Arya stayed with Jon for another hour, perusing the internet for the latest rumors on The Wall; from the nearby enemy troop movements and attacks to the facts on the decrepit housing and obsolete technology. Apparently, the generations of soldiers stationed at The Wall prided themselves on the impenetrable barrier that had been constructed hundreds of years before. The latest weather reports did nothing to lend satisfaction of Jon's assignment as the temperatures usually hovered in the just-below-freezing for weeks on end. Petty criminals and juvenile offenders set to age up in the system were housed at the same location, with minimum security, to "work" their sentences off; they provided labor repairing the wall, mechanics for vehicles, general handymen. Good behavior by the convicts led to more freedom at The Wall, being trained with weaponry to transition into the Service if they chose (a fact that did not warm Arya's heart).
Still, the day passed into early evening and her phone remained silent. After returning home, Arya offered to help with dinner and was elbow deep in flour while making biscuits when her phone buzzed in her pocket. As if the noise kindled a suppressed statement, Catelyn spoke from her spot next to the mediocre baker, "I…Robb told me where Jon is going to be stationed. I'm sorry that he will be so far away." Her appreciative daughter nodded; Arya could tell that her mother meant every word. Catelyn may have had no loss of love for the boy she raised for her husband's sake but she would never wish more heartache on her daughter.
The phone remained painfully ignored through the remainder of dinner preparations, Arya tip-toeing in her mother's good graces for the time being. Excusing herself to the restroom before the meal was served, the sneaky daughter saw that the assassin had sent the message. Although excited, something nagged the girl, pulled at the despondent part of her entire self that the text hadn't been from her best friend (although she refused to allow herself to believe that she missed his stupid texts). Chewing on her bottom lip, Arya swiped her finger across the screen to open the message.
I have need of information.
If nothing else, the foreigner was tenacious and repetitious with his request. What do you need?
She could only delay a few minutes before Catelyn called that dinner was on the table. Irritated, with the lack of response, the teen shoved her phone into the waistband of her jeans and sulked to the dining room. Did this assassin ever provide any straightforward answers in a timely matter without sneaking into her house and hiding in her closet after lighting a car on fire?
Arya waved off playing video games with her brother and sequestered herself into her room with the music turned to an appropriate level. Dinner had turned interesting following Sansa's announcement that she had been accepted to Vale University and would be moving in with their Aunt Lysa after graduation so that she could settle for a few months before school started. Catelyn revealed that she and Robb would be traveling to her brother's wedding around the same time and the three youngest children could come if they wanted (which none accepted). Bran's physical therapist Osha had already agreed to stay with the children during the road trip.
Feet propped high up on the wall, Arya contemplated what she would do with her mom and Robb gone: sleep in every day, blow off chores. Her first fleeting thought of hanging with Jon was bitterly met with reality. Her military bound brother may, possibly, have the ability to call or text by then and that realization sent the girl into a depressive funk, which caused Arya to turn up the music, which then caused her mother to yell to turn it down, which then turned the girl's mood even more tart.
Tomorrow. 10 am at Harren's Hall. A cryptic message from a stranger that was likely to show up in the girl's locker room at school to get her attention was just what Arya needed to turn her outlook around. While she inherently questioned the reason to meet at the community college in the next town, there was always an element of bewilderment with this assassin.
It's a big campus. Arya felt a tinge of superiority with her answer.
I'm sure I'll be able to find you. And just like that, she was no more superior than a toenail on a chicken.
The deceitful girl was able to feign spending her Sunday with Jon and asked her oldest brother to meet up with the duo for lunch. Arya already had a concoction ready for Jon; she would meet him for breakfast, beg off to meet another friend and then meet up for lunch with her brothers at the local Chinese place. By her calculations, the timing would be perfect if she was a little heavy with her gas petal and that thought gave way to possibly being delayed by a temperamental police officer. Her multi-faceted plan in place, the teenager set off the next morning for her abbreviated meeting with Jon before speeding away towards the meeting with a clove infused, accented man.
Arya was worried that she would be recognized, even a town away. Somehow, there always seemed to be someone that remembered her as Ned's daughter which then transitioned into a plethora of questions about how she and the family were doing. She never seemed to come up with the perfect answer to nosey acquaintance to serve them with the fact that she really didn't want to bring up her father's murder; usually the encounter ended with Arya falsely saying, "Well, I need to go. I'll let my mom know I saw you," which never would happen.
Hunched down on a bench, her eyes searched the passing students for Jaqen's familiar figure. Ladies pushing strollers, students enjoying the weekend, and couples hanging off each other all walked by the girl's observation spot, the latter pulling the chord of guilt in her mind; she wondered for the hundredth time how Gendry was. Arya shifted to casually look behind her and saw a flash of red hair that made her panic that in one way or another, Sansa happened to be at the same place as her younger sister. Returning her gaze forward while nonchalantly hiding her face with a free hand, Arya was startled by the assassin who had silently sat down beside her.
"Sweet Moses!" the stunned girl gasped, flinching away from the man.
"If I need to be, then yes." A toothpick bounced at the corner of his upturned lips.
"You said you needed information?"
Jaqen reached up and removed the toothpick, silently examining it as if it were an important piece of evidence. Finally, he spoke without making eye contact, "My contract. I do not usually ask questions. Ever." He punctuated his point by swiveling his eyes to hers, his stare making her feel the potency of his words. "However, because I owe you a great debt, I will allow you a small measure of satisfaction with my services." Jaqen reverted his gaze to the toothpick.
Arya remained still, willing every muscle in her body to freeze and keeping her breathing steady while she blinked evenly. Was this man offering to let her participate in the murder of Joffrey? An errant curl fell onto her cheek and when she denied herself the chance to push it back, the assassin smoothed it behind her ear pausing long enough that Arya was certain that her blush ignited from his evocative touch.
The brush of his hand startled her, its pressure more tender than she would have imagined. She flicked her eyes up to his and found that his overt stare confirmed that it had not been accidental in nature. She felt his finger touch, then linger at the pulse point on her wrist and her lips parted as her breath hitched. The girl's insides twisted. Gendry's face toyed with her memory and Arya's lips closed again as he pulled his hand away.
"You may choose, lovely girl, whether or not he will go quietly."
The blackness in her soul grasped Arya's heart and offered its true feelings. "I'd humiliate him in every way possible. He'd die like a screaming girl in front of everyone, pissing himself." It felt like her lungs were being squeezed when she stopped and gritted her teeth.
"So that you may never know the pain of guilt, there will be time for me to give you proof that he is guilty of what you say." Jaqen's voice was low as he pushed the curl that tempted to drop from behind the girl's ear again. "Guilt cannot change the past once it is done and your soul would never recover should it prove untrue."
"But it's not!" Arya seethed. "He texted Sansa but I had her phone. I know he did it!" She abruptly stopped her rant as a small boy on a scooter fell directly in front of the seated pair on the bench. The child stood, tears in his eyes, adjusted his helmet and pushed forward towards a man calling for him further down the sidewalk. Her father would never call for her again.
"Just so, allow me this leniency. There is a guilt that accompanies grievous mistakes that cannot be washed away. You should never know it."
Arya knew he was right and just nodded her head in agreement. Although she hated the thought of delaying Joffrey's eminent termination, the faithful girl trusted the stranger next to her. Her mind drifted for a few seconds and she heard herself whispering into her father's ear as she watched the father and son on his scooter, "Daddy, I love you."
"He was well admired." Even through the heavy accent, the sincerity in Jaqen's voice was unmistakable.
"He was." She watched the father and son disappear behind a building before she spoke again. "I should go," Arya reluctantly sighed before standing. Jaqen rose and stood next to her. The petite girl found herself silently chanting a mantra not to look at those hypnotic eyes and focused on his boots and the fact that she could not detect the weapon he had concealed there. "Do you have a holder or holster of some sort that holds your knife?" she queried, thinking that she could wear something like that in her Converse. It wasn't as if she needed it or wanted to be expelled if she had a knife, but the thrill of knowing she had a blade that no one would be able to detect was certainly tempting.
"Yes, a sheath. Would you like to see it?" He suggested that they move to her car for discretion after Arya enthusiastically nodded. "Wouldn't want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves as knives and guns tend to draw notice." Once in the BMW, Jaqen removed his boot and Arya inspected the black straps secured from knee to shin, holding the sheath flush against the assassin's muscular calf. She covetously ran her hand over the contraption in admiration.
"I wouldn't mind one of those," the acquisitive girl speculated as the man replaced his boot.
A low chuckle preceded Jaqen's reply. "There are reasons why you must not have this now. First, you would be banished from schooling."
"Expelled." Arya was annoyed that he thought of that detail but then remembered that the assassin seemed to know many, many convenient facts.
"Just so," he continued, tugging the leg of his khaki pants back down and obscuring her view of the prize she desired. "And you have no training with this. You would be better suited to be armed with a pencil and your wit."
"I can train!" Arya indignantly complained. "Robb taught me how to shoot his gun and I'm very good!"
"Is that so?" Jaqen seemed to contemplate the truth of the statement, staring at the girl as she held his scrutiny. "Why would you have need of such a blade?"
The girl had not thought out that particular point, only that it would be handy to have a knife on her person. Honesty was always best with a trained killer in the passenger seat. "I dunno. Thought it may be handy one day."
Again, the assassin seemed to meditate on her comeback, as if there were some virtue in her flippant answer. "Would your father approve?"
As if she had be sucker punched in the gut, Arya pushed out her breath and tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. The mere mention of her father's approval struck the match to the tinder of her inner storm. "My dad is dead," she choked through her teeth, blinking to keep the angry tears back.
The man's eyes had never left hers from his initial question and they continued to watch her reaction before countering, as if he were trying to see her layers of emotions peel off. "I know this, lovely girl. But he is the reason your debt will be redeemed and he was of the utmost importance in your life. Knowing this, that your heart grieves still for him, that you would still please him, I ask you again: would your father approve?"
"You didn't have to see it!" Arya furiously spat out. "You didn't see my dad get shot in the head! I had to see it, so you just shut the hell up!" Fury and woe permeated the girl and she turned her face from the assassin as a sob escaped.
"Lovely girl," Jaqen finally replied after Arya's weeping had subsided, "I will train you, have no doubt."
Extreme Ways – Moby
When You Were Young – The Killers
