Knock, knock.
The rapping of knuckles against wood dragged me from the depths of sleep. I groaned, my limbs heavy as stone as I threw off the cotton covers. The bed they had given me was too soft, I liked my beds rough, though maybe it was just because I had grown accustomed to them.
"Seven hells," I muttered, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I stumbled toward the door. The stone floor was cold beneath my bare feet, and the morning air bit at my naked chest. Westeros was a damned cold place, even inside this monstrosity they called Harrenhal.
"Captain, some people are here to see you."
The voice belonged to Tychos, one of my most trusted Myrmidons. I could hear the weariness in his tone. Thankfully I had had a good night's rest, and I'm sure Tychos' guard duty would change soon and he'd also go of to bed.
I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, feeling the tangles beneath my fingers. The Old Lion worked fast, it seemed. I had barely laid my head down, and already he was sending his people to my door.
With a heavy sigh, I turned the iron knob and pulled the door wide open, unconcerned with my state of undress. In Essos, a man's body was nothing to hide. If these Westerosi were offended by the sight of flesh, that was their problem, not mine.
My two men parted like water before a ship's prow, revealing those who had arrived in the early hours of this miserable morning. A Lannister guard stood tall in blood red armor which reminded me of the damn faceless which I had met yesterday. Beside him was the small servant girl I had noticed watching me when we first rode into Harrenhal—the one that looked like a boy.
"Rytsas."
Weasel (Arya) POV
This morning had differed from usual. Normally, I would begin cleaning alongside other servants before being called to serve Lord Tywin as his cupbearer, typically at lunch or dinner or during meetings. But this morning, before I could even begin my work—scrubbing the endless stone floors of Harrenhal until my hands were raw and bleeding—a Lannister soldier had come to find me.
"Girl," he had barked. "Lord Tywin has a task for you."
The soldier had merely thrust a stack of books and papers into my arms and commanded me to follow him.
I followed the soldier in silence, my mind racing through every possible reason Lord Tywin might have given me the books, Tywin could read perfectly well so was this for someone else. My questions would soon be answered.
We entered the Wailing Tower, which had been taken over by the newly arrived sellswords—the Myrmidons, I had overheard from the guards. Their strange banners now hung from the windows: a golden ant with a spear and sword crossed like an X above it.
The tower was crawling with men, each corridor filled with soldiers standing guard or talking amongst themselves in a language I couldn't understand. They wore armor unlike anything I'd seen before—not the heavy plate of Westerosi knights, but bronze shin guards, arm bracers, chest plates, and helmets with horsehair crests or at least what looked like horseehair.
They fell silent as we passed, their eyes following us—following me—with suspicious glares. I kept my head down, clutching the books tighter to my chest. While I wasn't easily scared, being stared at by men twice and triple my age that were reaching for their weapons wasn't exactly comforting.
The Lannister soldier led me to the top floor where it looked like six chambers had been prepared for the sellsword officers. We approached the farthest door, guarded by two Myrmidon men, each gripping a long spear their tips made of steel, the men were motionless, looking more like stones of flesh than living men.
"We are here on orders of Lord Tywin," the Lannister man announced, his tone suggesting he was used to doors opening at those words.
The Myrmidon guards exchanged a look, the first movement I had seen from them before one nodded and rapped his knuckles against the thick wooden door.
"Captain, some people are here to see you," he called out in accented Common Tongue.
For a long moment, there was no response, and I shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable under the gaze of these foreign men. Then came the sound of movement from within, followed by the creaking of the door being pulled inward.
And that was the first time I truly saw Achilles, Captain of the Myrmidons.
He stood in the doorway like some hero from legend, like all of the stories which dad had told me about. His hair was the color of snow which hung disheveled around his face and fell to the end of his neck. His eyes were the color of steel, gazing at everything with impunity. Oh and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Winter was coming, and Westeros was already colder than Essos on average so how in the name of the Old Gods was he shirtless.
His chest was clean and smooth, which was unexpected for someone of his profession where scars and battles would have been second nature which meant two things, either he was really lucky or he had never been cut by steel.
"Rytsas," he said, the word unfamiliar to my ears.
One of the guards whispered something to him that I couldn't catch, and the captain scratched his head, looking briefly annoyed.
"By the gods, this Common Tongue thing is a hassle," he finally said, his accent thick and strange. His gaze settled on me, and I felt like I was about to die at any second, that sentiment vanished as he smiled at me.
"So you're the servant the Old Lion sent," he continued, studying me with those piercing eyes. "You're young, what, nine namedays? How come you can read?"
I hesitated, for a moment the words catching in my throat. "I was taught by my father, my lord," I replied, my head lowering a bit, even though I myself hadn't really noticed it.
"Please don't call me 'my lord,'" he said with a grimace. "It just sounds weird. Besides, lords are always quite bitchy and whiny, aren't they, Tychos?"
He directed the last part to one of his guards.
"Yes, Captain, they are very bitchy," the guard responded with a grin.
"See, even Tychos agrees that lords are bitches," Achilles said, the grin across his face widening into a full smile. For an instant, he seemed almost boyish, which made me realize, he was young. He was older than Robb by a few years but he was still young. "Wait, what were we talking about again? Oh yeah, the reading thing. Well, come in. I guess the sooner we get started, the better for everyone."
In the name of the old gods.
What?!