The Splendid Virtue in Lust

by Winterlyn Dow

Arya has three loves: fencing, her hometown of New Orleans, and her neighbor. She finally has all three at once, but the arrival of a handsome stranger may threaten her happiness. Will navagating romance, intrigue, complicated friendships, and the demands of being a Stark prove too much for one lovely girl? Part 8 in the series: The City That Care Forgot

A/N: This is part 8 in the Series "The City That Care Forgot" and takes place immediately after Jaqen and Arya return from the French Quarter (which means the earliest parts happen before the start of the Gendry POV one-shot "The Inescapable Oppression of the Gray" and the rest are woven around the events in that same one-shot).

---

You,

A violent desire…

---

The bourbon Arya had drunk at Pat O'Brien's earlier had long since worn off, but still, she felt…

Affected.

She was on the back of Jaqen's motorcycle as they left the French Quarter behind and zipped through the nearly deserted streets of the Warehouse District. At first, it only vaguely registered with her that this was a rather less direct route back home than the way they'd originally taken, along St. Charles Avenue. By the time they flew under the expressway overpass into the lower Garden District, the girl began to wonder if Jaqen was purposefully prolonging their trip back.

She hoped he was, because that would mean something, wouldn't it?

Leaning into him, her arms wrapped around his middle, she turned her head to the side, her helmet resting against his back. Through the tinted visor, Arya watched the houses they passed, quaint, historic homes set on postage stamp sized plots of land, some with porches disappearing into deep shadow, others with flickering gas lamps lighting their tall front doors and steep steps down to tiny front yards. She loved this place, with its unique architecture and the loamy smell of the close trees and flowering shrubs grown up along ornate iron fences struggling to hold the foliage back from cracked sidewalks. Here, the streets had names set in tiles embedded in concrete beneath the feet of pedestrians at each corner; names from history and literature; names the locals had mispronounced for so long, everyone now just accepted them as correct.

Here, Calliope was Cal-ee-ope, Melpomene was Mel-puh-meen, and Terpsichore was Terp-suh-core. No professor of Greek Mythology would ever convince a New Orleanian otherwise, however intrepid he might be. Curiously enough, no local batted an eyelash at the pronunciation of Tchoupitoulas Street even though the complex spelling was enough to make a tourist choose a different route. The girl laughed to think of it.

This was home, in all its insouciant and obtuse splendor.

She never tired of it; never grew indifferent to its unique charms and quirks; never minded the chaos of mixing the nonsensical with the stark or the whimsical with the decayed. New Orleans could never be truly orderly, or fully practical, or completely bleak, or unconditionally gorgeous. It was some of all those things, all at once, but never all of any of those things, even once. In the aftermath of hurricanes, with the loss of power and stagnant waters filling the low streets and the misery of the damp heat of August, strains of jazz could be heard echoing through the city. And that was the City That Care Forgot, neither defiant nor defeated in the face of hardship, but joyous, rather, or at the very least, unbothered.

Whether or not her long absence had been good for her, Arya supposed she'd missed this place more than she'd realized.

More than she'd allowed herself to consider in all those months away.

When Jaqen had suggested it earlier over piles of powdered sugar at the Café du Monde, she'd resisted the notion; resisted the idea that it had been hard to be away from home; that there had been a cost to her choice to not return for so long. But, as they moved through the city, past the orange trees and squat palms that thrived here below sea level, past live oaks with mossy branches bowing low to the ground, past elegant homes and decrepit, boarded up buildings long abandoned, some part of her, a part she'd chosen to ignore, to subdue, sparked to life. What flickered inside of her then made her realize he'd been right.

She sighed, but it was not inspired by any kind of melancholy. Instead, there was a satisfaction within her. She felt full again, when she'd not realized until this very moment she'd been somehow emptied.

There'd been beignets and that mint julep, then music, and the sort of soft debauchery that threaded always through the air on Bourbon Street. After that came fingers woven together in the humid night whose heavy damp stopped just short of oppressive and somehow also managed to be so familiar, it was a comfort. There had been three kisses, and the tips of her three fingers almost tingled with her urge to tick them off: there was a chaste kiss full of longing, and a teasing kiss full of ire, then a different sort of kiss altogether.

And now, there was the memory of those kisses, and the sights and the smells and almost tangible feel of existing in the middle of this city.

She smiled.

The pair stopped briefly at a blinking red light and Arya felt Jaqen slide one of his hands over hers where they were cinched across his hard belly. He stroked her gently with his palm, from her wrist to her fingers, then her fingers to her wrist, before taking off again. And it was all… so… perfect.

Too perfect, perhaps, because she felt a sharp pang in the center of her chest when he finally pulled into his narrow drive.

The girl slid off the motorcycle's seat, planting her two feet firmly on the ground before removing her helmet and setting it on the back of the bike. She moved a few steps away as though she intended to walk to her home next door, but when she reached the fence, she stopped and turned, leaning back against it. Jaqen was still unstrapping his headgear when she looked up at him, staring at his face and thinking back over the night. She bit her lip, causing the man to quirk up one brow at her as he stared back.

A challenge.

She released the lip and licked it a little. "Tomorrow, will you pretend none of this happened?"

The kiss. She was thinking of the kiss. And of other things, too. The ride home, when he'd caressed her hand, and the way he'd looked at her across that small table in the piano bar after she'd tasted his bitter beer. Then there were the things they'd said to one another. Flirtatious things. Honest things. Dangerous things. Things that changed their relationship.

Things that changed… everything.

But mostly, she was thinking of the kiss.

It seemed right to Arya that she should ask the question softly, there in the humid New Orleans night, the black wrought iron fence that separated her parents' property from their German neighbor's pressing into her back. It was closing in on four in the morning and all was quiet. The neighborhood houses were dark, the distant rumble of a streetcar was barely perceptible above her own breathing, and no traffic moved along the road. Everything felt still just then.

Everything but the staccato beating of her heart.

Jaqen H'ghar looked at her, his own face masked by shadow but hers lit by the shine of the nearest streetlamp. He walked over to her, his mouth curling into a lazy smile she could only just make out, and he purred, "It's already tomorrow."

Damn him, the girl thought. Why does everything he says have to sound so sexy?

Arya swallowed, but she would not let him off so easy. "So, will you pretend none of this happened later today?" She hated how small her voice sounded and cleared her throat, thinking that would help. Still uncertain, she squared her shoulders a bit, then blinked up at Jaqen, waiting.

He leaned in closer, his hands jammed into the pockets of his dark jeans. His head bent toward hers, his eyes tracing the contours of her face before answering.

"A man has no desire to forget what has happened."

She huffed a small, mirthless laugh and looked down at her hands as though assessing the state of her cuticles, even though she'd never given a second thought to them before. "But that doesn't really answer my question."

"No?" He seemed to consider the problem a moment. His solution was to lower his mouth to the angle of her jaw and kiss her softly there before ghosting along the shell of her ear with the tip of his nose. "Does this answer your question?"

His warm breath against her neck caused her arms to turn to gooseflesh.

"I…" She sighed. "I'm… not sure…"

Arya heard his quiet chuckle just before he nipped her earlobe with his teeth and tugged it, but only just a little. Vaguely, she was aware this was reckless; that anyone in her house who happened to look out of a front facing window might see them. But the strange thrumming she felt just beneath the surface of her skin as Jaqen released her earlobe and placed his lips against her throat drowned out that cautionary voice in her head.

His hands were still firmly in his pockets. He did not embrace her or plunge his fingers into her hair. He didn't grip her chin or press his palm against the small of her back or grasp her hips. And yet, it was as though he held her firmly in place. She was unable to move from that spot, so mesmerized was she by the feel of his lips moving along her neck.

"And now?" Jaqen murmured against her skin.

"Now?" Arya echoed, all breathless confusion, her eyes drifting closed.

"Your question, lovely girl," he whispered, placing a kiss on her chin, then another on her nose, then a third on her cheek. "Does this answer it?"

"I… um…" What was he saying? It was hard to keep track. She felt so hot, and prickly, and a little like her legs might give way. "I don't… remember the question."

"Is a girl quite well?" he teased, but his voice was so low, so husky, that it didn't feel like teasing at all.

It felt like a prelude, though to what, she wasn't sure.

She reached for something sensible to say back to him. "Hmm?" is what she finally landed on.

"Maybe you should come in," Jaqen suggested. "Sit and have some lemonade, or tea, perhaps, until you recover your faculties."

Suddenly, there was nothing she would rather do more than sit in her neighbor's house somewhere drinking lemonade. Or tea, perhaps.

Then he did press his palm against the small of her back, urging her away from the fence and guiding her across his lawn, up the stairs to his porch and through his front door.

Was she really doing this?

Yes, it seemed she was.

Once inside, Jaqen shed his jacket, hanging it on a coat stand in the corner of his foyer. That left him in his soft, fitted t-shirt and low-slung jeans. Eying him, Arya's mind was filled with a single thought.

No one should look that good in such basic clothes.

Just off the foyer, to the left, was the arched entryway into the library. Jaqen moved through it and flipped a switch that only lit the few lamps of the room rather than the brighter overhead lights, suffusing the library with a warm glow. Smiling, he turned, taking both of Arya's hands and pulling her along with him as he slowly walked backwards into the room. He watched her the whole way. Her gaze moved from his face to his chest, and then beyond him, across the room to the antique desk centered below a large picture window of beveled-edge glass; the one that overlooked her parents' lawn.

He'd leaned over that desk, peering out of that window and refusing to look at her the evening she'd come to tell him goodbye before leaving for Remmings. The words he'd spoken to her when she'd reached for him in that moment had stayed with her over the nine months she'd been away at school.

'Please do not touch me, lovely girl. You make it too hard.'

But she was touching him now. Or was he touching her?

"What is a girl thinking?"

Arya's gaze snapped back to Jaqen's and she saw his head was cocked curiously to one side. His mouth was shaped into a half-smile that somehow made her want to kiss him again. Badly.

"I was thinking of the last time I was in this room."

His smile died and his brows furrowed as though he did not wish to recall it. "You… came to apologize."

"And to say goodbye," she reminded him. "And you told me not to touch you."

"If I had known I would not see a lovely girl for so long…"

"You still would've said it."

He pulled her gently to him, placing her hands behind his back before releasing them so that he could run his fingers up her arms until they slid over her shoulders and onto her neck. He stared at her a moment, searching her eyes, before whispering, "A man has no objections now."

Arya smirked. "No?"

He smirked back. "None whatever."

"I think you mean 'whatsoever'," she chuckled.

Jaqen pouted. "I do not laugh at your German."

She looked off as though pondering his claim. "I don't know if that's strictly true…"

"Sei ruhig und küss mich."

Be quiet and kiss me.

Arya understood him well enough that her heart stuttered at the command. Rather than sucking in a tell-tale breath, she covered her reaction with a teasing reply she hoped sounded flirty.

Lifting up on her toes, she dropped her head back and murmured, "You're so… bossy."

The look Jaqen gave her was heated, his answering grin almost predatory. She'd expected him to kiss her then, so his reply surprised her.

"Does a girl like her men… bossy?"

She was startled enough by the question that it didn't occur to her to do anything other than answer him honestly. She mulled it over, then said, "I don't know. I'm not really sure."

His expression cooled and he seemed uncertain, as though he were debating something in his head. Arya could've kicked herself and wished she could rewind the last thirty seconds. Maybe then she would've chosen a reply that didn't result in Jaqen pecking her chastely on the lips and guiding her to the sofa where he bade her sit. She groaned.

"What is it?" he asked, concern marring his expression.

"Jaqen," she started, sighing, "I'm not, like, fragile. You don't have to treat me as though I am."

"I do not think you're fragile, Arya." He settled next to her, his knee touching hers as he angled himself so he could face her. He reached out for her hand and, taking it, turned it over and began lightly tracing the lines on her palm. "But I do think you are… special."

"Does 'special' mean we're back to you not kissing me properly?"

He snorted. "Hardly." As if to prove his point, he leaned over, gripping the back of her neck as he did, pulling her head toward his. He slanted his lips over hers, kissing her, and she had to admit, he did it properly (though only a moment later, she amended her judgement in her head, because the kiss had changed from proper to hungry in a matter of seconds). All too soon, however, it was over and Jaqen was leaning back to look at her, a somber expression on his face.

"I know that look," the girl muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Then tell me, what does it say?" He draped his arm over the back of the sofa and his fingers found her hair. He idly played with the dark strands as he awaited her reply.

"It says…" She blew out a breath. "Something about having adventures, not losing my head, and a bunch of other bullshit that means you think I'm too young to know what I want, even if you temporarily forgot you were supposed to feel that way."

Jaqen shook his head, rolling his lips in and pinching them as his eyes narrowed. After a moment, he said, "I should feel that way…"

"You shouldn't!" she insisted.

"Lovely girl," he said, taking her hand again and pressing a kiss to her wrist, "I should, but I don't."

"You don't?" Her mistrust was evident in her gaze. "Then why all the hesitancy?"

He sighed. "We should talk. Would you like a drink? Lemonade? Iced tea?"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever you're having."

"I'm having whiskey." She gave him a look that said sounds good to me but Jaqen merely frowned at her. "Arya, no." He rose then, moving to the other end of the room where another archway led back into the central corridor. The kitchen was at the end of that hallway. She heard him pulling glasses out of a cabinet and clinking them against the marble countertop. A minute later, he was back and handed her a tumbler. "Arnold Palmer," he said. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. "You didn't choose between lemonade and iced tea, so I gave you both."

His own glass had two fingers of liquid that looked like dark honey in it. He sat on the sofa again, but not so close this time. Arya watched as he took a sip and rolled the whiskey over his tongue, hollowing his cheeks for a second before swallowing.

She found herself imagining how his kiss would taste now. She started to scoot closer to him so she could find out.

"Arya, wait."

The girl stilled, chin bent toward her chest, and looked up at him expectantly. "What is it, Jaqen?" He breathed and studied her. She wondered if he was looking for an excuse to dismiss her. "Do you… want me to leave?"

"No." He took another swallow of his drink. "But you said something earlier, and it has made me think."

Everything you say makes me think, she did not say. Too much. All the time.

"Can't you forget it, whatever it was?" she asked, starting to scoot towards him again. He did not stop her this time. "Even if it's just for tonight? Just for now?" She'd reached him by then and placed her one hand over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath her palm.

"Is that what a girl wants?" he murmured. "Just tonight? Just… now?"

What was he asking her?

"I…" Arya concentrated on the feel of his heartbeat. "No. Not just."

"Then we should talk."

---

Sunlight filtered through the picture window and slanted across Arya's closed lids. It was enough to drag her from sleep. As her eyes fluttered open, she became aware that fingers were gently combing her hair out of her face. It felt nice. She blinked and swallowed, then turned to look up. Jaqen was gazing down at her. She'd fallen asleep on his sofa, her head resting in his lap.

"Good morning, lovely girl."

She yawned and answered hoarsely, "It was already morning when I fell asleep." She sat up and stretched then looked back at her neighbor contritely. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"No need to apologize."

"I kept you trapped here, on the couch, this whole time."

He smiled. "A man chooses where he sleeps. A girl cannot hold him where he does not wish to be."

Arya hid her blush by scrubbing at her face then rising and moving toward the large picture window. "What time is it?"

"Just past seven. Would you like coffee?"

"Ooh, do you still have your pretentious French press?"

Jaqen gave her a scathing look and stood. "I will make coffee and you will weep for how fine it is." He left for the kitchen, and she would've followed him, but movement next door caught her eye. Jon came bounding down the steps and jogged to his car. He was dressed for the gym but stopped when he saw Arya's car parked in the drive. His face lit up and he turned back toward the house, jogging across the lawn, up the steps, and through the door. The girl sucked in a breath when she realized he must be going to look for her.

What would he say when he did not find her in the house?

While she was considering the possibilities, Jon came tearing out of the house again, and this time, he looked angry. He moved in the direction of Jaqen's house and for a horrifying instant, she thought he meant to jump the fence and come knock the door down to get her. Instead, he jerked the door to his car open, got inside, backed out of the driveway, and took off down St. Charles Avenue.

"Jaqen," she called, closing her eyes and shaking her head, "hold off on the coffee. I've got to go."

---

Arya managed a shower and a change of clothes to freshen up before her parents stirred. Catelyn and Ned found their youngest daughter in the kitchen, waiting for a pot of coffee to finish brewing.

"Oh, sweetheart," her father cried, a smile warming his face, "I had no idea you were getting in so early. We weren't expecting you until lunch." He held his arms open and Arya went to him, letting him wrap her up and hug her tight.

It was one of her favorite feelings in the world.

"Surprise," she laughed. "I couldn't wait to see everyone."

"Oh, Arya, you didn't drive all night, did you? I thought you would leave early and stay the night somewhere halfway," her mother chastised, leaning over to kiss the girl's cheek. "I'm glad you're home, but you're too early!"

The girl gave her mother a befuddled look as her father released her from his embrace. "Too early? For what?"

Catelyn looked at Ned, shaking her head. "No way to keep it a secret now," she lamented, then glanced back at Arya. "We're having a welcome home party for you this evening."

"You're throwing me a surprise party?"

"Yes! We've invited all your friends, the neighbors, people from the Krewe, people from church…"

"The neighbors?" the girl said thoughtfully. "Did you invite Jaqen?"

"Of course."

"That's strange. He didn't mention it."

Catelyn's eyebrows raised in surprise. "When did you speak to Jaqen?"

"This morning," Arya replied, not having to struggle to sound convincing since it was the truth. "He was out getting his paper when I pulled up." Not exactly true. "We chatted for a bit." They'd talked for more than an hour before she'd apparently fallen asleep with her head in his lap. "He never mentioned the party." He hadn't. She should tell him off for that.

Catelyn smiled. "I've always liked that man. I knew he'd be good at keeping a secret."

You have no idea, her daughter thought, but did not say.

"Though it looks like he needn't have bothered," Ned laughed, causing his wife to sigh.

"Yes. Not much of a surprise now." Catelyn looked at her daughter who gave her a contrite pout, causing her mother to smile. She patted Arya's arm affectionately. "The caterers will be here after brunch to start setting up."

"Ooh, brunch," the girl replied in a sing-song voice. "Will there be waffles?"

Ned bent down to kiss his daughter's forehead. "I'll make you my famous bananas foster waffles," he promised, and Arya squealed with delight. Her father gazed at her fondly, then gripped her shoulders and rearranged his face into a stern expression. "But I'll only make them if you swear to me you'll never stay gone for nine solid months again. Too long, darling. Far, far too long."

"I know, Dad," she muttered a bit hoarsely, then cleared her throat. "I missed you too."

"You look tired," he murmured to Arya as Catelyn moved to get the cream from the fridge. "Why don't you skip the coffee for now and go have a quick nap? Sansa is coming over around ten for brunch, so you've got some time, and I don't think Jon and Gendry are even awake yet. I haven't heard them moving around up there." He cast his eyes at the ceiling.

Gendry was here?

"Oh, I saw Jon leave earlier," the girl said. "I think he might've been headed to the gym, or maybe to the park for a run."

"Well, there you go. He'll have to finish his run and clean up before he can eat. You might as well go rest."

"Thanks, Dad," she said, pecking him on the cheek. "I think I will."

---

Arya managed another hour and a half of sleep and felt somewhat more human after she woke up. She remembered she'd only brought in one of her suitcases and grabbed her keys, meaning to get the rest of her things from the trunk of her car before brunch. As she skipped down the staircase, she could hear her sister's musical voice floating out from the kitchen as she and Catelyn gossiped over whatever the latest scandal at Tulane was. The girl rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness to the gesture, and she slipped out of the front door to get her things so she could put them away and join her mother and sister in the kitchen.

They'd need her sarcastic commentary to break up all the saccharine and salaciousness.

She closed the front door quietly behind her and made her way to her car. As she opened her trunk, she couldn't help but slide her eyes next door, searching for a glimpse of Jaqen. There was none to be had, but she'd see him tonight at her spoiled surprise party, so she pushed aside the disappointment that was trying to turn her stomach to knots. She told herself it was ridiculous to be so tied up and tormented over a man she'd only kissed; over a man who had only allowed her kisses, though she'd hinted she was willing to give him more.

But Jaqen H'ghar wasn't just any man.

She thought of their conversation last night, and of the taste of the whiskey on his tongue when she'd kissed him last. It made her shiver.

Arya laughed at herself then, shaking her head and pulling her bags from the trunk. She only half-registered the sound of a car pulling into the drive behind her, but when the tires squealed, her head jerked up and her heart began to race. She stared through the windshield of the classic sports car into the shocked faces of Gendry and Jon. After she'd recovered from her shock, she broke out into a wide grin. Jon was the first to jump from the car.

He grabbed her, hugging her so hard her ribs ached, and picked her up off her feet, muttering all the while. "Fucking hell, Arya. Oh, Jesus…"

The girl thought he must've been scared Gendry was actually going to hit her with his car. His tone spoke to some great relief. It made her smile and she hugged him back, telling him how much she'd missed him. They were still smiling at each other and hugging when Gendry's growling voice interrupted them.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, and when she looked over at him, he was frowning and had his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed almost angry, and it caught her off her guard. At first, she hadn't even thought he'd been talking to her, so strange and unexpected was his greeting. But the way he was glaring right into her eyes told her he was.

She hadn't really spared her old friend much of her time lately. She could always plead a packed schedule, with fencing, and her class load, and all the traveling for tournaments, but the truth was, things had gotten a little awkward between them at her graduation party when he'd kissed her and she'd let him, for a moment, before pulling away. They'd managed to restore a tenuous sort of balance to their relationship, but every time they talked or texted, Arya could sense that Gendry wanted to shift that balance. Only, if she let him, it wouldn't be a balance anymore. Not for her. And she was afraid that would ruin everything.

Was he mad about her recent silence? Or had he somehow learned about Aegon? She could see how that might upset him, that she'd dated a man older than herself, and not told him about it. Gendry had always been rather protective of her.

She thought of Ramsay Bolton then. Gendry and Jon thought she didn't know about that, but she did.

He'd asked her where she'd been, and she could read his impatience in the way he raised his eyebrows and clenched his jaw as he stared at her. She supposed she should answer even if she thought the question absurd.

"Away at school, as you know very well."

"No, Arya, he means where were you this morning," Jon explained from behind her. "I got up early to run and saw your car here, but I couldn't find you anywhere. We've been worried sick."

Now Gendry's question made more sense.

The girl looked back and forth between them, her mind racing as she wrestled with how to respond to them. No way in hell she was going to tell them she fell asleep in Jaqen's lap as they discussed their relationship.

Relationship.

Just the thought of it made her want to smile. She bit the inside of her cheek instead.

She turned and looked at Jon. "You… couldn't find me, so… instead of calling me or texting me, you… drove to Gendry's to… form a posse and hunt me down?"

It really was quite amusing when she thought about it.

Jon seemed sheepish at her words, but Gendry was not appeased. His mood had become even more foul as she spoke, it seemed.

"No, he didn't bother to text or call you before barging into my place. Why do you suppose that is?"

The girl wondered if Gendry had had a late night and being awakened so early by Jon was to blame for his irritation. She shook her head, telling him she didn't understand what he was trying to say.

"I'm trying to say that your brother didn't want to warn you he was coming. He was hoping to catch us red-handed."

"What are you talking about, G?" Arya asked, genuinely confused.

"I'm talking about Jon beating my door down at some ungodly hour this morning to make sure I wasn't fucking you in my bed, because that's immediately what he assumed when he couldn't find you." There was no trace of humor in Gendry's words and Arya's mouth dropped open.

Jon had gone to Gendry's because he thought…

She stared at Jon in disbelief. She was dumbfounded that he could reach such a conclusion, and a little distressed that if she'd had her way, he'd have been right, only it wouldn't have been Gendry's door he would've needed to beat down in order to find her.

Jon, clearly uncomfortable, cleared his throat and looked at her before apologizing to Gendry.

"I'm sorry, man. I really didn't mean anything. I was just worried."

"Yeah, I know," Gendry growled back. "You were worried I was sneaking around with your sister when you should've been worried about your pervert of a neighbor."

That caught her attention.

She turned and stormed over to her friend. "And what does that mean?" Her voice was low, and steady, but no one would mistake her for calm.

"I saw you last night," Gendry said. When her jaw clenched and she turned away from him, trying to puzzle out exactly what he could have seen, he put his hands on either side of her face and made her look back at him. "I saw you."

Still perplexed, the girl repeated his words. "You saw me." She spat the words at him, her lip curling in a way she hoped looked skeptical, but all the while, her heart was fluttering beneath her breast.

What had he seen? Jaqen kissing her in his driveway? Leading her up his steps and into his house?

"Yeah, Princess, I did."

He was still being cryptic. She had no idea how to defend herself when she didn't know what the accusation was.

"You saw me do what, exactly?"

"Exactly? Well, I exactly saw you climb onto the back of your skeevy neighbor's bike and jet off to God knows where in the dark of night. And apparently, you weren't exactly back home yet when your brother got up this morning."

Oh, that. That, she could work with.

Pulling her face from Gendry's hands, she said, "And?"

"And, would you care to explain?"

Again, the girl looked between her brother and her friend. Jon's expression indicated he was interested in her answer as well. She opted not to give them one.

"No."

"No?" Gendry echoed, his tone incredulous. "That's it? Just 'no'?"

She didn't want to lie, but she certainly wasn't about to explain what had happened last night. She'd barely had the chance to wrap her own head around it, and she didn't relish the idea of Jon and Gendry overreacting about it before she'd even decided what it all meant.

Arya told them she was sorry she'd worried them, but it was really nothing, and she didn't want to spend the whole morning in the driveway hashing it out. Her words seemed to mostly appease Jon, but she could see Gendry wasn't ready to let it go. Still, with Jon as a buffer, she felt she was safe.

At least for now.

She took her bags and went inside, leaving the boys to resolve their issues. She only hoped it wouldn't somehow slip out at brunch with the family.

---

"Arya! Mom said you'd made it in early," Sansa sang as the girl walked into the kitchen. They hugged and Arya marveled at how much warmer her sister was with her when they'd spent some time apart. She'd started to see it when Sansa went to Tulane. Even though the campus was in town, her sister shared an off-campus apartment with her best friend, Margaery Tyrell. She'd claimed Margie was desperate for a roommate, but Arya knew her sister had just wanted to get out from under their mother's thumb a bit.

Which was laughable considering how often Sansa came home.

At least, she had her freshman year. Arya supposed it was possible things were entirely different during Sansa's sophomore year, and she'd have no way of knowing since she'd been away herself and had not kept up with her sister as well as she should.

"How have you been?" the younger girl asked.

"Like you care," Sansa snorted. "I could've died for all you knew!"

"I'm sure Mom or Dad would've gotten the news to me somehow," Arya smirked back, causing her sister to lightly pinch her arm in reprisal. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I'll do better!"

"Yeah, you will," the red head replied, hugging her again. "Now, tell me about your love life."

Arya's heart stuttered again, but she shrugged, knowing Sansa was referring to any boys she'd been seeing at school. "Not much to tell. Fencing is my first love. I don't have time for anything else, really. How about you?"

"Well, I've sort of been on a few dates with Margaery's brother…"

The girl's face pinched. "I thought Loras was gay."

"Not Loras, stupid. Willas."

"Willis… her oldest brother?" Arya tried to call up any details she could remember from Margie's prattling. "The one who had that awful polo accident?"

"Yes, him! He's at Tulane now, too, in the MBA program. Oh, he's really smart. And really good looking. A lot like Loras, but more… distinguished."

"And more heterosexual?" the girl snickered, earning another pinch from her sister, but this one harder than the last. "Ouch! Hey, I'm not the one that threw myself at Loras' feet for two years trying to get him interested! I mean, good for you for finally picking the brother you had a chance with. OUCH!"

They went on like that for a while, Sansa asking questions every so often, and Arya joking with her or deflecting and tempting her sister to talk about herself, which was Sansa's real forte anyway. In this way, she was able to avoid any uncomfortable topics. But then, when they sat down to eat brunch, Gendry seemed determined not to let her skate by. There were looks, which he was particularly good at delivering, and some pointed remarks that thankfully no one else seemed to pick up on besides Jon.

Bless her brother. He'd kicked their old friend under the table to shut him up when he said anything that might give her secret away. She didn't know if Jon would've been half so accommodating if he'd known what her secret was, so she was doubly thankful for the intervention.

The conversation continued, and eventually, talk revolved around the planned party.

Catelyn Stark was famous in the Garden District for her soirees.

Sansa and Arya listened as their mother rattled off the guest list. When she told Gendry that his father would be coming, the girl chanced a glance at her friend. Unless something had changed significantly after she'd left, Gendry and Robert Baratheon were not on great terms. Then again, the man had given his son a gorgeous condo in a converted factory in the Warehouse District worth somewhere north of a million dollars. And she'd been away a long time. She supposed things might've improved between Gendry and his dad over the last nine months. But, judging by her friend's expression, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the news he'd have to deal with his father later that evening.

She wished she could say something; comfort him, somehow. It was just that she felt the space between them widening, worsened by his anger at her for being with Jaqen the night before, even if he didn't know the whole story.

She couldn't even fathom how angry he'd be if he knew what had really happened.

"Oh, and Jaqen will be here as well, Arya," her mother was saying. Her words pulled the girl from her contemplations. "I wasn't sure that he'd be in town, you know how he's always traveling, but it just worked out that he's not due to leave for a few weeks, he said."

Arya could feel Gendry's eyes on her then, and she did her best to act nonchalant. She didn't have to bluff for long. Sansa spoke up and commanded all the attention at the table. At least, she commanded all of Arya's attention.

"Oh, Margaery will be glad!" Sansa laughed. "He's the only man she thinks is better looking than that surfer-model guy Arya was dating."

Arya glared at her sister, not wanting to discuss Jaqen or Aegon at the brunch table. Not with her family, and especially not with Gendry.

"You are absolutely not to let that girl pester him, Sansa," her mother instructed. "She'll just embarrass herself. And him!"

Silently, Arya cheered her mother on.

Until Catelyn continued.

"Really, the idea of a professional man like that being interested in a college girl… What could they possibly have in common?" Catelyn shook her head like the idea was the most ludicrous thing in the history of all ludicrous things.

That stung.

"Yes, that is ridiculous," Gendry agreed, somewhat gleefully, to Arya's ear.

That stung, too. But mostly, it annoyed her.

"Oh, really?" Sansa asked, seemingly enthralled with him all of a sudden. "What about someone like yourself, Gendry? You're a recent college graduate, a young working professional… Would you consider dating a college girl?"

Arya shot her sister a dirty look, not quite understanding where she was going with this line of interrogation, but not particularly wanting to find out, either. "Why are you bothering him with stupid questions?"

"Well, that's different, isn't it?" Gendry replied, sounding more engaged and sweeter tempered than he had all morning. "I mean, I could still be in school myself, if I'd decided to pursue a graduate-level degree, or if I'd taken a fifth year to finish. Lots of people do that."

"That's true," Sansa agreed with an enthusiasm that had her sister eyeing her suspiciously. "Say, Gendry, you're not dating anyone now, are you? Because Margaery would be perfect for…"

Jon burst out laughing, interrupting Sansa's matchmaking schemes.

"Do we have to have all this dating talk at the table?" Rickon groaned. "It's so gross and I'm trying to eat here."

Agreed, Arya thought, but did not say.

---

Somehow, Arya and Gendry managed to find their peace, her forgiving him for his unjustified anger, and him managing to let go of whatever it was about her midnight ride with Jaqen that had him so upset. She'd even gotten ready for the party at his place, though that had been less a planned event and more due to some hare-brained scheme of her sister's. Sansa, it seemed, intended to throw Margaery Tyrell at Gendry's feet while the two sorority sisters pretended they were merely there to help poor, hopeless Arya with hair and makeup and choosing an outfit.

It had been an ambush planned and executed with military precision.

Still, Arya and Gendry managed to leave his condo as friends, almost as comfortable with each other as they'd been before her graduation party a year before. He gave her a ride to the party her mother was ostensibly throwing for her (though really, Catelyn looked for any opportunity to play hostess) and had been so sweet with her the entire time.

It reminded her of the old days.

Well, he had tried to bring up Jaqen, pressing her on the details of their time together the night before, and that wasn't so sweet, but she'd managed to rebuff him without causing a huge fight and they'd gone on into the party after that.

She'd greeted her parents, thanking them for going to all the trouble to arrange the celebration and beaming as her father told her she looked 'so beautiful, sweetheart. Really' and wrapped her in a hug. She'd seen Edric Dayne, too, kissing him on the cheek and promising him she would make time to train with him while they were both home (after all, the way both of their collegiate fencing careers were going, they'd be on the Olympic team together). And she'd greeted Margaery and Sansa, showing off the dress and shoes they'd picked for her to the sound of their exaggerated wolf whistles.

But all the while, her eyes scanned the party for Jaqen.

Even though she wasn't exactly sure how she would act when she saw him.

Not that he hadn't made clear what he wanted when they'd talked (her, but slowly, with care and purpose, not in some mad rush that might leave one of them hurt and aching), and not that she didn't know how she felt (hypnotized; enamored; intoxicated). But there was her family, and there was his… job. There were the people he worked for (he did not say much about them, only that they would not approve, and he would not tell her why) and there were her friends (Gendry was particularly predisposed to dislike Jaqen). There was fencing, and her school, nearly nine hundred miles away; there was his almost constant traveling and the scandal their relationship would surely cause. Their age difference alone would make tongues wag, she having just turned eighteen and he being eleven years older.

In short, it was no simple matter.

There was so much to consider; such a precarious path to follow. If they strayed one step over the line… Well, the consequences could be dire. For both of them. And he'd given her an out, saying he knew he wasn't offering her some lighthearted, meaningless summer romance; saying that what was between them was deep, and dark, and heavy. Consuming, he'd said. And he understood if she did not wish to risk her heart in this way, and he had no desire to stand in the way of her own ambitions and dreams, no matter the attraction between them.

The overwhelming, unrelenting, profound, burning attraction between them.

And she'd promised to think on it; to consider all the complexities and difficulties. The dangers. She was determined to make a mature decision, eyes open, logic fully engaged. She would not allow herself to be led along a path (this alluring, enticing, carnal path) simply because Jaqen was like a disturbingly sensual Pied Piper when it came to her emotions and desires.

And hadn't she proven she could be trusted to choose wisely? Hadn't she accepted the scholarship to Remmings, and gone hundreds of miles away from everything she knew, from him, to further her own interests? Hadn't she stayed away, even though she couldn't push him from her mind? Hadn't she done what was best for herself even though she had felt something deep inside her wrench and twist and curl up in resistance when she'd had to tell him goodbye last August?

Such were her thoughts as she moved through her parents' house, smiling, shaking hands, stopping for chats as she peered over the shoulders of guests, hoping to locate her German neighbor. Complexities. Difficulties. Dangers. Ambitions. Plans. Logistics. Emotions. Desires. They all competed for her attention, tumbling around inside of her head like Yahtzee dice.

And when she stepped through her back door, onto the lawn, and saw him, all of that melted away.

Jaqen looked up at her in that same moment, and his smile was somehow full of adoration and lust and infatuation and devotion, all at once. It pierced her straight through the heart.

And that was it. For her, that was it.

She went to him.

Or, at least, she tried to. It was difficult since the party was being thrown in her honor and she knew most of the people there. She was stopped no less than six times as she made her way across the lawn, for hugs and more handshakes, for small talk, to answer questions like how she was enjoying college or what she'd thought about her victory in Paris with the fencing team. It seemed her mother had been keeping their social circle well-informed about her youngest daughter's exploits, both in the States and abroad.

Arya smiled politely, nodding and conversing as required, but always her eyes found Jaqen again, insuring he wasn't going to disappear. When she finally made it to him, her leaned over, placing a warm hand on her arm as he kissed first one cheek, then the other.

"A girl is so popular, I did not know if I would get to speak to her today," he murmured.

A girl.

She blinked and breathed and resisted the urge to curl her fingers into her skirt.

Giving him a shy smile, she told him, "It's not popularity. Just… obligation."

"Obligation?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "It would be rude to drink my parents' liquor and eat their food without at least pretending they cared about the reason they were invited here in the first place."

"Nonsense, Arya," the German admonished. "You are well loved."

"Well…" She looked down at her shoes, the strappy wedges her sister had brought to Gendry's for her. She heard Jaqen making a humming sound, as though he were just confronted with a problem which needed solving.

"Self-deprecation has its place, but you don't seem to realize your own worth, lovely girl." He'd said the words low, for her ears only, but she looked around as though afraid he might've been overheard. "What?" His brow furrowed. "Do you not believe me?"

The girl bit her lip, looking back up at him.

He smiled, shaking his head, then said, "Come." Arya saw he was indicating that they should move out of the thick of the crowd. She followed his lead, taking his proffered arm and strolling with him back toward the house. She had more confidence in her high shoes than she'd shown earlier, but still, he helped her up the steps onto wrap around porch on the side of her house. Rather than walking along the gallery, she stopped right there, leaning against the railing.

Jaqen moved to stand in front of her, watching her as though he were waiting for her to speak. She wasn't sure what she should say, though, and so they just stared at each other for a while. After a few moments, Arya began to feel self-conscious and drew her arm across her chest, wrapping her hand around the opposite bicep. Then she dropped her eyes. It was Jaqen who broke the silence.

"That dress…"

"Do you like it?" Arya looked down at the skirt, smoothing it with her fingers, then glanced back up at him.

"I like you in it." At her blush, he leaned in closer and added, "You are the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen."

She gulped, then murmured, "You can't say things like that to me. Not here."

He smiled down at her indulgently. "Why not? I'm only telling you the truth."

"Jaqen…" Before she could say more, they were interrupted by the chirping of his phone. He straightened then, fishing it out of his pocket. Seeing the number on the screen, he cast a contrite look toward Arya.

"I'm sorry, lovely girl. I have to take this." She nodded and he hit the button on the screen to answer, muttering into the phone, "Ja?" After listening a moment while glaring intently out over the lawn, he spoke again. "Heute Nacht oder morgen?" He paused again, then stared at Arya. "Ja, überhaupt kein Problem. Auf Wiedersehen."

"What's 'no problem'?" she asked after he hit the button to end the call.

"Arya." His tone was a warning.

"Sorry."

Jaqen sighed. "I hate to leave you, but I must."

"I understand."

He reached out and gripped her elbow lightly. "If I could, I would take you in my arms right now and kiss you."

She grinned. "Imagine the scandal."

"It's not the scandal which stops me." He looked around, then leaned close, kissing her cheek before whispering in her ear. "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

She'd be done with church and her training by then.

"Yes."

"Good. Come over. I'll make you dinner."

"You cook?" Her tone was one of surprise.

"I do." Jaqen pulled back and reached into his pocket. A second later, he was slipping a key into her hand. "I have something I have to do in the afternoon, and then I'll go to the market. If I'm not home when you're ready to come over, let yourself in."

Her heart felt as though it stilled in her chest when she felt the key in her palm. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." The look he gave her as he spoke seemed to say he found her question baffling.

She supposed Jaqen H'ghar never did anything without being completely sure.

Arya nodded, giving him a half-smile. He raked his eyes down her face, her neck, her body one last time, then turned on his heel and left. She had no time to process what had just happened before Gendry was calling her name, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned to see him walking toward the porch, so she descended the steps to join him as he was offering to get her a drink.

So sweet, really.

She agreed and they walked back to the throng of people, joining Margaery at a table and making small talk. But all the while, she found her gaze straying to the balcony off Jaqen's bedroom next door.

---

Arya spent much of the party on the back lawn, laughing with Gendry and then Jon and Sansa when they joined the group. After a while, Edric found her and they fell into easy conversation about fencing and school, Gendry scowling all the while.

"Margaery, have you ever met Edric?" Sansa asked. "He and Arya have known each other for ages."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," the curly haired girl purred, holding out her hand almost as though she expected Edric would take it and kiss it like some knight of old. Arya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

"Edric Dayne," he said, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"How is it we've never met before?" Margaery asked, leaning toward him and smiling.

"I live across the lake, in Mandeville."

"Oh, a Northshore boy," Margaery grinned. "I'm intrigued."

The genial boy began discussing life at Tulane, mutual acquaintances, and music with the sorority sisters.

"Edric, Margie and I were going to see a band on campus tomorrow," Sansa mentioned after a time. "Seems like they might be your kind of thing. Would you like to come with us?"

"Sure," he smiled. "If Arya wants to… We have plans to train together tomorrow."

"Oh, I wish I could, but I can't," the girl said. "I have something I have to do in the evening, but don't skip the band on my account. You'll already be on this side of the lake. You might as well go."

Edric shrugged and smiled at Sansa and Margaery agreeably. "Sure, then."

Arya almost felt sorry for him. Edric had no idea what he was getting himself into. Still, she couldn't deny that her sister and Margaery Tyrell would show him a good time. She laughed into her drink.

"Mind letting me in on the joke, Princess?" Gendry whispered into her ear.

"Just wondering how many of my guy friends Margaery intends to seduce."

"Jealous?"

She cut her eyes at him. "Hardly. I say go for it, if that's what you want. But you'd better be quick. Looks like she's moving on to blonder pastures, G."

He shrugged. "He's welcome to her. She is definitely not what I want."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "No? Well, that's a shame."

"Why?"

"It's just that between you and Edric, you're the one more likely to come out of an encounter with her intact. He's fierce in a fencing competition, but as soft and sweet as a Hershey bar left in a hot car otherwise."

Gendry snorted. "Too soft and sweet for you, I take it? Is that why you aren't with him?"

"I just don't think of him that way. We've been friends since before we hit puberty. Sort of like you and me."

Gendry had started to laugh but his amusement dried up quickly at that last part. He grimaced. "No one is like you and me," he insisted sullenly.

She reached over and ran her hand up his arm in a soothing gesture. "No, you're right, G. You're my closest friend in the whole world." He didn't seem especially thrilled by her words, so she squeezed his bicep. "Ooh, Gendry. Have you been working out?" He scowled at her and she winked.

"Quit molesting my best friend!" Jon called to her from across the table when he spied her hand curving around Gendry's arm. His joking admonition caused all heads to turn in their direction.

The girl rolled her eyes playfully. "If half the girls at LSU couldn't control themselves around him, how do you expect me to?"

"Half, Princess? You wound me. More like… eighty percent," her friend laughed.

"And on that note, I think I'll go freshen my drink," Arya said, rising from her seat and patting Gendry's shoulder.

"Want me to go with you?" he asked softly, placing his hand over hers, effectively stopping her from leaving.

"No. You stay here and have fun. I'm going to make the rounds quickly and make sure there's no one I missed saying hello to. If my old catechism teacher or one of Dad's junior partners feels snubbed, my mom will harass me about it all the way until the next time I do something supremely disappointing."

"So, like, a day or two?" Gendry snorted. Arya screwed her face up into an expression of faux anger and punched the bicep Jon had accused her of molesting. "Ow! Settle down, baby Stark. You know you never disappoint me, supremely or otherwise. I'm your biggest fan."

"A likely story," the girl snarked back. They chuckled at one another, then she sighed. "I should go. I haven't seen your father yet."

That elicited a frown from Gendry. "Now I really am coming with you."

"No, don't." She had no wish to sour Gendry's mood by throwing him into a room with his father just now.

"I don't like the way he looks at you."

"I'm not exactly a fan of it either, but he's my dad's best friend. Avoiding him completely is… problematic."

Gendry groaned. "As late as it is, he's probably one drink shy of a blackout. He won't even remember if you let him perv all over you or not."

"He won't, but my mom will. Believe me."

"I don't know why it doesn't piss her off more," he growled.

"She thinks he's harmless. And really, he is." Gendry's look was one of disbelief, but she didn't let him argue. "Besides, I'm a big girl now…"

"There is nothing big about you, Arya."

"…and if he lets his hands wander, I'll lop them off with my saber."

"Aren't those things completely dull?"

"It still hurts if someone smacks you hard enough."

Gendry rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

The girl sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind and bending down to place her cheek against his. "Look, I just don't want to be the source of any tension…"

"Ha!"

"…any more tension than there already is between you two. And my mom will be pissed if you get offended for my sake and knock your father out cold in the middle of the living room."

"Yeah, yeah. But if you're not back in fifteen, I'm rallying the troops and coming after you."

"Ooh, fifteen whole minutes? I wonder what kind of trouble I can get up to in that time."

"Plenty, I'm sure."

Arya smiled, then turned her face and kissed his cheek. "Back in a jiffy."

"Are we stuck in a 1950s sitcom? No one says 'jiffy' anymore, Princess," he called after her as she walked towards the house.

"I'm bringing it back!" she declared, looking at him over her shoulder and waggling her eyebrows.

---

"Oh, Arya, there you are," her mother said as the girl wandered into the dining room. "Have you spoken to the Boltons yet? They were just in the living room, talking with Jaime Lannister."

"No, not yet. I came in to see who I'd missed. Is Robert here?"

"Mmm." Catelyn nodded. "In the study, with your father. Draining the last of the eighteen-year-old Macallan, no doubt."

"I'll peek in on them and then say hello to the Boltons."

"Alright, sweetie."

Arya headed back into the kitchen then took the rear hallway to the study so she could avoid getting caught up in throngs of guests still filling the house. When she got to her father's study, the door was pulled to but not shut. She could hear Ned and Robert talking.

"Fucking Lannisters. You know they're up to something, Ned," Robert sputtered, his words slightly slurred. "Why else would they have hired him?"

"I don't think there's anything sinister behind it," her father replied. "My understanding is the boy is good, top of his class, and it was a favor to Connington."

"Connington, ha! That slimy bastard…"

"He and Tywin have always been friendly. It makes sense."

"What makes sense is that they're trying to fuck us over, Ned! I don't know why you can't see it."

Her father laughed. "I hardly see how hiring a brand-new law graduate who hasn't even passed the bar yet will be some sort of problem for us."

"You know that's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Robert?"

"He's Rhaegar's boy!" the man roared. "That's the point! This is nothing but a mind-fuck!"

"Robert, calm down. Rhaegar's been gone so long, the boy can't possibly even remember him. He's just a new law associate, hired because he's a top student and he knows the right people. There's nothing more to it, I'm sure. It's only a problem if you make it one."

Robert Baratheon scoffed.

She had no idea what they were talking about. She'd heard the name 'Rhaegar' before, and knew he was someone Robert Baratheon hated, but beyond that, it was a mystery to her.

The men had grown quiet, so she figured it was a good time to interrupt. She knocked on the door then pushed it open a little, sticking her head in.

"Arya," her father said with surprise, then he smiled at her. "Has the belle of the ball come to pay her old man a little attention? Come in!" As she pushed the door open further and walked in, Robert's anger seemed to drain from him, and he gave her a broad smile.

"God, Ned, but you make pretty girls. Come give your Uncle Robert a kiss, sweet thing."

The girl hid her grimace and walked over to Robert, pecking his cheek and wriggling out of his clumsy embrace to go stand by her father. Ned pulled her close into his side and squeezed her.

"What are you doing back here? Don't you have thousands of friends out there to entertain?"

"I just wanted to say hello to Uncle Robert," she told him, trying not to gag over the name her father's friend insisted she call him, "and to check on you. You know, make sure everything's on the up-and-up in here, keep you out of trouble, that sort of thing."

Her dad laughed. "Nothing much to see here. Just two old men drinking scotch."

"Speak for yourself, Ned!" Robert boomed. "I'm not old, and I'm always up to no good." He winked at Arya as he said it, laughing at his own joke. Ned chuckled politely.

"Alright then, as long as you two don't need a chaperone…" Arya kissed her father's cheek. "There are a few more people Mon insists I speak to, so I'll leave you to your shenanigans."

Robert chortled as though she were the wittiest girl he'd ever met and as she left the room and closed the door behind her, she heard him softly slur, "She's just like her, Ned."

He was talking about her Aunt Lyanna, she knew. She'd heard him say it before.

"No. Arya's got a better head on her shoulders. I don't worry about her like I did Lyanna," her father said, making his daughter smile as she walked away.

True to her word, the girl made her way to the living room. Thankfully, the Boltons were just getting ready to leave, so her conversation with the stiff Roose and his dingbat of a wife was short and sweet. Ramsay had not come after all (she'd heard rumors of rehab being bandied about among some of the guests earlier). Whatever the reason for his absence, she was spared that conversation. Jaime Lannister, however, remained.

"Arya Stark," he said, bowing his head slightly. He had a way of making every social grace feel like a mockery. She sort of loved him for it.

"Mr. Lannister."

"Please, it's Jaime, as you well know. Mr. Lannister is my father." When she laughed, he looked affronted. "No, seriously. I think he had it trademarked."

"Wouldn't surprise me with the cadre of vicious lawyers he commands."

"You make him sound like a Civil War general."

"Wasn't he?" she smirked.

Jaime grinned. "I only wish he were here to hear you say it."

"Don't tattle on me, Jaime. I'd like to stay on Tywin's good side."

She meant it. She'd spent a couple of summers working at his firm, doing some filing. Tywin Lannister could be a scary old bastard, but Arya had always respected him, and they'd developed a unique rapport.

The handsome blonde man rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't we all?"

"Well, the difference is, I actually have a shot at it."

"True," he agreed quite seriously. "You may be the only one who does."

She laughed.

Arya had always enjoyed Jaime Lannister's banter. He'd been around for as long as she could remember, the Starks and the Lannisters having a long and tangled history. Their families ran in the same social circles, their children attended the same private schools, and they belonged to the same Mardi Gras krewe. That's what having old money in New Orleans meant: it was simply impossible to escape certain people. Just about the only time she could be guaranteed not to run into a Lannister was at church, and that was only because the Lannisters weren't Catholic. Otherwise, it was almost inevitable that they would cross paths. Aside from an ill-advised stint as the girlfriend of Tywin Lannister's priggish grandson, Sansa had even taken ballet with his granddaughter, Marcella.

It was almost incestuous.

But that didn't stop Arya from enjoying Jaime Lannister's company, or his wry wit.

"I hear you're Syrio Forel's star student," Jaime remarked, "and that you're almost a guaranteed Olympian."

Arya flushed to hear him say it. "There's still plenty of work to do before all that."

"I abhor false modesty, Stark. You're a shoo-in, and you know it. I'd like to think you owe a bit of that success to me."

"To you?" she chuckled. "How so?"

"Well, it was my nephew you beat to a bloody pulp in that pee-wee tournament all those years ago. I should probably be angry with you about it. He was my protégé, after all and he gave up fencing completely after that. Nonetheless, I'm pretty sure that was your inspiration to keep up your dedication to training."

"Don't exaggerate. I didn't beat him to a bloody pulp."

"You knocked his sword out of his hand, slapped his neck so hard with your foil it raised a welt and made my sister scream at Robert to call the police on you…"

"I was five…"

"…and Joffrey cried so much, he dripped snot on my suit."

"Oh, please…"

"Great, giant gobs of thick snot. Copious amounts. All over the lapels."

"Ewww!"

"It was ruined."

She burst out laughing.

"It's not funny, Stark. I loved that suit. It was Armani and I looked fucking spectacular in it."

"Who knew you were such a dandy?"

"No one says 'dandy' anymore. It's not the Roaring Twenties, for God's sake."

"I'm bringing it back!" she insisted.

"Well, nothing is bringing that Armani suit back," the man pouted.

Arya laughed harder. "Why were you wearing an Armani suit at a pee-wee fencing tournament?"

Jaime looked perplexed. "What is one supposed to wear to a pee-wee fencing tournament?"

She doubled over at that. "Oh… oh, my God, I can't breathe."

"Quit braying like a wounded donkey. It's unseemly."

"It hurts," she complained, wrapping her arms over her middle and digging her fingers into her side. When she finally got a hold of herself, she straightened, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I haven't laughed that hard in a while."

"It's good to have you home, Arya."

"It's good to be home."

"I'm sure my father is going to insist on having you over for dinner very soon."

"As long as Joffrey's not there."

"Armani…" Jaime muttered, his eyes narrowing. The girl chuckled. "I might not even make the guest list. I imagine he'll want to invite his shiny new associates so he can show off the future Olympian he helped mold to them."

That triggered something in Arya's memory. "Yes. I heard something about a new associate. Robert was going off about it earlier."

The blonde man sneered. "He would. Just because of who his father was." Shaking his head, he said, "I think if Rhaegar had ever extolled the virtues of breathing, Robert would hold his breath until his eyes bugged out."

"I've heard that name before, but I don't really know anything about him."

"Who, Rhaegar?" Jaime looked at the girl for a minute, then shrugged. "He's just a ghost, really, dead longer than you've been alive. Robert is the only one who even cares anymore." He seemed reluctant to say more, but Arya was curious after overhearing her father and his friend in the study.

"What do you know about his son?"

"Not much, to be honest. Just what my father has mentioned in passing. Graduated first in his class, supposed to have a brilliant legal mind and all that. Of course, he'd have to be the best of the best to earn a place at the firm. Tywin Lannister does not settle for less than perfection."

"Tywin Lannister also loves to work an angle," Arya retorted, suspicion in her tone.

Jaime looked over her shoulder as he answered her. "If there's an angle, I don't know what it is."

"Liar."

He smiled. "If I were still fencing, I'd challenge you to a duel for questioning my integrity like that."

The girl grinned at the idea of it. "I would have loved to have sparred with the great Jaime Lannister."

"I would never have made the Olympic team, but I did well enough, until I couldn't anymore."

The accident that had left nearly all the bones in Jaime's right hand crushed had effectively ended his fencing career. The surgeons had saved his hand, and restored most of the functionality, but his grip was weak enough that fencing was impossible for him now.

"You can train with me anytime," Arya offered. "I could teach you to fight left-handed."

"This dog is too old to learn a new trick."

"Yes, I suppose you are getting a little long in the tooth, Lannister."

"Watch it, Stark, or I'll tell my father to invite Joffrey to dinner, too."

She rolled her eyes. "What's he gonna do, blow his nose on me?"

"Ugh," Jaime groaned. "Don't remind me."

They chatted a bit longer, but then Jaime had to go. He squeezed her hand fondly, telling her not to be a stranger, whatever that meant, then left. When she turned make her way out back again, she saw Gendry approaching.

"Fifteen minutes, I said," he chastised.

"It can't have been longer than that."

He looked at his watch, then gave her a censuring look. "Half an hour."

"No, really? And I didn't even get up to any trouble in all that time."

"I dunno. I saw you with Jaime Lannister. That has trouble written all over it."

"Trouble for him, maybe," she murmured, laughing to herself.

"Well, did my father behave himself, at least?"

She snorted. "As much as he ever does."

---

Arya crashed hard after the party, her lack of sleep the night before finally catching up to her. She woke up the next morning early enough to get her cardio in before church. She would've liked to have slept later, but it was summer in New Orleans and anytime past nine in the morning was too hot to run outdoors without risking heat stroke.

She jogged up St. Charles to Audubon Park and then picked up her pace as she ran the loop there twice around before heading home, logging just over five and a half miles. She showered quickly, threw on a comfortable sleeveless swing dress and sandals for mass, and had some fruit while she waited for the rest of the family to finish getting ready.

After church, she met Edric Dayne at her old school. Arya had spoken to her high school fencing coach, Mr. Charbonneau, a couple of weeks before her finals and he'd agreed to let her use the gym to train while she was in town.

"Good morning, YaYa," Edric greeted when they ran into each other in the parking lot. He leaned in for a quick hug. "Did you get your cardio in?"

"I ran Audubon Park before church. You?"

"Rowing machine in my garage."

"Is that your usual routine?"

"Yeah, my coach has me alternating running and rowing."

"Ah, I thought your arms looked crazy good at the tournament in DC, but it was really obvious at the party yesterday."

Edric beamed. "Thanks."

"Maybe I should start rowing…"

"What does Coach Forel say?"

Arya balled one fist and placed it against her hip, then wagged a finger in Edric's face, deepening her voice and effecting her best Italian accent. "Don't get fat!"

"Ha! Really?"

"Well, then he went on to detail his four-thousand step instructions for my fitness routine until I report back to Remmings, but I don't think he ever mentioned rowing. Of course, to be sure, I'll need to cross-reference the original plan with the twice daily email updates he's sent me since he left for Italy…"

"Wow, he sounds really involved."

"You can't even imagine," she laughed as they walked through the gym doors.

"But it must work. The guy's record speaks for itself. And you blew everyone out of the water in March."

"Which is the only reason I haven't defected." She grinned. "Ready for some footwork drills?"

"I'm following your lead."

The two friends drilled and then sparred for hours. When they finally tired themselves out, they huddled around Edric's iPad and watched videos from their most recent tournaments, observing technique, critiquing their own performances, and studying their most likely competition for a spot on the Olympic team. Once they'd finished their film study, they made plans to meet later in the week.

"I can come to you," Arya said. "It's not fair to make you always have to cross the bridge."

"Nah, it's fine. I don't mind. Maybe next time I can run with you."

"Sure, that'd be nice. But I run really early."

"Of course. Too hot otherwise."

"Maybe you can come over the night before and sleep in the guest room. That way you won't have to drive across the Causeway before the crack of dawn."

"Yeah, that'd be great." He grinned at her.

"Well, have a great time with Margaery and Sansa tonight…"

"I really wish you were going, YaYa. Margaery scares me a little." That made the girl laugh and Edric laughed along with her before asking her a question she wasn't keen to answer. "What'd you say you were doing?"

"I… just made plans to hang out with an old friend I hadn't seen in a long time."

"Ah. Well, have fun."

They said goodbye in the parking lot and Arya drove home for her second shower of the day. Only this time, she took extra care, deep conditioning her hair, shaving her legs, and even moisturizing after she'd dried off.

Wouldn't Sansa be proud?

Arya changed into a simple white V-neck tee shirt and a pair of navy shorts. By the time she came downstairs, her mother was off to evening mass, her father was ensconced in his study with work he'd brought home, her younger brothers were engrossed in a video game, and Sansa had left to go back to her apartment.

"Going over to a friend's house," Arya called to the boys before she left. "Tell Mom when she gets home."

"Yeah, okay," Bran said, not even turning to look at her.

As she walked next door, she noted an unfamiliar car in Jaqen's driveway. Since she'd known him, her neighbor had driven a dark blue BMW sedan, but this was some sort of sporty silver Jaguar. She recalled Jaqen had said he had something to do this afternoon and now she wondered if that something was getting a new car. Strange that he didn't just tell her, though. He'd acted like his errand was such a secret.

Arya climbed the steps to Jaqen's porch, her fingers idly fiddling with the key in her pocket all the while. As she approached the door, she realized she wouldn't need the key he'd given her since he was home. Then she noted the door was slightly ajar. That gave her pause, but she supposed if he were carrying in groceries, he might have missed shutting it all the way. He had mentioned stopping at the market, after all. She pushed it open further and walked in.

"Jaqen, I'm here!" the girl called out, closing the door behind her until she heard a click. "Did you know your door was open? My dad would say you were trying to air condition the neighborhood."

He didn't answer her, so she peered down the central hallway toward the back of the house where she thought he might be cooking already. The kitchen lights were off, and no sounds drifted from there. In fact, the whole downstairs seemed quiet, so she assumed he was upstairs, changing perhaps. She decided he must've meant for her to wait for him in the library because those lights were on. She didn't mind. It was her favorite room in Jaqen's house, after all, because it was so him.

Rare books, first editions mostly, worth a small fortune, lining the built-in shelves; sumptuous seating that managed to be even more comfortable than it was beautiful; the rich, antique desk that filled the space beneath the large window and looked as though it would be at home in the governor's mansion; a hand-knotted Persian carpet with pile so thick and plush, she felt as though she bounced when she walked on it.

Wandering through the interior archway off the foyer, Arya entered the library, her gaze drawn immediately to the large picture window on the opposite wall which looked out over her parents' lawn. She took a few steps in that direction when an unfamiliar voice nearly startled her out of her wits, freezing her in place.

"Well, hello, little one."

Arya gasped, her hand jerking to her throat. After she'd had half a second to make herself comprehend that someone who wasn't Jaqen was in his house, speaking to her, she turned to see a man seated in one of the library's overstuffed and expensively upholstered chairs.

Silk Chinoiserie, its gorgeous pattern showing vibrantly feathered pheasants perched in the branches of blossoming cherry trees. The sofa and other chairs were covered in fabrics with coordinating patterns which were equally as tasteful and nonsensical. She adored the look of it.

"I…" she breathed, then gulped against the sudden, piercing dryness in her throat. "Oh." The man smiled at her, dazzling, and she saw that he was holding a glass in his hand as he swirled the amber liquid it contained before taking a sip. She used that interlude to pull in a deep breath so she could ease the painful stuttering of her heart.

The stranger raised his perfectly sculpted eyebrows in a questioning way beneath his perfectly coiffed, inky hair as he tapped against the side of Jaqen's crystal tumbler with the perfectly manicured nail of one perfectly tanned index finger. He honestly looked like he'd stepped out of a print ad for expensive men's watches. And to that point, his understated but obviously pricey watch peeked out from beneath the cuff of his pristine, white dress shirt.

Something classic, but not vintage. Jaqen was vintage; a well-worn but impeccably kept timepiece with a leather strap; something with a history and a bit of sentiment. This man was not that.

"Who might you be?" he asked, his casual manner at odds with their current situation to Arya's mind. He had an accent, British, and even from across the room, she could see that his eyes were startlingly blue. Electric, almost. She took a tentative step backwards, her own eyes darting to the foyer and the front door, gauging the distance.

"I might ask you the same." She felt a small degree of pride in the fact that she kept her voice reasonably steady as she answered him.

"Of course," the man said, the timbre of his voice deep; hypnotic. His one ankle rested on the opposite knee, but he unfolded from the chair then, rising in a decidedly elegant way, managing to button the jacket of his expensive suit one-handed as he did. "Galen Abernathy." He offered her his hand, the hand that wasn't cradling a tumbler of Jaqen's small-batch bourbon, but he made no move toward her, waiting instead for her to choose whether to come to him.

Arya bit her lip, studying the man for a moment. She made a decision, then approached him slowly even as a tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her to turn the other way and run. Despite that, the larger part of her wanted to draw closer to the man. To see if his eyes were really so blue as she believed. To see if he smelled of expensive cologne, or soap, or cigarette smoke. To see if his smile would broaden or fade as she took his proffered hand. To see what else he would say to her in that deep, accented voice.

She swallowed.

"Arya Stark," she said as she extended her own hand, tilting her head slightly to examine his jawline when she did. Was there such a thing as an ideal jawline? Looking at him, she thought there might be. As his fingers clasped hers, she added, "Neighbor."

His smile broadened after all, but there was something dangerous in it, something alarming about the look he gave her. She felt it more than saw it, but it made her slip her hand from his rather more quickly than was polite.

Or, at least, that's the way he made her feel as he glanced down at his own empty hand, still extended.

He flexed his fingers then dropped the hand to his side. "What are you doing here, Arya Stark, neighbor?"

What was she doing here? She'd forgotten. Then, she remembered, and she knew she couldn't say, 'Meeting my ridiculously handsome neighbor to eat dinner and hopefully embark on a secret, scandalous affair.'

And so, she lied.

"Borrowing sugar." It was the most laughable and cliched excuse in the book, but she said it so convincingly, she thought he just might buy it.

Why she felt a stranger lurking in Jaqen's library and claiming to be named Galen Abernathy needed to buy anything she had to say, however, she wasn't sure.

"Sugar?"

The way he pronounced it, the way the word rumbled up from his chest and moved over his tongue, made it sound downright obscene. She thought he must be doing it on purpose, some sort of test, perhaps, and had to stop herself from narrowing her eyes at him.

"Yes." She nodded once, for emphasis. "Sugar."

"Well, that's surprising."

His comment piqued Arya's curiosity and she couldn't stop herself from asking, "Surprising? Why surprising?"

"I've never known Jaqen to enjoy… sweet things." She wondered if she only imagined the appraising way he eyed her as he spoke. She certainly did not imagine the accompanying smirk. "It's surprising that he'd even have sugar for you to borrow."

"Well," she retorted, trying to answer his appraising look with one of her own, "one never knows when one will have an… unexpected guest." She was feeling bolder now that her shock at finding him there had worn off. "I suppose it's sensible to keep sugar in the house for such occasions." She thought of her own unannounced visit here once, after her graduation party, when Jaqen had offered her coffee and she'd told him she could only take it with sugar and milk. "You might want sugar for your coffee, after all."

"I'll stick to whiskey."

"My mother is in the middle of making five dozen cupcakes," she lied airily, "for the church bake sale. I think she overestimated what she had in the pantry."

"How… unfortunate."

"Yes, well, fortunately for us, Jaqen is a lovely neighbor. I texted him to see if he had any sugar she could borrow, and he said it was fine. Told me the key was under the mat and to help myself. Not that I needed it, the door being open and all." She gave him a mild frown then, letting it be known who she blamed for the door.

"A lovely neighbor, indeed," Galen agreed, seemingly untroubled by her judgment, "though, perhaps a foolish one, to leave his key in such an obvious place."

"I agree," the girl said. "I texted to tell him so. He didn't bother to reply, though."

The lies were flowing so easily now that Arya relaxed a little and took a half-step toward the handsome man.

"So, why are you here, Galen Abernathy, stranger?"

One side of his mouth curled up. "Waiting for my colleague, of course." He punctuated his claim with another sip of his drink.

"Your colleague?" Arya felt cold as she spoke the words, recalling how Jaqen had warned her about his… profession. Not explicitly, of course. He'd offered no details. But the secrecy itself was a sort of warning. These things you think you know, you must keep them to yourself, lovely girl. "Are you… a lawyer, too?"

He laughed. The sound was undeniably enthralling. "Oh, dear, no. Not me. Nothing quite so prosaic."

"Then how are you two colleagues?"

"I'm the head of corporate security for Weber SIP."

Jaqen's employer. At least, the company he claimed employed him.

"Corporate security?" she mused. "Does that mean you send out memos to employees reminding them that their passwords must contain a special character and a number in addition to at least one upper- and lower-case letter, or do you practice Krav Maga and carry a gun to fight off spies trying to steal trade secrets?"

Galen grinned at her over the top of his glass before taking another sip, then answered her question.

"Yes."

The skin over her spine prickled. She suspected he meant for it to.

"That's just vague enough to make me want to know more," she warned.

"And what would you do with that knowledge, little one?"

The moniker felt distressingly intimate to the girl, but she didn't betray her discomfort.

"I'm not sure," Arya shrugged. "Probably tuck it away for later." She blinked up at him. "Some things are just… good to know."

The handsome man nodded once, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "So true."

Arya gave him a small smile. "Well, this has been… an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Abernathy."

"Galen, please." He stopped just short of a pout.

"Galen," she repeated.

"Unexpected, yes," the man agreed. "Jaqen must've forgotten to mention I'd be here." He swirled his drink again, watching it for a moment before looking down at the girl, his mouth tugging up into a sinful little smile. "You know, when you texted him."

"He did forget, the scalawag."

"Scalawag?" Galen snickered. "I'm quite sure no one has tossed out that insult since your American Civil War."

"I'm bringing it back," she insisted, causing him to snicker more. "Anyway, since Jaqen didn't warn me about you, I suppose my near heart attack when you surprised me is really his fault." Arya made a dissatisfied hmphing sound after the pronouncement. "I was going to set aside a cupcake for him, but now, I'm not so sure he deserves it." She made a show of jerking her chin haughtily. "I suppose I should go find that sugar before my mother gets too worked up." She started to move past him, to exit through the arched library doorway on the opposite end of the wall from where she'd entered, as it was nearest the kitchen, but he stopped her, wrapping his free hand around her arm.

"Surely your mother can spare you a few moments longer," he said. "I was enjoying your company so much." His smile seemed affable, but his tone had an edge to it that made her think he was issuing a directive he expected to be obeyed rather than making a friendly suggestion. His eyes, too, were sharp and as he peered at her, she felt as though she were sinking.

The pace of Arya's pulse quickened but she stilled, affecting an apologetic air. "I'm not sure she can. Five dozen cupcakes won't make themselves, and without that sugar…"

The sound of the front door opening drew their attention just then.

"Arya?" Jaqen called. "Are you here, lovely girl?" They could hear him close the door and it sounded as though he dropped his keys on the round antique table in the middle of the foyer. Galen's gaze met hers and he quirked up one brow as if waiting to see what she would do. Without moving her eyes from the handsome man's shockingly blue ones, she answered her neighbor.

"In here!" she called a little breathlessly. "I… haven't found the sugar for my mom yet, but…"

"The sugar?" he asked, his tone confused. "What are you…" He walked into the library, following the sound of her voice, then drew up short before growling, "Galen." Arya thought Jaqen looked as though he wanted to let loose a string of profanities into the room, most likely in German, but he held his tongue. His eyes, however, zeroed in on where his colleague was holding Arya's arm. "Why are you restraining my neighbor? Let the girl get her sugar."

"Restraining? Hardly," the handsome man laughed, releasing Arya. She stood frozen there for a moment, staring between the two men.

"Arya," Jaqen said, claiming her attention. His eyes locked with hers. "The sugar." His tone was commanding, and it left no room for anything but obedience.

"Oh." She nodded, then laughed a little nervously. "Yes."

"In the pantry," he said. "Just take the bag."

"Um, thanks. Mom will be so grateful." She moved past Galen and found her way to the kitchen. She could hear the men talking once she'd left, but they kept their voices low enough that she couldn't tell what they were saying. Arya quickly located the sugar, then moved down the corridor, bypassing the library on her way to the front door. She hadn't missed the way Jaqen had told her to just take the bag, so she knew he didn't want her hanging around.

Yet she was reluctant to leave him. There was an undercurrent of danger permeating the atmosphere, which was why the German had wanted her gone, she was sure. He meant to protect her. But who would protect him?

When she reached the door, she hesitated, then moved to poke her head through the front archway of the library. "I've got it!" she called cheerily, her manner belying the way her heart pounded beneath her breast. "I'm just heading out now."

"Yes, goodbye," Jaqen said a little tersely, his eyes never leaving his colleague's face. The tension in the room was palpable.

"It was lovely to meet you, Arya Stark," the handsome man said, leaning to one side so he might catch a glimpse of her around Jaqen. "I hope to see you again soon."

The girl looked at her neighbor, then at Galen, and said, "So long as you don't startle me out of my wits again."

"Your wits seem remarkably recovered."

"Galen," Jaqen hissed, "the girl's mother is waiting for her. Leave her be."

Galen's eyes flicked to Jaqen's and he grinned widely then, looking back at Arya. "Perhaps you might ask your mother to set one of those cupcakes aside for me. Unlike your accommodating neighbor here, I rather enjoy a sweet thing every now and again."

The girl could see Jaqen's shoulders stiffen at Galen's words.

Arya bit her lip, but then straightened and sniffed. "No. I don't think I will."

The handsome man's laughter chased her from the room. The girl scampered away, through the door and down the steps in a flash. She headed straight back to her own house with a bag of sugar she now felt she had to use to make a batch of cupcakes, just in case.

---

Arya wandered down the hallway to the kitchen, passing the den where her brothers were still engaged in virtually slaughtering each other. Bran saw her pass and called out to her.

"I thought you were going to a friend's?"

"Change of plans," she called back, setting the sugar down on the countertop. Absently, she walked over to the glass-fronted cabinet where her mother kept her cookbooks. She found one with colorful petit fours on the cover and figured it would contain what she needed. As she flipped through the pages in order to locate a cupcake recipe, she thought back over the strange meeting with Galen Abernathy and Jaqen's reaction to seeing her with his colleague at his house.

What was Galen to Jaqen, really? They were certainly familiar with one another, but not exactly friendly. Something about the handsome man alarmed her, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. He hadn't denied using a gun in his line of work, so she supposed that could be it, but she didn't think that truly explained the way he'd made her feel. She'd felt that way before her nonchalant question about the gun, and his vague answer, after all. And then, she hit on what it was.

It was the way he looked at her; the way he spoke to her.

Like a predator toying with his prey before going in for the kill.

Arya shook her head, pushing away the thought as she chastised herself for it. The reality was hardly likely to be so dramatic, after all. He'd merely startled her. And then she'd been thrown off her game by his appearance, so polished and handsome. And that accent! Then, nearly every word that had left his mouth seemed to have more than one meaning, making him tricky to pin down. But, mostly, it was just the unexpectedness of the whole encounter. That had to be it. It was the only thing that really made sense.

She laughed at herself and continued paging through the pastry recipes until she found one she liked. The job done, she began gather ingredients. When she set the cocoa powder on the counter next to the sugar, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. Figuring it must be Jaqen with an explanation or maybe an apology about their plans being spoiled, she pulled it out and answered without looking at the screen.

"So, what have you to say for yourself?" she joked.

"Good evening, Ms. Stark."

Arya was surprised to hear Tywin Lannister's formal diction rather than her neighbor's German accented speech. "Oh, Mr. Lannister, I thought you were someone else."

"Obviously." His tone was completely devoid of humor, but the girl was not fooled. She and Tywin had always understood each other, and she knew he was not offended by her greeting. Generally, the things Arya was inclined to do and say were not the sorts of things which inspired Tywin Lannister's disapproval. Still, she could see why so many people were intimidated by him. It was just that his wit was so dry, it was easy to mistake for ire. "I hope I haven't caught you at an awkward time."

Had her evening not been derailed by Jaqen's unexpected guest, Tywin might've caught her at an entirely inopportune time indeed. But as it stood…

"Not at all. I was just thinking of baking."

"Baking?" the man scoffed.

"Yes. Cupcakes, actually."

"Hmm. One would think a girl of your talents would have more important things to do than slave over an oven like a common maid."

The remark was somehow both insulting and endearing. And, entirely Tywin.

"Well, I did have, but then my plans fell through." She pulled a drawer open and fished for the measuring spoons. "Was there a reason you called, sir?"

"What, I can't check on my favorite prodigal intern and see how she's been after abandoning me for a so-called 'higher education'?"

She'd not truly been an intern, too young for the program at the time, and had mostly been hired to perform menial office tasks over her summer breaks. But the boss had taken a liking to her and so had taken her under his wing. She wasn't truly interested in the law as a career, but Tywin Lannister's work was fascinating. Or, more precisely, watching Tywin Lannister work was what fascinated her. They were much alike, and their minds operated in a similar way. She supposed that was why they'd remained so close.

"If you really wanted to check on me, you'd have come to my welcome home party yesterday," she told him, smiling as she imagined the sour look he likely sported at her admonishment.

"I was on a trans-Atlantic flight at the time," Tywin sniffed, "and I asked Jaime to deliver my regards. I only got back into the city this morning."

"Well, I hope the trip was productive." She didn't bother asking if the trip was business or pleasure. She knew very well that Tywin was almost exclusively about business. As she awaited his response, her father walked into the kitchen. He smiled at her as he watched her find a mixing bowl and start to measure out flour.

"I didn't call to talk about work," Tywin said. "I wanted to see when you were free this week."

"Well, I'm training every day…"

"Of course you are," the man said, a note of pride in his voice, "but I meant which evenings."

Arya dumped the flour in the mixing bowl and began to measure the sugar. "As far as I know, I have no plans in the evenings this week," she told him, looking to her father for confirmation. He nodded, meaning there were no reservations made for the family or other events her mother had obligated her to of which she was unaware. "Yes, I've just received confirmation."

"Excellent. Will tomorrow work for you?"

"Work for what, Mr. Lannister?" the girl asked curiously, searching for the vanilla extract in the cabinet over the stove. Her father frowned.

"For dinner. At my house."

She smiled. "That sounds nice."

"Good. I have some people I'd like to introduce to you. And I'm anxious to hear all about what I've missed since you left."

"Jaime mentioned you might be asking me over for dinner," Arya revealed, noting that her father's frown deepened. She raised her eyebrows at him, then mouthed, 'What?' Ned just shook his head. "Something about your new associates?"

"Yes. We have a crop of new graduates. I'm anxious to hear your opinion of them."

"Why should my opinion matter? I don't have to work with them."

"Don't remind me, girl," Tywin groused. "Though it's not too late to change your mind. You'll only be a sophomore. Plenty of time to course correct. And my recommendation added to your natural talents would open the door to any law school you might choose."

She laughed. "I'm not going to law school, Tywin."

"Hmph. We'll see…"

"What time should I be there?"

"Is seven alright?"

"Seven is fine." The girl glanced at her father. His frown seemed permanently etched on his face. "Will Jaime be there?"

"If you'd like."

"I would."

"Very well, then. I'll see you tomorrow. And Arya?"

"Mmm?"

"You've been gone entirely too long."

"So I keep hearing."

"Welcome home."

She smiled. "Thanks."

When she hung up, her father crossed his arms over his chest. "So, Tywin Lannister invited you over for dinner?"

"Seems like a small dinner party. A work thing."

"You haven't worked for him for two years. Honestly, sweetheart, I wish you'd find another mentor."

The girl shrugged. "He's always treated me well." She narrowed her eyes and fixed her gaze on her father. "What is it between you and Tywin Lannister, anyway?"

"He's a ruthless man. Not exactly the sort of person I relish having an influence over my daughter."

Arya barked a laugh. "Robert is just as ruthless, and he's your best friend!"

"But you're not having dinner at his house."

Nor would she ever if she could help it.

"Oh, Dad." She walked over to him and pecked his cheek.

"I just don't trust him. Or Jaime, for that matter."

"They're both miles better than Joffrey, and you never said a word when Sansa dated him."

Her father grimaced. "And I should've. I just didn't know, until…"

"It's okay, Dad." She patted his arm. "I'm not Sansa. I can take care of myself."

Ned sighed. "Don't I know it."

---

Later that night, a text came across Arya's phone as she was getting ready for bed.

JH: So sorry about earlier. Can we reschedule?

She spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth before typing out her answer.

As long as you promise to explain what all that was.

There was a pause before he replied.

JH: I promise to tell you what I can. Tomorrow evening?

Well, that wouldn't work. No one cancelled on Tywin Lannister. Not that she wanted to, anyway. For as anxious as she was to spend time with Jaqen and figure out exactly what it was that existed between them, she had missed her old mentor and looked forward to seeing him again. She smiled a little as she thought of it. No one kept her as sharp as the patriarch of the Lannister clan. She thought that aside from Jaqen, Tywin might be the only person in the world who saw her for who she really was.

And the only one apart from Jaqen who seemed to admire who she really was.

She tapped out her quick response.

Can't tomorrow. Sorry. Plans.

JH: I'm insanely jealous. Plans with whom?

'Whom.' In a text. She grinned, then bit her lip as she replied.

I promise to tell you what I can. Tuesday evening?

Another long pause, then Jaqen's response came across as several texts, one after another.

JH: Evil child.

JH: This seems unnecessarily punitive

JH: Is it that blonde boy with the silly nickname?

JH: It is, isn't it? The one who gave you flowers and took you to your school dance…

JH: Never mind. Don't tell me.

JH: No, do. I want to know.

JH: ?

JH: Arya…

She was still laughing when he finally gave in.

JH: Fine. Tuesday evening. And you will tell me everything.

Even in a text, his commanding tone came across, and it made something deep inside of her trill. Her amusement gave way to something else entirely and warmth spread from her chest to her limbs then.

JH: Goodnight, lovely girl

Arya opened the French doors that let out onto her balcony and walked to the railing. From there, she could stare straight across to Jaqen's place, at the double set of doors that led from his bedroom to the second story gallery. All the lights were off in his house, leaving the gallery in the blackest obscurity, but as she gazed across the space, she could see the red glow of a cigarette tip flare brightly, and she knew he was there, staring back at her.

"Goodnight," she called softly, smirking before she turned on her heel and sauntered back into her room.

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Dangerous Night—Thirty Seconds to Mars