Chapter Text
She had decided to go and meet him at White Harber, so she went and traveled with the soldiers who were supposed to meet him there. It had been so long, she couldn't wait anymore. Last time she had seen him was an eternity ago, he was only a boy of six and ten dreaming about the Night's Watch. But he was a King now.
She arrived a few days before his boat did.
The guard announced his arrival, as well as the queen's, followed by her many names and titles.
The guard's speech was interrupted by a loud cry, high up in the sky, and then suddenly two dragons were flying over the castle. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the marvellous and gigantic creatures. She knew that dragons had returned with the rise of the silver haired queen, but seeing them for real made her stomach flutter. They truly were impressive, and she could not wait until she would see one of them breathe fire.
How dangerous would you look, riding one of those.
But then the door opened, and suddenly, the mythical beasts didn't exist anymore.
She could not remember ever being so nervous than when he passed the gates, he did not know she was there.
She saw his face first, and their eyes met. He now looked like a fully grown man, like the King in the North he was. For a moment they just stood there, far away from each other, trying to realize that the situation was real, that they were truly both reunited and safe.
She felt a tear run down her cheek, but didn't wipe it off.
They both asked themselves if they were not dreaming.
People around her started whispering things she could not understand, and she didn't care.
He made a few steps towards her, and she found herself unable to move.
He is here. Jon is here.
She saw him smile, and started running in his direction.
They locked each other in the tightest embrace, and for a moment the world stopped, and everything looked unreal. The cold air freezing her cheeks didn't exist anymore, the people around disappeared, she realized that her feet were no longer on the ground.
“I've missed you, little sister.”
“I've missed you too, big brother.”
Her smile was so big that her cheeks actually started aching. He put her down to the floor again, and their gazes locked. For long seconds, they just examined each other's features, mentally noted what had changed and what had not. They had grown a lot, he was a man, she was a woman. But that sparkle of life in their eyes had not disappeared.
He pointed at Needle.
“You still have it.”
“You offered it to me, it's the most precious thing I own.”
For once, she did not care about how ridiculous she may sound, the only thing that mattered was his presence.
Her look traveled to the dragon queen who was quite far, greeting soldiers, and Arya mentally noted that the rumors of her beauty were far from exaggerated. She was indeed the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, with her heart shaped face, plumped lips, big purple eyes. She was averagely tall, and her curves and generous chest could be guessed, even under the many layers of expensive leather and furrs. She also looked fierce but innocent, a look that surely took the hearts of many men and women before. She had something almost… magical to her looks, like she did not belong in this world.
It made her think about her own appearance, her long face, her short strands of chestnut hair, her small and skinny frame.
Has anyone ever looked at me the way all people seem to look at her?
She tried to convince herself that she did not care, but deep inside, she kind of did. Was it her womanly pride? Arya did not know.
Hot Pie, Hot Pie once said I was pretty, she thought before cursing herself for how ridiculous she sounded.
Hot Pie, what an achievement
Doesn't matter, if my face is not pretty enough, I can still put on another.
But it won't be Arya Stark, a little voice in her head answered.
Doesn't matter
They all headed to the great hall. She didn't know all the people he had come with, but she saw the Hound from a far, slightly nodding at her in what looked like pride.
He's alive too. Damn, he's tough to kill.
They all took their places in the great hall, her brother pulled a chair and invited her to sit at the great table next to him, the dragon queen at their side, and all the others on either side of the room.
“Ar...M'lady.”
Gendry
There was a moment of silence, and she spoke.
“You're still alive”, she said coldly.
She had not forgotten the way he had hurt her when he decided to leave her for the NIght's Watch. He had changed too, she noticed. There was this look in his eyes, arrogance, something new on his face.
An old man patted his shoulder, quickly urged him to sit down.
“Let me do the introductions”, the old man said.
He said he was Ser Davos Seaworth, the onion knight of Flea Bottom, and introduced Gendry as the bastard of Robert Baratheon.
"And you must be the Lady Arya? Now Gendry, leave her alone, we've got more important matters to discuss.", the Knight said before slightly bowing his head.
That's why the witch wanted him. Because he's the son of a king.
Arya had heard stories of what blood magic was able to do, back in Braavos, when she was a blind beggar listening to what people around her mumbled and chatted about. She had also heard stories in taverns when she got back to Westeros, different versions of the same story, told by soldiers. All of the versions included a red-haired witch burning a Baratheon heir.
Well, apparently she decided not to burn that one.
She didn't know what to feel about him being here, but something in his attitude had changed.
It was quite strange for her to picture the fat king being his father. True, that his raven locks and blue eyes were quite similar, but the fat King wore his name just fine, and Gendry's body was quite lean, although the the Usurper was said to be quite good-looking in his youth.
But Gendry had in no way the allure her bastard brother had. He had this kind of new, arrogant expression he did not have berfore, and he inspired no respect, unlike Jon.
No, he did not look like the son of a king.
They spent two days in the little castle, and Jon freed some of his time to hear about her story. Although she did not want to tell him at first, in order not to think about the past anymore, she could not help but telling him that she had traveled with a man named Yoren, who was supposed to bring her home, but was killed before he could. She also told him that she met a man on her way, that this man had killed for her.
When she said these words, Jon looked a bit concerned.
“He killed for you?”, he asked, confused and worried.
“Yes, because I had saved his life, along with the lives of both his companions. He said something about stealing three lives to the 'Red God', so he asked me to name three people for him to kill.”, she said shrugging her shoulders.
In all her training to become Faceless, Arya had never heard again of this 'deal'. None of her Masters had asked anyone who had saved someone's life to 'name' someone for them to kill in order to give the stolen life back to the Red God. With time, she figured that maybe Jaqen had done that in order to gain her trust, but she did not understand why he wanted her to trust him in the first place, or why he had wanted her to become faceless.
“And that's all he asked of you? ”
Arya understood Jon's concern immediately.
“Yes, that's all he asked. He told me to come to Braavos, across the narrow sea, in order to become as good of an assassin as he was. After I refused so I could find one of you, we parted and the Hound found me. He wanted to bring me to Robb, then to my aunt Lysa, but he was injured in a fight with Brienne of Tarth, I believe you know her. I left him to die, and I wanted to go to the Wall to meet you, but the only ship I found was heading to Braavos. I found this man again, and he made me enter the House of Black and White as an acolyte in order to become a Faceless assassin. Training was hard, -Jon's expression grew more and more concerned, so she reassured him quickly-, but he never abused me the way you think, Jon. I trained with different people, learned different ways to kill, to fight. I learned how to change my face, I learned how to lie.”
When he had first seen her two days ago, it first hit Jon how Arya's body had changed. She could not be mistaken for a boy anymore, although her hair was as short as his, which made them look like one another in the opposite gender even more than when they were children. Her childhood nicknames “Arya Horseface” or “Arya Underfoot” did not suit her anymore, although he never thought they really did. Her face was now more feminine, and she was I her very own way, a rare beauty. Not like Daenerys, but a winter, northern wolf-bred like, fierce beauty. Although he knew she didn't care about being pretty.
Now that she had told him about her hard training, he noticed her body was more muscular than it used to be, but one would need to watch her fight before in order not to underestimate her. She was still rather small and skinny for her age.
They spent half of the night telling each other about their adventures, and were both glad to notice that even after all these years apart, they did not at all loose their complicity, even after everything they both had to go through.
*
“That's bullshit and you know it!”
“Shut the fuck up! If I tell you to lean down not to take a stroke, you fucking lean down. I'm better than you at this, this is not like the fancy sword dance you learned with your fancy teacher! This is not sword fight, your only weapons are your fists. Look at how small you are! You better escape the shots than give them, it'll keep you out of trouble!”
They had been traveling with the head of the group, they had now set camp for the night. Like every night since they left their little castle in White Harber, she was training with the Hound. They had been traveling for two moon by now, and would reach Winterfell in a few days.
The Hound prepared himself to give another punch.
Arya escaped it easily by jumping to the side, but he gave her a harsh kick in the back.
He tried to hit her again, but missed her and she moved quickly in front of him to hit him in the balls with her knee.
He anticipated and took her head with his giant hands and crashed it against his armored torso. She fell down, back first, to the muddy ground.
“I told you a thousand times you were too small for that!”, he spat out.
“Shut up! I was just not quick enough!”, she hissed back.
“We're done for today. You're not listening anymore.”, he said, clearly annoyed.
“I can still fight, just remove your armor and we'll be equal!”
“Equal?! Just look at how tiny you are! And you can't stand on your feet anymore!”
“That's because you're so damned angry with me you can't hold your strokes!”
“You asked for a fight! 'I haven't had a good fight in weeks' you said!”
The way he imitated her voice made her even more angry, and she jumped back on her feet, ignoring the back pain she had been feeling since they started training a few days ago.
“All this is fucking useless. I'm going to loose all my fighting techniques because you're too damned stubborn.”
“I'm better than you, you're the stubborn one not admitting it. And in just a few days you'll be able to fight with your beloved Knight cunt again, you won't loose your fancy sword fighting abilities.”
“Aw, now you're angry because our fancy sword fight is better than your brutal, style-less sword mess!”
“Shut our damned mouth. I can beat either one of you anytime.”
“I'd pay good money to see that.” She spat, with an angry smile.
She went away and reached the cave that contained the hot springs where every one had bathed before. She enjoyed bathing, it was the only time of the day she could be alone with her thoughts. Moreover, she had not had a warm bath since they left White Harber. She removed her many layers of clothing, and quickly entered the foaming water. She stretched in the water, although the soreness of riding all day and fighting afterward never seemed to go away, even if she had been careful about stretching after every time they trained.
The hot bath felt good, but the pain remained. She roughly scraped the bar of soap she had on her pale skin, put it away, leaned down and closed her eyes. She thought about her training.
That Hound is going make me really angry someday if he keeps knocking me to the ground every damned time
I'd like to spar with Jon, he seems pretty good, although Brienne is not bad either. The Hound is way too big and stubborn for me to learn anything from a session with him.
But the best teacher still remains with Jaqen.
For the first time since she left Braavos, she thought about Jaqen. Not about what he taught her, but about him. Her discussion with Jon had made her wonder. She had never taken the time to think about him, about who he was and what his motives were.
Why did he offer me those lives? That's not a common thing by the Faceless Men.
She believed very little that it was to gain her trust in order to later transform in a killing machine for a brotherhood, she felt like there was something more. She had never thought about it in this way, back in Braavos, trying to annihilate 'Arya Stark' as well as she could. She used to allow herself to think very little, and the only thing she was able to worry about was how she would get her vengeance.
But Jaqen… she never truly thought about him. There was a time when she admired him, then came the time during her training when she hated him, despite being aware that everything he was doing was in order to transform her into the person she aspired to be. But why did he not kill her, and why did he allow her to go?
And when he sent the Waif to kill me, did he know I would win the fight? How could he know that?
And when we met, how did he know I had the strength to become faceless?
The more she thought about him, the more this man intrigued her.
He always wore the face he was in when I first met him around me...
If he really wanted me to become No One, and 'Arya Stark' to disappear, why did he do so?
Well, I think we'll never know.
He had always been a confusing man, speaking in riddles and always gazing at her with this mysterious look on his face. Sometimes there was a hint of pride in this look, sometimes a glimpse of surprise. For a brief moment, she missed the way she felt when he was around. Invulnerable, almost...safe.
She missed his eyes full of mystery, his smirk of satisfaction when she achieved something or when she gave him an unexpected answer, his exotic accent when he used common tongue.
But she quickly brushed those thoughts away, thinking that they would not lead her anywhere good.
*
During the whole travel, Gendry had tried to look for Arya, go and talk with her. But she would only respond coldly or even ignore his questions and ride alongside the bastard King. Apparently she got used to being called 'my lady', or 'm'lady', in the young smith's case.
Her constantly annoyed face and his pushing behaviour did not go unnoticed, and Jon felt protective.
She had recounted him how their paths had parted, and Jon had seen her trouble to keep a straight face, despite all the training she had by the Faceless Men, meaning she was really not about to forget about it. He knew her very well, and could still read in her like in an open book, and he could see what she was thinking whenever she was talking about him.
Betrayal. It's a wonder he's still in one piece.
Indeed, Jon had also seen how good she was at sparring and fighting, and although he did not know Gendry very well, seeing him trying to hit on his fierce sister always made him inwardly chuckle, knowing what a hard time he was having, actually feeling a little bit of pity for him.
But his interest in Arya made him wonder if he was really the betrayer she seemed to depict, or if her description was influenced by the situation she was in, a young girl watching her only friend and closest thing to family willingly walk away from her for some red woman not wearing that much red fabric.
He knew that he was a bastard, just like him. He also know that he worked as a smith back in Flea Bottom, and that he was pretty good fighting with a hammer. He never took the time to speak with him, always having more important problems to deal with. But Jon knew that the young lad was stubborn and brave, maybe even too brave to be smart.
But the way he looked at his sister and clearly tried to get her attention quickly stopped making him chuckle and made him cringe.
He knew Arya could handle it, he would not insult her and come to her rescue, because Arya was not the kind of girl who needed to be rescued.
Woman. She is a woman now.
He was riding in front line, his sister only a few feet behind, and he heard a loud laugh. He turned around and saw Gendry snort, riding very close to her, their boots almost touching. She on the other hand, was wearing an utterly bored face.
Probably laughing at one of his jokes again. Maybe I should go to her rescue, I know she learned how to fight back and deal with poisons, but I doubt that she ever learned how not to die from boredom.
Well, she's probably thinking about how she could make him shut up for good, that surely is entertaining.
She had spoken very little about her training in Braavos, only stating that she had trained with the Lorathi she met on the way with the men of the Night's Watch, and a few other masters.
She never even told him about her other masters, but the Lorathi one, he had heard about this one, how he had taught her to lie and fight, how he had helped her in Harrenhal.
I don't even know his name, she didn't say it.
The way she talked about him, with this little sparkle in her eyes reminded him of how he looked at his silver-haired queen.
Ugh, no. No way. He's way too old for her, and she sees him as a protector, a teacher. He better not get near her.
She gave up on him anyway, she left the Faceless Masters.
The realization hit him. This pretty much was the description of Arya's journey during their time apart, either people she cared about giving up on her, and, in the end, she giving up on people she cared about. All these years, she had been alone, there was no one to back her up like he had. She did not have her friends with her for very long, and even had to forget about her identity in order to become some cold-blooded faceless assassin who worships Death.
He turned around again, and looked at her bored face and empty, tired eyes, a proud smile on his lips.
She's a tough one.