She raced through the snowy woods. Her little brothers and sisters gave chase. The human without a man claw ran, stumbled on his two paws and looked back at her - a mistake. His eyes were big and wide as a doe, and almost as white as his skin. She could smell the fear of him along with the water he was letting flow on his human hides with two blue manstones. Like wolves, humans formed packs according to the pelt they had and their man-howls. This man and the others with shiny man claws had howled "FREY!" at her pack when she and her little brothers and sisters attacked. The Frey pack, she knew, had murdered one of her older brothers, a long time ago. She had felt it when they shot their little claws into him. And it had wounded her as much as when her big sister died. This one, she knew, had met her giant kind before. She could see it in the fear of his cruel, mean eyes – recognition. The hungrier of her pack were already feasting on the shiny humans that held their shiny claws and the horse he rode. The human stumbled and she was instantly on top of him. He fought as she bit his jaw and jugular, trying to kick and scream and reeked of hate. "Can't… grrrrrllllblglrkrl…" She gorged on the blood spurting in her mouth. Human prey were different from other prey. Like all other prey they feared her. But they seemed not to accept the law of life, not even with their last breath – that they were going to die. But all prey must die. All prey.
Valar Morghulis. Arya woke with a shudder and the memory of the taste of blood. It had been a while since she had a wolf dream, although she had many of them, but she could not remember them being as vivid for a long time. It was the first wolf dream she had since she set foot on Westeros again.
Gendry snored close to her and she realized his hand was around her waist. She smiled. They had not shared their bedrolls ever since they left Starfall, and he was still upset over her decision to come with them. But by dead of night, he would lay down his roll beside her when he thought she was sleeping, and hold her. Sometimes, she thought, she could not be deserving of his devotion. She knew she was cruel to him. He just worried for her and felt it was his responsibility to keep her from harm, but he had to learn that she would make her own decisions. All man must die one day. She had no fear of that. But she did fear that one day he would decide to leave her again. Her testiness and her opposition was her way to learn by his actions that he would stay. She did not have any faith in vows or words of love, even though he spoke truthful. He had told her in Braavos the reasons why he had abandoned her for the Brotherhood, and her mind understood and empathized, but the pain of the little girl Arya did not. It had been more than just the loss of trust and a feeling of betrayal. But she did not know what yet exactly.
Quietly she lifted his hand and crawled out of her bedroll to sit at the fire, next to Rowland Fenn. He was as tall as she was – hence little – but nevertheless muscular. He had brown, long wavy hair. She was not sure of his age. He could have been in his twenties or thirties. And his almost surreal green eyes always startled her.
"You were dreaming," he said. It was not a question.
"Yes."
"Tell me of your dream." He had a soft, gentle voice, almost dream like. She had never told anyone about her dreams, not her wolf dreams, nor of the horrors she had seen in Riverrun. And she was reluctant to do so now. It seemed Rowland felt her unwillingness and he said, "Some dreams are not like other dreams. We have dreams about the people we care about or fear, about what we lived through. These dreams help us to deal with our emotions. Everybody has those kind of dreams. Then there are dreams that when we wake up we know suddenly what to do or what will happen, days, weeks or even years ahead. I have these type of dreams. But there are also dreams where we see what is happening in another part of the land through the eyes of another, usually an animal."
Arya sucked in her breath. He knows. "Have you ever had a dream like the last?"
He shook his head. "No. But I think you have."
She feigned not to confirm his suspicion outright. "What does it mean if someone has such dreams?"
"They are the dreams of a skinchanger," he said and added another log to the fire. Arya chewed her bottom lip, remembering Old Nan's tales about skinchangers. Horrific tales they had been of shape sifters and men being trapped in the mind of a beast, or the beast taking over the mind of the man. Skinchangers were commonly seen as witches or mages of the most lewd magic there was. "It is said that only one man in a thousand is born a skinchanger, and one skinchanger in a thousand is a greenseer."
Arya pulled her knees up , wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her head on her knees while staring in the flames of the fire. She was unsure whether to believe Rowland's implications about herself, but if this was true, then she did not want to end up with her mind trapped. Her No One whispered in her mind, "Anything can be used as a tool to deliver the gift, why not this?" The last convinced her she needed to learn about this skinchanging, and she finally whispered. "I have wolf dreams."
Rowland nodded. "Then you are a warg, Princess. Dogs are supposed to be easy, wolves are harder. Tell me of your dream, princess," he urged again, and bumped his elbow into her side confidentially.
And she told him about the giant she-wolf she dreamt about. It was always the same one. There were other wolves in the dreams, the size of normal wolves, and they followed her - many of them. She always dreamt when they hunted.
"What do they hunt?" Rowland asked her softly in a whisper.
Arya blushed, and whispered in a very low tone, "Mostly men and the dogs and horses with them. A sheepfarmer once." And then she felt even hotter as Rowland's green eyes watched her intensely. "Often they are Freys, sometimes Lions. I-I taste the blood." She could taste the metallic flavor of blood again. Nymeria had killed a Frey tonight, one with mean eyes and a hooked nose and a cruel mouth.
Rowland whistled. "A man-eating she-wolf. Do you ever feast on the flesh in your dreams?"
She vehemently shook her head. "No, just the kill, and then I wake up."
The crannogman nodded and stared at the flames, like she did. "Good. I'm no skinchanger, and I cannot teach you much about it, but I do know it is in the Stark blood, and that some things are taboo - eating flesh of men is one of them."
Arya shuddered, relieved that the wolf dreams always stopped before that. "Are there other taboos?"
"Yes, but I do not know what they are, princess." It was not much that she had learned, but it was enough to start out with. Arya wondered who the wolf was though. It was as if Rowland could read her mind, because he said, "You had a direwolf once, I believe?"
"Aye, Nymeria. I threw rocks at her to make her run away when the King's men were hunting us – her and me – after we attacked Prince Joffrey for hurting a friend of mine at the Trident."
"So, you always dream of the same she-wolf, larger, stronger and bigger than a normal wolf, and she hunts with a large pack in the Riverlands." Rowland looked up at the stars. He pointed upwards. "Do you see that bright star? That's Nymeria and she has hundreds of stars trailing her to battle for her."
She's alive. Nymeria is alive… hunting men. And then she felt a sudden sadness. Lady had been killed by her father, because Queen Cersei wanted it so. Lady had been her sister's wolf, and Rowland said it ran in the Stark blood. All of her brothers and sisters had a direwolf pup from the nest, even Jon. Did that mean that all of them had this ability? And what would be the consequence for Sansa? She had a sudden thought. "Can a warg also enter the mind of a cat or another animal when they are not dreaming?" She never had any cat dreams, but sometimes she could see and smell things if she wanted through the eyes of a cat that was close in her neighborhood. She had seen where her tormentor with his stick in the House of Black and White had been through cat's eyes when she was Blind Beth.
"A strong one, yes, I believe so." He smiled at her and patted her knee.
Maybe, if Sansa was a warg too, she could do it with other animals, like Arya did with cats. She rose. "Thank you, Rowland. I will need to think about this."
Just as she stood, all hell broke loose in the camp. The sentries sounded the alarm, just as men came roaring down in the dark, on horseback and on foot with swords and spears. Within seconds everybody was up and armed, hacking at horses and riders racing through the camp intent to create chaos. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Arya instantly held Needle and Widow's Wail in her hands, for she had never slept without them the past three nights. A foot soldier raced towards her, sword held high above his head and screaming his attack words. This one's easy, she thought. Stick 'em with the pointy end. Swift as a deer. She ducked and drove Needle into his stomach, and slashed Widow's Wail in his neck as he stumbled. Blood sprayed in all directions and his body tripped over his entrails slipping out. Some of the muck had sprayed on her face, and she wiped the sticky blood out of her eyes. She blinked to take note of his sigil, three oak leaves on a yellow background.
"Oakheart!" the attackers shouted. But Arya saw riders too with long black braids and bare chests. Dothraki, she realized.
In the corner of her eye she saw Edric slaying two attackers with Dawn. But she saw one of her wolves' head chopped off by an arakh. It had been one of Wull's clan. She looked frantically around for Gendry, and finally saw him in the thick of things, wielding his hammer with one hand and his broadsword with another. With one blow he unseated a Dothraki and drove his sword into the man's bare chest, sending the Dothraki's horse teetering on the gravel of the canyon, until it stumbled and shrieked in pain. The blow had simply smashed and ripped the Dothraki's side to pulp. Gods, that man is strong. Strong as a bear. But there was no time to admire his strength as a rider charged her head on. He was going to trample her, if she did not move. She tensed to jump and slash at the rider's horse with Widow's Wail - agile as a marten - when she felt herself being grabbed in the neck and lifted from behind. She twisted and turned to stick the man with Needle - fierce as a wolverine - but he managed to throw her in front of his seat and kept on racing. He was wearing a desert garb and a shawl in front of his face, like Edric's guards did. But she saw no sigil and the sole thing she could see from him were cool dark purple eyes. She fought and kicked, but he just kept on riding hard, away from the chaos and the camp. And the last she was aware of was black clad, blood covered Gendry looking at her with his mouth open in what she thought was a "Noooooo," while running in the direction her captor was taking her. Then, all went black.
She felt dizzy when she woke. Her head was throbbing from the blow. The light streaming in from an arrow hole hurt her eyes and head. She looked away and she needed time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. It was round and she realized she was being kept in a tower. Arya tried to move and was relieved to find she was not in bondage. But every muscle hurt her, when she tried to stand. Her weapons were taken from her, including the dagger she kept up her sleeve and in her boots.
"You're a feisty little thing, aren't you," a male voice said casually.
She snapped her head in the voice's direction, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through her temples because of it, and peered into the darkness. Fear cuts deeper than swords. He stood in the deepest shadows of the room, leaning against the wall without a care for anything, before stepping closer to reveal himself. He had long, white silver hair, except for a streak of black, an aquiline nose and dark eyes that gleamed dark purple when a ray of light from the airhole fell onto his noble looking face. He looked about twice her age. "Darkstar," she said.
He smiled, but it was a cruel smile that never reached his eyes. They were hard eyes, hard as dead rock. "Yes, I am him, though you may also have heard of me as Ser Gerold." He approached her. He moved like a cat, supple and quick and he had no fear of her. None. Not because he underestimated her, but because he feared death as little as herself. "And you are this Princess of the North, Arya Stark. One of Ned Stark's three daughters."
"Two daughters," she corrected him. "I only have one sister, older than myself and she is called Sansa." Arya scanned the room for anything she could use to attack him or defend herself.
"Don't bother," he said. "The room is empty, for both our safety." He stepped close enough to face her, but just at far enough a distance to deflect any bodily attack she might make. She stepped away from the wall and to the side, to give herself more room. He watched her with an amused grin when she did that. "I met your father once, when he passed my home, on his way to Starfall. I was still a boy, about to squire for Oberyn, the Red Viper. He seemed just an ordinary man, like my cousin the legendary Arthur Dayne was a mere mortal. So many stories and which of them are true?"
Arya frowned. This man spoke in riddles on purpose. She decided to ignore the bait. "Why did you take me?"
"Out of curiosity." He was not lying. "I watched you all for at least a day, but I don't think your companions really know what you are. The women are quick to take the spear here, as hotheaded as the men. They think they are deadly, but death is cold, not hot. You are a killer. Like me."
Arya stared into his eyes that seemed to reflect the stillness and coolness of her own back at her. But his were cruel. "Not like you."
He laughed. "Oh, but you are." He stepped back to the trapdoor and opened it. "If you feel ready, you can come downstairs and meet my betrothed." He got down and left the trapdoor open.
Once Ser Gerold had left the room she went to the arrow hole to determine where she was. It was but a lonely tower in a canyon of the red mountains. She waited for a while and peeked through the doorway to assess the room below her. It was sunny and lighter there, because of a window. Still, she was hesitant to climb down, fearing some kind of trap. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Until she heard a woman's voice that rang clear and pleasant. Arya decided to climb down the ladder towards the voice. If that was Edric's aunt Allyria Dayne, she did not sound much like a captive at all. When she landed on the floor below, Arya whirled around in anticipation of a possible attack, but saw a lady who was perhaps not seven years older than herself - around the age of Jon or Robb had he lived, perhaps slightly older. The woman was smiling at her as if everything was as it should be.
"I guess you must be hungry, princess." She looked lovely and much like her cousin, except she had dark hair, grey-violet eyes - the kind of purplish grey of a storm about to rumble and release lightning - and a rather long face. If Arya did not know any better, the woman looked like a female version of a mix of Jon and Edric. "Come, sit with me," she invited Arya. "I'm Lady Allyria from Starfall."
"You are not a prisoner here?"
"Gods, no," she laughed. "Ser Gerold and I are in love." Darkstar had his back to them and was looking out of the window. For some reason Arya did not believe the man she had talked with upstairs could ever love anybody, only death. Edric's aunt must have lost her wits after hearing the news about Beric. Allyria reached for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I am here, because he is here. He's been outlawed and exiled from High Hermitage."
Arya whispered. "You do know why he was outlawed, don't you?" She had heard he had tried to slay princess Myrcella at some point, cut off her ear and killed her Kingsguard Ser Arys Oakheart.
"Ah, yes. It was all lies to cover up the treason planned by Arianne Martell to prevent the Lannisters from starting a war against the Martells and Dorne."
Arya assessed Darkstar again. He had turned around and met her gaze. She knew it was not a cover up. He had tried to kill the Lannister princess, but Allyria looked so much in love with the man, she could not see what he was. "Are you married then?" And she felt she was holding the woman to a double standard by asking it.
"Not yet," said Allyria.
"Lord Dayne will not sanction it," said Arya, more as a message to Ser Gerold than Allyria. His lips curled.
"Oh, but he will, Princess Arya, once he learns I am here of my own choice. You will make sure of that."
"Me?" Arya's eyes darted from Allyria to Ser Gerold and back.
"Yes, that's why Gerold brought you here, so you could see for yourself and bear witness of it to my cousin." Allyria had risen from her seat and walked towards Ser Gerold, putting her arms around him and laying her head against his shoulder. Darkstar had placed his own arm on her shoulder, while his evil smile deepened and his eyes remained as dead as the first time Arya had seen them. It gave her the chills. He's a snake, she thought.
Darkstar left the room after that and Allyria suggested she could have a bath to rid herself of the blood of the attacker she had killed. Guts smelled awful. Her hands must have been washed as was her face while she had been out of it. But she was still wearing the boiled leather she had been kidnapped in. Allyria offered to cleanse it for her as best as she could under the circumstances. "We were under attack," Arya said, trying to make some conversation that would make her current situation less surreal.
"I know. Gerold told me. The enmity between Oakheart and Daynes has a long and old history. There have been skirmishes ever since Arianne and her father lied that Gerold killed Ser Arys Oakheart, but as long as the Tyrells and Martells were united behind Aegon it was kept to a minimum." She poured hot water in the tub that stood in the rather pleasant tower room. "Since Danaerys Stormborn ousted them from their seats though, the Oakhearts have started an open war against the Daynes. The dragon queen has forbidden the Dothraki to pillage Westeros as they are accustomed in Essos, so they sell their swords to any house in Westeros that plans a raid. The Hermitage has hired a khalasar as well to raid in the Reach." Then she spoke as a proud Dayne. "Do not worry about them. I am sure that most of your men and Edric have survived the attack. Gerold told me that Hermitage was already after them and close, when he took you to safety."
Arya was less sure of it. The outcome of the night raid was not something she wanted to dwell on though. There was but little she could do about it now, whatever had happened. Instead, she hoped to make the woman see her own folly. It reminded her too much of Sansa's blindness about Queen Cersei and King Joffrey. It was as if she was sharing a room with her sister all over again. Arya started to undress. "Lady Allyria, Lord Edric will never make his peace with Ser Gerold."
"But it was a lie," Allyria insisted, while she managed to make her gentle features look stubborn. "The Hermitage has exiled my Gerold, and yet the Oakhearts still raid the passes. So, if it does not matter to the Oakhearts, then why should the Hermitage and Starfall not make their peace with him, especially since it would bring a union between both our houses."
Arya suddenly felt pity for the woman who was so in love and spellbound to a man who did not care about her. He did not even need to hide who he was. Just the words and his looks were enough for her. She poured in the last hot water in the tub herself, dropped her breeches and stepped in. "I lived and traveled with Ser Beric and his knights in the Riverlands for a long while," she said.
Allyria looked up in surprise and her eyes seemed to glisten with memory. "He was very handsome, wasn't he? And very noble."
"He was," agreed Arya. Well he had not been handsome anymore when she met him. Then he was already maimed in all sorts of ways that made it hard to look at him without getting queasy. "It was my father who sent him the Riverlands to arrest the Mountain for his savage crimes in the Riverlands. But he was ambushed." Arya was not sure how much Allyria really knew, and she chose to give her the safe version. "Lord Edric saved his life, and instead of returning to King's Landing after King Robert's death, they remained to protect and fight for the innocents, for the villagers and farmers, who fell victim to the war being fought between my brother and Tywin Lannister."
She told it for Allyria, but by doing so, she started to realize that Ser Beric had been a man she admired now, even though as a child of ten she had been angry that they refused to join her brother's army and they intended to ransom her. When she compared the story of how the Faceless Men came to be and Dondarrion's choices they were not all that dissimilar – they acted for the common people, for those who always suffered. The big difference was that one hoped to end the suffering with the gift of death, and the other by protecting and bettering their lives. And in that regard, R'hllor and the God of Many faces were each other's opposite. It made her wonder about Gendry's beliefs. She knew he was a follower of the Red God. But she shook any thought for Gendry off, because it would lead to her wondering whether he was even alive still. She had to believe he was.
"Your cousin is a kind man with a generous heart, Lady Allyria, but he feels greatly for the innocent, and Ser Gerold is not completely blameless of wrongdoing. He may not have slain Ser Arys. He may not have cut off Princess Myrcella's ear. But he was involved in her kidnapping." When Arya thought of princess Myrcella, she only could remember the girl's crooked stitches during the embroidery session at Winterfell. She had been of similar age as Arya, younger even, shy and gentle. Kidnapping a girl of ten and one to start a war, even if she was a Lannister, was just despicable, even though it was not what had killed her. "Neither of your actions are above suspicion."
Lady Allyria frowned, and her face remained pretty when she did it. "I know. I am sorry we felt the need to take you here by force. I just do not want a confrontation. There is no need for bloodshed."
Arya said, "The Kingslayer rides with me, Lady Allyria. Princess Myrcella was his daughter. Even if Lord Edric would make peace with Ser Gerold for your sake, I doubt Jaime Lannister will."
Lady Allyria took her hand almost if pleading. "But he's of your guard, princess Arya. You must tell him it was not my Gerold who maimed her. And he certainly was not involved in killing her."
Arya felt nothing but pity for the foolish woman. Still she knew she would not stand in between either Lord Edric or the Kingslayer if they were to fight Darkstar. And if Gendry lived, Darkstar had another enemy in him as well. This tower would not hold against the host that had been riding, certainly not if High Hermitage had joined them.
"I am with child," whispered Allyria. "Our first. He's an innocent too. Please, do not allow for it grow up fatherless."
Arya had expected Allyria to say a bastard. Then she reminded herself that the Dornish had shown no disregard at all for natural children. She liked them in many ways. Women were not the last heir in line and they were admired if they took up spears, and being a bastard was not something shameful. But Darkstar had been right about one thing. They might be hot headed and liberal in many ways, they also all seemed to have an almost childlike innocence about them that was alien to her, except for this Darkstar. Perhaps, Allyria was right and she wrong. Maybe, Edric would forgive Gerold Dayne for his aunt's sake. "I can't make any promises, Lady Allyria," was all she could commit to, but it seemed to satisfy Allyria's anguish.
She saw little of Darkstar for the ensuing days. Allyria said he was scouting on Edric's host. Meanwhile she was stuck in the tower to spend time with Lady Allyria. I thonse days, Arya felt listless, bored and Allyria's singing grated her nerves. She reminded herself constantly to pity the woman to keep herself from lashing out at her, like she used to do with her sister when she was still a child. And as her boiled leather outfit was drying, she took to borrowing Allyria's dresses, even though they were too big for her. She neither had Allyria's bosom nor her height, but with the help of Allyria's stitching skills she made due. The one that fit her the most was lush red of the lightest fabrics. Days and days passed, before Darkstar reappeared one evening on his horse. She was curious whether he would tell her who had survived the attack, but he remained moot.
Arya chose to sleep in the dark attic room where she had woken the first day then, while she could hear the sounds of their coupling beneath her. For a moment she hoped it would at least give her some evidence that he cared for Lady Allyria, but in that too he seemed to take what he wanted without any sort of return. It reminded her of the nights she had shared with Gendryat Starfall. He loved nothing more than to please her. Even if he did not always succeed, at least the evidence that he tried was often satisfaction enough. The following day, she felt almost nauseous when she could see how Allyria gushed with love for the man, and yet he made no effort to even smile at her for it. He was crass or would make some dismissive remark and roll his eyes expressively at Arya for his paramour's behaviour. And not one word he said about the host, other than Lord Edric leading it.
She slept lightly the next night and woke with the apprehension that someone was in her attic. "Why are you here, Ser Gerold, and not pleasing your lady love?" she said sarcastically.
"She sickens me to death," he answered. He was not far away from her. She tensed her body in preparation for an attack of him. She may not have had her daggers with her, but she knew how to immobilize someone if there was need for it with her bare hands. Bellegere had taught her that trick. "No need to fear me, little princess, although I think we are a better match than she and I. I chose the wrong daughter."
"You speak in riddles again, Darkstar," she said and he chuckled. Arya sat and looked at the area where his voice came from. He was hunched down against the opposite wall, with his elbows leaning on his knees, and his hands hanging intertwined between his legs. "She loves you," reminded Arya him. "She carries your child. She lives with you here as an exile in this stupid tower in the hope to clear your name. Does that not mean anything to you?"
"No."
"Then why did you seduce her?"
"Because I felt like it at the time."
Arya knew nothing else to say and so she remained silent while she studied him. She noticed a large package lying beside him. He shoved it her way with his boot.
"Here," he said. "I believe these are yours." She reached for it without ever letting her eyes stray away from him, and slowly lifted the simple cloth. It contained her daggers as well as Needle and Widow's Wail. "My game is up, princess, and I loathe to live with her. They will be here by dawn. Do it quickly and hide it from her. At least it will be of my own choosing by someone who is a true killer and done in the night, for I am of the night. I do not want some boy wielding a sword without having proved himself worthy of it yet to slay me." She could almost hear him smile, when he said, "Or that paramour of yours with his hammer who'd ride his horse to death to get to you as fast as possible."
Gendry is alive, was her first thought. And, he wants the gift. The only other time somebody had asked it of her, it had been the Hound. She had let the gods take care of it themselves without her aid then. Sandor had not long for the living anymore. A part of her was ashamed of that now. The kindly man would not have thought well of it, she knew. But this man was well, young, and very much alive and she knew not whether he had actually ever killed someone. He could have everything other people yearned for. "Why would you want to die, Darkstar? They say you are the most dangerous man in Dorne. I know you care little for others, and you claim to be a killer, but are you? Sounds like your reputation is based on little. You slashed off the ear of a young girl, and that is all I know to be a fact."
He gave her a wan smile. "All men have a reputation based on mostly lies with little fact. Your father, my cousin, myself. You know nothing, Arya Stark. I have killed, not many, not as many as you have, but I could have and I wanted to. I killed Balon Swann when he came looking for me. Prince Doran led him straight to me to dispatch him. But that is not really what makes me dangerous, no more than you." He leaned towards her and his eyes bore into hers. "I know things, dangerous secrets. Allyria for example believes herself to be Edric's aunt, but she never was. Both her father and mother are different people than those who claimed it to be." He smiled at her. "And you, princess, you believe you have four brothers and only one sister, while it are but three brothers and two sisters."
"What are you talking about," she hissed. "You know nothing of my family."
"More than you," he said darkly.
"Then tell me."
He shook his head. "Figure it out for yourself, little princess of the North. My hour has come, and I will take my secrets to my grave."
She felt her anger rise. He had finally goaded her into asking about his riddled speech, and of course as soon as she did, he enjoyed not telling her anything. Fine, he wanted to die. She could let Jaime do it. And yet she heard the kindly man whisper in the back of her mind, how the gift was an answer to a persons's prayer, and Darkstar was asking it of a servant of the Many Faced God. She pulled the cloth towards herself and picked up the dagger with the long thin blade. She had taken it from the guild's storage room.
"I thought you would pick the Valeryan one," Darkstar whispered. Slowly, Arya rose and with soft steps and in her smallclothes she hunched down before him. His eyes met hers, and again she saw coldness and death reflected back into them. "Everyone must die, sometime," he whispered, his eyes twinkling with a flicker of excitement.
"Valar morghulis, we say in Braavos."
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So, that is where you were taught?"
She nodded slowly. "Is this your prayer to the Stranger, Ser Gerold Dayne?"
"Yes," he smiled. For the first time, she could see something of humanity in that smile, even though it was all for himself.
"Valar dohaeris," Arya whispered. Gentle, like a lover almost, she placed her hand around his head. He lifted his hand to touch hers and stared into her eyes until the very end, when she drove her dagger underneath his left ear and severed the artery to his brain. He slumped to the side, and softly she laid his head down, while his life left him, though his eyes looked no less dead to her than when he was alive.
Arya removed the blade when he was dead and wiped it clean with the cloth that held her swords. She watched over him until the break of light, just as acolytes had done in the temple as respect to those who came to drink the gift and lay down on the bench behind their chosen god. Had he died there, he would have been brought to the lower vault by the morning for his face to be taken and hung from the wall. She knew several who would have made good use of it, both the handsomeness of it as well as the cruel mouth. But this was not the temple and she was not a true Faceless Woman yet, nor could she ever wear a man's face.
She gathered the daggers and swords while going down the ladder and closed the trapdoor quietly. Then she woke Lady Allyria, nudging her shoulder and whispered, "They are coming, Lady Allyria."
The woman opened her eyes and smiled at her, but then she noticed Ser Gerold was not in the tower room. Her eyes revealed a growing panic. "Where is my Gerold, Princess Arya?"
"He told me it were best if we both meet them first so we can clear his name." It was a lie. "He wanted you to be safe." Another lie. He had never cared about Allyria. She suspected that part of his wish to die by her hand was inspired by denying it from anyone who wished to revenge himself on him.
But it satisfied Allyria and she never asked about him anymore, when they left the tower and walked towards the dust created by a host far ahead of them. As she strode with fast steps towards the oncoming host, with the red dress flying about her legs, her moist britches and boots, one rider separated itself from the many and raced ahead. He wore nothing but black, which Arya thought was suicide in the desert heat.
She grabbed Allyria's hand and pulled her along. "They are here, Lady Allyria."
Allyria giggled cheerfully and another rider broke free from the ranks. Gendry jumped off his horse, took three giant strides and lifted her in his arms. She smiled at him and kissed him. "I thought I'd lost you," he said in anguish and crushed her tight to him. "again."
Edric embraced his aunt in relief, and asked, "Where is that rogue? Has he fled?"
Allyria turned to Arya with a smile, the hope and joy shining in her eyes. Arya shook her head at Edric. "No, you will find him in the attic. He's dead. It was his last request."
Allyria's eyes turned from joy to horror as she tried to break free from Edric's hold and race back to the tower without much success. "No, not my Gerold! Please, not my Gerold! Oh, please, princess Arya, say you did not do this thing."
Arya gripped the arms of the woman mad with grief tightly. "You live, Lady Allyria! Swear to me you live! He wanted me to do this, for you, for your unborn child. No leaping from towers. Not here, not in Starfall. A death for a life, your life and that of your child." Allyria collapsed and clung to Arya's feet, begging over and over for her Gerold, while Edric and his host stared at the lady Allyria in shock.
