Hey so I hope you guys like this, I will try my upmost to upload a chapter every week. I will take down the author's note soon but not quite yet, oh I also have to recommend "The North Remembers" by SilverRavenStar - the best ASOIAF FF that I have read to date and an absolutely brilliant writer in my opinion
So without futher ado...
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and I am in no way profiting from this FF. They all belong to George R.R. Martin, only the plot post- A Feast For Crows is mine. Some scenes from the HBO Series A Game Of Thrones may be referenced to, these also do not belong to me. (Trust me I wish they did ;D )
Part I : A Wake For Wolves
1. Chapter: Beth The Beggar
That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking through the fog.
When she woke the next morning, she was blind.
She blinked and blinked again. The darkness would not shake. Panic started to rise in her chest, her heart fluttering, then pounding, her blood rushed to her head, she couldn't breathe. What was happening? I must master myself. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Breathing deeply she collected herself and closed her eyes. Waking to darkness was more unsettling than pretending to sleep walk. If all was a dream, she could accept it, she'd had darker dreams in the nights of late.
Exhaling she felt the sun upon her skin, the pounding in her head quieted until it faded. The mattress was still beneath her and as she placed her feet upon the ground it felt the same. If everything was the same, she musn't have been moved. A cat could see in the dark, hadn't she just been Cat of the canals and the ghost of Harrenhal – ghosts live in the dark, laughter bubbled from her lips unbidden, the sound seemed foreign to her ears, surely she did not sound so. Then again, when was it last that she had laughed? Even so a note sounded false and slowly a thought formed itself, still unknown to her conscious mind. Voices lie and reveal the secret truth too.
Anger grew in her chest- I was the ghost of Harrenhal, Nan, Weasel, Cat of the Canals, darkness comes each night for all. Stupid! It's just darkness! Fear cuts deeper than swords. Still a shiver ran through her heart, whispering a fear she did not want to hear.
The waif did this, her and the kindly old man with their warm milk. Stupid! Of course he wouldn't react well, you're meant to be no one. She had expected some punishment but not this. Had doing what she had done been so wrong? Had he not deserved the gift? Had he not deserted all he had sworn? Had he not professed his own life forfeit if he deserted? He took the black, he took a wench, he knew his fate.
It was her duty, was it not? To provide the gift? He who pronounces the sentence should wield the sword, those were her father's words, but they were her life it would seem. Needle was her blade, the past her law. She hungered still for more than the old waif could ever offer and in the surrounding darkness it seemed to call to her more and more. Yet it taunted, how can you find them when you can't see? Who are you? A blind girl. That's all.
No she wouldn't stay like this, she couldn't. She stood up from her small bed, stumbling along, stubbing her toes on uneven surfaces she'd never realized were there before. The cold of the stone seemed to seep through and slowly numb the throbbing pain, which was beginning to build. After a while she felt nothing but a hot sticky substance beneath her feet, she knew she hadn't even gone far, slowly the thought crept upon her, she didn't even know if she was going the right way.
As calm as water, as smooth as silk pausing to recollect those words spoken to her seemingly an age ago, then when she was someone. Arya, Arya of House Stark. She had been someone. She was someone. Someone she couldn't afford to be. Because the sweet queen wants Arya dead a mirthless snort escaped her, strange how darkness invited thoughts to make their homes in the shadows of her mind. Arya is dead, as dead as Cersei will be.
Faint chanting and murmuring seemed to be quietly playing in the distant background. It might not be the kitchen, but she would find an acolyte at the very least in the temple caverns, where all the men came praying. The muskiness on the air seemed to hang heavier than usual and the damp seemed more chilling. Dimly crying rang in her ears, perhaps a woman seeking the favour for a false husband or a maiden ruined on false promise. Not uncommon in Braavos.
Slowly she made her made way, placing each foot firmly before the last, her hands gliding against the dank cold wall. With shallow breathes and an anxious mind, she tried to rule her face as she entered the room. She heard but merely the wisp of cloth against the ground a second before she heard his voice so close, that he must be right before her.
"Alas you have come. Who are you today?" The response was natural, without thought, the reply coming ever easier through practice, "No one" , she thought she heard a sigh but perchance it was her own imaginings. "You lie still child. The House of Black and White will only have true hearts in its inner chambers. Child what it is worse? A lie or a lie believed to be truth?"
Itching to bite her lower lip she remained motionless, this question was new. Slowly she replied, weighing her word cautiously, bearing her previous rebuke, for saying something as fact when she could not know it to be so, in mind, "Lies are lies. They are what they are. Belief is not knowledge. A man can believe something to be true, but if he does not know, it must be seen as a lie."
The man didn't answer, being unable to read his face, she realized how much she had relied on her eyes, Listen to everything . A seemingly long pause ensued, but by and by she found her attention drifting to the sounds around again, they seemed louder than usual. "You are learning bit by bit. But my question remains unanswered. Lies can harm, even kill. False truth will always kill. Remember that. Go tend your duties."
A flutter of annoyance danced in the back of her mind, he had mentioned nothing of her blindness. How was she to cut the vegetables unseeing? It was foolish! "But-" "But how? You have hands, you have feet, you have a nose and you have ears. What else do you need? The Faceless God needs no eyes, no ears, no nose and still he seeks us all. Do your tasks thoughtless child, Arya Proudmind I name you. If you seek earnestly to serve, then it is not your place to question. We are all his tools and must all fulfill his will. Tools have no minds. Tools are things, not people. Tools are used. Tools form his will into being. Not only the anvil, hammer and steel make a sword, you will learn. You will serve if you still seek to stay"
Whilst his voice remained calm and measured his wording seemed to reveal a sense of displeasure, but she was too angry to truly feel guilt or even worry about it. She was hurt by his naming and it was wound she was unused to. However his speech had its desired effect, rallied by his assertion of her character she sought to prove him wrong. Yes she still wanted to serve the Faceless God, but by the old Gods not for the reasons he wanted. Not only that, she would excel at every task he set, she would not need her eyes I will not fail.
The day seemed to past in a muddle of confusion, irritation and pain. She couldn't remember the last time she hurt quite so. Ridden with cuts and sores beneath her feet and on her fingers, she went to bed that night without a word of encouragement from the waif, only a scolding for taking too long, when she had gotten lost fetching some ingredient from a cupboard. All day had been all night and in the darkness she felt more alone than ever. At least when he left I had Needle, she shook her head dispelling those thoughts aside, they were Arya's. It didn't matter anyhow she was alone now, again, everyone always left. They leave or die. Valar morghulis – just like me. Sleep finally claimed her and no dreams gave her refuge that night. When she awoke a numbness had settled over her, her body was stiff, her feet bleeding still, but she didn't feel a thing.
The darkness still hadn't lifted on her third day in the temple, by then she had been able navigate through the temple with relative ease, yet cutting vegetables still prove itself painful. Despite her caution when wielding the blade it would occasionally slip. When the waif asked her to name the potions she smelt, when she was helping her, it would seem as though they smelt stronger than before and she had even been able to name a few more successfully. Apart from the occasional question the waif remained oddly quiet throughout their dealings. It unsettled her. It would seem something had changed and she was oblivious to what it could be – unless her judgment had cost her more than she had thought.
However it was the third day and time to leave. "You must go from us again. However you will not return to Brusco, your knowledge of our tongue has grown but your accent is still too strong. No there are other things for you to do. All is paid in blood and iron here, yet iron is too costly for food and other necessities. How would a girl earn money for the House of Black and White?" She took a moment to think of the bustling port and the people there. "I could take messages" "No you do not know truth from lie; this is not a job a girl can do." Again she pondered, how could she do anything when she couldn't see? "I could make things with my hands- little statues of wood, vases of clay?" "A better idea, but this is Braavos. We have many people who make things. Things that are very expensive come here every day and there are already people who make cheap goods that look expensive, but it is an idea. But think child, I am sure you can think of something better for a small little blind girl, an orphan too."
A forbidden thought came to her mind, more of a forbidden memory as such. It was snowing in Winterfell, she had stolen into the kitchen hoping to pry some bread from the baker's hands, how her mother had reacted at seeing her pleading with the cook, then her father had rebuked her too, in front of Sansa and the scullery maids. A strange sense of dread settled in her stomach, she was slowly turning away from everything she ever knew and the old man knew it too. It's a test even still, uttering those words felt harder than eating the worm from his eye would have been. "I could beg."
"That would be a good job for a girl to do, it would be more dangerous than when you were working with Brusco, but that is how things are. I do not know if this is something you can do, but you will go forth and return after 30 days and 30 nights. Who will you be when you leave?"
"I cannot be Cat nor Salty, I am a blind beggar girl, an orphan, Beth the beggar I will be."
"Very well, but where does she come from? King's Landing was Cat's home, Salty came from the Saltpans, but what is Beth's story, why did she come to Braavos and when, from where?"
"From White Harbor, when she was only six", it was the only other harbor she knew, but she didn't need to lie so much, her Braavosi had improved, the old man had said so himself, "she can't remember what it was like, but it was cold. Her mother was a tavern wench, she didn't have a husband, but she used to like to talk to the sailors, they would tell Beth of all the different places they had been. One day her mother went to a sailor, he took her with him and they left Beth behind. One of the shiphands took pity on her, he was only ten but an orphan too, he thought maybe he could look after her. Beth hid in the storage hull of the ship he was on, but the captain found her, he threw her out on Braavos. For a few years she could see well, but an illness took her eyesight and she could no longer work in the kitchen for the family she had served. "
For a long time no response came, eventually the old man spoke with a gravity in his voice, for a reason she could not fathom, "Half lies are better than full lies, they are easier and less likely to be seen through, but don't forget I can see them. This is a good story and too close to truth for many children running through these streets, no one will care for another beggar child. Go girl and earn for the House of Black and White, return with knowledge and means for us to run our daily duties."
Stealing across the halls and corridors she quickly gathered all she needed, torn rags for clothes, an iron spearhead to defend herself and lastly and a piece of tattered cloth to double as a cloak and bedding. The thought occurred to take a dagger with her, but effectually it was useless I couldn't stab anyone anyway instead she chose to bind her eyes and found a broom, snapping off the head she chose this to be her walking stick and it's a weapon too.
Eating before she finally departed she realized just how truly and fully alone she would be in her perpetual darkness. The alleyways seemed quieter than usual and a sense of heaviness hung in the air. These were the scenes of sin in a city as vibrant as this, even in the night these canals were alive and thriving with deeds best done in the obscurity of night. Deeds she herself had already committed, she too had added to the number of the dead in these watery graves.
This knowledge was not new to her, but only hearing and not seeing made her feel useless, as if she herself could fall victim to the debaucherous nature that haunted these streets. Carefully ushering along the sideways using her stick to avoid falling into the canals, she tried to recall a path to a nook under a bridge she had recently discovered, it would be empty, it was small even for a child, but she could become mouse.
So she became a mouse and Beth the beggar girl. Unable to return to the port, where she would be recognized, she sought to find niches to hide away in the dark of night, when one market became another. During the day she would allow herself to be jostled through the crowded guild streets, where there were merchants, smithies, tailors, taverns and on adjoining boulevards whorehouses and even the residencies of lower courtesans. Being shoved through the crowd she would sometimes pick pockets and even cut a few purse strings, her blindness wasn't feigned and most ignored her, however the lords and ladies were a different matter.
After a while she learned to hear even the most faintest of sounds, whilst her world now seemed to be a constant chaos of thuds and echoes, she managed to tune certain sounds out and filter through the jumble to hear the distinctive jingle of the coins in their purses. Whilst some ladies were carried in a litter she would stumble against their guards, cry and they would take pity on her and offer her money free-willing others however, especially the lords, even ones dressed unseemingly, due to the rough spun tunics she could feel beneath her fingers, would push her away and complain, often calling her things one wouldn't expect from people so supposedly refined.
Other times she would sit near a forge, trying to gain some warmth from the fires, to fight the fog and cold that was settling all around and slowly seeping into her bones. She had other corners where she would sit and beg, however she enjoyed listening to the bartering between the lords and weapon-masters, no you can't have a Viper on the handle with rubies and ivory, it unsettles the balance of the blade, - then the typically pompous reply of the future owners demanding it be made as specified as they are to pay the already extortionate price.
The constant blows falling upon the anvils seemed to steady her impatience, begging on a side-street day by day, was not her. It was not who she was or wanted to be but it was Beth and she was Beth now. The only people, who took note of her, were roof rats and other orphans, insisting she was stealing their clientele from them.
The roof rats were the only ones with whom she could speak, some of the elder ones helped provide her with some bread on days when she would have otherwise went without. On colder nights they would huddle together but not often, they were cautious to say the least. Rodrigo told her how, the roof rats weren't only professional pick pockets but more of a family and nest, hidden throughout the city. You were born into them and only seldom taken in as an outsider. Rodrigo was the only friend as such that Beth could speak of, coincidently their meeting was less than friendly. Beth had had quite a profitable day and he had decided to try and steal her earnings from her, she had greeted him with the spearhead pressed against his jugular when he had tried to overwhelm her.
She didn't trust him though, and the more she heard of her fellow men's unfaltering daily lying, the more she had to question just which reasons had truly led her to the path she was currently on, however she wasn't sure she really wanted an answer. Each night she took precautions to make sure she wasn't followed when she hid her profits under a stone of her first sleeping place under the bridge.
However on the last night, something was different. She couldn't hear any footsteps following her, yet the hairs on the back of her neck stood erect and a chill seemed to linger along her spine. Unnerved she hurried along her way, stupid, there's no one there even as the thought passed through her mind she heard a drunken giggle behind her, from a deep rumbling voice. "Well, well, well, what's we got here then?" She felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder, grasping and pulling her backwards. A memory of the old man in the Peach broke to the forefront of her panic, quickly trying to whirl away, her walking staff fell to the ground. "Leave me be", escaped from her lips harsh and cold. "Oh sweet don't be that way, just wantin' to make sure you're safe" "I am, now let me go", she barked at him as his hand agilely but firmly clutched her shoulder again, trying to take a step back. However instead of escaping him her back hit against a wall, the air filling with his foul stench. Bile started to climb her throat and fear earnestly seized her. "You're not safe, no little girl should be walkin' alone through Braavos "
She tried to knee his groin but he had already pushed himself firmly against her, "Darlin', I'll keep you company all night, I'll keep you safe, how 'bout a bit of thanks?" Suddenly his mouth was her neck and his hands wandered roughly down the front of her robe, he was slobbering and stank to the seven hells. Tears started to well up, as she felt herself go numb and pure panic set in. His weight was pushing against her harshly, his tongue coarsely pulling at her skin, she automatically gripped to where Needle had always been, but was instead clasping at thin air, she screamed and felt his hand quickly clamp down on her mouth, she savagely bit him and drew blood. Suddenly she was a wolf in her mind and all she could see was red, whilst her body shivered in terror and bloodlust. With strength unbeknownst to her she tried to push his weight away from her, he was too heavy, his breath panting against her as his groin started to rub against her. In blind fury and cold panic she savagely started clawing at where his face should be, he shouted out in pain as she poked his eyes, releasing her momentarily and in that moment the spearhead she had forgotten was up her sleeve, slid into her palm. She clasped it tightly cutting her hand deeply.
"Fucking bitch!" With that he lunged at her fast but her hand flew out and slashed against his face, the blade dragging against his skin, his blood, warm and thick flowing down her arm, he tried to grab her arm. Flinging herself to the ground, in an attempt to escape his reach, she hit her head hard against the stone, despite the excruciating pain, she seized her walking staff, as her fingers grazed against the wood, whirling it around at where her attacker had stood. The wood made contact with his hard flesh, drawing an agonized groan, without thinking she stabbed him with the point of the wood, hearing the squelching of the blood and tissue tearing she lunged at him again and again and again, until she felt the tears falling down her faced thick and fast, and no longer heard his cries pain, or anything from him at all.
With that she slumped to the ground and crawled over to the canal edge and retched. She heaved and threw up until she thought her entire stomach was leaving her body, her throat burned and felt like it was on fire, but it wasn't enough it wouldn't stop. Tears still free falling; she began clawing at her neck, scrapping with her nails the trail of spit he had left upon her. She could she him lying there dead, but it felt like he was still on top of her, against her, grinding and she was tearing away at her skin but she could only feel the dirt. Scooping up water from the canal she tried to wash herself clean and only when she freezing and shivering from shock, her body still convulsing from the attack, did logical thought start to settle.
Forcing herself to breathe, Fear cuts deeper than swords, as calm as water, the shaking started to subside and the red in her mind recede. Standing up she banished everything from her mind, hastily scrambling for the spearhead and her staff, she fled. The labyrinth that was Braavos had never seemed so complex and threatening as she stole through the night, quickly retrieving the money and her bedding from the nook in which she had hidden it, she raced back to the temple of the Faceless God, stumbling, falling and cutting herself along the way. The faster she was the faster she'd be safe.
She entered the temple trembling from her ordeal, immediately someone was by her side, jumping out her skin she whirled around. "Beth you have returned, how have you fared and what have you learnt?" Ignoring the old man's question she demanded, "Teach me how to fight blind".
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