Faceless, Heartless Chapter 1
It was rumbling. Arya grabbed onto the side of the thrashing ship, wiping the rain and seawater out of her face with her left hand. Grumbling, she yelled to the captain.
"How much longer are we going captain?" Then she quickly spat out the salt water that invaded her mouth.
"At least two more hours of the storm, my lady!" The captain yelled back but his terrified face betrayed his words, telling Arya that it was going to rage on for much longer.
"Give me the rope!" Yelling out to no one in particular, "I'm going to tie up the sails if no one is brave enough to do it!" She saw from the corner of her eye a deck boy grabbing onto a rope and trying to walk towards her. However, when he was only a few steps away from her, the ship lurched towards her side, causing the young boy to hit against Arya and she lost her grip onto the ship's railing.
"Lady Arya!" The deck boy held onto her wrist but he was not strong enough. Her body weight was too large for a scrawny boy to hold onto.
"Let me go. It's okay." The boy had a startled look in his eyes.
"But my lady一"
"No, it's today. Let go." Then the ship lurched again, making the boy lose his grip.
'At least I'll be with father, mother, and Robb.'
Then she plunged into the water.
All she felt was air being pushed out of her, such as when she fell backward during her training with Jon. She also felt some water in her lungs and coughed it out. Blinking her eyes hard, she was able to finally see that there was a blue sky and felt the hard ground around her. She turned to her left expecting to see dirt, rock, or sand. Or whatever land that she washed up on. However, Arya instead saw a gray, hard ground and small gray walls. It looked like stone, but it was much smoother and harder.
'Well, not today.'
Coughing some more water out of her lungs, she lifted herself up and saw that she had her bag of faces and her trusty Needle with her. Then she looked around and saw that a black form that she thought was nothing was, in fact, a person.
She walked closer to the body and saw the blood pooling around the head. His body was still warm when Arya took off her soggy gloves and touched his face. Arya was unfamiliar with how there were no real cuts until she lifted his head up and found that the back of his head looked it was blown up. With what, she did not know. In his left hand, he held a shiny, metallic thing. She didn't know what it was. Looking at his clothes, she saw that it was considerably different from what she was familiar with.
What really disturbed Arya was the face itself. The man looked crazed and rather happy when he died. She knew that the faces of men usually looked horrified when they died. Closing her eyes for a second she sorted out what she would do. Either he was killed or he killed himself, with what he was holding onto. She was not sure what it could do but she put it into her knapsack, but she saw her knife that she cut out faces with. Looking back at the man, and then looking back at the knife, she sighed and went on her knees to take his face.
It was hard to focus. Arya had not had to take a face ever since Walder Frey because of the War against the Wights. However, she had not lost her skills and cleanly removed the face from the now-literally-faceless man. She had his face now, but her clothes were very different from the man. She could not use the coat that the man wore, but his undershirt should be fine. But Arya saw that he also wore a thinner overcoat that was slightly stained. She took off his coats and his undershirt. It was not too different from the shirts she wore when she was in the Red Keep but it was very thin and not scratchy. Maybe this man was a noble? Or a royal?
However, Arya did not feel bad defiling the dead. She had done this several times to save her life. If the man was already dead, at least she could live by taking his clothes and face.
Even more strangely, the man had another thin layer of cloth under the undershirt. How many layers do one dress here?! But she took that off, thinking it mostly because it would hide her breasts a bit. The trousers the man had on were taken off, and luckily he had another layer of cloth over his privies. She did not appreciate looking at the naked bodies of men who she killed/took clothes from no matter how long she has been doing it.
After putting on the clothes she realized that they were a bit big, but it would not matter that much after she put on the man's face. Curse her small stature!
However, once she pulled back her long hair to match the dead man and put on the face, she heard a door opening and a small crowd of white coats coming inside. Then, one woman screamed out loud and a swarm of black coats came out of the door after pushing all the white coats away. They had gleaming, black things that she had no idea what it could do. However, she grabbed and pulled out Needle that was hanging around her waist still. One man spoke into a black box but she could not make out what he was saying.
Putting her right arm behind her, Arya turned to face the black coats. They were wearing masks and closed in to make a circle around her. However, the ones who got behind her saw the faceless body lying in his only his underclothes. Some of them yelped and quickly turned to face her. Or at least her in the face of the dead man.
She then heard the hitting of a cane on the ground. She turned to face the door again, finding that the white coats were cowering inside the door, or wherever it led. Then, another figure wearing a black coat emerged, but he was wearing something similar to the dead man. He didn't hold a cane, but rather something black attached to a cane looking stick.
"Moriarty..." The man noticed that Arya was carrying a thin blade.
"Who are you?" Arya tried to make her voice into a male's voice, but she could not replicate the dead man because she had not ever heard his voice before. Instead of answering, the man closed into Arya and took out his own blade from his cane-thing.
He narrowed his eyes while tracing the ground in a circle and Arya followed his steps. "Your face is the same as him, but your voice clearly tells me that you are not familiar with his voice, not his manner of speaking. Your way of standing shows that you are accustomed to horse back riding and walking elegantly. You are just impersonating Jim Moriarty. He would have no doubt taken his gun out instead of a thin blade"
Arya lunged swiftly but the man stepped to the side. He, too, was skilled in the art of the blade but had a different style that she did not recognize. However, he was not as skilled as Arya herself and she was able to subdue him while she held the blade against the man's throat. She smiled cockily, but she felt a slight sting on her own neck and she quickly blacked out.
When Arya came to, she was in a small, brightly lit room. However, she was unable to see a window except for a looking glass that clearly showed her reflection. Trying to lift her hands up, she saw that they were bound to a chair with metal clasps. Arya sighed because if it were a regular rope, she would be able to escape easily. She looked up and saw the source of the brightness. It was as bright as the sun itself illuminating a dark room, but she did not feel the heat. Rather, it was nice and cool. Her throat was parched, no doubt from swallowing seawater and not drinking water for several hours. Then, she heard something click behind her and a couple of footsteps.
"Jim Moriarty. Or someone who is impersonating Moriarty." A deep voice rang through the small room. She could not turn her head to face the voice but she replied.
"My mistake in taking a face of a person I do not know, but so many recognize." Arya sighed. "Who are you?" The footsteps came closer and now she saw a very tall, pale man wearing a similar clothing to the man she fought.
"No, who are you, impersonator?" Arya narrowed her eyes. The man pressed something that looked like a button and it made her metal clamps around her hands loosen and let go of her. She stood up and faced the man who looked back down at her.
Arya then ripped the face she was wearing off and smirked as the man widened his eyes.
"You are addressing Arya Stark of House Stark, Follower of the Many Faced God, and the sister of the King of the Iron Throne and Ruler of Westeros, Jon Targaryen." She paused. "Now, who are you?"
The man's wide eyes narrowed into a stare. "There is no place called Westeros. There is no king called John Targaryen." Arya crinkled her brows. "But I can tell that you are not lying. Sherlock Holmes." He held out a hand towards Arya who looked at him quizzically.
"Is it common here to give your hand to another? Where I come from, you are to bend the knee." Sherlock quickly took his hand back into his coat pocket and instead said,
"Marvelous. I've never heard of any country 'bending the knee.' Even Mycroft doesn't do that to the Queen." He studied Arya's face closer.
"How have you attached another face to yours so easily? It is not made out of wax. In fact, Moriarty's body was found faceless."
Arya frowned. "I was given the power from the Many-Faced God. He is usually called Death."
"Hmm… Your accent and words tell me that you use an archaic style of English and are familiar with formal words. You look around sixteen or seventeen, came from a high-class family from the looks of the discarded and wet clothes around Moriarty, undoubtedly from when you took his clothes and changed into them. They are made from wool and not from cotton and shows that it was hand made instead of factory produced. It was tailored for you and yet it is for a more masculine figure. Moreover, it is wet from seawater, not salt water. However, the nearest ocean is 10 miles, but it was too wet so a cab driver would not have let you get on and the street was closed off due to Mycroft yet your clothes show that it was soaking wet when you came to the top of the roof. So, how'd you do it?" Arya was surprised. She was sure that she was not in Westeros because of the building's structure and the clothes of the people around here, but she also knew that she was not in Essos.
"I was on a ship during a storm and I fell overboard and I appeared wherever that body was located. I took his face and clothes but found people with weird clothes and some black metallic things all pointed at me. Those are not bows and arrows nor swords, so why were you pointing them at me? And the other man, what style一"
"No, you have to answer my questions first. Don't you see? You are a prisoner. Whether you say that you were just taking his face, you could be an accomplice, no matter how ridiculous that sounds." Arya narrowed her eyes and sat back down on the chair.
"Well then. Ask away. You are expected to answer my questions in turn."
'How brilliant!' Sherlock was overjoyed. Well, overjoyed was an understatement. He felt high on cocaine without even it being in his system. It was not even morphine, the lesser drug that you can get from any doctors.
After series of questions and using up several hours, Sherlock found in detail, of the place the young woman came from. However, she stopped answering after asking about some more sentimental topics, not that he cared much.
'Not now Sherlock.' He heard John's voice ringing in his head but ignored it.
"Now you answer my questions, Sherlock Holmes," the young girl said with venom in her voice. "Where am I?" However, Sherlock chose not to answer and instead left the room leaving a fuming and shocked Arya. Not willing to allow the man without giving her some answers, she followed after him quickly.
"Where am I? I demand answers."
"Oh now. You said that you were a lady. Now you're just complaining like a child." Arya paused for a moment but continued following Sherlock. "You're not stupid, Arya Stark. Use your brain. Your intellect." He tapped her head while keeping his stride. Furrowing her brows, Arya looked around while striding along the pale intellect.
"It's… so clean. I have never seen such architecture before. It is brightly light although there are no windows. I have never seen such lamps or light like these in my lifetime. However, it seems like these are artificial because I cannot feel the heat of the sun nor of its rays. Something magical or something far advanced to anything of my country." The male just hummed.
"And these clothes I have on. They are not as scratchy as wool or any natural fibers Westeros has. They are far superior to whatever quality I have seen before." Quietly, she said, "even better than Joffrey's." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her last words but continued on, now reaching the stairs after walking through a very long corridor.
"Very good. Now, tell me, what do you see out here." He stopped in front of a window that showed the desolate streets, signaling that it was very early in the morning.
"Cobblestone floors, but also slabs of stone that I do not recognize. They go on for several yards. How could a simple street afford stone roads? It does not seem as if this is an important place at all. In Westeros, I have only seen the Red Keep having such pristine floors, Winterfell does not have many stone floors because we need all the room we need and stone is valuable. Mass-produced? Or is it something else?"
Sherlock looked towards her and raised his eyebrow. "Similar." He then went up the staircase again and Arya followed.
"Ah, you're finally here." It was that man from before. Arya narrowed her eyes.
"I was just showing her wound." Then the man scoffed at Sherlock.
"Showing her around? That's very unlike you Sherlock." He smirked. "Well have a seat, Miss Stark." In response, Arya frowned but still sat down.
"I'm sick of asking questions. Now, give me some answers." The man opposite from her looked piercingly.
"Ask away then, young lady." Arya paused and blinked but continued on.
"What is your name?"
"Mycroft Holmes."
"Related to this man?" Arya pointed at Sherlock.
Mycroft smirked and replied, "Unfortunately, yes." Meanwhile, Sherlock quietly exclaimed, "What?!"
"Where am I?"
"London. You've probably never heard of it. It is the year 2014, and looking at the articles you had on you at the time we met, it seems that you are not from this time period, nor area. I would surmise it is sometime close to the Dark Ages, but hearing of your answers to Sherlock's questions, it seems as you are not even from this world, if you can believe it."
"What?" Arya was taken aback. "What do you mean?"
"I've gotten your blood tested for signs of drugs which means that you are not hallucinating and you do not indicate that you are lying to me. However, your blood does not match anyone in our database. Your family, Stark, is not a noble house nor a very common one. Nowadays, we do not have many noble houses that are powerful. It's not a monarchy anymore, Miss Stark."
While Arya tried to discern Mycroft's words, he clicked on a small button out of numerous other ones and soon a woman came in with refreshments and snacks.
"Well, I'm sure you're famished, Miss Stark. Have some refreshments." Arya meanwhile gulped at the array of desserts that were laid out in front of her. They were none that she had seen before. She had not able to eat a lot of fruits or sweets for several months because she was helping the restoration of land after the Great Winter. Not shying away, Arya first took a large gulp of the lemon water that was inside a glass pitcher. She raised her eyebrow. Glass was hard to create.
Then she turned her eyes to the sweets and took a small pie looking sweet that had fruits on top of them.
"What's this?" she asked.
Mycroft smiled. "A tart. You have a very good eye. I highly recommend that sweet first." Sherlock did not look at the sweets and just poured himself some tea instead.
"Aren't you eating?" Arya looked conspicuously at Mycroft.
"It's not poisoned, so don't worry." Mycroft looked longingly at the desserts. "I'm just… abstaining from eating too much." Now, Sherlock scoffed. "He's on a diet."
"What's a diet?" Mycroft and Sherlock both raised their eyebrows but answered her question all the same.
Arya just laughed softly. "Well, King Robert surely did not go on diets. Rather, I think he died because he ate and drank so much.
"Oh? Do tell us this story." Arya did not know what compelled her to tell about her childhood, where she was young and naive. However, she knew that these two men seemed familiar. Like...Jon.
"Tony? Who names their child Tony?" Arya laughed a little. It was only Mycroft in the room with her now. Sherlock left several hours ago and Mycroft only recently got back from whatever job he needed to do first.
Mycroft in turn smiled. "Usually, people say that about Sherlock and myself."
"Well, Tony is almost as bad as Joffrey, but nothing can be worse than Joffrey."
"And why is that?"
Arya furrowed her brows. "He beheaded my father. Or at least ordered it." After a pause, Mycroft set his cup of tea down.
"I'm not very familiar with the feeling of empathy, but I do give my condolences, Miss Stark," Arya smirked at him.
"Oh please, just call me Arya. I'm not really a lady anymore. Thank the Gods."
Mycroft looked back at Arya quizzically.
"Well, I doubt that you would have gotten much training if you were a lady. How did you become so skilled with a blade?" Arya then proceeded into talking of her adventures with Syrio and Jaqen H'ghar.
Meanwhile, Mycroft texted to his secretary, 'Cancel the rest of the plans for today. I have to entertain a young lady.'
