I don't own Yassen, but i DO own the others... yay!

Arya stood alone, watching through tear filled eyes as the coffin was lowered, her mother. She twiddled a rose between her fingers and looked around; trying not to think about the fact that it was her mother in there. There were only a few other people there; a couple of men from her mother's work and a few distant relatives.

The vicar said a few prayers and Arya murmured an "amen". Someone touched her arm and she moved forward, tossing the red rose down onto the coffin. It landed softly on the brass name plate, shedding a couple of petals as it fell.

Arya turned away as the first load of earth was thrown into the grave. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the dark suited men nudge one of the other and point at her. They moved around and advanced towards her, hands outstretched.

She stopped and shook both hands, letting go quickly. The men appeared to be at a loss for what to say and she started to move away. A hand caught her arm in a vice-like grip and dragged her back.

"Get off me." She hissed, wrenching her arm free. "What do you want?" the men stepped back.

"We are sorry for your loss. Holly was a very good worker, we'll all miss her." Arya nodded, trying again to move past them. She was pushed back again. "Of course, we are also interested in making sure that you are still ok. Do you know what the arrangements are for you?"

"Of course, I'm going to live in London with my aunt Sandra. It's all arranged." She said confidently. The men shared a glance and her heart plummeted. They took another step forward. Arya stepped back.

"Well, in that case," the taller of the two said slowly, thoughtfully, "May we provide transport?" Arya's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to protest, then her brain processed the information and she nodded.

"I guess so, I was going to take the train, but I think that it'll be ok…" her cousin came over and took her arm.

"Are you ok?" he asked. Arya nodded and he turned to the two men. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us, we need to sort out Arya's stuff before she leaves." He turned and walked away, Arya following.

"But, James, I'm packed." She said quietly as they walked around the corner. James shrugged, grinning.

"You looked like you wanted to get out of there, what were they saying anyway?"

"They were offering me a lift to London…" she said. "Do I have to go? Why can't I stay with you?" more tears leaked down her cheeks.

"We've been over this. Oh and I found an envelope this morning in Aunt Holly's desk. It's addressed to you." Arya looked up sharply; she hadn't found anything for her when she'd looked through the room.

"Are you sure?" she asked. James laughed.

"Of course I'm sure. Come on, I'll show you." The pair wound their way through the Keswick streets. Arya gazed longingly at the groups of teenagers in the park; she would have loved to join them on this beautiful summer's day.

When they reached the house, a spacious semi-detached cottage, Arya went straight to the desk. The envelope was lying in the top drawer. Sure enough, there was her name on the front. James closed the door behind him and sat down on the couch against the wall.

"Open it then." He said finally, Arya was stood silently holding the envelope. She jerked around when he spoke, and then laughed.

"Here goes…" she said dramatically. Part of her rebelled against the frivolity, but she knew that her mother would hate for her to be sad all the time.

She opened the envelope. Inside were a folded note and a photograph. She pulled the note out with trembling fingers and sat down next to James to read it.

"My darling Arya,

I am so proud of you. I never told you enough times just how much you meant to me. But I kept a secret from you all your life: the identity of your father. I didn't want you to know until it was time and I suppose that this is it. His name is Yassen Gregorovich. I think he currently lives in London. This photograph is us when we were on a holiday together. I loved him. And I love you; you look so much like him. Good luck, whatever you choose to do.

Love forever, Mum"

Arya's eyes filled with tears and she passed the note and photo to James. He read it quickly before putting an arm around her.

"He looks nice…" he said hesitantly. Arya scrubbed the tears from her face again and took the photo. It showed her mother standing next to a young man. He was tall, slim and had the same eyes as his daughter. Their hair was even the same shade of blonde. She didn't look at him much though, her eyes were on her mother, she looked about nineteen. She was smiling.

With a jolt, Arya realised that she could scarcely remember the last time she had seen Holly smile. The cancer had done more than take her health; it had taken her personality too. And eventually, it had taken her life. Ayra swallowed the lump that rose in her throat.

"He looks a bit like me. Doesn't Mum look happy?" she said quietly. James nodded, slipping an arm around her shoulders. She leant into his chest and cried.

The next day, Arya woke up early. She lay in her bed, gazing lovingly at the fells outside her window. By craning her neck she could see Skiddaw in the distance. James called her from downstairs and she sighed, tearing her eyes away from the window.

She slid into her dressing gown and padded down to the stone-flagged kitchen. James was sitting at the worktop, talking to someone by the door. Arya peered around the door, shooting a questioning glance at James.

"Aunt Sandra!" she exclaimed, rushing over and throwing her arms around the woman. "But you're not meant to be here until tomorrow!" Sandra laughed.

"I know, but I wanted to come and see you, so I got an extra day off work. How are you?" she asked, suddenly serious. Arya shrugged, averting her eyes.

"Not bad, I guess. The funeral was a bit rough, and James found a letter from mum yesterday. It was about my father." Sandra's face paled beneath her make-up. Not that, not now, not him.

"What did it say?" she asked hoarsely. Arya glanced up, puzzled before answering.

"His name, where she thinks he lives, in London. And a photo, look." She pulled the folded paper from her dressing gown pocket and handed it over. Sandra scarcely glanced at it.

"What do you want to do about him?" she snapped. Arya started and Sandra forced herself to soften her voice. "Do you want to meet him or what?" Arya shrugged again.

"I guess so, he is my father." She sounded unsure, even to herself. Did she really want to meet the man? She shook her head, trying to clear it. "So, are you taking me back to London with you? Or can I stay here?" she felt a brief flash of hope that she'd be able to stay. It was quickly crushed.

"We're going to London tomorrow. Sorry." Arya looked away, too many people had said that to her recently. "But… I have a whole day up here, any ideas what an old, unfit aunt and her niece could do?" her voice was cheery, but falsely so. Arya knew that, but didn't let it show.

"I don't know, I haven't finished packing so I better do that first. We could…" she faltered, searching for something to say. Sandra laughed and Ayra turned and gazed moodily out the window.

She eventually left the room, climbing up the ancient wooden stairs silently, listening carefully for voices. There were none. She sighed and dressed quickly.

Arya was about to go back down, but hesitated. She turned and opened her bedroom window. She clambered out and lowered herself gently down to the top of the shed.

She curled her legs under her and gazed longingly over at Skiddaw. She would have climbed it today, one last trip to say goodbye. She knew that it was ridiculous, but the fells were her friends. But Sandra would never make it up, and she couldn't just leave her in Keswick.

Resigned, she bent her knees up to her face and cried.

Sorry if it's a bit waffly, I wanted to develop the character first. Anyway, you know the drill by now; click that button (please!) D