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Arya dodged the hit with catlike grace, the practised point of her master's sword flying inches over her face, the polished steel reflecting her grey eyes. She rolled over backwards, not letting the blade out of her sight. Her hand gripping he hilt tighter she came out of her roll crouching in a firm position, Needle raised for a counter attack. Syrio grinned at her provokingly, retreating in a different stand, his sword pointed down at her tauntingly.

A fortnight ago they had stopped to train with the wooden swords and had advanced to use real blades. Syrio had argued it was time. Arya had been all too eager to finally be able to train her arm to become one with Needle. The filigree sword was a part of her, of her identity and to be finally able to use it was the only little ray of light she had in King's Landing.

Her life had fallen into horrors of unimaginable proportion. In her opinion it was the worse time of her life. She had always though Septa Mordane had been an annoying teacher, wanting her to pursue the activities of a noblewoman, shackling her in the fine gowns without air to breathe. These days she now considerate as a time of freedom, a freedom stupid Cersei had taken from her.

Arya had to suffer constant instructions from Cersei's minions, paired with humiliation Cersei oversaw herself. Never was anything she did good enough, there was always Cersei looming over her like a shadow so full of spite and loathing. She degraded Arya whenever she could, cut down her freedoms, her life becoming a prison under her eyes. The worst thing was, she had the power to enforce her will over Arya now. Arya had tried to defy her, making life very hard for her teachers. Cersei didn't care. First she had taken away her ability to move, assigning a second maid for the only purpose to follow her around, effectively making sneaking out of the Keep impossible. Then she had forbidden her to ride out on Sunwarrior, instructing the stable boy to keep her saddle locked up. Who knew what else she would take away next.

Arya had become a prisoner of the Keep, imprisoned by Cersei. Only the hours with Syrio stayed untouched by the dowager Queen. Arya sometimes liked to believe her father had arranged that. A stupid notion when she thought about it. Considering he had never spoken against his new wife on Arya's behalf, hanging on Cersei's lips like a brainless fool. All the while Cersei drippled lies about her in his ears every night, Arya was sure of it, and there was nothing she could do to stop her.

"You hesitate, foolish boy" Syrio taunted her from his superior position, extending his arms, offering her a target. Arya didn't thought properly. Jumping upwards, she rammed Needle forward, determined to pick a hole in his defences. He only laughed at her, stepping aside without losing his grin. He used his own sword and brought it down on Arya, breaking the skin behind her ear, only causing the smallest injury.

Arya had not believed how many wounds she would gather when he had first announced the real blades for their training. By now she had collected several dozens of his stitches in her skin. He was very careful though, never causing an injury that would leave a mark on her, only a small drop of blood.

She rose to her feet, her hand relaxing with Needle pointed to the ground. Her other hand reached behind her ear, rubbing the small pinch. Bringing the hand in front of her face she mustered the blood. She gazed upward finding her dancing master standing smugly, whipping back and forth on his feet. She rubbed her hands clean on her doublet, pinching her eyes close in frustration.

"The boy still fails to control her emotions." Her master announced crooking his head. "How can the first Seasword of Braavos be such a bad teacher?"

Arya grunted her reply, anger flashing through her eyes, she spat: "What do you know? You are not a prisoner in a golden cage."

"Then maybe it is time the wolf escapes her bounds." He suggested cryptic, smiling. Arya gazed at him suspiciously, never had she expected this reply from him. She had often enough fantasised about fleeing the city, but until now had never mustered enough resolution to finally do it.

"Would you come with me?" She asked out of nowhere, her mouth speaking a desire of her she had kept secret. The thought of Syrio coming with her, they together finally leaving the city behind her exhilarated Arya, a hopeful smile forming on her face.

"Syrio Forel is no prisoner here." He shattered her hopes with a nonchalant tone, even audible in his thick accent. "The destinies of teacher and student are not intertwined here. I believe you have to follow your journey alone." Arya gulped heavily by his words, her face turning the darkest shade of disappointment possible. Syrio smiled unusually empathically putting his sword away. "I will tell you a story." He declared for the first time, sitting down on a bench at the wall, gesturing Arya to sit next to him.

Hesitantly Arya approached the foreign master. He smiled at her overly friendly. Arya wanted to sit next to him, but then her training made itself noticeable. She expected a trap. He had taught her constant vigilance, never to trust a harmless appearance, not even his. She smirked knowingly, staying on her feet, Needle ready to strike. – Syrio smiled proudly at that.

"A Braavosi" Syrio began to tell his story with an ominous tone. "Was once captured by Valyria. Back when Valyria was great and Braavos hid from the dragon fire. He was brought to the Freehold and kept, pressed to reveal the position of the hidden city. He did not. So they kept him, hosted him in honour to lure him to reveal the secret. All the while he planned his escape. But in time the hospitality imprisoned him. He lost his desire to leave such comfort. "Syrio shot her a meaningful glance, a grin washed over his face. "But then one day he realised his mistake, and to prevent him from hesitating again, he killed one of his guards. With all ways back barred he finally escaped." He rose from the bench, coming closer to her, lying his hand on her shoulder. He gazed down at her, his eyes fixing hers, he said seriously: "There is nothing I can teach you more, boy. Learn to control your feelings."

-##-

Under the supervision of Cersei's minion maid, who had waited outside, Arya left Syrio. She had the distinct feeling she had seen him for the last time. The notion made her tummy turn, tears threatened to well in the corners of her eyes, she sniffled.

Reaching her chambers she left the maid in the antechamber throwing the door to her bedroom shut with a heavy boom. She laid Needle, her sword, wrapped in a grey cloak, on her bed, letting herself slump next to it. It was like lying next to a silent companion, one that would not betray her, or leave her.

The thoughts of leaving returned to her mind. She could go find Nymeria. She could start searching at the ruby ford and then further in the woods. Her dreams would guide her. She could disguise herself as a boy again, making passage as a squire. Who would stop her? But then what? The North was still consumed by war, where could she go? There would sent her back to King's Landing. Maybe Jon wouldn't, maybe.

Arya closed her eyes, lingering in the happy images of being free from this place, free from all of them, yes even free from her father. She loved him, there was no question, but his behaviour made it hard for her to be near him. She let herself fall back on her mattress, arms behind her head she tried to force one of her dreams to come out of the depths of her mind. One of the ones she was her a wolf, running freely in the wild, free of them all.

The unannounced opening of her door ripped her out of her efforts. Growling annoyed she threw her head to her side, finding the maid standing in the doorway, the stern, pinched face of the old crone starring at her judgingly.

"Prince Joffrey has announced his intention to visit my Lady." She announced to Arya in a tone, she could have sworn was showing pleasure at her expense. "My Lady must compose herself."

"Out!" Arya spat back, jumping of the bed in one fluid motion. The stupid minion of Cersei didn't object to her command this time. However, her glare indicated that Cersei would come to know of Arya's alleged insolence.

At the moment Arya didn't care, bracing herself mentally to face Wormy. Since she had crushed his crotch he had taken his distance to her, an effect she had hoped for. Nonetheless since his mother had married her father he had become bolder. Sometimes he even dared to face her alone, without his precious Hound keeping his balls safe. Whenever she saw him she wanted to beat him bloody, but she couldn't. Cersei would react in a way Arya was sure would make her last weeks appear like childsplay. Arya had to control herself, play the timid girl, it would be easier for her in the long run.

Arya had long figured out why she gotten away the last time she had attacked Wormy. Cersei had feared her father wouldn't believe his daughter was capable of such an act, or worse would finally take the complaints Arya had voiced against Wormy seriously. Now she hadn't had to fear that anymore, Arya wouldn't get away the next time. She had to do as Syrio had told her, control her feelings and endure the pompous stupid arse.

In her most desperate moments, in the dark of the night, when Arya visualised how her future could look like, her marrying Cersei's spawn. Joffrey, the one who killed Mycah and drove Nymeria from her. She felt defeated, helpless. She questioned, in her desperation, why he couldn't be like the other Lannister, or at least like his siblings.

Myrcella was bearable. Arya found herself rather liking the girl, even if she was so much like Sansa. Yet more annoying, because she wanted to spent time with Arya. Sansa had always just ignored her. Myrcella on the other hand requested Arya to join her needlework, or asked if she could partake in Arya's dancing lessons, not knowing what Syrio truly taught her, in an alarming rate. Arya more often than not found herself with a pang of guilt sending the girl off, excluding her from her life.

This was much more than she could say about Margaery Tyrell. Arya's dislike for her had only grown over the past weeks. Her constant attempts to insert herself in Arya's life, trying to lure her into trusting her, made her want push her off a tower, preferably in a nice thorny rosebush. Arya was to smart not to recognise her demeanour as an attempt to interrogate her, assert herself with her, maybe even with Sansa who had become a regular part of every conversation Arya couldn't avoid.

The only other of the court she had regular contact with was Tommen. He was just a stupid boy though. He was reserved but not unfriendly to Arya, but there was not much between them. Nonetheless in this desperate moments she had from time to time, she was even ready to settle for Tommen as a husband, if it would free her of the faith in front of her.

It would have been easier for her if Myrcella would have been a boy, she could probably stand a male version of her as companion, but the gods of course had to torture her.

Sighing Arya steeled herself for Joffrey's arrival. In a gesture of defiance she ruffled her hair, making sure to look as unladylike as possible. Her little rebellion against Cersei she knew wouldn't' have too severe consequences. She started to breathe in and out steadily, searching for tranquillity in her body, ready to wall her feelings in. She tried to think happy thoughts to avoid to go on a rampage as soon as Wormy would stand before her, oozing his stench.

Sound from the other room made it clear to her her stupid betrothed – the thought alone made her want to vomit – had arrived. Making him wait she paused behind the door, maybe he would go away. Of course he wouldn't, heaving a sigh again Arya opened the door marching through it.

Her eyes fell immediately on Wormy, standing arrogantly in the centre of the antechamber, his hand resting on the hilt of his new sword. He was not brave enough to face her alone and unharmed. An observation that simultaneously lightened Arya's mood and filled her with disgust for him. She glared at him, not hiding her revulsion.

"What do you want?" She sneered full of hate, not slowing down her pace towards him. She didn't stop, fully resolute to ram him if he wouldn't back off.

Of course, he was a coward. He took a step back as soon as Arya was coming closer. Smirking she came to a halt where he had stood, her glare intensifying. She could not avoid looking in his face, the wormy lips of his were shortly twisted in a startled O before turning in a sinister grin that promised nothing good for her. He composed himself rather quickly, puffing up his chest, full of egotism. Arya was already starting to devise ways of washing the expression off his face. She could collapse his lungs with a precise blow, perhaps, Syrio had told her how to do it.

"There will be another victory of mine soon." He said. Arya ignored her wishes, letting him tormenter with his voice. "The Ironborn will be defeated any day now. Given that your inept brother hasn't ruined everything for us of course." Arya bit her tongue, listening to his taunting while controlling herself. He smirked at her. Nonetheless his smirk faded when he realised he hadn't been able to aggravate her. Arya wouldn't let him provoke her, this was not supposed to be his game. "However." He continued needing a moment to compose himself again. "There will be a feast in my honour for the victory and I come to ensure you won't make a scene like at the wedding."

"This is not your victory." Arya spat in his face, shortly losing control, startling him with her reaction. She had so successfully cosied him along and now she had failed to control herself again, had failed her master by humiliating Wormy in a way that would not leave marks. Something she was somewhat proud of. She struggled with calming herself again, his stupid facial expression however helped.

"I am their King, every victory of them is mine!" He lectured her aggressively, hammering his index finger on his chest. "I am the King!"

"You are the prince." Arya sneered with loathing and taunting floating out of her. "There is no King. Only a Regent." Arya burned with hate, - maybe her glare could set him on fire, or freeze him, she would be fine with both - she set out for another blow: "And a cry-baby."

"How dare you!" He brought his face closer to hers, pointing at her with furry in his eyes. "This is treason, I should have your tongue for this."

"Come on" Arya aggravated him, feeling alive, rage boiling up in her mixed with frustration, she was nearly screaming at him. "You are a coward, come on! Do something! You pathetic worm. What is wrong? Afraid of me?"

Arya's reflexes perceived what came next, her trained muscles ready to stop and retaliated instantly, thousand different combinations of moves to inflict pain flicking through her head. But she stopped herself with all might of her spirit, burning her last bits of reason.

The flat of Joffrey's palm connected with her cheek, his slap echoing in the room, her head was thrown back. It stung, but she didn't make a noise, forcing herself not to react, fisting her hands so strongly she thought her nails would draw blood. Rage boiled in her while the pain radiated through her face. But she controlled her emotion, building a damn inside her.

Joffrey starred with wide open eyes at her, seemingly not believing what he had just done, and had gotten away with so far. He breathed heavily, his rage but also amazement visibly coursing through him. Arya however forced a neutral expression on her face, looking at him innocently. If she would beat him now she would not achieve anything, she had to be smart, waiting for the killing blow but gods did she want to, her Wolfblood screaming in her veins.

"Good" Wormy stated after a moment of silence, recomposing himself. "I am pleased to see you finally understand your place." He added by her lack of hostility. She must have appeared rather timid in his eyes. Wormy smirked again, turning on his heels he marched to the door.

Arya watched him, controlling her emotions, like Syrio wanted. The damn inside her held her anger, her will to fight. She had to life like this, hadn't she?

Then he called over his back. "Mother will be pleased to inform your father of your new demeanour."

With that words her damn snapped like a twig, the Wolfblood in her burning away her self-control her reason, all but her predatory instincts.

Arya leaped forward, gripping Wormy tightly at his golden Lannister hair before his hand could reach the handle of the door. She pulled him back in a fluid, quick motion. His eyes had widened in shock, Arya's face was contorted in a gruesome grimace of a wolf in wrath. Before her prey could exhale a scream she rammed his head against the stonewall beside the door. His face crashed into the hard surface with a satisfying crunch, Arya's boiling blood cheering by the sound.

She pulled him back, holding his barely struggling body up for a moment.

She rammed his face in the wall with all her force again.

Again.

Again.

His knees finally buckled limp under him, his weight pulling his collapsing body down on the ground. Arya let go of his hair, stepping back while the mighty King Wormy crumpled on the floor.

Arya panted heavily with her blood burning hot. She glimmered down in the crushed, bloody red mush that had been Wormy's face. His wormlike lips were split, his teeth lied around or crooked, his nose no longer to identify, the skin that was visible under the layer blood purple. Slowly the red water of his body drippled down on the floor, pooling in his hair. He was still breathing though. For a short moment Arya considerate to take Needle and ram it in his face for good measure, ending him.

Seeing the unconscious body however Arya slowly realised what she had done, the blood in her cooling down in cold sweat. She was stiff, thousand scenarios rummaging through her head. What now? She wouldn't get away with this, not in this city anymore, never. She had arguably tried to be nice but that wouldn't save her.

Her head worked surprisingly fast towards a decision, as if in trance Arya started moving towards her bedroom. She shed her clothes, standing naked in her room, not caring. She pulled her Stark doublet from under her bed. She took the long cloth and started to bind her breasts, wincing by the painfully tight bindings. She took her hair in one hand, getting the knife from her costume. With a sawing motion she cut her hair short, close to the scull. She threw the long tail of hair on the ground, discarding it and with it the Lady in her she was supposed to be. Taking out the Gold dragons she had collected over the last months she weighted the bag in her hand. She had never used much of what Poole had given her, hording the rest for the time she might had need for it. The gold summed up to nearly a hundred pieces by now.

She fastened the bag around her waist together with the dagger, taking Needle from the bed she fastened her weapon on the other side of her waist. In a last act she took the grey cloak that had come with the doublet over her shoulders leaving the bedroom.

Wormy was still lying on the floor, unmoving, the wall beside the heavy oak door stained with his blood and flesh. Arya crouched down alongside him checking that he was still alive. She was torn by the confirmation that he was. She wanted him dead, but not like this.

"Guard" She whispered under her breath in his once so apparent handsome face, raising to her feet.

She turned to the door, realising that most likely a man of the Kingsguard was waiting on the other side. Instead she moved to the next window. Her chambers were located in an exedra like appendix of Maegor's Holdfast, the widow of the next room, only a few feet across from hers. Arya knew the room wouldn't be occupied at this time of day. She jumped on the windowsill, looking back one last time and made her jump to the next window.

Breaking the lead glass window she reached the room, rolling of on the floor. As predicted the room was empty. It had a door leading to another corridor that was not connected to her own. Quickly she left the room through that exit, her blood running fast through her, blurring her vision in excitement.

She walked down the corridors of the Holdfast, the hood of her cloak over her head. Nobody stopped the Stark squire and she quickly reached the outside, heading for the stables.

It would not be long until they would find Joffrey.

Arya sneaked in the stables, finding the fat stable boy eating a pie lazily. She knocked him out, her blow coming out of nowhere for him. With his keys she freed Sunwarrior's saddle from Cersei's bounds.

Her mare neighed happily seeing her. Arya laid her hand on the horse's face, willing her to calm down. Without further ado she threw the saddle on her dornish horse leading her out of the stables afterwards.

She left the stables in a slow trot, not wanting attention. Nobody paid her attention.

Nervous she reached the gates of the Red Keep. The guards let her pass without further questions. Once out of the Keep she looked back, feeling something for the first time. Not anxiety, no, liberation. She might let the Keep behind her, left her father and Syrio behind her, even Myrcella and Gendry the smith's apprentice but she would be free.

Arya spurred her dornish mare, dashed through the streets of the capital towards the nearest gate and out in the open. Finally breathing fresh air again she turned her horse north, heading for the ford of the Trident, the bells of the city beginning their song of thunder behind her.

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Come on I worked hard on this twist! ;) Took me long enough