The winter had been long and deadly, but it seemed even the snows in the north could not last forever. Summer was picking itself up, wounds and all. Arya inhaled the evening air deeply as she stood in the Godswood and marveled at the warmth of the ground beneath her toes. She fancied that she could see the stirrings of fireflies in the distance.

"Arya?"

She turned. Sansa briskly wended her way through the trees, careful to keep her dress hem free of the dirt.

Arya waited until her sister stood beside her, then ducked her head in acknowledgment. "Sansa. How are things?"

Her sister returned the gesture with a smile. "Well enough. There's a new song being sung in the taverns, about a noble lady who prowls the city nightly as a wolf, hungry for vengeance." She chuckled. "The meter is terrible of course."

Arya grinned. "Is that so?"

Sansa nodded. "And in other news, Ser Gendry stopped by the keep yesterday, on his way back to Storm's End."

Arya suddenly became very interested in a leaf she was holding.

Her sister wasn't fooled. "He asked for you. But apparently you spontaneously decided to go inspecting the dockside alehouses."

Arya shrugged. "I was thirsty." She frowned and threw the leaf. "With all due respect, it isn't much of your business, my lady."

Sansa watched the leaf fall to the ground. "Arya, I just worry about you, all alone in that tower-"

"Speaking of which, what are we going to do about Tameus?" Arya blurted. "He's been sending agents after me."

Sansa the worried sister melted away, leaving Lady Clegane, also known as Lady Winter, one of the most feared and powerful figures in all of Westeros. "Really. Any problems with them?"

Arya shook her head. "Nothing I can't handle. But he needs to be removed."

Sansa nodded, her mind already caught up in the workings of the business. "I'll see to it." She wandered away, muttering to herself.

Arya watched her go, and tried very hard to think about her job, and not the myriad of other things clanking around in her head.

She stood in the grove for a while longer, but her heart wasn't in it anymore. Thoughts kept tearing at her reserve, leaving her irritable and nervous. Gendry…she cursed and rubbed her eyes. He was the kind of man one would find in a young Sansa's stories. It made her feel like some cold wight to be cruel to him, but lately, it seemed like that was all she could do. No matter how nice he was she didn't want to marry him, even if his sadness made her want to wince and hit herself.

It was safe to say that her mind was heavily occupied as she walked up the stairs to her rooms. So when a cloaked figure grabbed her from behind and tried to yank her into an alcove, it wasn't too unforgivable that she hadn't seen it coming.

Arya struggled, more a reflex born from years of fighting than a deliberate act. She stopped when she noticed the red and white strands of hair hanging next to her face.

"Jaqen," she whispered back through gritted teeth. "As much of a pleasure as this is, what the hell are you doing here?"

He released his grip enough that she could twist around and look him in the face. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to kill me?"

He sighed, though it seemed more ironic than apologetic. "A man has just saved a girl from sure assassination, and she responds with insults." He tutted.

Arya could feel a headache forming in her temples. "Pardon me ser," she hissed, "but unless my steward is feeling particularly murderous about the property damage you inflicted, that seems unlikely." She pulled herself out of his grip and headed up the stairs.

Somehow, without even looking back, she knew he was smiling. "There are twelve cutthroats in a girl's room. Two are poised beside the door, one is underneath the bed, and three are suspended from the ceiling. The others are standing about, sampling a girl's brandy collection."

Arya stopped. She looked back at Jaqen, who was polishing a dagger on his tunic. She narrowed her eyes. He almost seemed smug. "Why are you telling me this?"

He laughed in the same mocking manner he always did. "A man was paid to kill a girl. If others kill her before he can, a man has rather obviously failed, yes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose," she muttered, watching his long fingers pull the cloth over the dagger until it shone like ice in the fading light of the hall. "So now that you've warned me, are you leaving?"

Jaqen stopped and sheathed his knife. "A girl can kill twelve men alone, can she? Most impressive."

Arya scowled. "Well then, what am I supposed to do? I can hardly just let them drink all my brandy." She patted the knife that hung at her waist. "And I'm armed."

Jaqen pretended to think for a minute. "Well," he finally said. "A man could perhaps help a girl dispose of them, if she would be obliged to repay him with a favor."

Arya scoffed. "And I'm supposed to trust you?"

Jaqen smiled. "So says a girl who tricked a man into killing more than he owed, long ago."

Arya didn't think that merited a response. She sighed and rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to end her headache. "I suppose you can help. Just don't stab me or anything."

She could hear Jaqen's trailing laughter as she drew her sword and kicked open the door to her chambers.

The fight was bloody, but short. The moment she entered the room, she noticed the poor knives of the assassins, along with the telling way they gripped them. The men had more in common with alehouse brawlers than herself or Jaqen, she thought as she cleanly sliced through a tendon. She barely blinked at the sharp arc of blood, turning to the next intruder. Throughout the clash, she felt Jaqen's presence behind her, fighting at her back. Occasionally she saw the blur of his knives in the corner of her eye, invariably accompanied by a scream of pain or the gurgle of a dying man.

All too soon it was over. Arya blinked in the sudden silence and stared at the blood that had sprayed across every visible surface. She shook her head. Even after all these years, it still amazed her how much blood the human body could hold. She sheathed her knife, wincing as a twinge ran through her shoulder. She must have pulled a muscle.

"Now what?"

Arya glance back at Jaqen, who was already cleaning his daggers. "I interrogate them."

Jaqen raised his left eyebrow. "A girl must be very blessed, to be able to speak to the dead."

Arya scowled, and wiped the blood away from her mouth. "I left one alive, thank you very much." She sauntered over to one of the bodies huddled in the corner. She kicked the man once, then yanked him up by the hair. He was bleeding from his temple and his nose, which appeared to be broken. Arya narrowed her eyes. Well, good.

"Wake up, we know you're not asleep."

The fighter chuckled without opening his eyes. His teeth, Arya noted, were all filed into sharp points.

She stared at him for a moment. "Alright, Ser," she said. "We can do it that way."

She punched him in the nose.

He screamed and fell back, writhing on the floor. Arya wiped at her bloody mouth again, then slammed her foot into his face. The screams fell away to wracking gasps.

"Perhaps a man is mistaken," Jaqen murmured from behind her. "But the impression a man had was that interrogation generally involved speech."

Arya spoke without looking up from the man thrashing on the ground. "You're very talented at killing, Jaqen." She aimed a savage kick to the man's stomach. "But not at this." She squatted, and grabbed the killer by his bloody neck, ramming his head against the wall. "Not like me, at least."

She waited a moment for the assassin to catch his breath, careful to keep his limbs pinned down.

"So," she began, staring deeply into his eyes. "Would you like to tell me who sent you?"

The man laughed, but stopped when he began to cough up blood. "And if I don't, you'll kill me? Fuck you."

Arya frowned. "Incorrect, Ser. If you tell me, I'll kill you." She picked up her dagger and waved it in front of his face. "Nice, quick, easy. If you don't, I'll throw you out of that window, at which point you will either die quickly, die slowly, or make the acquaintance of a very hungry wolf." She smiled. "It's only three stories, Ser. I'm betting on the last."

The man's eyes darted from her face to the window and back again as he continued coughing blood. "Some Pentoshi," he answered. "All I can tell you."

Arya nodded. Tameus. She paused for a moment, then quickly slit his throat. The body slumped down as the dying man gurgled a last, futile breath.

Arya left the blood alone. It was instinct to clean it, but she had servants now to do that sort of thing. Besides, she was tired. Not just tired, but weary, the sort of fatigue that condenses in the marrow of one's bones and the back of one's eyelids. She collapsed into her chair, shook her head and sloshed some wine into two glasses. She held one out for Jaqen without looking up. Mercifully, he picked it up before her arm began to ache with the strain of movement. She dully registered the clunk of it set down on the table.

"You could probably kill me now, you know," she said, closing her eyes.

"Mmmm." He purred from behind her. "A man would've." He tsked and laid a palm on her shoulder. "A girl is hurt."

She shivered as she felt his warm fingers touch her shoulders. "Just a pulled muscle. What do you mean, you would have?"

Jaqen didn't remove his hands. "A man would've killed a girl. But others have already tried tonight," He began to slowly massage her neck. "And a man would hate to be unoriginal."

Arya sputtered, even as her tired body leaned into his hands. "Bastard," she mumbled crossly.

The only response was his musical laughter.

They sat in companionable silence for a time. Arya felt her alertness trail back in thin tendrils, even as she became increasingly aware of Jaqen's fingers kneading at her back.

"Jaqen," she said suddenly, desperate to distract herself. "What did you want? As a favor, I mean."

His hands kept moving as he answered. "Permission to kill a girl, of course."

Arya sprang up, horrified. "What? No!"

Jaqen sighed deeply, but kept a grip on her shoulders. "Perhaps not, then. A girl could return to the order?"

Arya yanked his hands away. "No."

"The life of the King?"

"Damn you, no!"

"The Queen?"

"Again, no!"

"Ser Gendry?"

"No!"

"A kiss?"

"N-wait, what?" She stared at him, and he grinned back. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words were muted when Jaqen buried his hand in his hair and pulled her head against his. His lips were hot, with faint traces of cinnamon and brandy. Arya supposed the politic thing to do was protest, but even as the thought crossed her mind she leaned into his arms. All too quickly, Jaqen pulled away

"Oops," he whispered in her ear. He gently released her hair and sauntered to the window. Perched on the sill, he glanced back at her and waved. "Farewell for now, Lady Stark."

Arya blinked and waved slightly as he vanished into the dark. He was always doing that, she thought. Did he have something against doors?

She dropped back into her chair and quaffed the entire goblet of brandy. After pausing for a moment, she fetched Jaqen's and drank that too. The alcohol burned the inside of her throat going down, but she almost didn't mind.

"Arya, you idiot," she murmured to herself. "This is without a doubt one of the most suicidal, most idiotic, most downright stupid things you've done in years."

She could almost hear him chuckling in the back of her head.

"Stupid," she whispered again, absentmindedly brushing her fingers against her lower lip, like a memory.