White Thorn | On Hold

Chapter Fourteen: Training

"—Arya."

"Huh?" She rolled over, inhaling the soft woodsy scent, pausing when she realised what was bothering her. It almost sounded like Flynn was calling her—but then what would he be doing in her bedroom?

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead."

It was Flynn. There was no mistaking it.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Then she froze, having realised where she was. Not her room, but Flynn's. It was similar to hers, yes, but there were a few distinct differences. It was bigger—far bigger. His covers were those of a Fifth Years', his desk much larger with a lot more work piled atop it, and he had an entire common room crammed in the middle of the room—sofas and all. Probably a benefit of being the second Commander of the White Division. "What's going on?"

He stared down at her, a slight smile on his face. "Forgetful, much?" he asked. "You asked me to wake you up."

"I remember that," she said softly, still half-asleep. "But why am I in your room?"

"Well, you conked out around nine-ish and promptly became an immovable snoring rock." He sniggered, clearly enjoying the embarrassment written across her face. "I doubted you'd like it if I carried you across the school again, so I took the sofa."

"Such a gentleman," she remarked.

Flynn threw a bundle of clothes at her in reply. "Come on, Ari-bear," he said. "It's time we got to morning training."

One look at Flynn's alarm clock told it was five o'clock. The exact time he'd said he'd wake her up at. Punctuality seemed to be his strong suit, whereas Arya's seemed to be the opposite. Then again, she'd always had a nose for trouble, unlike her straight-laced companion.

"Where'd you get these from?" she asked, pawing through the clothes he'd shoved into her arms. They looked alarming familiar, as did the plain underwear.

"Your room, obviously."

She took her time to mull over the implications of that statement, her ears burning as she pulled her knees into her chest, hiding her bright red face.

"What's wrong?" Flynn asked.

"You went through my underwear draw," she said, silently wondering how clueless he was. "You saw my panties..."

"Well, obviously."

Arya sighed—his cluelessness confirmed—figuring she might as well get dressed into the loose sweats that'd been chosen out for her, quickly changing in Flynn's bathroom. Surprisingly enough, Flynn had a good taste in clothing. One which aligned closely with her own. So she wasn't ashamed to walk out of his bathroom and out of his room wearing her new outfit.

"You ready?" he asked.

"I was born ready."

"Why do I get the feeling you say that a lot?"

"Because I do."

"Ah."

She smiled impishly. "Yeah. That'd be it."

"Come on," he said, turning away and striding down the corridor. "We've got some training to do."

"Oh goodie."

***

Flynn had gladly told her all about the place they were going to be training when she'd asked. It was apparently an assault course built when the school first began training warriors for the frontline, made from locally sourced wood—they were in a forest—and healthy amounts of barbed wire—who ever said barbed wire was hazardous to one's health—not to mention numerous pitfalls and a thousand odd tyres. She'd have been happy with, "It's an assault course."