Firstly I feel I should thank everyone who has reviewed and I owe you all more than an apology for the delay. Therefore this chapter is extremely long- at least for my standards. For update information I must say I cannot be certain of any times, I will attempt every fortnight but it is not a promise. It will never go over a month unless there are any issues which I will post on my profile, if it is computer related- I am lost and sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy, truly sorry for the time taken to get this one going. Valar Morghulis.
Ayra wanted to sleep.
She felt she should be thinking of her mother and yet it was Lem who was brought to the forefront of her tired mind, kind, caring Lem.
She would admit even in the early days his coat hadn't been as bright as the summer's sun but now it seemed even more ragged, the colours faded and worn. But that's what they all were; tired and worn wishing for some peace.
The war was won but peace was far from home. Not that Ayra had a home, she had Jaqen, or at least she thought she had. Her body and mind seemed to be at odds. Despite how much she hated the thought she knew her state was fragile.
Earlier she had been straddling Jaqen. How did she react, with horror. It wasn't because she was scared, she had kissed Jaqen, fucked Jaqen even. Maybe they would have if she hadn't pulled back.
Jaqen wasn't like her in many ways but one was that he had lost his true self. Ayra thought herself as still Ayra; stripped of the naivety of youth and other pieces but Ayra Stark of Winterfell somewhat remained. The same Ayra who had punched Robb in the balls for calling her a girl, rode alongside her sigil come to life and basked in the joys of a loving family.
Jaqen had nothing, except for her, which Ayra counted for little. The point was Ayra was no longer a child and she understood what truly happened. As she brushed against his cheek she slipped. Her conscience or self, drifted, she was Jaqen for a moment, and she hated it.
No doubt Jaqen saw her as mad as she hurtled herself away as if burned by a dragon itself.
Fear cuts deeper than swords and this fear enveloped Ayra. Memories of old nans stories about warg's invaded her mind but she brushed it away. Her head cleared when she saw the shame on Jaqen's face, he regretted it. The rejection was a lash to her already scorched skin. The wound was raw, and yet here she was. Somehow she always ended up clinging to Jaqen wishing he felt how she did.
It all crashed down on her.
Ayra wanted to cry some more and shout and hit something so hard it made her knuckles split and bleed. She wanted to rage like the child she never truly got to be. Instead she held onto Jaqen with all her might, the rain was persistent and they stood until Ayra's leg cramped and was forced to move away. Tears had ceased from flowing but Ayra knew Jaqen was waiting for the worst, it was in the tightness of his shoulders and the concern in his eyes, he wasn't expecting Ayra to say 'a mute wife?' her tone was watery but also had a hint of mock annoyance. With a cautious smile Jaqen replied
'Well I needed some way to keep you quiet and I don't think they sell muzzles for women here in Westeros'
'You think a muzzle would stop me?'
'Perhaps some chains too- just to be safe' Ayra smiled standing up tall and feinting superiority
'I mere Jaqen H'ghar am a wolf queen of the north, I descend from a long line of brave warrior starks, no mere…' she sniffed in derision 'mortal can be a match for me, and no muzzle will stop a wolfs bite!' she finished with an upturned nose mimicking what she had seen queen Cersei do on more than one occasion
'And now you are rebuilding your pack' Jaqen said Ayra sensed no sadness in is tone but something in her gut squirmed; her mother was her family, her pack. But her mother was more Tully than Stark, from her auburn curls to her intense hate for Jon.
'You're my pack Jaqen' Ayra measured his reaction, already she was falling back, wanting Jaqen. She was being a child purposely ignoring the fact she knew Jaqen felt nothing but a circumstantial bond.
'A pack of two is not so impressive' he gave away nothing.
'Well dire wolves are no typical docile dog'
'May I remind you I am not a dire wolf?'
'You are an honorary dire wolf from here on then' she forgot the pain Jaqen always inflicted on her.
'I don't think you're allowed to do that lovely girl' Ayra bubbled at the pet name
'Well I shall, the next Weirwood and I will make you a Stark' Ayra smiled and rejoiced in the smile Jaqen slipped in return
'Ayra are you asking to marry me' Ayra knew she should have been shocked at the assumption, but that is what she had asked. On realization she should have flushed and retook the offer with humble embarrassment instead she jumped into his arms.
'Jaqen H'ghar – will you become my sweet betrothed?' Jaqen was shocked. Possibly the most shocked in his life, Ayra read it plainly in his face. Already he was rearing in a way to reject the offer. Ayra butted in before he could ultimately decline 'no, it's not a question it's a statement we will be wed at the next Weirwood, I shall seal the deal with a gesture' with that she kissed Jaqen chastely on the lips, as if he were a brother and not a yearned for lover. She would regret it.
It was a settled matter, one of which Ayra made very clear.
Their confines consisted of two fairly standard beds with hay protruding from the seams, Ayra longed for Winterfell. It was beyond basic but seemingly comfortable enough. It was no surprise to Jaqen when Arya climbed into his bed with him. She smiled to herself as she curled around Jaqen; their bed was too small to lie apart. Warmth filled Ayra, a giddiness which made her only hug closer to Jaqen. It was dangerous and brilliant, Ayra loved it.
They had been pushing as those barriers for so long, slowly stretching them. Ayra dreaded the day they would snatch back.
Ayra had felt pain; emotionally and physically. At the age of seven she was riding with her brothers when the horse spooked and she was thrown down an overhang. She was cursed to a deep slumber for two moons and apparently Robb and Jon had been awake for half of that. Guilt had plagued the pair but Arya loved them still. There was no need to struggle for an emotional situation where Ayra had felt her heart being ripped out, there were so many occasions; her father's death, her brother's death, her abandonment of Nymeria, her ignorance, her unrequited admiration for Jaqen and all the guilt and shame which leavened her down every day. Ayra shifted uneasily.
Suddenly the arms enclosing her were a harsh reminder of all she had lost; the suffering was branded into her skin. Now that skin crawled knowing she could smile after so much pain.
Her boldness she now realised was immaturity, she pawned after this man, wishing for a future. But she was wishing on dust and dirt.
Jaqen's breath was levelled behind her, his breath tickled the shell of her ear and his heart softly beat against her chest. Now each thrum was a stark warning of how stupid she was. Her breathing constricted. Ayra pulled away and Jaqen was alert at once.
Ayra could only imagine the sight he found. Ayra's eyes were wide and wild. Her face stricken and her whole demeanour screaming for escape. It was with her body facing Jaqen she backed to the other bed. He attempted to follow to which he received a guttural stay away.
The confusion from Jaqen was palpable. It was then that Ayra retreated to the lonely confines of the separate bed, cowering in the corner. Wishing to cry but knowing every tear was another sign of how selfish she truly was.
Morning came as it did every other day, from when the children of the forest ran free and the first men appeared. Morning rose, budding open to reveal low grey clouds laced with mist. Snow didn't fall but ice coated the ground. Their captors were not unfriendly but Ayra did not savour the raunchy looks sent her way by Kayl. He was the one which liked to guard the prisoners but it was truly an excuse for him to leer at Ayra.
It was with grudging annoyance Ayra had to admit despite his disgusting personality he had a fair face. His hair was gold, not of a pure Lannisters standard but Ayra knew the lack of sexual morals within their breed. No doubt the Lannisters brood could almost match the amount of bastards from King Robert Baratheon. And that was something.
His eyes were blue but the slant of his nose had a regal tilt. Besides from that he was an absolute dick.
Jaqen had been hesitant, something which Ayra felt he was justified to be, she had essentially flipped out twice on him. However, as always, their highly functional method of ignoring a problem kicked in and they talked as if the winds had not stirred the air into an insane frenzy.
Not everything could be solved through closing your eyes though and Ayra missed the heat that would spread through her when Jaqen got close. Now she only pictured the disgust on Jaqen's face. Their captors refused to say where they were heading but she could only doubt that the brotherhood had been welcomed into the new society.
They avoided the kings road, Lem was the obvious leader and it took a fair amount of shock for Ayra to realise she had changed beyond simply growing breasts. Emotionally she had become more mature but she wondered if even her mother would recognise her.
From the mere scraggly tomboy to what she had become then was a far cry off.
It was not long till resentment of Jaqen's cover story seeped through the bones. Every one of Kayl's crude jests was unanswered by Ayra but the coldness from Jaqen seemed to restrict him somewhat. Being a mute was boring, it was with great pleasure she ranted to Jaqen once out of earshot. She ignored the concerned looks he hid beneath a mask of playful listening. They spent their days riding unless the ground was too icy; a fatality of a horse was a grave loss indeed.
Wolfe was a fine bred horse and Lem took it upon himself to take Ayra's prized mare, it bartered a few uneasy questions which Jaqen deflected with a skilled tongue.
It was a few weeks hard days ride and all were weary. The passage had been slowed by the route avoiding all main roads. The sign which showed they were nearing was the two riders sent ahead, the group had a quick debate as to blindfold them or not. They decided not. Ayra decided to not evaluate whether this was because they thought the pair to be trusted or that they trusted dead men could not speak. To dither on it would be a fool's farce.
A rough cut pathway soon emerged from the brush; tall trees encased the land sending a shadow over the passage. Ayra and Jaqen were made to walk and they carefully led the horses occasionally slipping on the ice.
There was something dark and foreboding about the way, even Kayl who they had soon come to realise had something to say on everything fell silent. The first signs of smoke showed inhabitants and two men layered in furs came to greet the party. Their words were whispered; the trees rendered a strong barrier to the wind so they could be heard easily. After some more trekking the trees thinned forming a large ring around what Arya could only assume was their campsite.
The hideout was strangely still, tents were pitched everywhere made from furs and branches. A few had scraps of fine material likely to be scavenged from raided campsites. It was not like the kings encampment, filled with raucous laughter; it seemed their world was merely a ghost. The most eerie aspect struck Ayra to her very core, placed in the centre was a Weirwood. Its face had been hacked away its bloodied eyes ran to its roots. A mask of horror was fixed in its place. Ayra skimmed the site again, the forest was white. A graveyard replica of the one in Winterfell; it haunted her.
The Weirwood gaped at Ayra and she couldn't help but stare at its disfigured guise.
Ayra felt someone push her forward lightly and their progression continued. The largest of the tents was placed behind the Weirwood. It rose high and was a mismatched mess of animal skins and material. Ayra envisioned it to be similar to that of a wilding camp.
The tired party started to unwind with people filtering off to the sides, Lem and a few others stayed by the prisoners.
Ayra recognised a few faces but it seemed she was beyond recognition.
'Lady Stone heart will see you' the guard murmured to Lem, Ayra looked to Jaqen for answers. His face was impassive but a dreadful curiosity crinkled his eyes.
Ayra felt the air go stale, it was impossible, but the air inside the tent seemed even colder than the outside. Few furnishings adorned the space but a low throne stood at the far end. Lem and the others gave shallow bows. A woman sat upon the seat. Ayra searched the room for her mother but did not find her.
The figure on the throne was swaddled in black cloth. Ayra's skin prickled and she was tempted to growl, it was like something was dead but had not passed. 'Lady Stoneheart we bring you two prisoners, from the free cities'.
Lem moved closer and a chocking sound issued from her throat. Both Ayra and Jaqen stepped back but then froze.
Lem seemed to answer 'They could be of value, the man seems strong he could be part of the plan, an insider we have to kill-' All jumped except the prisoners as an unearthly howl ripped from the woman.
Lem seemed to quiver; he opened his mouth but was silenced with a black cold hand. More noises followed. Arya felt herself being pushed forward, for a moment she thought they would have to kneel. Lady Stoneheart who Ayra assumed she must be turned to face them.
It was with painful slowness she lifted the material from her face. Ayra felt Jaqen go rigid beside her and she felt bile rise in her throat. What faced her was horrific. Skin was rotted and peeled away. Jagged lines cut across the mangled throat but it was none of the decaying tissue which made Ayra wants to vomit but her hair.
It was red; fire was the only colour which graced the pale monster. The Tully hue was unmistakable. Ayra had been jealous of the colour which all her siblings but Jon shared, on more than one occasion she had pulled at Sansa's red locks in despair.
There was coldness in her gaze and it penetrated her deep. Her mother was beautiful even in growing age but now she was a living corpse. Her eyes were not dead though, they were alive. Tully blue; raging like a storm.
'Mother' Ayra dared to say all eyes shot to her. They burned into her.
'A mute my fucking arse' someone shouted before hands seized her and Jaqen.
'Who are you really, who are you!' another cried.
Suddenly guards were called and Catelyn Stark stood. Ayra panicked
'Mother it's me Ayra, it's me!'
Ayra waited for the spark; though disfigured her mother was her mother. Even if she seemed broken. Ayra waited for her mother's face to break open, youth returning and transforming her face so it was never maimed, she waited for her mother to realise her identity. Ayra would have her mother back.
Instead she morphed into shards of ice, a hole in her throat flapped as she screeched. Rising to her feet with surprising swiftness she advanced; her movement revealed more mottled and sunken flesh.
Ayra was transfixed as she was taken hold of. Suddenly Jaqen was moving, shouting and kicking at the men who held him down.
Only when Jaqen wailed from being punched in the face did Ayra begin to move. Her mother was screeching to an unintelligible volume but one word was clear. Kill.
Ayra started to struggle as more men entered someone grabbed around her middle and it was with ease she released herself but even Ayra could not defend d against a storm of twenty men. Now Ayra was screaming for Jaqen.
They were dragged into the snow which had settled from previous nights; then Ayra forgot. She forgot her training, she forgot her mother, and she forgot the hands grappling with her.
All she could see was the dying Weirwood and the one thing she had missed. A thick rope hung from one of the higher branches, it was deathly still-sheltered from the wind. Was her mother going to kill her? Ayra dreaded the answer.
Then Ayra remembered how far she had come, all she had lost and she fought back. Her teeth tore into someone's flesh and yells pounded at her eardrums until the noise was cracked.
'Stop Our Lady says stop' Lem shouted Ayra paused her struggle turning to her mother, finally seeking the recognition she knew would come. There was nothing. After more sounds Lem spoke casting his eyes to Ayra
'That one is to die first'.
Arya saw Jaqen start to pummel his captors but Ayra felt drained. Her own mother could not see her child, it hurt.
The men around her were wary waiting for Ayra to rekindle her hate, to strike and beat and claw at them. It was only when the rope was lowered over her head she kicked. Ayra knew she had lost a lot but she had gained so much.
She had Jaqen, her brothers, a future and so much more. It was a sight to behold as Ayra was wrested to a makeshift platform which had been pushed to add the height. Ayra caught one man's balls and was rebuffed in the ear. Something exploded and a high wine echoed in her eardrum.
Everything was silenced except for the whine.
Dazed her hands were hastily tied and the knot tightened round her neck. Ayra turned her eyes to Jaqen he was half collapsed, still fighting to reach Ayra but weighed down.
His lips moved shouting one thing over and over. It seemed important. He might as well have been screaming at a dead rabbit.
Ayra kept her gaze fixed on Jaqen; if she would die it would be with his face imprinted in her mind. Jaqen H'ghar; the name spoke volumes. It made Ayra smile. The smile fell as everyone turned away, was her death not worthy to watch, Ayra looked to the west in search of an answer.
She was saved.
Horses ploughed through the site, tears blurred her vision but the banner seemed to be a flaming something, either way Ayra knew an attack.
The child inside her feared for her mother but the new Ayra realised she was already long dead.
The men of Lady Stoneheart tried to run, some stayed. The noble ones stayed.
Lady Stoneheart herself faced the fleet and with an ungodly scream pushed the platform.
Ayra was falling. The noose snapped taunt.
The last thing Ayra Stark of Winterfell saw was Jaqen H'ghar, it was lovely.
A\N Not the end, a long way yet.