This story has been in my head for a very, very long time now, but I was struggling so much with other fics that I kept putting it off. However...I've finally reached the point where I can't put it off any longer...the plot bunnies were just eating away at me! heh. So it starts with a severe lack of SanSan, I know, but I *promise* that I'll get there eventually. Hopefully not too long from now :) As always, reviews are love! Seriously, sometimes they're what keeps me plugging away at these fics...
It had been some time since she'd been summoned to the House of Black and White, and the girl that still dwelt deep within her rared up in curiosity when the message reached her.
It is time for your apprenticeship to end. We have been given a task that only you can perform. Return to the temple as soon as you can.
The first part of this note confused her. How could she have finished her time as an apprentice already, when it seemed that she'd only just begun? Something was not right about this...yet she was clearly required to return to the temple, and she dared not ignore the summons. After all, it could be some sort of test...from the very beginning they'd been testing her, constantly, over and over and over again. At first she'd failed most every time, but eventually she'd learned her lessons and been raised from no one, to acolyte, to apprentice.
She was no one, and yet she was everyone. No...not everyone...anyone. She needed to remember this for when she entered the temple...inevitably, she would be questioned about who she was.
They always asked who she was.
At least in more recent times, they'd seemed to believe her answers.
The assassin shivered in the brisk, damp air of this place that was both her home, and no home to her at all. Winter had come to Braavos as it had to everywhere else, but the words upon the wind were that it was not so harsh as the winters of the west. Winters that everyone had expected would last years upon years, after such a long summer as the one they'd had...only dragons were in the world again, and the cold had begun to abate almost as soon as it had arrived. Dragons, the assassin girl mused, shaking her head. She wouldn't have believed it if the news hadn't reached her from a dozen different sources, all men and women whom she trusted.
She wouldn't have believed it if she didn't know now that people could learn to change their faces.
She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't been running with wolves in her sleep for several years now.
The House of Black and White was quiet as always when she entered, and though she knew where to go her footsteps were joined by another's long before she reached that place.
"You sent for me," she stated.
"I did." The kindly man's voice was sad, and she couldn't help but turn to face him.
"Have I done something wrong?" she asked, hating herself for the weakness that showed in such a question.
"No," he merely replied, though his tone said not this time. "I have a task for which only you are fit."
"Tell me," she insisted.
"Not here. Come." The kindly man led her deep below the temple. They passed others along their way, men and women who nodded to them in greeting yet never spoke a word. Finally they reached the room of many faces.
She had worn several of these faces during her apprenticeship, but this time the kindly man once again returned to her the face of Arya Stark.
"Why?" she asked, her fingers flitting over features that were somehow both familiar and foreign.
"You must return to Westeros. We have been given the task of ridding this world of a certain person, and though I've thought on it for days and days, I cannot comprehend how this death could belong to anyone other than you."
The assassin waited for him to say the name, but all the while she was wondering, Who could it be?
Certainly not Dunsen or Raff the Sweetling... Neither of them would be important enough for the House of Black and White to get involved...but the rest...
Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei...
"It is none of those whose names you still think of, when you believe that I will not notice," the kindly man sighed, shaking his head. "Who are you, child?"
"No one," she spat, but she was thinking I'm not a child.
"You lie. You are Arya of House Stark, as you ever have been. All of the names and faces that you have taken these past few years, but you have never let go of that one. It is for this reason that I send you on this assignment, and it is for this reason that once you have rid Westeros of this person you will remain there...and no longer be a servant of this temple."
Her insides were twisted up in anger. "I've done all you've ever asked of me," she reminded the kindly man.
"This is true, and it is why I know that you will do this as well. Please, Arya of House Stark, let me explain who it is you go to kill."
Arya nodded, proud of herself for not biting her lip when she did so.
"You have a sister, do you not?" he asked.
"Arya Stark had a sister," she answered carefully.
"Just so. We have had news that Sansa Stark is alive and well in Westeros - in the Vale, to be specific. For some time she was living in disguise, as the natural daughter of a man named Petyr Baelish."
"Littlefinger?" Arya wondered, confused.
"We are told that he is called that name as well, yes. And now that the Lannisters have fallen from power, now that Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons are well on their way to Westeros, Petyr Baelish has brought Sansa Stark out of hiding...and has announced her betrothal to one Harrold Hardyng, heir to the Eyrie."
"The...the Eyrie? Wouldn't my cousin Robert Arryn inherit that seat?"
"He would have, had he not been such a sickly boy. He died of his ailments just one month ago...and that is why the Faceless Men were contracted. Lord Baelish is not well-loved by all, it seems, and when we were told that he had slowly murdered young Robert Arryn, it was not difficult to see that this story was a true one." The kindly man sighed again. "We do not often get involved in affairs such as...this. But - "
"If Littlefinger murdered my cousin, who's to say he wouldn't do the same to my sister?" Arya had forgotten herself in her anger; she was pacing now, her hands clenched into fists, her face flushed. There had not been much love between she and Sansa when they were young, but they were still sisters. They were family.
They were Starks.
"I see now more than ever that you are not ready to take on a task such as this, any more than you are ready to be released from your apprenticeship," the kindly man was saying, "but I also know that I do not have a choice...especially now that I have told you these things. I only ask that you remember what you have learned here, Arya of House Stark. Remember it, and keep it close to your heart. You will need it more than you know, in the days and weeks and months to come."
"Perhaps once I have dealt with Littlefinger, you will have other need of me in Westeros," Arya said hopefully.
"I think not." On this he was firm. "And even if I did, I know that once you have found your sister, you will be tied to her again...and that is not the way of the servants of this temple."
For so very long Arya had fought to remain a part of this, and she refused to give it up just yet. "I will notify you of Petyr Baelish's death," she promised, "and then I will await my next assignment."
The kindly man smiled sadly. "You will be waiting a very long time, Arya of House Stark."
Stop calling me that! something inside of her screamed, but when she spoke her words were calm and matter-of-fact. "With all of the turmoil in Westeros, I am certain that you will have need of me again."
The kindly man made no answer, and finally Arya was forced to turn and leave the room, to leave behind all of those faces she might have worn, had she been better at leaving behind the one that truly belonged to her.
The waif met her at the top of the stairs and gave her a heavy bag of coins and some new clothing - men's clothing, but clean and well-made, finer than anything Arya had worn in a very long time. "You've not seen the last of me," Arya told the strange girl-woman. The waif only gave her the same sad smile that the kindly man had, and with a growl of frustration Arya pushed past her.
It was only when Arya had stepped back out into the bright and chilly day - a rarity for Braavos, for it to be so clear, with no fog at all - that she remembered one last thing. She counted the steps, stopped, and glanced from left to right, and behind and in front of herself as well. There was no one to be seen, yet still she could not shake the feeling of being watched.
It's now or never, Arya told herself. After all, she couldn't leave Braavos without the one thing that truly made her Arya Stark once again.
She bent and moved the loose stone. Needle was still there, of course, though when Arya drew the little sword from its hiding place it felt like no more than a dagger in her hand. Have I grown that much? she wondered as she tucked Needle into her belt, her hand resting protectively over its hilt.
As she left the House of Black and White behind her, an old prayer of sorts was running through her head. Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn. Queen Cersei.
Littlefinger.
Valar morghulis.