Chapter 4: Red and Gold

She was waking up slowly, her body inch by inch regaining its senses. First, there was this paralyzing ache in the back of her head; it was pulsating like if her aorta had clung to her nape and stayed there. All her limbs felt numb, simply exhausted, and her eyes were shut, not yet ready for the surrounding brightness. She didn't hear any sounds aside from the ones of her own breathing and the atmosphere was still. The air filling in her lungs was cold and smelled of sterility so intensive, it was almost sour.

Arya tried to recall what it was that put her in this state. She remembered the boys, yes she'd said goodbye to Gendry and Hot Pie in the dark of the night after Gendry's revelation. But what happened next? Well, she took off and then... And then... Nothing. The Stark girl really didn't know what was next. Blackness. Emptiness. Fading memory of sudden, blunt pain that lasted not longer than a single frame in this weird, fragmentary record of her stitched up memories.

thud

A sudden prod of something hard against her shinbone dragged her violently out of her daze and into the nightmare the real world's recently become.

"Wakey, wakey!" Growled someone sleazily from above. "Rise and shine you filthy little squirt. You stink."

The girl refused. She didn't want to wake up. Not yet. Nor ever. She'd rather just stay where she was, in a state somewhere between unconsciousness and reality, for ending it would mean marching back to a battlefield to fight in a war in which she was just a little girl, abandoned by all her allies. But there it was; another hit, but stronger this time, and Arya forced her grey eyes to open.

...and regretted it instantly.

A significantly ugly version of the Grim Reaper was looming above her. Rorge (whose name was yet to be revealed to her in proper time) in all his spiteful glory. And what did the girl see as her eyes managed to dart away from the two little holes, that were supposed to be a nose? Well, the place was breathtaking. As far as she could see it was a rancher house, a really luxury one. Only someone of great wealth could afford such minimalist decor with predominance of large open spaces, all in the contrasting hues of red and gold. The living room created a capacious area combined with the dining hall and kitchen, all flooded with daylight, for the accommodation's western wall was made entirely of glass. The outside consisted only of rich greens of the leaves and deep browns of tree trunks. Taking the sight in, the girl's eyes might've widened in awe, if only not a few simple details that could not be erased from this pretty picture. One: This all belonged to a man, who butchered most of the Stark family. Two: There were two gangsters sitting at the large, blood red sofa, one of them she knew to be Polliver, the other she did not recall, and a pack of marked cards splayed on the coffee table between them. Three: The third one was apparently bidding her to hurry with the head of his shoe. Four: Arya was sat on the mahogany, wooden floor (still a shade of red), with her back pressed to the grand table's leg, and her arms tied up behind it. Just now she realized, that the gun she stole from Amory and tucked it around the belt of her jeans on her way with the two boys, was now nowhere to be seen.

"Didn't you hear me? I hate to repeat myself."

He was about to strike the third time, but Arya made an attempt to lift herself up to her knees, soon realizing something. How was she supposed to stand? With her arms locked behind her back like that?

"What, is there something wrong, m'lady?" Rorge spat at her, mockery evident in his tone. Arya was quick to recognize his game, and the fact, that the time to pick her survival tactic had been cut short. There was that ever-present little voice in her head that demanded reckless behavior. It wanted her to spit back at the man's disgusting face and not let herself be mocked. No, she wanted to do so. But at the same time, would that really be the smartest thing to do? Arya didn't have many options left. She was on her own, tied up, and surrounded by cutthroats, who all probably wanted her dead.

She had no other choice but to play weak. To put their vigilance into sleep. You never know when a chance to break free comes by. Sometimes it is better to be underestimated than overestimated.

"I can't stand." She said simply, plainly, voice rid of any emotions.

Rorge laughed, sounding like a croaking frog. "Did you hear her lads? She can't stand!" His lads paid the Grim Reaper little attention, focused at their game, and enveloped by a thick coat of cigar smoke. "I'm bloody sure you could stand when you sneaked out, leaving us only your fellow half-wits to play with. Should've sat right on your little ass back then, and it all would've ended way sooner." She got that third hit eventually. She's seen it coming sooner or later anyway, so...

The girl barely winced, lifting her eyes to him again, letting her own dig right into his sharply, expressing all the hate and sense of injustice they managed to hold within. The awful laugh ceased at once, and the hovering man returned her gaze, but said nothing, then bent down to loosen the rope around her wrists.

"Move." The noseless man ordered as the frazzled, hurting all-over teenager stood up, gripping the table behind her to tight, that all her small knuckles went white.

She felt like a thin, filthy bruise on the perfect body of this place. But that's what she's always been, isn't it? Always unfitting, always wishing to be somewhere else, to be someone else. Arya always used to tell herself that she just hasn't quite become herself. That one day she'll finally feel whole and everything will click into place when she's figured out how to connect the pieces her soul seemed to be divided into, and solved the great puzzle.

But just now, it occurred to her, that maybe this is her. Maybe she was born to be incomplete. Maybe she'll die not knowing what the final piece is, or where to search for it. Plain, little, weak Arya Stark.

Oh, what is happening to you! Look around! It's this place that's filthy, not you! Don't you dare think otherwise. This will not be the end of you, no matter who you take yourself for.

Ilyn Payne

Amory Lorch

Walder

Sandor Clegane

Polliver

Joffrey Baratheon

Tywin Lannister

The names echoed inside her mind, and all her troubled thoughts resolved in one second. She would not rest until the last name is crossed out of her list with a blood trail. There was much work to be done, and if she wasn't mistaken, two of the men listed above were in her reach right now.

"I said. Move." The warning in Rorge's tone brought her thoughts back to the present. "And don't try anything, I'm tired of chasing an ugly brat."

Arya did as she was ordered, without even a scowl, trying to take in all her surroundings, as she went on, directed by her captor past the large kitchen isle, and towards one of four closed doors, threeon the right, one to the left, in a hall with a golden lion pattern embellishing its walls. What appeared odd about these doors, was that although each did have a heavy lock, none had a handle. The girl didn't have much time to consider what purpose that served, because just then, she heard the lock of another door she wasn't able to see, assumingly the front door, being opened, and more than one person come in.

"Fuckin' finally!" Called Polliver. "What took you so long?"

Someone laughed in reply and it was a laugh, that sent the creeps along Arya's spine.

"Missed us, have ya?" Lorch's gurgle filled the room, and the girl froze to turn her head and just have a good look at a man that would soon die by her hand, but the situation changed completely, when she saw the second man. Seven Hells and the Heavens above, it was no one else but Jaqen H'ghar. It felt like a hard, stinging slap on her cheek, seeing him standing tall and proud, smiling as always. Had she not taken a closer loom at him before, she might've thought this was an entirely different man. Dressed in all black, he was wearing a long coat (probably leather, but he stood to far for her to see) and heavily tinted glasses, those one wears not because it's sunny outside but to intimidate and have the mental advantage over one's interlocutor. His clothes made those red-and-white hair stand out even more, now all made up and fresh.

And at this moment, Arya Stark hated all those things. The smirk, the floor he stood on, the air he breathed in. She's made a mistake. A huge mistake.

"The fuck you lookin' at, keep walkin. You're dragging on like a bloody snail."

Cursing herself under her breath, she walked in to the bathroom, or rather was almost pushed inside by her lovely, noseless guide.

He knows I'm here. He knows, and still he did not show any sign that he does. He didn't even look in my direction, he didn't... Ugh! Son of a bitch!

It could not get any worse now, could it? Basically there wasn't a thing in this world that would not eventually turn against her, that's the impression she got. Just how was she supposed to stay determined, when even the tiniest gleam of hope had to be put out before it's started to actually burn?

She sighed, sounding both angry and hopeless. Maybe a shower would help scrub if only just one layer of that awful feeling off her body. The feeling of being betrayed.

Honestly, what were you thinking, Arya Stark. Oh, that's right. You weren't. You were too busy trying to figure out what color were his eyes. Stupid. Stupid little girl.

"Just be quick about it. I ain't got all day." Barked Rorge, and she was forced to gaze around. The bathroom was huge. Having that said, it did match the kitchen-dining-living room precisely.

The tub, right at the center of the room was round like a Jacuzzi, it's bottom made in a way that gave the impression that the water filling it in was red. Arya didn't know if she wanted to bathe in a liquid that resembled blood, so she decided to pick the shower behind a beautiful, golden folding screen. Didn't rich people just use usual shower cabins? The only sign of actual 'people' living here from time to time were a couple sanitary products standing in front of the folding screen. So that's where the smell came from. Arya could see there a bottle of bleach and a strong detergent. Did this place need cleaning recently? And what could possibly have happened that the scent was present in the whole house?

Most of the wall directly in front of the girl was taken up by a row of wash-basins and a gigantic, perfectly polished mirror. In this way, avoiding meeting her own reflection in it was simply an impossible task. And she looked just horrible. Like a boy, who decided to go camping for two weeks and has not once taken a bath during that time. The top of her head looked like a hedgehog's back. Maybe a shower was not a bad idea after all... But wait, wouldn't she have to be left alone?

Arya turned to face Rorge, glancing at him, unsure. If he was going to stand right there, leaning against the door frame, this would be a nightmare.

Rorge needed a while to get what her look meant, and not yell at her again, but when he did realize what she was all about, the man just snorted.

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes, and continued staring blankly at the wall. "I couldn't care less for what's in your pants, now hurry up or I'll have you boiled in this tub."

Despite the discomforting circumstances, it felt really nice to be enveloped by the heat of running water and let it gather in tiny, wet drops on Arya's face. Along with sweat, that made the top of her head look like a dirty bird's nest, she got rid of all the remaining bits and pieces of Arry, that were still transparent in her appearance. There was a certain sensation of freedom the girl was given in this action, but there was not much she could do about it. She had only a bar of soap to her disposition. No towels, no sharp objects, nor anything she could make use of. There was, in fact, a window, that she would perhaps be able to reach before Rorge could get to her, but, just like the doors in the hallway, it had no handle.

Hot Pie was right. It really is a mental institution. She mused with great frustration, waiting till her skin dries up a bit. Will they wrap me up in a straitjacket? How does one get out of here?

The hallway carried the sounds of men's chatter (more than a few fanciful swearwords involved, naturally) and Arya's captor shifted impatiently in his spot.

"You done there? I ain't got more time to waste!"

The girl stepped out obediently, water still dripping from her damp hair. She had to wear the same clothes, which were not in the best condition, but the only ones she owned anyway. She stuck to just her t shirt and jeans, deciding to go barefoot too. Soaking up her shoes as well would not be the best idea.

Rorge let her out like a prisoner, pushing her froward and cursing under his breath, when she tried to steal a glance at the men gathered around the table, with piling bottles of alcohol along with other stimulants laid out before them. Whatever card game they were playing (probably some modified version of poker) seemed to be going splendidly, but the Stark gird did not give a damn about their stupid game. The only thing she wanted to achieve was to look one of them in the eye once again. The one, who gave the impression as if he was purposefully ignoring the other three, and didn't participate in their ways of spending the time.

She caught a half-glimpse of the slight glow of white in his hair (look at me you smirking devil! This is your fault too!), but not more than that. One could think Jaqen was not even aware of her presence, let alone that she was being kept hostage under the same roof. And Arya was sure she would see no more of him in a while, because right after her shower, the girl was led into one of the closed rooms. The noseless man pushed the handleless door, they were a perfect match really, and it gave in, just like that, revealing a room that to someone else might look like a five-star hotel room. To Arya it was nothing else, but a cell. Rorge sat her on the floor, or rather pushed her to the ground at the foot of a massive king-sized bed, and proceeded on tying her wrists behind her back, then the other end of the rope to the bed's leg. And so she landed in a position very similar to the one she woke up in.

"All quiet and cowering now, aren't we?" The only thing the little prisoner could think of as her jailer spoke, looming over her was that he not only looked like an asshole, was an asshole, but his breath stunk like an asshole's as well. "So much fuss about catching that lawyer's little scum of a daughter. You have no idea what deep shit you've just gotten yourself into." He finished the knot with one sharp pull, and the girl almost hissed at him.

"Don't be a whiny little brat, an' make me come back 'ere to silence you. 'Cause I will." With that, the brute left just as they came in, just pushing the door open, accompanied by the girl's intense glare, her lips pressed in a thin, hard line.

The time was passing so tantalizingly slow, that soon very passing hour, minute, second, became unbearable. Arya's been sitting like that literally all day, watching the bright glow that got inside through the broad window languidly turn orange, then pink, then red until it was gone almost entirely. During the first few hours she's been trying to loosen her binds, unsuccessfully, then for the next hour she's been thinking and figuring out the whole 'no handles' situation. The thought that in a place like this anyone could get wherever they pleased and whenever they pleased, was ridiculous. She would expect a man who wanted to keep his dirty secrets from the rest of the world, would surely invest in security and privacy, not in large windows and doors that never really close. But she'd heard the crank of the front door's lock, right? She'd have to solve this puzzle, if she intended on ever breaking free.

Then, she began counting all the little lions on the carpet under her bare feet, but eventually gave up, hitting it to 394. Around fifth hour her back was hurting so bad, she had to try and twist like a snake and shuffle her legs to ease out the itch of numbness. About seven hours passed before her body refused to carry on with this agony, and that's where she must've passed out. She hasn't eaten anything since she saw blood spilled in her family's house.

When a short, low sound awoke her, the room was dark like a dungeon. But as her tired eyes adjusted to their surrounding, Arya saw a thin, bright line. The door opened... On its own. Sounds of a conversation somewhere past the hall found their way to her ears.

"Lorch was lucky to be leaving this shithole so soon." It was a voice she didn't recognize. If she had to describe it, she'd say it belonged to a person particularly gruff.

"Lorch was lucky I was the only one to see his ugly ass kicked by a little girl." That was Polliver, if she wasn't mistaken. So he must've been the masked, human-dam at one of the train exits, back when Amory tried to capture her. Wait... Are they saying he's... left? Damn it!

"You're right about that, Polly." The other man chuckled. "She must be a real beast, that one."

"You'd be surprised."

The narrow, illuminating line widened, letting two shady silhouettes in, one notably taller and broader than the other.

"Whoa, what the fuck is this kid doing in my fuckin' room?!" His features blurred out lit up like that, but that was the taller, unfamiliar one.

"That, my friend, is this very same 'beast', as you've just named her."

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me!" Honestly, the way this man spoke was like one, continuous annoyed groan. "Why here? I've had enough of playing a nursemaid in King's Landing!"

"You're sayin' you can't handle a little girl, Clegane?" Clegane. Sandor Clegane? "She hasn't caused any problems since we brought her here." That's Sandor, bloody, Clegane! "Besides, just look at her." He took Sansa! Arya felt the wall of stillness and envy, that kept her temper tamed, crumble.

The grumpy man began to oppose, but Polliver was having none of it.

"Don't fuckin' test my patience, San. Sleep well." The shorter man walked out and the door behind him closed, making the room (cell) fade back into black.

"Cunt." Sandor gnarled quietly after him. Now it was actually easier for Arya to make out the looks of her sister's kidnapper. A cold shiver ran along her aching spine as nothing but utter consternation and disgust took over her face.

Did everybody here need to look like a freak? First, pig snouts as noses, then no noses at all, pointy teeth, red-white hair, and now this? Half of Sandor's face was covered with a layer of skin, that simply melted away. Red with crusts, and just impossible to look at for more than two seconds. Sandor did look like a dangerous man. Arya didn't even want to imagine Sansa's terror. From her hunched position at the foot of the bed, she sent him the most hateful look her face could produce. And he seemed to be looking at her too, simply disbelieving it all.

That this little scrag here escaped from the great ambush, that was yesterday's action was hard to believe to Sandor, but that she was Sansa's biological sister, that he would not believe.

"You..." Whispered the abandoned wolf cub, nestled at the ground in front of him in the coldest of northern tones. "You monster. You're gonna pay for what you did. To us. To her! You heartless son of a bitch! You're the worst shit in Westeros! You-!" The words she's been keeping in, spilled out like a spiteful river, that just happened to be directed at him.

"Okay, let's get a few things straight, kid." The man shushed her, circling the bed, and kicking his shoes off. "First, I'm not a monster, I'm only Tywin's Hound. Second, there's plenty worse than me. And last, I didn't do anything to your sister."

"Is that so?" She spat. "Is kidnapping her from her home nothing?"

He really didn't have to bother with answering and fall right into snoring slumber with her rambling along, as only a man like the Hound was able to, but the young Stark has hit the soft spot. If the accusation was relative to the truth, he'd leave it, but it wasn't, and so he couldn't. She could locate the core of her anger in any of the gang members, but not in him.

"I've done everything I could to protect her, you loudmouthed wench."

Arya felt the bed's mattress bounce with Sandor's weight, and once again tugged at the ties around her wrists.

"Liar! Protect her? Oh, I'm sure you did! By delivering her to Joffrey Baratheon like if she were his property! There's nothing that would convince me-"

"Will you just shut up and listen!?" His roar fell upon the girl like two large hands closing around her throat, and the rage boiling within her got suffocated. Somehow she didn't feel as devastated as moments ago. Those damned ropes!

"I know who you are. And if you're lookin' for a punching bag you can throw your angry little gabble at, you've found the wrong guy. I hate those fuckers, just like you."

"Bullshit." The hostage hissed, still tussling. "You're a big, sadistic scumbag!"

"I'm a dog, girl." She couldn't see his face, but her sister's abductor seemed unmoved by her attempts to offend him. "I follow orders. And I've done a lot of nasty shit, I ain't ashamed of that, but I did not. Hurt. Your sister."

"How the hell am I supposed to believe that!?"

"Well, you can ask her, when you're back in King's Landing. Ask her who's been keeping watch at her door every night, or helping her clean her wounds."

Silence fell between the two. Arya was chewing on her lower lip, doubtful.

This can't be true, this can't be true, this can't...

But she'd found not even a hint of sarcasm or mock in the Hound's tone. And there was this deep need in Arya's core. A need to know...

"Is Joffrey..." She began, sounding like a scared little mouse. "...hurting her?"

Sandor lifted himself up on his elbows, so he could at least see the back of this kid's head. She was everything that Sansa wasn't. Lacked the beauty of her sister's flowing red hair, tall graceful silhouette, and most of all her naivete. This one here was like a hurt little animal, but perhaps there was a sense of beauty in that too. But the man couldn't see it. Although he wished the rascal no harm.

"He's definitely tried. More than once. But she's getting everything she wants in return, pretty outfits and all that shit. I think he wants to marry her, that fuckin' bastard."

A giant tide of shock and hopelessness hit Arya so suddenly, she didn't even know how to react. What was worse; dying by the hand of a criminal, or living with one? The girl was too stunned to notice the sadness luring in the Hound's voice.

"She's a caged pretty bird, that sings no more. Now, stop tugging at the bed and let me fuckin' sleep."

She did. And while loud snores filled in the room, she prayed to the Gods once again.

Don't make me sit here and wait for everything I love to be destroyed. Don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone. Bring me salvation.

Ilyn Payne

Amory Lorch

Walder

Sandor Clegane

Polliver

Joffrey Baratheon

Tywin Lannister

Then the little wolf fell asleep with the names still on her lips. And the Gods listened to her prayer. This night was not yet over for Arya Stark.

Her exhausted dreams were empty, hollow and comfortless. Full of soundless echoes that reached for her with their spider-like fingers and dug deep into her brain, poisoning her thoughts. Nightmarish sensations, no more, no less. Trapped inside her own mind, for a while the girl thought they would last forever... But then someone's touch, firm and warm against her mouth, ended them.

Arya drew in a breath so abrupt, she almost choked on it. When she saw the bright irises of his eyes just mere inches from her own, she would've gasped, but his hand made her unable to. She tried to back away, startled, but her spine was already pressed against the bed frame.

"Shhh..." Jaqen hushed her like a baby, narrowing his brows mischievously. "A girl doesn't want to wake the Hound, does she?" He whispered, and it was the first sound since their previous separation, that actually 'soothed' her nerves. It did not placate her anger though.

She shook her head, with eyes wide open, since it was the only answer she was able to give. Crouching in front of her, the man still had to bend quite a bit, not to be hovering over the girl. Arya could feel the long tendrils of his red-white hair brush against her collarbone.

"A girl keeps quiet, calm as still water, so that friends can talk in secret, yes?" How did he even get here? I'm sure I would've heard him enter...

The answer was a nod this time, however Jaqen gave her a look of slight distrust and regard, before his palm left her face.

"What do you want, you creep?" She asked bitterly, her head still heavy with the weight of her dreams. "Did you sneak here to taunt me? Is that what it is?" The hostage, almost shrunk in her spot, searched for the answer in his moonlit face before he gave her one. The shadows made Jaqen's features sharper, the deep circles under his lower lids even darker. Gods, what has she done to deserve this torment? A very strange feeling made something in Arya's chest squeeze painfully as her gaze lingered on the man she hated, and she assumed it was the strange pull again. She did not like this feeling at all.

"That's not the way to greet an old friend, lovely girl." He spoke in the sweetest of tones, almost caring. It was just as if he weren't the most cunning of all her enemies here. Honestly, his riddles were the last thing she wanted to hear right now, they would only further confuse her. Just what the hell, Jaqen?! If that's even your real name.

"A friend? Are you joking?" If a malevolent scowl could be a whisper, this would be it. "You're not a friend. You're a shameless poser. You're a criminal. You're one of them! I helped you! I thought..." No, she would not finish this sentence. I thought I could trust you. Arya forced her mouth to shut, and try just not to look at him. Stupid little girl, who gets easily lured in by a pair of pretty eyes. "I should've left you there to suffocate."

"These same words a man could use against a girl. We were both not the ones we passed for. A homeless traveler becomes a criminal. A boy becomes a girl. How can this be wrong for one and right for the other?" A witty gleam ran across his features, as if he were the smartest man in the world. Arya would be more than glad to erase it once and for good, but he did have a point.

"I was always a girl. I thought you wouldn't notice. How did you know who I was anyway?"

"A man sees. A man... knows." There was just something else in his voice for that little moment of hesitation, when his hands itched to be wrapped around this crumbling little frame, but never made it there. Something more than just well-preserved smoothness and a fair dose of foreign accent, that made the small space between them suddenly feel oddly intimate, as if there were things only their minds could contain. "He also pays his debts. Now, one is owed to an imprisoned, lovely girl."

"What... What are you talking about?"

"The Many-Faced God demanded this man's life. And now, a life must be returned to him. A girl saved a man, and so the choice is hers. Speak a name, and a man will pay his due." Arya watched his lips move with consternation, not really sure what the words, that left them, meant.

"So, you're saying, that because you didn't die, someone else has to?" These same lips extinguished in a guileful smile. The Lorathi was fairly amused by her point-blank summation. He noted, each time she was troubled with something or just lost in thought, the girl involuntarily bit her lower lip.

"Just so, sweet girl."

He leaned in closer, encircling his arms around her, and felt her whole body stiffen, with each muscle tight as an instrument's string. His fingers traced their way in the dark to the rope tying her wrists, while his nose got dangerously close to her ear.

"A girl has a big decision to make." The man she was still trying to hate did not untie her, oh no. He only loosened the knots a bit, so they would not graze her skin. "But her time is short." His mouth brushed her hair as the man backed away, and then...

He just disappeared into the thick darkness, leaving an echo of a deadly vow still reverberating in Arya's ears. Her head was spinning. Just then, she realized, that for a long while her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.