Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and its respective books and characters belong to George R. R. Martin. This plotline, however, belongs to me.
Author's note: This fic is my imagining of times that weren't shown to us in the series between Jaqen and Arya, starting from when she was young to when she becomes an adult. Some if it can be canon compliant, but only for the first few chapters until it becomes my headcanon of what happens in the future.
Additionally, this story will mostly follow the show, as I'm still in the middle of reading the books. I simply had to write this story.
Enjoy!
Nine
-:-
The First
It began with summer rain.
Arya huffs, kicking at the layers of skirts around her leather boots as she strides through the garden, glaring at the towering stone walls. King's Landing is everything she is not; meticulous, impractical, full of strange rules—Sansa loves it, and Arya has long since given up on trying to show her the true way. It would make her sad, if only Sansa had not been so foolishly stubborn. She kicks at the grass, making a face.
Had Mother come along Arya knows her liberties here in the castle would be even less than they are already, but the small garden was not enough to appease her. She wants to feel the soil beneath her feet, to run swift as the wind with Nymeria, to kneel on the riverbeds and imagine herself swimming with scales down her back and fins for hands.
She cannot admit it aloud, but there are parts of King's Landing Arya revels in. For while Winterfell is her home, an icy tundra that she misses each day, King's Landing offers her brilliant sunshine and stars so bright she feels she could reach out and grasp them in her hand. Things are brighter here, the grass taller and more vibrant, and the air held a sweetness in it that Arya was told was lavender and honeysuckle. There are so many places she wishes she could explore, yet her she strode, amidst a tame garden.
Arya sits down onto a stone bench and glares at the two guards near the entrance of the garden, tapping her feet impatiently. Under Father and the king's orders, she thinks, grimacing. While grateful that they did not hover, their presence was an iron chain in and of itself. The castle and garden, while vast, were frail and limiting. She wasn't allowed to bring Nymeria with her here, lest she despoil the flowers. She needed to leave, she needed a distraction; she needed—
An idea strikes her (not an uncommon occurrence for the young Stark daughter), and Arya pauses. Dark eyes dart up to scrutinize the high walls. The foliage does seem to grow thick enough, if Arya thinks about it...
Arya jumps to her feet and surreptitiously glances at the guards. She can just faintly hear the crunch of an apple being bitten into, and idle talk among the men. Quietly she slinks away from the stone path and makes for the crawling vines, making herself unseen, holding her breath.
It takes a few minutes for the guards to notice the unfamiliar stillness in the garden. She hears her name once, twice, and a glance through the vine show the guards stepping onto the stone path. Arya smiles.
She moves far from the twisting vines and dashes back to the bench, slowing to a stop when the guards find her.
Arya looks up innocently. "Did you call?"
-:-
"I'm leaving the castle today," Arya says conversationally to Sansa, watching the maid twist her sister's hair into the Southern style.
"Of course you are," Sansa sniffs, holding up a small mirror to herself to see the braids. "Make sure to wash before supper. You always stink of fish when you come back from the market."
"I'm going past the market," Arya says boldly. "And I don't stink of fish."
"You're practically one yourself," Sansa laughs, her eyes lighting with delight when the maid finishes. "Isn't it wonderful?" she breathes. "Just like the Queen's."
"Fish are swift in rivers, and make filling meals," Arya retorts. "You only have your braids, and they're not even pretty."
Sansa gives her a withering look. "We're not in the north anymore, Arya. You should let Mila do your hair this way as well. Queen Cersei would be most pleased when she sees it at supper."
"I'm beginning to wonder who you're trying to impress," Arya says wryly. "Perhaps it's the queen you should marry."
Sansa throws the mirror, narrowly missing Arya's ear. Mila chides softly and Sansa turns away from Arya, who glares at her indignantly. "Go then," she says coolly, as if a queen herself, "go past the market and do your exploring. By chance you'll lose your way, and none of us will suffer your childishnessanymore. A happy relief for Father, at least."
Arya glares at her sister and stands quickly, ignoring Sansa's look of satisfaction at having bested her. Just as she opens the door, Arya turns and stares at Sansa. "Perhaps I will."
-:-
The next day, Arya returns to the garden. The guards smirk down at her silently when she huffs past them, thinking her to be bored. She makes a point to lay on the bench for a while, staring listlessly at the clouds that drift above her. She waits patiently, her ears straining to listen to every sound in the garden. The birds twittering in a nearby bush. A fly zooming past her ear towards the poinsettias. And finally, a distant crunch of an apple being bitten into.
Arya lifts her head slowly and twists her torso so her feet can gently touch the ground. She bends a little, hiding herself as she steals towards the thicket of vines again that curl up far towards the left of the stone bench. She waits with bated breath.
They do not come.
Arya sighs in relief; they had learned from yesterday not to think Arya would suddenly disappear. She smiles inwardly at how easy it had been to fool them. Too easy, she thinks idly. She squints up at the top of the high walls where the vines reached, and bites her lip. She is not like Bran, who climbed as if he were born for the skies. But she isn't afraid—not the kind that would give up, at least. Steeling herself, Arya grabs onto a thick vine and hoists herself up.
"How…does Bran…make this look so easy?" Arya grunts, pausing again to catch her breath. She is halfway up, and her arms already tremble from the strain. Gritting her teeth Arya heaves herself up, higher and higher, until the vines start to grow thin and the air a little cooler. Her hand reaches up and grabs onto the ledge. Grinning, Arya pulls herself forward and sits atop the high garden wall.
She peers over the edge warily. The climb down would be considerably easier as there were several parts of the opposite wall that had ridges, perfect for climbing. Arya slowly lowers herself onto the other side of the wall, making sure nobody was roaming on the other side, and began her descent.
Sweat runs down the side of her head as Arya carefully checks her footing, small fingers gripping the wall as tightly as she can. A bit more…a bit more…Arya moves quickly now, the ground coming closer. She already imagines the things she will do outside the castle, unchecked, unhindered—
With a jump, she hits the ground.
Grinning in triumph, Arya runs.
Once her feet march onto the dirt and gravel path leading down to the market, Arya breathes easier; the worry slowly dissipates until she is thrumming with excitement, almost skipping down the rough path. The sound of hagglers and chickens grows louder, and the sweet smell of lavender fades into a whirl of smoke and musk. Arya blends easily, gliding through the bustling crowd and ducking under stray elbows and waving baskets.
A strong scent makes her pause, pulling her towards a meat stand. A young boy manages the cart, and looks at her warily.
"How much for one?" she points at a row of roasted chicken legs.
"This for paying customers," the boy scrunches his face at Arya, assessing her.
"I can pay," Arya scowls.
"It's three for two coin," the boy retorts, holding out his hand expectantly. Arya digs into her pocket and thrusts the money into his hands, glaring at him challengingly. He withdraws his hand and immediately drops three legs into a paper roll. Arya smiles sweetly before grabbing the roll (somewhat snappishly, though utterly not her fault) and stalks away.
Arya remembers the way they had come on their journey from Winterfell, the rolling hills and sweeping lawns that stretch for miles, crowned with jagged rock and softly flowing streams, all interwoven with the single dirt path that horsemen and carriages would take to reach King's Landing. It is then that she remembers Nymeria, and with a pang of guilt she wishes she had thought to bring her along.
"She is too big," Arya says to herself. "She would have found us out." Her words are unconvincing even to her ears.
Once past the market Arya weaves through the village, a smile curling on her lips when she sees little boys and girls playing old games she played often in Winterfell. Some things never change, Arya ponders. Perhaps we are not so unlike after all.
Her legs start to feel that sweet ache from walking for a prolonged period of time, and she revels in it. She strides faster, grinning, until she skips past the last inn and onto the free road. Immediately the air changes, no longer laced with strange smells and thick smoke, nor with false sweetness from too many flowers—she breathes the free air again, and it makes her almost dizzy with excitement.
Arya does not stay near the road but does not stray too far from the village either. The last thing she wants is to get lost—she can hear Sansa's condescending tone already: "You're such a child," she'd sniff, "needlessly worrying Father. Prince Joffrey had half a mind to send the Hound for you." Arya shivers. The closer she is to the village, the more assured she would be.
Arya wastes no time in bounding past a thicket of trees and onto a spindling rock, her breath catching when sees the country sprawling before her. She sits there for some time, then remembers the food she bought and pulls out a roast leg. She munches on it contentedly, laying down across the rock and closing her eyes.
Vaguely Arya notices the sun's light starting to dim. The chicken has made her thirsty, and she'd much rather venture back to the castle before supper. But the breeze is cool against her skin and the air is light, that her eyes remain closed for a very long while.
"A little girl on a rock," a voice says quietly. "Not a sight often seen, and not so far from home."
Arya startles and opens her eyes, squinting at the figure looming beside her. He stands just in front of the sun and she has to blink several times for her vision to adjust. Her eyes catch a flash of red, but when she blinks again she sees a man with short black hair and tired eyes.
She scrambles to her feet, clutching the paper roll tightly. Her fingers twitch to her left and she wishes Needle was with her, vowing silently that she will have it strapped with her if she made it back home safely. Arya's eyes dart past the man, trying to see how far she could run before he caught up with her. The inn was closest—perhaps she can find safety there for a while.
The man must have sensed her panic, for he takes a gradual step back. "The intention was not to frighten, little girl."
"Then you should've left me alone," Arya snaps before she can stop herself. She freezes, watching the man warily.
Strangely, he smiles. "Then someone else would have found you. Someone with less than curious intentions."
"I don't have any money anymore," Arya says. Stiffly, she holds out the food. "Take this and I'll be off."
The man tilts his head, eyeing the package curiously. "I did not ask for it."
"Well I'm giving it," Arya bristles, still holding out her arm. "Go ahead. It's good."
He takes it carefully. "Feeding a man is no small thing, little one. It will be remembered."
He peaks inside and takes out a drumstick, and to her dismays, holds the roll back towards her.
"It would be cruel to deny you your own treat," he says, his mouth quirking up in the faintest of smiles, and Arya takes the roll back warily. "Run along, now. It will rain soon."
Arya looks skeptically at the cloudless sky. The stranger shakes his head.
"Stay close to the homes if you wish to pass unnoticed. The streets of King's Landing are no place for little sleeping girls."
His words stir something in her, and she thinks she sees a hint of something behind his weary gaze—but she does not linger, and jumps off the rock quickly before bolting away. Once she is far away she looks back. She sees the man lift his hand and take a bite from the chicken leg, turning away from her. Arya runs faster and does not look back again, running until she is back in the village. Despite herself, she heeds the mysterious man's warning and keeps to the homes, avoiding the lamp lit streets until the castle is within sight again.
Arya gasps when she feels a droplet of water land on her cheek. She brushes it away, staring up at the sky in wonder. When a flash of lightning streaks in the air, Arya runs faster.
Arya doesn't even try to hop over the garden wall again, going straight for the castle gate. The guards look at her in bewilderment before letting her pass.
She does not stop until she's back in her room. Breathless, Arya stares out the window. The sun is gone, rain pounding on the glass. Nobody has noticed her absence.
Or so she thought.
She left the door open, and within moments Sansa is standing by the doorframe. "There you are," Sansa crosses her arms. "They were saying you went missing from the garden."
"I left the garden," said Arya, shifting the package behind her back.
"Were you here whole time?"
"In the castle, yes."
Sansa looks relieved. Arya looks at her questioningly. "I overheard Father speaking with the King. Someone was killed near the market, someone not from these parts."
"Who was killed?" Arya asks curiously.
"I don't know, but I'm glad you stayed here. Father would've been very angry with you if you'd gone out today, especially on that silly adventure you were going on about earlier."
Sansa leaves telling her to get ready for dinner, and Arya closes the door. She stares at the roll in her hand. Rain slide heavily down her window, and Arya wonders about the strange man who woke her.
-:-
The Second
Arya waits until Gendry is asleep. She listens for his even breathing, passing slowly through his mouth and inhaling through his nose. She glances over at the other boys. Silent.
Arya lifts herself up from the ground and stares through the darkness. Far ahead she can see torches lit where the men camp, but none were watching the younger ones. Arya quietly grabs her skin of water.
She has trouble making him out in the cage at first, but realizes he is still sitting where she left him earlier. His long hair and slender frame are easy to make out in the faint moonlight.
She barely makes another step forward before the man lifts his head and gazes at her, his brown eyes piercing hers. It makes Arya falter.
"Lovely boy," he whispers curiously.
Arya looks down unsurely before holding out the skin. "Quick, before they see."
The man looks at her in surprise. Silently he takes the skin and glances at his companions, making sure they are still asleep. He tilts his head back and drinks deeply, his eyes closing. The relief and gratitude is clear in his eyes when he hands the skin back to her, and he presses closely against the bars.
"A man is grateful," he says quietly. "Not many would risk their life to help a prisoner."
Arya shrugs. "If I were in there, I'd hope for someone to give me water."
"Still, it is kindness. A man will remember this."
Arya says nothing. She fiddles with the water skin, looking at him contemplatively.
"A boy is restless," the man smirks softly. "A boy came for more than giving a man some water."
"The men you're with—they're dangerous," Arya says. "It's why they're in this cage and not outside like the rest of us."
His eyes slide lazily over to the sleeping men. "They are not honorable men, if that is what you mean."
"The Night's Watch is filled with murderers and rapists," she replies, remembering what she had been told. "And yet there is a cage."
He watches her silently, waiting for her to speak.
"How did you end up in here?" Arya blurts.
The man—Jaqen, she remembers—smiles. "A man is not like his companions," he assures her softly. "He is here by the will of the gods. That is all a man can say."
"That's not an answer," Arya frowns in annoyance.
Jaqen chuckles. "It is the only one he can give you. Go now, boy, before they see you. Unless you wish to be in this cage as well."
Arya closes her mouth, staring at him. Without a word, she turns around and returns to her camp, not knowing that he watched her until she disappeared from sight.
xxx
Hope you liked the first chapter! I originally just posted this on AO3 but thought I'd post it here too.
Let me know if you enjoyed reading. More to come soon xx