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    Summary

    She wasn't exactly spoilt for choice of drinks, and just went with another glass of wine, but drank it too quickly and found herself coughing and flurrying about in an attempt to avoid getting wine on her dress. The bars only other occupant turned to her, disturbed by the noise. It was the Baratheon bastard, one of his brows cocked in an amused way.

    “Alright?” He laughed, his voice deep and his accent nothing like the rest of the Baratheon/Lannister clan. Something about it felt warmer, but it wasn't hard to be friendlier than the Lannister’s.

    “Fine.” She snapped with a bit too much bite, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the red stain on her dress uselessly.

    “Not sure that'll come out, m’lady.”

    “M’lady?” Arya whirled on him incredulously. “Who exactly do you think I am?”

    He chuckled and took a big swig of his drink. “Not a bastard, that's for sure.”

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