A/N: Alright...a few things for this one. So, for one, those of you who keep up with the various A Song of Ice and Fire theories probably know that a common one is that Jaqen H'ghar was in fact Syrio Forel before he was taken from the black cells by Yoren (sorry to those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, but it probably doesn't really matter to you anyway). It took me a while, but I eventually decided that was both plausible and sort of cool, so I went with it. That's mentioned in here. And I think that's it, so enjoy reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister), GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Nothing is mine.

Rating: M for language, brief sexual references, and references to attempted suicide

Tossing and turning, Arya fruitlessly tried to succumb to the much needed sleep that eluded her. Though the moons were still far from her their peak, every fiber of her being was aching to feel the earth churn beneath her claws, taste blood against her tongue, hear and answer the call of her wild brethren. She had allowed her gift to consume her during her time with the Companions and she was unaccustomed to controlling it. And yet, for the first time in her life, she was afraid to join the hunt. Afraid of the memories.

Worried that her insomnia may disturb the man sleeping across the room, Arya quietly slipped out of her bed and padded softly out the door on bare feet, letting them guide her where they willed.

The dark halls ushered her through the sanctuary, leading her forward until her outstretched hand met cold stone and her heart skipped a beat. Against her will, her hand pushed gently outward and the door gave way, illuminating her thin frame in the pinkish glow of the waning moons.

Her muscles went rigid as the first rays of moonlight hit her pale skin and she writhed desperately in agony, trying to resist the beast that raged within her. Losing the battle, she howled at the moons, a low mournful sound, before loping off into the night.

These hunting grounds were unfamiliar, but her instincts took over, leading her past the nearby village and into the dark forest that surrounded it. The cold wind ruffled her fur as she ran and a chill ran down her spine as a familiar pair of ice blue eyes flashed across her vision. Vilkas was in Hircine's hunting grounds now, confined to his realm for the rest of eternity where eventually she would join him and they would be together again. The thought of their reunion was a rare comfort in her moments of loneliness. On occasion, it was enough to make her want to take her own life, but her hands never seemed to stop shaking for long enough to draw the blade across her wrists.

An unlucky deer crossed her path and the thrill of the chase was enough to draw her back to the present, erasing her mind of the memories that haunted her. The familiar metallic taste that filled her mouth soothed her frazzled nerves and it was only when she sat back on her haunches to lick the warm blood from her muzzle that she heard the soft voice from behind her.

"A girl cannot resist the blood that flows through her veins."

Arya turned and bared her teeth at the slender form shrouded by the shadows of the forest, her claws raking across the frozen earth in pantomime of her desire to taste the salty tang of his blood on her tongue.

Jaqen stepped forward and his dark blue eyes regarded her carefully as he walked to stand before her. In her beast form she was nearly a head taller than him and he looked up for a moment in silence before brazenly reaching a hand up to rest against her blood-stained muzzle.

"What is it like?" he asked quietly, his fingers tangling in her dark fur with a strange sort of awe and affection.

She growled lowly and he met her gaze again, his lips curving into an enigmatic smirk as he met her dark rage-filled eyes.

"A girl could kill a man right now. But she will not. For she knows it is not yet his time to join his lord in the Void."

Arya knew no such thing, but it was true that something inside of her was hesitant to commit any violence against the strange and mysterious assassin.

"Remember what I told you, Arya of House Stark," Jaqen warned, stepping back again. "Your anger is dangerous. It is too much a part of you. Control it; do not let it control you."

His words pierced through the cloud over her mind and she could feel her beast blood fading slowly away.

He was nearly gone when she managed to speak through the lump in her throat. "Teach me," she whispered, hating herself for the vulnerability in her words.

Jaqen turned back toward her and his gaze flicked briefly down over her exposed body before returning to meet her eyes. "A girl must be ready to learn before she can be taught."

"I am ready to learn," she replied desperately, taking a step toward him.

His eyebrows lowered over his eyes for a moment and his expression grew grim before returning to its usual unaffected state. "Then return to the Sanctuary. A girl must get some rest, and when she wakes again, she will meet a man here. In this very spot. Then, and not before, her training will begin."

"Use your ears, girl!"

Arya parried the blow to her head and fought with increased fury as Jaqen nimbly danced out of the way of her blade.

"I am using my ears," she growled, slashing too far to the left as he dodged her lunge forward.

Her trainer clicked his tongue and shook his head, sending her reeling in the direction of his voice. "A girl listens, but she does not hear."

"I can hear just fine," Arya snapped, swearing when Jaqen's blade cut through the thin leather of her armor.

His eyebrows rose slightly and he gave her a look of undisguised amusement. "Is that so?"

As if on cue, Arya felt a light tap against her right shoulder and she whirled around, realizing too late that her opponent was on her left and finding a dagger to her throat when she tried to compensate for her mistake.

Her assailant giggled in delight and withdrew his blade before, by the sound of it, cartwheeling over to Jaqen's side. Arya scowled. Cicero.

"That wasn't fair!" the young Nord complained, tearing off the strip of linen that Jaqen had forced her to wear as a makeshift blindfold. "I couldn't see him coming."

She had been training with Jaqen for three days since that night in the woods, and by his standards, he had yet to see any improvement; or so she assumed since he continued to treat her like a child.

"And you didn't hear him coming."

"He's a trained assassin!"

Jaqen sighed and shook his head. "Had a girl been paying attention to her surroundings, she would have heard the soft step of leather on snow, or perhaps noticed the shift in the air."

Arya glared at her trainer and he raised his eyebrows.

"Don't get angry just because you were beaten. It was your anger that you allowed to distract you. You were not focusing on your other senses to make up for the loss of your eyesight. A girl must find ways to compensate for those areas in which she lacks."

Ignoring him, Arya scowled and inspected the slash in her armor and the cut beneath. It was fairly deep and bleeding steadily. In less than an hour she had endured more injury than she had ever received from her sparring matches with Vilkas in the training yard of Jorrvaskr in the year she had been there.

Sighing, Jaqen thanked Cicero for his assistance in proving Arya's overwhelming incompetence before sending him back to the Sanctuary and walking forward to stand before the young woman.

"Perhaps a man should not have begun a girl's lessons so," he admitted, his tone softer than before. "Almost a quarter of the moons together and all you have to show for it is new scars." He sighed and ran a hand back through his hair, combing the two sides together with his thin fingers. "But...there is always more to learn." He sat cross-legged on the snowy ground and returned his sword to the sheath across his back before patting the earth in front of him. "Sit."

Though still disgruntled, Arya obeyed, setting her sword down beside her as she lowered herself to the ground across from her trainer.

"How many lovers have you had?" Jaqen asked.

Taken aback by the bluntness of his statement, Arya bristled slightly before retorting defensively, "How many have you had?"

"That information is irrelevant," he replied curtly. "A girl was asked a question."

"One."

"For how long?"

How long? It had seemed an eternity.

"Seven moons."

Jaqen nodded as though he had already known the answer and he met her gaze in silence for a moment before giving his next command. "Make me want you."

Arya blanched. "What?"

His expression remained unaffected. "Only half of being an assassin is having skill with a dagger. The other half is seduction. If a girl's targets trust her, desire her, then her knife will find its mark with much greater ease. Now...convince me."

Arya hesitated, unsure of how to continue. With Vilkas, it had always come so easily, but now... Slowly, she moved her hand to rest against his knee, ignoring the intensity of his gaze. Her fingers brushed lightly against the supple leather of his worn armor and she moved to her hands and knees, closing the distance between them as her hand slid further up his leg. She could feel the lean muscles beneath his armor tense as her fingertips danced across the inside of his thigh and she kept her eyes lowered as she slowly tilted her head and moved toward his lips. She could feel his breath against her cheeks, hot and heavy as it met the chill of her bare skin. He smelled of mint, and snowberries, as cool as the wind that swirled around them. Vilkas had always smelled of the training yard. Blood, sweat, dirt. She had always reveled in its masculinity, and yet, somehow, the faint whiff of juniper on Jaqen's breath had her feeling faint and pleasantly dizzy.

Pulling away, she sat back heavily on the ground and looked away, her hands trembling and her heart threatening to beat out of her chest as helpless tears welled up in her eyes. "I can't do this."

Jaqen's eyes opened slowly and his slightly parted lips closed as his tongue absently swept across them. "Then a girl is not ready."

"But..." Arya felt torn. She wanted nothing more than to learn the ways of the Dark Brotherhood and be fully accepted into their ranks, and yet, she was afraid of how the mysterious Breton made her feel. Less than a week and she already found herself forgetting how it felt to be in Vilkas' arms when she was around him. In truth, she would rather face Vilkas' death again and again rather than have to spend another moment under the strange allure of Jaqen H'ghar.

"She cannot set aside her past to embrace her destiny. Tell me then that such a girl is ready for what is to come."

Of course, she knew he was right. Destiny or no, this was the path she had chosen, and if she was to become a part of the Dark Brotherhood, her past must be forgotten and left behind.

She could hear a soft sigh escape his lips and he spoke again with what seemed almost like sympathy, though with him, it was hard to tell. "Valar Morghulis...you remember what it means?"

Arya nodded. "All men must die." The phrase had never given her much comfort.

"It has a companion, a lover of sorts," he said slowly, enunciating for her benefit, his lilting accent clinging to the vowels as he spoke. "Valar Dohaeris. Does a girl know what this means?"

"All women must die?" Arya asked, attempting to lighten her own mood with a feeble attempt at humor. Jaqen didn't look amused.

"No. Valar Dohaeris. All men must serve."

"Serve whom?" She felt as though it was the question he would want to hear.

Her trainer shrugged slightly, the movement of his shoulders sending the wavy strands of his red and white hair dancing across his neck. "One's master, one's owner, one's king, one's gods. For us, above all, Sithis. And how do we serve Sithis?"

After her humiliation in their recent training exercises, Arya found that she almost preferred Jaqen's lectures on the tenets and beliefs of the Brotherhood to his more...hands-on lessons.

"By killing people." She was surprised by how flat her voice sounded to her ears at the admission of the work she would be doing. She would be no better than the men who had killed Vilkas, and yet, if she could gain her revenge by following this path, it was a price she was willing to pay.

"By sending the Dread Father's children to meet him in the Void, when it is their time," he corrected, admonishing her for her lack of insight into the deeds they committed.

Though she knew she was speaking out of turn, Arya interrupted his next thought. "And who can decide that it is their time? Any farmer, whore, or soldier can speak the words of the Sacrament and claim a life in the name of Sithis. I could do so right now, though you say it is not your time. 'Sweet Mother, sweet Mother—'"

Jaqen moved swiftly and Arya found a cool hand pressed tightly against her lips before she even realized that her trainer had stirred. "Do not speak the words," he commanded harshly, his deep blue eyes flashing with the sort of emotion Arya had never thought to see him victim to: fear. "The Sacrament is not to be taken lightly. It is a prayer; a wish for our Dread Father to deliver those who have wronged us to the deepest depths of Oblivion."

Shaken, Arya nodded and he slowly withdrew his hand before settling back on the cold ground across from her. As she worked to dispel the chill that his urgent warning had sent through her body, his words remained firmly in her mind. A prayer. She closed her eyes and thought of everyone who had ever wronged her. Gendry Waters, Tywin Lannister, the Silver Hand, the Hound. The latter she added for her sister's benefit. No matter what Jaqen thought he knew, she couldn't believe that Sansa had truly fallen in love with Sandor Clegane.

"A girl thinks she understands our calling," Jaqen continued. "And yet she seeks to abuse the very heart of our creed." Though spoken with no sign of emotion, the chastisement hurt more than the time that her father had admonished her as a child for sneaking out at night for a lesson with her 'dancing master' Syrio Forel. It had been from him that she had first learned her way with a sword.

"And did he teach you nothing?"

Arya looked up, startled, and eyed Jaqen suspiciously. Had she said something aloud without knowing it or could he...no, even for a gifted mage that wasn't possible.

"Did your master teach you nothing?" He asked again. "Swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, quick as a snake, calm as still water, strong as a bear, fierce as a wolverine, fear—"

"Cuts deeper than swords," she finished in a whisper and then added quietly, "Not today."

A rare smile broke the emotionless façade of Jaqen's features and he nodded. "Not today. And that is how the Dread Lord decides when it is time."

Arya shook her head in a feeble attempt to clear her thoughts. Syrio had been hired by her father when she was little more than eight in an attempt to teach her to use the sword she had been given by her half-brother Jon. Jaqen had said he had been watching for longer than she had realized, but surely...

She looked up to meet his gaze and found the answer to her unspoken question reflected in his eyes, now the bright gold of a certain Altmeri water dancer she had once thought dead.

He nodded and then stood, his expression coldly calculating as he looked down to meet her gaze. "Now a girl is ready. Now she sees, and seeing, true seeing, that is the heart of it."

After Jaqen left, Arya stayed in the forest, thinking on what she had learned and what Jaqen had said. After an hour or so and no more comprehension on her part, she returned to the Sanctuary, her sword trailing along in the snow behind her as it hung low across her hips.

The Breton Illusionist was nowhere to be found when she arrived and for that she was almost grateful. Some part of her mind was still haunted by the scent of snowberries and juniper. She hadn't discounted the possibility that he was using his gift with magick to wake the stirrings of desire within her.

Arriving in their shared chambers, she was greeted by a large wooden tub, filled to the brim with steaming water that thickened the air around her. Sighing in relief and suddenly feeling very much aware of the grime that covered her body, she quickly divested of her armor and sank into the water, nearly melting from the pleasure of a warm bath. Using the soap that had been left on a table beside the tub, she scrubbed the dirt from her skin and carefully washed out the cut that Jaqen had inflicted during their training. It was deeper than she had initially thought, and even with time and proper care it would leave a scar once it was healed.

Thoroughly scrubbed and yet unwilling to remove herself from the rare comfort in which she was indulging, she submerged her body in the warm water, shaking out her short brown hair when her head resurfaced and sending droplets of water skittering across the polished stone floors.

Her eyes were closed and the room around her was blissfully silent when she heard a light tap on the edge of the tub and her eyes flew open to find Jaqen perched casually on the edge of the table beside her. Moving her hands to self-consciously cover her breasts as a bright blush rose to her cheeks, she met his gaze with a glare and snapped angrily. "Jaqen, what in the name of the gods are you doing?!" She scowled and sank down under the water to minimize her exposure, fuming internally. The nerve of that gods damned assassin. How did he even get in here without me hearing?

He chuckled and shrugged slightly, then used the look of confusion in her eyes as an opportunity to continue their training. "The scuff of leather on stone sings loud as warhorns to a girl with open ears. Clever men go barefoot." He wiggled his toes in her direction to emphasize the point.

The statement sounded vaguely like a taunt and Arya's scowl deepened. "State your business or leave," she snapped irritably.

Jaqen gave a nod and leaned down gracefully so that his lips brushed softly against her ear. She fought down the sudden flutter in her stomach. "A man has a message. A contract."

Arya's heart skipped a beat and her irritation washed away like the dirt from her newly scrubbed skin. "Who?" she breathed. She could hardly believe her luck. Only hours before she was being told about her dramatic lack of progress and now...although he had finally admitted that she was ready, she hadn't been expecting a contract for at least another turn of the moons.

"Speak with the Griefstricken Chef at the Windpeak Inn here in Dawnstar. Accept his gold and then, when you are ready, eliminate the target. May our Dread Father be with you. Valar Morghulis."

Arya closed her eyes and whispered her response through barely parted lips. "Valar Dohaeris."