Here is my first chapter. This is a translation of my fic La vengeance d'Arya, in french. French is my first language, so I hope you can excuse the mistakes I will certainly make translating it and correct me if needed.

Enjoy reading

Chapter 1 : The crossing

When it happened, it was not a real surprise. Arya had expected it. She didn't know, exactly, how much time she had spent in the House of Black and White, but she knew she had learned all she could. Her sight had been taken, and she had learnt to see without it. Her hearing was taken and she had learned to hear without it. Her voice was taken, and she had learned to speak without it. Her touch was taken and she had learned to touch without it. She knew how to kill, how to burn, how to poison, how to behead and how to stage accidents which no one would ever suspect.

But she had never managed to learn not to be Arya Stark. Never had she managed to throw Needle away, the sword once given to her by her bastard brother Jon Snow. And never ever had she stopped to whisper, in the dead of night, the names of the people she wanted to kill. Even mute her lips had formed the words her voice could not carry.

They were all here, all 24 of them, the Faceless Men, watching her. She knew one of them was the man she had met by the name of Jaquen Ha'Quar, so many years ago, but she couldn't say which one he was. He could be the little old man standing in the back or the beautiful young woman sitting on the stone bench.

It did not matter.

- Novice, you have gone through all the steps, but the Many-faced God has not called upon you to serve as a Faceless Man.

Arya didn't answer. It was the truth and there was nothing for her to say. She didn't know if they intended to offer her the Gift, but if they were trying to resist wouln't be of any help, not in a room with 24 Faceless Men.

- It is rare, but the God who is All the Gods sometimes calls to His House some, like you, who must learn His arts but mut not become His servants. Arya Stark, you will not be a Faceless Man, because our God has need of you elsewhere. You will always be a disciple of the House of the Many-Faced God, and you will always have a place in the House of Black and White. Maybe one day, when Arya Stark's mission is completed, will you become a Servant of the Many-Faced God. But today you must leave the House of Black and White to go on the mission our God gave you.

- What mission ? Arya asked, trying to understand. What mission did she have to complete ?

- Only you know it, Arya Stark, Disciple of the House of the Dead God.

And Arya understood, in a flash. She had survived her training without stopping to be Arya Stark, and that meant that the Many-Faced God wanted her to be Arya Stark, or He would have taken her. She would offer the Gift to those Arya Stark wanted dead.

An hour later Arya was standing outside the House, carrying everything she owned on herself. Going through the doors of the House knowing that she might never come back made her feel slightly nostalgic. She wasn't a novice anymore, the time for learning had ended. She had been deemed ready.

She hesitated. What would she do, now ? For three years she had lived a life of obedience at the beck and call of her masters, obeying them, killing for them. And now she was free. Well, she was much more prepared than she had been so many years ago when she had fled Kings Landing. But she had no idea what she would do now. She needed to think. She decided to take the rest of the day to do it. She obtained some funds out of inattentive passersby's pouches and took a room for the night in a small inn.

She knew as well as anyone in Braavos the current political situation in the Seven Kingdoms. Tommen sat on the Iron Throne and the Mother of Dragons was in Dorne. Sansa, if she understood correctly, had married Tyrion Lannister, was suspected of murdering Joffrey and had fled somewhere, or might be dead.

Besides her sister, if she was still alive, there was her brother, the only one she had left if the news of Bran and Rickon's deaths were true. Jon was on the Wall, and couldn't do anything for her except giving her a new place to hide. She had loved Jon more than any of her other siblings, but he couldn't help her in her mission.

No, the first thing she had to do was know who she had to kil.

She had to avenge her father's death.

She had to avenge he mother's death.

She had to avenge her brothers' deaths.

She hoped she didn't have to avenge Sansa's death as well.

Her father's death was clear. Joffrey Baratheon had ordered his execution and Cersei Lannister, her Regent at the time, had stood there watching without interfering. If Joffrey was really dead, which she didn't truly doubt, she would only have Cersei to whom she had to offer the Gift to. It would have to suffice.

Theon was responsible for Winterfell's demise, and if he was still alive she would offer him the Gift without blinking twice.

That left Robb and her mother, and she didn't know much of the Red Wedding. She knew that some of her Father's men had betrayed him. Walder Frey had organized the massacre, but he had probably been supported by someone, probably the Lannisters, the only ones able to offer sufficient guaranties. But she was sure of nothing. She fell asleep on that thought.

The grey sun piercing through the window woke her up the next morning. Her room was not luxurious, but she had lost consideration for such things long ago. She hadn't taken her clothes off the day before, but a bowl of water was placed on a desk and she washed herself. She hadn't cut her hair for more than two years and they fell on her shoulders. She pulled them up to put on the wig she had taken from the House of Black and White. She wasn't a woman yet and her breasts were barely visible. She would have no trouble posing as a man, or boy as it was.

Arya went down the woden staircase of the inn, counting the stairs without even noticing she was doing it. She had done it the day before when going up. A nice smell came from the kitchen and she decided to eat there while she could. You could never know when your next meal would come.

The inn's matron, a 40 years old woman looking at her with a benevolent smile came to ask her if she wanted some porridge, eggs and bacon and Arya nodded. She placed some coins on the table while waiting for the woman to come back with her food. She gave a nice tip, seeing as she could get more money easily enough.

The food, while not perfect, was filling and she ate happily enough. Once she was finished she went to the docks. Even with the war going on in the Seven Kingdoms Braavos was still a major port, and boats left for Westeros every day. Arya finally found the one she was looking for and went to speak with the captain of "The Cold Lady". He asked her for three Silver Stags to cross and she payed him. It was a bit to expensive for a hammock in a simple crossing of the Narrow See but one had to expect the prices raising in these tormented times.

Autumn was upon Westeros now, and cold winds announcing Winter blew. But the gusts of wind had nothing of the Winter storms out of which no boat or man survived. They just happened to speed the crossing, at least in this direction. Arya could, less than a week later, see the coast of her homeland. The Cold Lady accosted at Coldwater, as planned. It was a smallish town of the Vale of Arryn and the captain would not sell much of his cargo there. He would keep going along the coast to the South until he had sold everything on his ship and bought new cargo to take back to Braavos. Arya stopped here. She had no one to say farewell to amongst the men on the ship, having stayed apart from them on the journey, so she left immediately after the ship had stopped. Her own journey had just begun.

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I will try to publish one chapter every week. I have already written 15 of them in french but this one is the only one I have translated as of yet. Don't forget to press the Review button ^^

Ferz