AN: For those of you who haven't noticed: I rewrote the first chapter, so you should read it again =)
The light was dim, the fire warm and the music loud. Willom loved this place, because it was everything his home was not. This place was so full of life, full of passion, while his own house was gray and stiff. His wife Morea was always sick, his children were little idiots who didn't seem to be able to do one thing right and who to all ill also never said a word until he threatened or beat them. Why couldn't his children be like the children he saw on the street, the children that played, were loud, children that laughed and talked. He shook his head. He definitively liked this place better.
Willom was sitting in a brothel. He was a merchant, a clever and rich man searching for distraction from his boring wife. He had build himself a life from nothing, and now he thought that he deserved some things in life. This brothel was one of them. It wasn't very expensive, it was more like the places he used to be at when he was young: Dirty, illegal, loud. He loved it.
Willom ordered a beer and wanted to ask for his usual whore, a dornish woman named Crea, when suddenly a beautiful young woman walked towards him. She had curly golden hair and her eyes shone green, and her dress hugged her body just so he could see her perfect curves. The merchant stared shamelessly, what seemed to amuse the woman.
"Mylord, my name is Shanta. Crea is sadly ill today, she asked me to entertain you for the night." She said with a raspy voice.
The merchant started to smile. It was not everyday that he met such a beautiful woman, and certainly not everyday that such a woman offered to … entertain him. Sure, Crea was pretty, but she was nothing compared to this woman.
"Oh, I think you will do as well. And I am no lord, just a merchant."
"Every man I bed is a lord." Shanta said smiling. There was something mysterious about her eyes that fascinated the Willom. Something... strange, maybe even something dangerous. Willom liked to say that he loved the danger.
He didn't think to much about what she said. Every man liked to be called a lord, and the whores had strange habits in this city. He once met one, the sailors wife they called her, who had married every man she had bedded to make sure none of her potential children was a bastard.
"Will you follow me?" Shanta asked and Willom did so willingly. She let him to his usual room. He was a regular visitor and rich enough that the people who lead this brothel did everything he wanted. He looked around and found everything just as usual, but somehow something seemed off.
He only saw the knife when it slit his throat.
Cat saw the life leave the eyes of the shocked merchant. He had been stupid. Most men acted stupid when confronted with a beautiful woman. A man would do anything for a pretty face. Stupid.
Quickly, she took of her gown. Under it, she wore black trousers and a black vest. Under the bed stood her good boots. She put on the hood that was attached to the vest and climbed outside the window. She knew exactly were to stand and were to hold, she had used this brothel a few times already. Of course, she had also spent three days figuring out the merchants habits. Than she had put a bit moonflower in Creas tea. The woman wouldn't die from it, but fall sick for a few days. The perfect opportunity to strike.
As soon as Cat reached the ground, she tore of the face she had worn. The face was beautiful, and it was remarkable. Right now, she just wanted back to the House of Black and White. She didn't want anyone to notice her.
Quickly, she walked through the canals she knew so well. She knew every street, every brothel, every house of Braavos. While she walked, she saw cats. They were following her, looking at her, just so nobody else would notice. But Cat always did. The cats were her friends. She smiled at them. Long ago she had realized that she could somehow go into them. It kind of scared her and she didn't try often, but the cats seemed to know. They seemed to like her.
She arrived at the House of Black and White only a few minutes after she had left the brothel. It would take at least until the next morning that someone started looking for the foolish merchant. It made her smile to know she did good.
The kindly man greeted her on the way to her room.
"Valar Morghulis, woman. Is it done?" He asked.
"Valar Dohaeris, master. Yes, a woman delivered the gift." Cat put on her mask. It was not a mask like the faces she wore, it was more like a mental mask. One of the first thing she learned here was to lie. One day, she became so good that even the kindly man couldn't tell if she lied, and she used that to her favor. She had realized long ago that she wasn't 'no one'. She was someone. She was Cat. Not no one. But the kindly man didn't need to know that.
"Did a woman have any problems?" The kindly man asked.
"No, master. There were no difficulties." She answered and went to her room.
The room was like every room in this house. There was a bed, a desk with a chair and a few clothes. Nothing else. The whole room seemed empty, because there was nothing that told anything about the person who lived here.
Cat closed her eyes. She concetrated on what she heard. There were several people in the house, but nobody was moving towards her room. Good.
She sat down on the floor and tore away a part of the wall. Behind it there was a small space that was filled with everything she held dear. A faceless man or woman shouldn't have any personal items, but Cat... well Cat did. Slowly, carefully, she took the things out. A coin from her first assassination. A piece of silk that had once belonged to a wonderful dress. It had been grey and white, and she had worn it when she was sent to kill a Bolton loyalist. Afterwards, it had been her job to destroy, speak: burn it. But she hadn't been able to resist keeping a bit of it. And, of course, a childs sword. Needle. She took it in her hand and looked at it for a long while.
Whenever she held this sword, Cat seemed to disappear. Whenever she had this sword in hands, she was Arya. Arya of House Stark, Princess of Winterfell. Waiting for her chance to avenge her family and take back what was hers.