, I do enjoy it,” Arya nervously responded. “I was just hoping to get some fresh air.”

“Oh you wanted to go outside! Surely we could take our game outdoors, to the gardens perhaps?” Sansa inquired, though the question was rather rhetoric.

“No, no, the game can stay inside,” Arya answered.

“Splendid,” Sansa said. She clapped her hands once. “Ladies?”

And so the process began again, where Sansa’s handmaidens whisked Arya off to the bath of doom, to torture her with their methods of madness. Once cleaned, trimmed, shaved and all that, she was rushed back to Sansa’s room, where she directed her handmaidens on how to dress her sister. The dress chosen today was a light blue colour, though it was much shorter than the usual ones, ending about midway down Arya’s calf. She felt very exposed, looking down and seeing how much of her white stocking-clad legs were on display.

“What is this?” Arya asked Sansa. “I might as well be completely naked.”

“This, my dear sister, is called practicality,” Sansa replied. “It’ll make what’s coming next much easier for the both of us.”

Arya was stood up, and the handmaidens worked in conjunction to turn her around and force her arms behind her. While Sansa tied the rope around her wrists, Sydonia approached her from the front with that despicable rubber ball. Sansa sighed and gave Sydonia a death stare as she opened her mouth to accept the ball. It was rather large, and even with Arya’s gaping mouth, it was still a bit of a struggle to fit it all in. Once it was snugly behind her teeth, the straps were tied behind Arya’s head, securing the ball in her mouth. As if planned, Sansa had just finished tying Arya’s elbows at the same time.

Hands all over her, she was swiftly turned around, nearly tripping on those damned shoes. She was walked to Sansa’s large bed, which she was roughly shoved onto. She hit the soft mattress hard, making no other movements as Sansa grabbed her ankles and pulled them up onto the bed. She felt the ropes begin to wrap around her ankles, and was momentarily thankful for the stockings - they did a nice job of cushioning her legs against the rope.

Arya was quickly shocked back to the present as she felt her dress being hoisted up further. She groaned behind her gag, turning around to see her dress pushed up to her knees. She began to shake her head and rock about as Sansa tied more rope above her knees.

“I know how good of a runner you are,” Sansa casually explained, reaching in between Arya’s legs to cinch the tie, which made her nervous. “I need to tie you up extra tight so you can’t run.”

Arya buried her face in her sister’s bed. Sansa was clearly mad. As a lady, she should know just how improper it is to have this much leg showing. Surely a lady like her would understand why dresses were made the way they were. Arya could only imagine the kinds of things that went through that twisted head of her sister. Mostly thoughts of Joffrey, probably.

“With how fit you are, you would have an amazing body if you just worked on your posture,” Sansa noted, walking around and observing her trussed up sister. “Perhaps one day, when I’m Queen, I’ll create dresses that will let you show off those runner’s legs of yours. The men would go crazy for you.”

Yup, she’s lost it, Arya thought.

“Alright, time to finish this off,” Sansa said.

Arya kept her face buried in the mattress, preferring not to know what was coming next. She felt Sansa messing with the rope around her ankles, before they were suddenly lifted off the bed and her legs bent. She felt rope tied off at her wrists, and found her legs to be stuck bent, her feet resting in her hands.

“Very nice,” Sansa commented. “These are such nice shoes you’re wearing, they deserve to be shown off.” (for the visually inclined, they’re a matching shade of blue, with sparkles, and a 2-3 inch heel)

Arya finally lifted her face out of the mattress, and turned to look at Sansa. A quick test of this new rope found it to be sturdy, naturally. Although not uncomfortable yet, Arya predicted this position would get unpleasant before long. Contemplating this, Arya watched as Sansa grabbed what looked like twine off her dresser, before walking back to her. Sansa gently turned Arya’s head so she was facing the mattress again.

“I asked the handmaidens to let me do your hair,” Sansa explained. “I think you’ll find this design quite unique.”

Arya could only lay there and wait, hoping that Sansa didn’t have anything malicious planned. She could feel Sansa pulling on her hair as she braided it, and felt the pieces of twine being braided in as well. They felt solid, her natural hair rather weak, and assumed Sansa was using them to help in creating some sort of structure. Her thoughts were demolished as her head was violently pulled back, causing her to scream behind her gag. She felt her hair being pulled back, and could swear it was now touching her feet. Sansa letting go of the ropes confirmed this, Arya’s hair and twine combo tightly tied to her feet, her head forced back.

“If you had only taken better care of your hair, the twine would be unnecessary,” Sansa pointed out. “Had I not added it in, I may have ripped your whole head off.” She laughed at her own joke, while Arya could do little more than focus on her breathing. It was hard to do through the leather panel, but the slit near her nostrils at least made it possible.

Never mind, NOW she’s lost her mind, Arya thought, her neck already beginning to get stiff.

Sansa turned to her handmaidens. “Ladies, you’re free to leave,” Sansa instructed. “Give me some alone time with my dear sister.”

Arya watched as the handmaidens left, and Sansa closed the door behind them. Now it was just the two of them, and Arya could only tell one thing: it was going to be a long afternoon.

good and exciting cliffhanger . I am very curious what sansa intends to do with arya. probably arya will not like that. That was a very good new chapter. and I like the position in the arya tied up is. especially that their hair is tied up a her feet . I am looking forward to the next chapter.