He immediately released his hold on her small, trembling frame. She had gotten herself into this and he was determined that she would reap the result of her headstrong insistence. He could coddle her, cradle her in his arms and offer her sympathy, but what good would it serve beyond reinforcing the behavior she needed to learn to turn away from? Flashes of unwelcome memories found their way to the forefront of his own recall .../
He laid his hand flat upon the door, feeling its grain beneath his fingertips. The wood was cold. The room was gloomy and the only sound was the shifting of the sea beyond the open window. His father lay in the great bed against the far wall, his grey-haired head resting on pillows, his arms limp across the thin coverlet. There were deep lines in his face as if his skin had folded in upon itself beneath the weight of agonized sorrow and heavy shadows lurked below his eyes. His visage had gathered at least a decade seen he'd received mortality's wound. "He's sleeping" his mother whispered the lie at his ear. "But he isn't breathing," the boy protested tearfully...
No one had held him. Not then and not since. There would be no holding Arya from what she now had to face. The child would have to become a woman long before it was her time to do so. "A girl made her choice and now she must live with it."
looking at the ground, ashamed beyond count at her outburst as he did try to warn her, she refused to look at him until she had her emotions under control. her trembling frame ceased its shaking, her hands balled and unballed into fists repeatedly as she fought to control the sobs that wanted to wrack her body. Instead she let anger, hate fill her and it calmed her. When she lifted her eyes to his at last, there was nothing in them. No tears, no emotion, it was if she had cut herself off from everything as she stood before him, back straight, fists clentched...her eyes were even empty of the fire that burned within them when she was angry. She was truly another person at this point. she swallowed the last of her sadness and let her soul sink deeper into the hate that twisted and twirled in her heart and set her veins on fire! Taking a deep breath, did she cast her eyes back to the Banners that flew over her house and for a moment, the spark was back in her eyes before she crushed it under the blackness of the rage she felt at that moment! Turning her gaze back to the Man, she nodded slightly. "Take me to Braavos...there is nothing here for me now..." Her voice was steel, no warmth did she echo, not anymore."
The men appeared out of the fog like hulkjing ghosts, dark shapes that emerged from a recessed path. Five in number, they closed in fast and without a sound beyond the slide of steel being unsheathed. Jaqen stepped back swiftly. The hiss of his sword a deadly warning. The first blow came from behind him somehow. He flet rather than saw it coming. Caught by surprise, he was not swift enough. It caught his left shoulder a glancing blow, numbing his arm to the fingertips. With a grunt of pain he ducked and and side-stepped. For a moment it appeared that none wanted to test his skill, then they rushed the two of them, cursing, yelling, swiping with their weapons.
The men appearing like ghosts out of the mist caught her up short. She felt her body stiffen in reaction to being caught but was secretly glad of it. she would no longer have to hide! Her attention was brought to the man behind Jaqen, the sound of him drawing his blade caught her attention right away! She stood behind him, but peeked out from his side, glaring at the men that surrounded them. She felt anger turn to pure black rage and when the one moved to attack Jaqen, she pulled one of his own daggers from her companions waist and shoved it, hilt deep into the attacking mans gut! blood spurted as she pulled back, spraying her hands as she stared the dying man down, he looking confused before he dropped to the ground! It happened so fast, she was not aware of her actions until the man was already dead and the others had moved to attack them! the shouts, yelling confused her at first until she saw another come towards her and she dropped into a stance Syrio taught her but she knew she was no match for the man and was soon unarmed and grabbed about the waist and hoisted onto a shoulder of a man who beat a hasty retreat from the fighting! Carried like a sack of potaoes, she did the only things she could do in this instance. she leaned down and bit him, HARD on his ear and began to pull! That stopped his flight, sure enough and nearly dropped her as he kneeled down and delivered her face a sharp blow which rendered senseless for a moment. Long enough for him to switch shoulders and continue upon his way. Addled, she had no idea where Jaqen was nor what had happened to him. she focused on the here and now, first to escape!
He slashed the first man to reach him, sending him reeling back, yelping, as he clutched the cut across his chest. The next avoided Jaqen's savage thrust with a quick twist, but the third caught his back-handed slice with the hilt of his blade. The sword bit deep and was held. The attacker tried to wrench it free, trided to jerk the blade from Jaqen's hand. He held on with dogged strength, though every movement sent pain lancing through his shoulder that now hung close to useless from the earlier blow. The sound of running footsteps impinged on his consciousness. Distracted, he turned to see Arya being carried off toward the keep's gates. His attackers closed in. Weapons raised they rushed him. And then there was only pervading darkness.
She was set roughly down in a room she knew well, the main hall and smacked again by the same man as he walked off, leaving her with a man to guard him. He had made a mistake in not binding her hands for which she was thankful. Her eyes flitted about as she heard fast approaching footsteps, looking for an exit but seeing none, turned her eyes back to the door as none other then Theon Geryjoy entered the room! Anger flooded her yet again and she resisted the urge to rush him! She knew such an action would be cause for her immediate imprisonment and she had no wish to be caged, not yet.
When his eyes locked with hers, she was again favored by the Gods as it did not seem to her that he recognized her! She hoped it stayed that way, but with her luck and her temper she knew it wouldn't last long. He questioned his guards about her, where they found her, but he seemed to think she was a boy, which was just fine with her! she could be Ary again for him, till she escaped. The guards told their tale, of a boy traveling with a man who fought like a demon even when wounded to protect him, alone on their lands. through it all, Arya stayed silent, staring with hate and malice at the Usurper to her fathers house! Theon had no time for 'younglings' and ordered her sent to the cooks and put to work cutting wood or something of that nature, but always in leg irons. She knew the cookery well and there was always ways to get out of the irons. she would bide her time and wait for her moment, all the while keeping an eye out for Jaqen for she wouldn't leave without him. Pushed and beaten with a stick, she was shoved and herded into the cookery, and the irons placed upon her legs. Ordered to go gather wood near the barn for the cook and to be quick about it, she slipped out the door under the ever watchful eye of her new 'friend', her constant guard would be hard to slip but she would find a way.
Consciousness crawled its way back to Jaqen upon a cacophony of gravid confusion. Shadows moved in and out of his returning perception coaxing him back from the onyx oblivion. A sharp pain white-hot, excrutiating, pierced through the last vestige of lingering ebon lifting its veil to reveal surroundings equal in hostility as those he had left at combat's collapse. He lay on his back steel at his throat. A contingency of plated guards dispatched in measured caliber stood with eyes trained upon him. Chill breezes caressed the scattered black banners that hung from the rafters in bold display of House Greyjoy's sigil.
"Who in Seven Hells might you be?"
A voice that seemed strained in exuded authority broke through Jaqen's focus. He altered his attention in its direction to see a small framed young man approaching him where he lay. His tension wrought features bore the remnants of a sleepless night as well as the etching of concealed fear. While the lad had no notion of his captive's identity, there could be no mistaking that of his own.
"King Theon, himself," Jaqen smiled calmly. "A man is honoured." Words were but words, yet their lack of candor evidenced his truth in silent acerbity. "It is hardly hospitable to question a man with a sword at his throat. A King would be better served by exhibiting grace, his answer obtained in like response."
The two went head to head for almost an hour, neither laying claim to the answers they sought. Jaqen was desperate to find out what had become of Arya, paying no need to the sanguine rivers that ran down his arm from the untended wound. Theon was adamant to discover who the man was and why he had brought the Stark girl to Winterfell. Their conversation came to abrupt standstill when the kraken at last gave up his quest and had the stranger taken away.