All characters and concepts are the property of their respective creators. No copyright infringement is intended, or profit made, from this work of fiction.

'No, please...argh...'

Arya looked up when she heard the scream to see figures in gold masks moving through the crowd that thronged the marketplace, cutting people down with their knives. As she watched, one of them slit the throat of a stallholder, casting her body aside as he started towards her, followed by two others. With a rasp of steel, she drew Needle, the blade flashing out as the first approached and he fell, blood blossoming from his throat. The second stepped over the body of the first man and she reversed the blade into a thrust that pierced his side and he collapsed sideways with a strangled cry. She swung towards the third man, but she was too slow and his knife buried itself in her stomach. She stumbled backwards, Needle clattering from her hand and the golden masked man leant over her. His knife drew back to strike just as a spear pierced his chest and he collapsed with a shriek of pain. As he fell, a dark-skinned man in blue-grey armour with a crested helmet, a round shield and a spear stepped over him.

'Not today...' she whispered, her hand reaching for Needle as she tried to get to her feet, another stab of pain tearing through her stomach and she slumped backwards, darkness rushing up to claim her.

#####################

Arya awoke to find herself lying in a feather bed. Pushing herself up, she winced in pain as she settled back against the pillows. Pulling up her shirt, she saw that some one had stitched up her wound.

'You're awake,' a voice said and she looked round to see a blonde-haired woman sitting a chair by the window.

'Princess Daenarys!' Arya exclaimed, trying to push back the covers, slumping backwards in pain.

'You need to rest,' Daenarys said, standing up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 'What is your name?'

'...Arya...'

'My Unsullied told me that you killed two Sons of the Harpie before you were stabbed. Who taught you to fight?'

'Syrio Forel. He's my...Dancing Master. Where is he...?'

'You were alone when we found you,' Daenarys said and Arya tried to rise, Daenarys putting her hands on her shoulders.

'Your wound has been stitched, but it will only heal if you stay still...'

'I can't,' Arya said. 'I need to find Syrio...'

'You are in no condition,' Daenarys said, picking up a glass bottle and removing the stopper, Arya recognising the smell of milk of the poppy. 'This will help with the pain and let you sleep...'

'No...' Arya said and Daenarys' eyes narrowed.

'You need to rest if that wound is to heal. Either you drink it or I will summon my Unsullied and they will make you drink it...'

Arya hesitated before grabbing the bottle and drinking, her eyelids feeling heavy as she slumped back against the pillows...

#####################

'How is she, my princess?' Ser Jorah asked as Daenarys left Arya's room, closing the door behind her. A tall, weathered man with blond haired and blue eyes, he wore a loose tunic and trousers, a sword at his waist.

'She is asleep,' Daenarys said as Ser Joran fell into step next to her. 'She said that she was here with a Dancing Master called Syrio Forel. Have you heard of him?'

'Yes, my princess,' Ser Jorah said. 'Syrio Forel was once the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. Judging by her sword and clothes, she is likely his apprentice...'

'Put out the word to our agents in the city,' Daenarys said. 'Let's see if we can locate him...'

'My princess...'

#####################

Daenarys returned to Arya's room to find the girl trying to climb out of bed, managing to take a couple of steps before collapsing to the floor with a cry of pain.

'What are you doing?' Daenarys snapped as she helped her back into bed.

'I told you. I need to find Syrio. Where's Needle...?' She demanded and Daenarys frowned.

'Needle?'

'My sword. Where is it?'

Daenarys stood up and crossed to the chest by the window, opening the lid and taking out a short rapier.

'Is this what you're looking for?' she asked and Arya's eyes widened.

'Needle! Give it to me...'

'Only those I trust may bear weapons in my presence,' Daenarys said, putting Needle back in the chest, moving to sit on the bed again. 'We are searching for your Master. Until then, you need to rest...'

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any reviews, comments or constructive criticisms are very welcome.