Chapter 9

Arya breathed in the crisp air, perfumed by the familiar spicy scent that could only truly belong to one city: Braavos. She smiled up as the ship passed through the Titan's widespread legs, shadowed for the briefest of seconds before emerging into the bustling port. Jaime walked up beside her, leaning on the rail as he looked over the city.

"Different from King's Landing," she commented as a courtesan barge floated lazily past, slickened men and woman dancing and posing from the deck. Arya watched Jaime's eyes as he took everything in, the wonder and shock evident in the flecked green.

"It was always my brother who dreamed of seeing the world, never me. I was content with a sword in my hand and some gold in my pocket. And look at me now…" He trailed off, absorbed in the sights and smells.

To Arya, Braavos was really the only place that felt like home. She had spent so much time here as a girl, learning and listening until the city became part of her.

"Lower the damn anchor!" a voice boomed from behind. Jaime broke his gaze, smiling as Barrian clapped him on the shoulder, rumbling with laughter. "You like the city, no? I have seen many a Westerosi knights come here, never to return!"

The ship came to a jarring halt, sending Arya flying forward before she fastened onto the nearest thing: Jaime. He stumbled backwards against her weight, sending the both of them crashing against the slippery deck.

"Hells, girl!" he exclaimed, but Arya knew it was said in jest. Feeling her face flush, Arya quickly pushed off his chest and pulled herself back up.

"So sorry, my lord," she scoffed, trying to rub out a suspicious new stain from her breeches. Jaime rolled his eyes and made his way to the ramp, now lowered to meet the rickety dock below. Barrian had anchored the ship in one of the poorer sections of the port, as not to draw suspicion from the Braavosi sealords and nobles.

Ignoring the ramp, Arya leaped over the rail, landing smoothly on her feet under Jaime's exasperated eye. "What? You were taking to long."

Once Jaime had caught up, Arya offered out her arm. He cast a suspicious look before grudgingly taking it, allow her to lead him towards the main port. "It's not like you know where to go," she explained.

"And where do you plan on going? I'd say we make for the Iron Bank and ask if we could borrow coin for a ship. They've supported the queen—"

"And would love nothing more than to lock up the son of the lion that fucked them over," she interrupted. "Just…wait for me here, all right? I've got to take care of something." Before Jaime could open his mouth Arya slipped away from his arm, weaving in front of some old crone waving fish in her face.

"And what am I supposed to do?!" she heard Jaime call out as he attempted to follow.

"Buy yourself something pretty!" Arya yelled back before slipping between two arguing sellswords, disappearing into the crowd.


The great doors loomed tall and proud before her, but Arya was not daunted by this place. The House of Black and White had been her home for many moons as well as place to return to after completing assignments. Arya paused, breathing in the damp scent and remembering her last time in the House.

"A girl has returned, successful?" Jaqen H'ghar asked, his voice clear and sure. Even when she made no sound entering the temple, he always knew.

"Yes," Arya whispered. "Who does The Many Faced God claim next?" Now he turned around, his bright eyes solemn.

"A girl will take not only one, but two this time. She will travel to the land of the Andals to take the dragon queen and her king."

Confusion clouded her eyes. "Daenerys Targaryen has no king."

Jaqen clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Then a girl will be patient. The Many Faced God will wait until this queen is ready."

Arya closed her eyes at the word "queen", but she was not afraid. The Many Faced God took the weak and powerful alike, but she could not help but question this choice. "Why? I hear that the dragon queen is very good and just."

He clicked again. "A girl should not ask these questions. You know that only death can pay for life. Someone in the far East steals from The Many Faced God, and we must pay him back. The lives of two dragons will pay for many. Go now, child. Go find the dragon queen and king."

After adjusting to the darkness, Arya padded forward through entryway. Looking around, she realized that the temple was empty, the only sign of movement being the tranquil stream of the fountain. It is never empty in the House of Black and White, there are always those who which to leave this world. Hugging the wall, Arya made her way around to the adjacent tunnel's entrance. Just as she poked her head around the corner, a rattling clatter caused her to freeze, pulling away. She listened, not breathing, as muffled footsteps shuffled over to pick the object up, metal scraping on the slick floor. First one, than another voice screeched in a strange, nasal tongue. The voices grew louder, and as Arya peeked out once more, she saw long, human-like shadows entranced in some kind of brawl. Jaqen is not here, she realized as the screeches grew higher, the shrieks echoing in the narrow tunnel. Arya ran, as fast as possible in the darkness towards the thin beam of light escaping from the temple doors. She did not look back, allowing the rush of fear and dread to carry her, hopefully unheard, away from the House.


Arya pulled back her hair, swiping back the loose wisps in an attempt to compose herself. Pushing through the dense crowd, she made her way to where she hoped Jaime would be waiting. "Jaime!" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. Only a swaggering sellsword answered her call, hooting with a near toothless grin.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. Where could he have gone? Arya tapped the shoulder of the woman to her right. With amber doe-eyes the woman blinked up, smirking with her blue lips.

"Yes, pretty girl?" the woman cooed in a heavy accent, twirling a loose strand of hair.

Arya sighed. I have forgotten what the whores of Braavos are like—they seduce anyone who might show them a coin. "I'm looking for someone; a tall, Westerosi knight with golden hair." The whore feigned confusion, batting her lashes. "Fine," Arya snapped, pulling out an iron piece. The woman took it greedily, slipping it far into her silks.

"Over there," she said, jerking her chin. Arya turned to look—the whore had nodded towards one of the many Braavosi taverns.

Before she could thank her the woman had slipped away, now walking her fingers up some rapt merchant's chest. Arya wove in and out through the market before coming to a halt before the tavern. "The Dragoness" a seasoned plaque read, the gold paint chipping from years of Braavosi sea-storms. Inside men of all kinds laughed and slapped their thighs, wine splashing from their overflowing cups. To her right a serving wench leaned over a table, taking an order from a blue-bearded Tyroshi while his friend fondled at her hip. Arya tried to squeeze past the narrow aisle when a clammy hand yanked her back by the wrist.

"Come sit with us, eh pretty girl?" The man leered up with beady eyes, dark wine dribbling down his coarse beard. Three other men sat round the table, jeering in agreement.

"Piss on that," Arya spat, slipping her dagger into her palm. His grip tightened, jerking her forward. Arya watched as his eyes slid from breast to hip before narrowing in on her sword.

"Whadda you need that for? We'll give you a real sword, won't we?" He laughed, wine spurting from his fat lips. Arya smiled back coldly, bending down to his ear and placing her hand on his neck. From where she stood the man's friends were blocked from sight, but Arya could hear their whistles as she leaned in.

"Who needs a real sword? That's what daggers are for," she whispered. His eyes widened in child-like horror as Arya shifted her hand, allowing the dagger to glide smoothly into his meaty neck. "Puncture wounds take forever to bleed out, what a pity." Arya smirked, straightening up and wiggling her fingers in goodbye. The friends increased their hollering, oblivious to their now gurgling friend, his mouth puffy and swollen with blood.

"Arya!" A sloppy shout came from the far corner. Making her way over, she could see Jaime waving his golden hand. As she got closer, she made out the others seated at the shadowed table. Four men, seemingly Braavosi nobles, stared curiously up at her. "Ah, yes. Very good you're here. I've just been saying, wife, how kind it is for these men to share their ship up the Rhoyne with us." His words were slurred, tumbling loosely from his tongue. After two weeks at sea, he chooses now to get drunk?

Playing along, Arya discreetly sheathed her dagger down the back of her breeches before smiling warmly at first Jaime then the Braavosi. "How wonderful, my lord husband and good sers." Arya slid into Jaime's lap, portraying the ever-dutiful wife. "How wonderful," she repeated, pinching Jaime hard in the ribs.


Another (long) chapter finished! Excited to see where this story is headed? Then feel free to ask questions, leave reviews, and share with your friends! Thanks!