Arya flinched at the name and looked at her companion, who seemed just as surprised and revolted as she did. She shook her head to clear it of the thousand questions and looked back to the blacksmith, eyes narrowing. "That's impossible. Roberth Baratheon was caught three years ago in the Baron Heist for the Targaryen Jewels." She said, her tone all ice.

The blacksmith shook his head, clicking his tongue. "No, no, no. It was definitely him, I know the Baratheon eyes. I know them, ain't a blue like it. He was slim, maybe the prison didn't give him very much, but I swear on the Smith it was definitely him." The Hound radiated suspicion, so the blacksmith prattled on. "Look," he paused, leaning toward them. "I heard some at the pub saying that the jeweler down Cramer is getting his locks replaced." He gestured to the gun Sandor was eyeing earlier. "Bring me back a diamond the size of a pea, and you can have any one of these pretty weapons."

Arya glanced at the daggers she'd been looking at, and then at the Hound. He'll want the musket on the wall, she thought, but she wondered what she'd get in return for it. Extra food maybe?

Sandor pursed his lips and turned to her, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "What do you want?" He said quietly.

Arya sighed, her lip curling. "I could get you that musket, but I'd want some more food for the week, a real chi-" She was cut off.

"No," The Hound barked, shaking his head. "These." He nodded toward the weapons.

Arya was taken aback. She didn't expect this from him, not in a million years. She pointed mutely to the daggers on the floor. "Done." He said to the Blacksmith, his eyes not leaving her prize.

Sandor pivoted on his heel and strode out the door, coat billowing, not waiting a minute for his companion. Arya was about to trail after him, but the blacksmith called to her. "Girl." She winced. She was 13 now, her body had begun to fill out. No one had called her girl in a long time. "Be careful, I wouldn't want a pretty thing like you to get hurt." He eyed her greedily, as if he'd been saving it for when the Hound had left.

Arya ground her teeth, clenching her fist. "I'm not pretty." She said, her voice flat and indifferent. "And I don't get hurt." She shut the door behind her and faced the Quarter, shaking her head. "Not anymore." She muttered, head held high as she searched for her employer.

The Hound, as always, had turned his gaze away from the looks being shot at him, deflected them rather. He would not let them hurt him. At, first, Arya had thought he had some sort of god complex, but soon after she'd learnt that really he just had nothing left to lose.

She hadn't realized it, but she'd slowed down to watch some children playing Lord of the Crossing. The Lord, a skinny girl like herself, snapped a command. Her brother, a bigger boy cursed and attempted to push her off of her plank. Arya, without thinking, rushed forward to catch her before she collided with her pavement. The girl looked up at her with awe, and smiled, showing off the gap between her two front teeth. She muttered a thank you and stood back up. Arya glared at her brother, who was studying her with a feeble sort of courage a pup would, looking at a dog much bigger than itself.

Their mother stumbled out from behind an adjacent corner and shooed them away, holding them close to her as if Arya was some threat. She supposed she was, but there was a time when she would have asked to join their game. She remembered when she used to play with her brother Bran, while Sansa watched. Jon, sometimes, would play, just for her. He'd ruffle her soggy hair and call her little sister, though they were related only half. She smiled sadly at the memory, watching the little girl she'd caught scamper away, bickering with her brother. It was like looking in a mirror.

"Don't tell me you've gone sentimental. Thieves can't be mushy." Sandor had snuck up behind her. Funny, she was the one who was supposed to do the sneaking.

She shook her head, heaved a sigh, and whirled around to face him, expressionless. "Forget about that bullshit I told you about this morning, you'll be going on that blacksmith's run. I don't care if you're chasing smoke, that jewelers is where you'll find Baratheon, if you're going to find him at all. He did always love his jewels." The Hound continued, sucking his teeth in disgust. Arya rolled her eyes. She found it tiring, hatred. She used to feel everything so intensly, so deeply. She did still feel, she wasn't completely numb, but she'd be lying if she said most of it wasn't apathy.

Back in their own slice of Thatching, the two hopped down the steep steps into their damp home, their feet practiced but weary in the same.

The Hound tossed her a hunk of bread, not doubting for a moment that she'd catch it. She tore off a bite savagely, not bothering to shut her mouth as she chewed. Sandor glanced out the window, at the stars above. His lip curling, he turned to her. "Suit up, you've gotta go, Runt." He said around a mouthful of bread. She nodded, swallowed, and ducked into her tiny chambers, humming a tune she'd long forgotten the name of.

She flung open the rotten-wooded chest where she kept her gear. She only strapped one bag to her belt this time, the blacksmith's price was little, and not what she was searching for, but she wanted those daggers, and would not forget to bring him what he asked for. Her leather jerkin was jet black and rose to her throat, but was cut at the beginning of her shoulders. Needle, as always, was strapped to her side. Her leggings, a simple leather of the same colour as her bodice, fit tightly but allowed her to move and bend in any way she wished, perfect for creeping along rafters or ducking under beams. She tied up her hair efficiently, as it just tickled her shoulders by now. She stared at herself in the mirror, into her own coal black eyes. There was nothing to find.

Cramer Alley was not too far from where her and the Hound lived, and she knew the jeweler's place well, though they'd never let her inside. Once outside, she hovered behind a corner and stiffened, listening closely. She heard the crackle of burning torches, hushed voices, but no guards. This is where it gets interesting, she thought to herself, grinning.

She crept along the road, glancing about routinely as she swept into an alley she knew well. Following the zigzag pattern until the end of the alleyway, she tightened her hair tie and crouched low to the ground. Before her was a grate, and beyond, a dimly lit vent. A small space for a small girl. In a hollow box to her right, which was marked 'cabbage' she had hidden a belt of tools. She snatched them from under a bed of wood shavings and attatched them to her belt before drawing the screw driver.

Looking warily around the corner, she set to work, twisting the screws until they popped out. The grate fell to the pavement with a clang, and Arya grimaced, but got to her hands and knees and crawled into the vent.

At a fork in the structure she sat back on her haunches. Left would take her around the church and through Helgin's Slums, where she blended in, but wasn't safe in the least. Right would take her around the clock tower, where she could scamper along roofs instead. She supposed neither was safe, but she settled for the path she thought Robert Baratheon would choose. After so much of the Hound's insistence that he was arrogant, she took a right. the Slums were no place for a thief king.

The tunnel narrowed considerably, almost so much that she couldn't continue, but it took a sharp turn upwards. Arya reached up a pale hand and and moved the grate aside, white fingers of light touching her face from the space above. She climbed into the church, emerging just behind the podium. She shivered. It felt wrong to be in a church- throw some holy water on her and she'd melt.

She pushed open the church doors and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with poison air. The clocktower loomed before her, an ominous shadow that she was all too familiar with. Knowingly, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air was musty, clouds of dust arose when she took a step, but she could see clear footprints much bigger than hers. She squinted and crouched to the floor, examining the boot. Expensive. Leather, she noted.

She dismissed the matter and started up the stairs, expert feet making little to no noise as they scampered up the steep steps to the bells. She reached the top and took a moment to catch her breath, leaning on a beam and gazing out at the city before her.

Arya liked it her- she could see every drunk, harlett, and child, but they couldn't see her. It was thrilling to know that no one looked up. She shinnied through the bells to the other side of the tower.

The jewelers was right beneath the west side of the tower. It was the only building on Cramer that seemed to be standing on its own- its windows illuminated to show off the priceless jewels on velvet cushions inside. She had a queer love for the store, but also a passionate hatred.

Haphazardly climbing down the latter to her right, her feet gained back their sense of sureness. But then she heard footsteps.

Gasping, she sank behind a corner, her lips pursed. The guards talked loudly, chattering on about their wives. Or brothels, she couldn't tell. She could see by now that at least one of them had a torch- and that there was definitely a pod of them. Gnawing on her lip, she forced herself to stay put. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The guards walked by without noticing waited a little longer before tiptoeing to the jewelers. She peeked in the window to see only a guard, pacing back and forth, admiring the trinkets greedily. Smirking, she entered a tunnel set into the building adjacent.

The tunnel let out on the roof of a few buildings over. From where she was, she could see an entrance, just a small spot in the roof that would let her on to the rafters. Perfect.

She hopped over pipes and through tendrils of fog until she reached her entrance. Calm and still like water. Bending backwards, she was able to squeeze her hips through the hold and on to a sturdy beam.

Below her, the guard was still pacing. She didn't have much time. As he turned away from her, she lept on to his back, her knees planted in his shoulders, and knocked him out with one swift blow from the claw. She winced. It was louder than she wanted it to be.

She hauled the guard's unconscious body to a closet nearby and stashed him inside as best she could, locking the doors tight so that his weight wouldn't shift them open.

Keeping her eyes peeled, she strolled among the jewelry, eyes brushing over emeralds, rubies, amber, and diamonds alike. Finally she happened upon a ring that looked like it would fit the blacksmith's price nicely.

But, beside it, she saw something else. A pendant, embedded with pearls, in the shape of a sidefaced direwolf. Smiling softly, Arya was about to put her hand on the glass, but she knew better. She licked her lips, and looked over her shoulder. It was right beside the ring... If only she could..

She shook her head and set herself to the task at hand. She grabbed a lockpick from her bag and poked it into the key hole, hands working deftly and carefully as she clipped her breathing so that she could hear better.

A defeated click allowed her inside. She grabbed the ring and shut the door again, and then moved to her pendant, her heart beating faster now. One, two, just one more click-

"Are you lost?"

She didn't know that voice, but she was almost certain she knew who it belonged to.