A/N: First off, regarding the entire rest of this story, I think I have an official schedule worked out. Assuming that I have the time and inspiration to crank out a few chapters a week, then each will be posted roughly four to five days apart, with the ones I've already written being put up two days after the one that preceded. That should mean that chapter 50 will be posted on the last day of June and then there will be a two to four week hiatus (depending on how busy July is for me) before the first chapter of the sequel will be posted. That's all regarding the posting schedule. As for this chapter, it begins with a dream sequence, so that's why it's in italics. And that's all in the way of notes. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin.
Rating: M for violence, strong language, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol
She was surrounded by darkness, the kind that soothes and comforts a soul when it's in need of rest, but when her eyes fluttered open, the darkness rushed away, replaced by the gentle golden glow of softly burning candles. The eyes that stared down into her own were the color of the ocean, a deep, clear blue that somehow managed to be transparent despite simultaneously containing all the mysteries of the world in their depths.
His hands were cool against her flushed skin, soothing her limbs as they trembled in pleasure, caressing her sweat-soaked brow and kneading softly at the pale skin of her hips. His lips were soft and met hers with a tenderness that she had never known, but when he bent his head to kiss her neck, his teeth pierced her skin, digging in deep and drawing blood, blood that flowed thick as it poured from her throat.
Her back arched as pain and pleasure mixed and she dug her nails deep into the back of the man above her, suddenly no longer a man at all but a beast, tearing out her flesh with sharpened fangs and drinking the blood from her veins, its pale blue eyes cold and dead.
Arya woke with a start, shaking and crying as the nightmare tried to bury itself deeper in the recesses of her mind. Desperate to escape that horror that took her as she slept, she sat up and closed her eyes, grateful for the darkness.
As she tried to gather her thoughts, she realized sheepishly that she had fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon while reading a book about the Dark Brotherhood's creed and she pushed it off of her lap with a quiet groan.
Taking a deep breath, she rose and unconsciously glanced over to the empty bed on the other side of the room. Jaqen H'ghar had left two nights before, after being roused in the night by a stranger visiting the Sanctuary and asking for him by name, presumably for a contract. He had disappeared the next morning with a new face and nothing more than a brief "there is something a man must do," and hadn't returned since.
Finally consenting to the fact that she would have to accept her first contract without her mentor at her side, Arya dressed in a simple tunic and trousers and made her way from her quarters to the main hall, answering Cicero's enthusiastic greeting with a slight raise of her hand. Grabbing an apple from the counter where Babette was preparing dinner, she trotted up the stairs to the surface and emerged onto the shore of the Sea of Ghosts, inhaling the salty air as it filled her lungs.
"Speak with the Griefstricken Chef at the Windpeak Inn here in Dawnstar..." Surely a man fitting that description wouldn't be difficult to find. She just hoped that he had remained in town during the time she had delayed in hopes of both Sansa's departure and Jaqen's return.
Casting a cursory glance at the still waning moons, Arya trudged toward the building where her destiny awaited, albeit, topped with a puffy white hat and no doubt wiping tears from its pudgy cheeks.
The air inside the inn was warm and stifling as she entered, a sharp and not particularly pleasant contrast to the crisp winter wind that raged through Dawnstar. We Starks are better suited to the cold, she mused absently as she feigned indifference and scanned the faces in the common room.
As expected, her target wasn't difficult to find and she strolled casually over to the table at which he was seated before sliding onto the wooden bench and raising a hand in request for ale. When her mug slid smoothly onto the table with foam sloshing cheerily over its brim, she lifted it and turned to the man beside her to signal a toast.
"Hail Sithis," she murmured, grinning wolfishly over the rim of her mug as the portly chef stammered for a moment then glanced furtively at the other patrons.
"So you're the one from the...the Dark Brotherhood? Good." He sniffed loudly and self-consciously before leaning closer and lowering his voice. "The man I need you to kill is a visiting noble. He should arrive here, at this inn, before nightfall. You shouldn't have to wait long." He slipped her a pouch of gold then stood up quickly. "There's your gold. I...I hope it's enough." And with that, he was gone, shuffling through the crowd and out into the quickly darkening city.
Arya raised her eyebrows and took a drink of ale before taking the gold and tucking it beneath her belt. From the feel of it, she was being paid well; far better at least than she had been as a member of the Companions.
She waited for the better part of an hour in silence, downing a second ale after the first, and after the second, a third, without the arrival of the nobleman, though she was able to keep herself entertained with the idle gossip of the patrons around her.
"Did you hear that Ignatius was found sleeping with his brother's wife? It's the biggest scandal that Dawnstar's seen in years..."
"You know, I hadn't thought much of it, but I haven't had a nightmare for over a week now!"
"I hear Stormcloak is looking for recruits. Don't know if there's any young lads here that hate the Legion enough to die in an attempt to destroy it though. Now all anyone wants is an end to the bloody war."
She tuned in as the last bit of rumor reached her ears, but her thoughts were interrupted by her target who barged into the inn, loudly and ostentatiously announcing his entrance as he staggered in, already drunk, with an entourage of equally unsavory men. The noble himself was as most of them were: fat, old, and obscenely rich.
Arya turned away in disgust as he shot a lascivious look in the direction of the proprietor's daughter, but even as she was denouncing his lecherous ways as vile and repulsive, Jaqen's voice spoke in her mind. "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."
Unfortunately, there was truth in Jaqen's words, so it was with steely resolve that she finally rose from her seat and stealthily maneuvered her way through the crowds to the room that belonged to the very same girl that the visiting noble had been ogling. A quick search of her dresser yielded what Arya was searching for and she discarded her clothes in the corner before fastening a ludicrously tight corset over her breasts and pulling on a dress typical of the whores she had seen in other taverns. With an angry huff of resignation she shifted and prodded her still growing breasts until they emerged from the top of the dress with a convincing enough illusion concerning their size.
Opening the door a crack, she peered out cautiously before slipping back into the common room and leaning against the wall with the bored but haughty air that she had witnessed from many a whore in an attempt to lure in their prey.
Evidently, her ploy worked as she had intended, because it was only a few minutes later that she heard the drunken slur of the nobleman call out in her direction. "You, wench! Come here."
Lowering her eyelids, Arya coyly cocked an eyebrow at the nobleman before sauntering over and placing a hand on her hip. "Yes, ser? Do you have need of my..." She smirked and moved her free hand to play with the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. "Services?" She repressed a shudder and thought bitterly to herself that Jaqen would be proud of her apparently latent skills in seduction.
The man smiled widely and appraised Arya with a look that made her skin crawl. Vilkas had always looked at her with love and a bit of reverent awe, and she had recently noticed that Jaqen regarded her as though she were the most beautiful creature on Nirn, but this man seemed to see her as a piece of meat: something he was looking forward to sinking his teeth into.
"Have another round on me," he commanded his entourage, before standing and slapping a meaty hand against her ass. "I'll be breaking in this...luscious morsel...before sending her off to you, bloody and bowlegged."
The men laughed and Arya had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. The man obviously had a very inflated opinion of his abilities as a lover. Despite her annoyance, she sent the other men her most sultry smile before following the nobleman into his room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, his hands dropped eagerly to the laces of his trousers, but she stopped him with a retch that she quickly converted to a husky laugh and sashayed to his side.
"Please...allow me."
Sidling up behind him as he nodded, she slid one of her slender hands down his inner thigh as the other snaked beneath his fur coat.
"I see you're ready for me," she whispered coyly, giving his groin a light squeeze. As she had previously predicted, the man certainly had a larger opinion of himself than was anywhere near realistic.
He turned his head to look at her, eyes dark with lust. "It's been a while since we've been to an inn with whores." He accentuated the last word with a rough grope to her breasts and it took all the self-control she had not to slap his hands away.
Instead, she smirked and delicately removed his coat. He was already sweating through the shirt beneath it as though just being in the same room with her was a physical exertion. Disgusting pig.
As her fingers moved to the buttons of his tunic, she closed her eyes and imagined that she was taking polished steel armor off of a familiar battle-hardened and dark haired body, or even peeling blood-stained leather away from the slender, pale body beneath it; anything but facing the reality of the fat, old nobleman who stood panting beneath her forced ministrations.
Once the tunic was tossed aside, her right hand slid stealthily to her thigh and she extinguished the candle that kept the room bathed in light.
"What is your name, girl?" The question was a low growl as two thick hands reached out in the darkness to grab her around the hips.
Her dagger glinted briefly in the light from beneath the door and her teeth shone in the darkness as she grinned. "I am No One," she whispered as he gave a strangled gasp and warm blood oozed between her fingers. "Hail Sithis..."
Jaqen was sitting cross-legged on the floor of their shared chambers when Arya walked in, as though waiting for her arrival. Raising an eyebrow, she walked past him and pulled the tavern dress over her head with a sigh of relief, relishing in the cool air that met her skin.
"You're back."
He said nothing for a moment, his eyes following her movements. When he spoke, his tone was almost accusing."A girl has been busy. Already a man has heard a girl tell our Listener that a contract has been completed." When she didn't reply, he prodded. "Who was he?"
At that, Arya shrugged indifferently, dressing in the red and black leather armor of the Brotherhood. "Some fat lord old enough to be my father." She sighed heavily. "It wasn't difficult to kill him once I discovered his weakness." Jaqen cocked an eyebrow and she smiled grimly. "Young girls who will at least pretend to be wet and willing so that he can fuck them 'bloody and bowlegged'."
Jaqen's tone was cold when he replied. "So a girl acted as his whore. She must not be as inept at seduction as she let a man believe." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Did you kill him before or after the fucking?" Arya thought she could hear a hint of jealousy in his voice, though she couldn't be entirely sure.
"I thought you would be proud of me." It was said more venomously than she had intended, though she didn't regret the effect.
At that, he sighed and stood up, moving to her side. "Of course a man is proud." His thumb lightly grazed her jaw as he continued. "But he does not want to see a lovely girl get hurt. There are some men who do not treat women as well in the bedchamber as your Vilkas did." She jerked away at the mention of her dead lover and only barely heard the words that Jaqen murmured quietly to himself as she fought back the sting of tears. "And yet there are some who would."
Pretending not to have heard him, Arya stayed turned away and then replied hoarsely. "I'm going to sleep. If you're planning to stay up and talk to Solara, please be quiet when you come in again."
Jaqen reached out and she felt his fingertips brush lightly against her shoulder before falling back to his side. "Of course." He moved so that she could see him and gave a shallow bow from the waist. "A man hopes you sleep well."
She nodded absently and waited until he was gone before sinking down onto the edge of her bed and stifling a sob with the back of her hand. No matter what she was doing, following her destiny or no, Vilkas was still dead, and it was revenge that she sought. Revenge against all of those who had wronged her.
Gendry Waters, Tywin Lannister, the Hound, the Silver Hand, the entire fucking Empire. And then she heard the voice of the man at the inn. "I hear Stormcloak is looking for recruits. Don't know if there's any young lads here that hate the Legion enough to die in an attempt to destroy it though. Now all anyone wants is an end to the bloody war."
I hate it enough, she mused quietly. Enough to die and join Vilkas in Hircine's hunting grounds. The thought was as troubling as it was true and its presence kept her awake long after she had extinguished her candle and settled beneath her woolen blankets.
Arya was still awake when Jaqen returned to their chambers, as silently as she had requested, and her inner turmoil regarding what she was considering doing caused her to think more rashly than usual, though the thoughts that came to mind were ones she didn't truly mind entertaining. She waited until the room was completely silent before rolling out of her bed and padding softly to the other side. Hesitating for only a moment as she stared down at Jaqen's sleeping form, she pushed aside her nervousness and slid into his bed beside him.
For a moment, he remained still beside her, so she scooted against the warmth of his bare side and trailed her fingers lightly along his thigh, her heartbeat quickening as she felt the evidence of his growing arousal. Before her hand could find its target, Jaqen's fingers found her wrist, cold as ice against her flushed skin.
"A girl does not know what she is doing," he whispered, his voice low and rough with unconcealed desire.
It took a moment for her to regain her bearings and reply. "When I first arrived, and we began my training, out by the Sea of Ghosts...you said something to me, but when I looked at you, they weren't your eyes looking back at me."
Jaqen nodded slowly. "A man remembers this."
"I've seen what you can do, and..." Arya hesitated and looked down at the portion of his lithe frame that remained uncovered by the blankets. It pained her to ask what was on her mind, but hurt even more to think about spending another night alone. "Could you...be...him? Just for a night?"
Jaqen turned to face her and brushed a tangle out of her short brown hair with his fingers. "A girl misunderstands. A man cannot change who he is, only how other people perceive him." When Arya nodded and tucked her face against his shoulder, he sighed. "If I were to do as a girl asks, she would see Vilkas above her, but it would be Jaqen H'ghar inside of her. That would not be fair to either of us."
Though his answer was what she had expected, it still hurt to hear and she looked back at him with tear-filled eyes. All she wanted was one last night with Vilkas, so she could finally tell him that she loved him. Perhaps that would be enough to change her mind about what she was considering. Surely it wasn't too much to ask.
Jaqen was silent and still for a moment before moving his legs to straddle her hips and resting his forearms on either side of her shoulders, the tips of his hair brushing lightly against her cheeks. "A girl knows not what she asks," he murmured. "It is not Jaqen H'ghar that she seeks."
As much as it scared her, Arya wasn't so sure that what he said was true. Not trusting herself to go through with what she had requested, she stayed quiet and closed her eyes as Jaqen's cool hands kneaded gentle circles into her hips.
His hands roamed from her waist to her breasts, to the tips of her ears and Arya let her head fall back as his hot breath caressed the skin of her exposed neck. Her legs spread instinctively to welcome his touch, but his fingers remained above her hips, his lips always inches above her skin. "Please..." she whimpered, arching her back so her bare skin met his. Not unresponsive to her plea, his mouth moved to hover above hers and her eyelids fluttered apart to meet the ice blue eyes that gazed down at her as she breathed his name against another man's lips. "Vilkas...please..."
The second she said it, his warmth left her and Arya felt her stomach twist with an overwhelming sense of guilt. A tense silence filled the space between them and after several minutes, it was Jaqen's sigh that pierced the stillness of the room.
"A girl may stay here tonight. A man knows how she feels alone in her bed."
In her shame and embarrassment, she stayed silent. Nothing was spoken, no words said. But as the night wore on, the silence slowly faded, its heavy presence lifted by the steady breathing of one held deeply by a sweet, dreamless sleep.