A Darkness Of Hearts
Chapter 1
She saw a slight brunette clad in breeches and a soft black leather tunic, an arm thrown reassuringly around her shoulder. The man the arm belonged to was a good head and a half taller than the petite Lady next to him, clad in boiled leather and mail. Golden stags and silver wolves showed themselves discreetly about their persons, less so than the nobility of Westeros were wont to do. They gazed out over choppy waves and a darkening sky, seemingly unconcerned. Perhaps they were used to such winds battling against their walls.
The wind lessened and the scene before her grew darker, the shadows in her vision beginning to slide and manoeuvre into different positions. As they did a new stage set itself solely for her. This one; familiar at once to the girl who was powerless to do ought else but watch. Winterfell. Wasted and ruined, the ancient fortress remained a monument testifying to the strength of its people. Winterfell guarded its secrets well, kept them close to its heart. Not a soul knew for sure anymore how it was built, only who built it. It is known that where no facts can be found, rumour will abound. Legends formed themselves based on stories told about the construction of the Starks home.
The girl thought that perhaps, it was the secrets woven into Winterfell that had been its true sentry throughout the Starks' recent distress. The family torn down one by one, their home destroyed time and again. It seemed to her though, that it has been sought for refuge and protected once again by its rightful owners. They have rallied although they have been brought as low as they can be. Each has known a torture so exquisitely matched to them as individuals that it is proof enough that the god exists. He is cruel and fickle sometimes.
She considers this while studying every detail about her surroundings. Nothing is how she remembered it but she saw what could be. The current Lady of the House, by conquest as well as by blood, had made a modest start towards repopulating the household. Lady Sansa Stark is standing proudly in front of her surviving bannermen and smallfolk. Her words aren't clear, but the atmosphere suggests a child, their firstborn by the looks of it. The fact that the North is starting to rebuild within this very generation would be surprising if it weren't the North.
Shadows started to fall and she almost reached for the beautiful Lady of Winter, until remembering the pointlessness of it. She could not touch her sister no more than she could speak to her. She could only wish her a happy life, free from anything that lives outside a song. You look so much like mother.
The darkness does not allow her to linger there. Emerging from it gives her a sense of having been here before, done this before. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the cave and she recognised it as Hollow Hill seconds later. Pale roots meander through the space providing makeshift benches for men with gaunt faces and despairing eyes. They had been stronger during the time she had spent with them as their hostage. They seemed to have lost something in the interim. Mayhap someone… She noticed several of the men looking in the direction of a cloaked figure, supposedly listening intently. Where they had looked to the Lightening Lord with respect and determination, they regarded their new leader with something more akin to fear or disgust.
Curiosity flared and she found herself in front of the creature without having done more than thought about it. As she vaguely noted this ability she hunkered down slightly, so as to see who could command such repulsion in men who had seen the worst that war could do. The girl was not afraid of death in any form but she understood the fear that this particular face caused. This was an unnecessarily warped version of the gift, an anomaly in the flow of life taken too far. Everything in her training and indeed her being went against this. Left with no other recourse she turned away, unable to bear it anymore. Her eyes cast about and met those of a diminutive wrinkled woman who sat away from the main gathering, a wineskin seemingly always held to her mouth.
The ancient, albino dwarf was obviously aware of her presence; she stared straight into the stormy grey eyes. Up until that moment, she had been a ghost. In addition, the girls senses aside from sight had been somewhat muted. As the wineskin moved away from the shrivelled lips, a croaking voice reached her ears clearly.
"There is only one true choice. You are needed, Dark Heart."
The darkness rushed into her vision more aggressively this time, swallowing every last detail until there was nothing but a gaping emptiness. She remained enveloped in nothingness for long enough to register the utter lack of sensation, then with great force became aware of her body again. She felt her eyelids flutter and slowly the face of the Kindly Man came into focus.
"Who are you child?"
"No one" came her almost unthinking answer. The Kindly Man said nothing, brought his hand up to his forehead and slowly lowered it. As he did his bone structure rippled and his skin darkened slightly. Dark coarse hair flowed from his scalp and a smile that she had seen in another lifetime settled itself between a trimmed moustache and goatee. Syrio Forel, former First Sword of Braavos asked the question of her in a different way;
"Who do you want to be child?" The girl said nothing to her former dancing master, only watched him for a moment. She had not made this connection herself before now, but it did not surprise her, the god of many faces was a connection between everyone living in the world. Valar morghulis. After she had been silent for minutes on end, her masters smiling face became more serious.
"Valar dohaeris" he replied, as if she had spoken the words aloud. He paused and then began speaking anew.
"The god we serve, as all men must, requires more than just the gift given by his followers. When the balance between life and death becomes disturbed, it holds no benefit to Him of Many Faces."
He stopped again, his eyes searching her face for a sign of understanding. She gave him nothing, but he took some kind of assurance anyway, and spoke again, more softly this time.
"There are many ways to serve the god. His will would be best executed if you were not truly Faceless." She narrowed her eyes in response and he raised an eyebrow. I have taken all I need from you already.
"Who are you child?" He wanted to hear the words. The storm clouds gathering behind her grey eyes cleared and cold steel lay beneath her words.
"Arya Stark, the Dark Heart of Winterfell."
"And what do you say to the God of Death?"
"Not today."
AN: This is the first chapter of the first part of a series I am working on, that will start an unspecified time after the last book. It's mostly in canon I think - but I've not read the books for ages, so you might have to allow a margin of error. It wont all be happily ever after, but the plot doesn't allow for me to kill everybody either. It's going to be from multiple characters perspectives and if the outline I have so far is anything to go by, then there will be an abundance of Arya. I am working towards a balance nonetheless you have been warned. I'm using U.K English when it comes to spelling, I'm rating it M, even though you know what you're in for when you read something based on A Song of Ice and Fire. The title is something I have doubts about but I like the "A Blank of Blank" format he uses. FInally I hope this filled the gaping hole in your heart a little while you wait for the next book. Your thoughts are always welcome. Erial K.