A man knew the girl you call the Waif would fail. She was still Someone, never No One, and she still hated the people from the past she refused to leave behind. Her face will be added to the Hall. A Man warned her repeatedly, but she did not heed a Man's warning. Which is precisely why the girl is there, and why you are here.
A Man knows a Girl has become No One. A Girl drank the poisoned water and was unharmed. Still, a Girl must, at times, become Arya Stark. She must relive the memories, thoughts, and ideas of Arya Stark. A Girl cannot truly be free until a Girl has finished the duties of Arya of the House Stark. A Man knows this because many who are now No One have carried similar burdens. The Many-Faced God does not judge. He only allows those who serve him to give The Gift.
A Man would not stop a Girl from finishing Arya Stark's last tasks. The identity of No One - it has bestowed upon a Girl a measure of peace and wisdom. A Man knows a Girl will return to Braavos eventually, once she has given The Gift to every name on Arya Stark's list. A Man is patient, but never kind. A Girl may not wish to kill the innocent or those who are innately good, but a Man has no qualms with killing all who deserve The Gift, as long as the price has been paid. A Man hears thousands of names, and many of those names belonged to those whom were evil. Those names were not like the girl standing before me.
A Girl will be welcomed back if she chooses to seek a Man once more. A Man only hopes that a Girl will be honest about her identity this time.
The taller man bent, pressing his lips to her own, and slowly, hesitantly, he pulled away. As her eyes met his, she was shocked to see the always hardened blue orbs of his so soft. He stroked her face gently, running the pad of his thumb over the lips he kissed, almost sad to see her go.
Until next time, lovely girl.
There was no escaping what was now her past, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard she tried to forget. There was no forgetting something of this importance, only flat-out denial and avoidance. She cannot hide from the truth in his words before they departed...
She chuckled bitterly, feeling as if Jaqen and the House of Black and White were going to haunt her for the rest of her days. As her eyes fully adjusted to the darkness, she noticed Nymeria's ears prick up in slight alarm and worry.
"Rest easy, Ny," Arya whispered, running her left hand gently through her direwolf's fur. "Go back to sleep."
The direwolf relaxed under her gentle touch. She was tossing and turning, trying her hardest to get at least a shred of rest, but her body refused to do so. She finally settled laying on her back, huffing in frustration.
It felt like hours that she was lying there. Before she closed her eyes once more, she heard light footsteps and a gentle knock on the door.
She decided to ignore it.
She heard the knock again, then the sound of her door opening, then clicking behind them. She grumbled lightly, looking over, feeling the welcoming cool gust of air that left the person and his ghostly direwolf standing before her wash over her skin.
Why is he here, she asked herself curiously.
"Arya, wake up," the whisper said. She squinted her eyes and saw the familiar slender body, with curly dark hair that stopped at his shoulders and framed his long, traditionally Stark face. He turned, setting the candle down on her nightstand, shaking her gently.
"Jon?" He gave a nod. She sat in bed too quickly, excited to see him again. She pulled him in for a hug, her forehead resting on his neck, missing the feel of his body. She was always excited to see her brother again.
I missed you terribly, Jon…
"Want to go outside with me?" He asked.
"Where?" She watched as Ghost yawned, panting as he saw his sister. He hopped on Arya's bed and settle beside her own direwolf, which gladly accepted his embrace. She licked his muzzle in the process, letting out a happy whine.
"It's a surprise, of sorts," Jon told her, giving her a rare smile that she knew only she would ever see. "But I have to show you something while I can before the morning comes."
She raised her hand, and he took it, raising her and setting her on her feet. Stumbling from her moment of weakness, she held on to him, balancing herself while she got used to wakefulness. He grabbed the candle, leading the way downstairs.
After putting on her boots and heavy cloak, Arya quietly left with him, leaving Nymeria with Jon's Ghost curled into a ball on her bed, hearing the familiar click behind her.
"What do you want to show me?"
"You'll see," he said, smiling at her again.
He led her to the edge of the godswood, walking past the white tree with the reddest of leaves and the carved face. They walked past the sentinels, oak, and ironwood trees, where a small blanket was laid out for them to rest on as well as a small bottle of wine - she knew that he stole it from the kitchens. Jon sat beside her, staring up at the sky in wonder and amazement.
"I like to watch the stars as they roll by in the night. Hearing them and the frogs, crickets, and cicadas makes me feel so calm." Jon told her. "I haven't been able to feel such things for many years."
"I can tell," Arya replied. "But yes, the view is breathtaking. It's so mesmerising."
"I thought it would be nice if we shared this moment together, just the two of us away from everything, and we can talk about anything, too," he said. "Do you remember the first time we came out here on a night like this?"
He watched her nod quietly. "You gave me my first kiss that night after we made up names for the patterns in the stars and even the lore behind them, but only because I demanded it. We stayed out here until the morning came, before everyone broke their fast. My lady mother was not pleased."
"She wasn't ever pleased with me," Jon sighed. "No matter how hard I tried to win her favour."
"Mother was strange." She took his hand in hers and her brother looked to her, blackened grey eyes meeting their reflections. "I never liked the way she treated you; I always hated it."
"It was to be expected," Jon said. "I am a bastard. Bastards do not get the same treatment as trueborn children, you know this."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it."
Jon squeezed her hand in understanding, not saying another word.
"So what happened at the Wall? I heard Tormund speak of you dying earlier...what caused your death? How were you brought back?"
It's not my story to tell, she remembered Tormund telling her. Go to your brother and ask him. He will tell you.
Jon pressed his lips into a hard line. "Wildlings are the reason. I brought thousands of them down past the Wall; I know what's up there and I know that the Others' army increases after every battle. Afterwards, I was tricked by the young Brother who killed Ygritte, my...lover. He told me that our uncle Benjen returned to Castle Black from his ranging duties. What I saw was not Benjen, but the word "traitor" nailed to wood. After that, I was stabbed repeatedly by people I thought that I could trust - my own Brothers. A day or two later, I was brought back to life by blood magic - by the sorceress Melisandre."
Hearing it was bad enough, however, she was grateful that he was here, alive and still with her. "I'm glad you are back, Jon."
"Me, too," he responded, rustling her hair like he used to. He laid back onto the blanket, staring at the stars that he always loved to see. She saw him relax again, no longer as upset about the past. She looked up at the celestial objects again, just thinking...
"The Red Woman," Arya muttered, grimacing at the memory of meeting her. I see a darkness in you, and in that darkness there are eyes staring back at me. Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes...eyes you will shut forever. We will meet again. "She took Gendry, my friend, saying he had king's blood or something of the sort...I don't know if he's alive or dead."
"Ser Davos is a good man. I doubt he'd let him be sacrificed. Not after what she had done to Princess Shireen..." She stared at him quizzically but received no response but a look of anger that was not directed to her.
It was then that they began reliving the memories of their childhood.
"I used to think about this a lot when I was at the House of Black and White," Arya said, turning to Jon. He poured her a glass of wine and eyed her questioningly. "How I'd see you. How you'd react, what you'd say about my past and if you'd accept me even though I've done so many bad things…"
"Shh," he replied, pulling her close. "I'd never turn you away. I mean…it's you. We've all done bad things, we've killed repeatedly, we've been through everything. It's not something that anyone - even Sansa - could avoid."
"Has she killed?" She asked, snorting at the idea.
"Yes. She killed Ramsay Bolton. Fed him to his own dogs." Jon grimaced. "When she told me and Robb, I was horrified and so was he. I didn't know she could do such a thing, no matter how cruel someone was to her."
"That is not as many as we have," Arya muttered, grabbing the wine and pouring a bit of it into her cup. She diligently drank some; taking her cue, Jon poured some of his own, gulping it down fast.
She did have to admit, though, that that was just as gruesome as when she fed Lord Walder Frey his own sons - a punishment she executed after she found out his role behind the death of her mother. Arya didn't want to tell Jon what she did, though.
Jon poured more wine for them both. "The amount of lives taken shouldn't be up for comparison or competition."
"I know. I just think it strange to think that someone as prissy and dainty as Sansa would kill someone in any way. Doesn't seem like her."
"I think I can agree with that," Jon said.
"Hey, Jon," her voice was quiet, so unlike her. Jon's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "What are we now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you still view me as your little sister?"
"I don't know." He shrugged. "We're so different now - so different. I don't think either of us could be considered the same anymore."
Arya paused, drinking in his words. She set the cup down next to her, laying back and watching him mimic her actions.
"I wish everything was the same," she said.
"Me, too. I missed Winterfell. Winning our home back is pleasant enough, but everything is different and it just doesn't feel like home anymore...everything is too quiet now."
"No Bran or Rickon yelling through the halls or Mother and Father loudly telling them to be quiet. Robb's laughter filling every room…his smiles are fake now…" She looked at him, noticing his hurt expression at the mention of their dearest brother. "Sansa is even broken now, too, and she hops in my bed and cries because of her frequent nightmares. Everything's just…"
"…wrong," he finished for her. He nodded when she did the same. "But don't worry. We'll make it through this, I promise, little wolf."
Not unless someone gives the family heirs, she thought, but she cast her thoughts aside when she felt the familiar warmth of his hand on her own.
Heirs…
A/N: Thank you for reading! The beginning is inspired by a text I found. Unfortunately, I cannot remember for the life of me where I found it.