Chapter 2

Well, there has been some slight interest in this so I will publish the current chapters. I wrote this one while I was suffering from a lack of time and writer's block. Had to do a lot of cleanup of spelling, grammar and structure as it was mostly written on my phone.

Last Time:

Those endless days would stay with Arya forever as the most peaceful and memorable of her existence.

Tamo was an undemanding lover, content to let Arya set the pace.

Then it ended.

Tamo had asked if Arya wanted to walk along the misty shore of the river.

Arya was about to reply when a figure materialised in front of her. Before she could respond she was surrounded by darkness.

oOoOo

When she could see again it was a view of featureless grey nothingness…in every direction as far as she could see.

She had tried walking. Picking a random direction and setting off. No matter the amount of time she seemed to go nowhere so she stopped. Then there was a figure suddenly standing before her. Hooded, with its face hidden in shadow. Arya's hand felt for the non-existent Needle's hilt as the figure seemed to study her. Silent but, she realised not threatening in any way almost indifferent.

"You did well."

Arya froze at the inhuman voice of the motionless figure.

"Who are you?" demanded Arya.

The voice replied, it was cold and emotionless but strangely soothing, "I wear many faces child…just as you did in my service."

Arya felt her mouth hang open in shock, "…"

The figure reached up and lowered its hood exposing a corpse-pale face with pale blue eyes and short blonde hair. "You, my child, were my servant in life. Is it such a surprise that you would come to my realm in death?"

"So she wasn't lying, I'm dead," Arya whispered to herself. "Should I be worried that I don't feel anything?"

"What should you feel? Fear, relief….completion?" replied the Many-Faced God as his features shifted to a young woman. "You served and you did as was ordained. You ended the threat posed by the Night King. You helped save the world."

Arya felt a moment of pride, "My family?"

"Their story continued," replied the Many-Faced God as it shifted its body once more. This time it was a waifish girl-child.

Arya frowned, "What happened…after?"

The Many-Faced God frowned, "The wars continued."

"Who won," asked Arya.

The Many-Faced God's eyes met hers and then it gestured with its hands.

And Arya saw…she saw it all.

The wars to come… Daenerys Targaryen is pushed too far by sorrow and anger.

Jon was forced to kill the women he loved.

The Three-Eyed Raven…manipulating Bran at the behest of the Children of the forest.

Bran the Broken…King of Ashes and unwitting, unknowing instrument of retribution. His rule saw the Kingdoms of men weakened as he followed his visions of a better future. Seeing only what he was shown.

Jon…dead before his thirtieth year, a wildling arrow in his eye.

Queen Sansa…assassinated by the hired knives of a political enemy. The North weakened and lost cohesion as its leaders fought for the right to rule. Gathering to destroy each other.

War…battle after battle…death and destruction marked the phoenix-like rise of the Children of the Forest.

The Night King had failed in his purpose, the dead made good arrow fodder but poor tools. The Children had learned and soon the Wildlings fell under their sway. The children replenished their dwindling numbers as the First Men came under their sway. New Green Men were created, and they were living beings and the weapons of the next war.

Less than two hundred years later men were gone from Westeros and the green horde was building a great fleet."

Arya screamed as visions of human children being sacrificed to the Children of the Forest bombarded her. The price they demanded as Gods…

"Stop…" screamed Arya and the sights, smells, and sounds vanished, returning to grey nothingness.

"Why show me that…why?" Arya demanded angrily as tears welled up in her eyes.

"It can be stopped…their victory is not yet complete. What is not yet written can be changed."

Arya paused, taking in her God's words. "I can stop it?"

The Many-Faced God slowly nodded as it took the form of an eleven-year-old Arya Stark. "You can, but not as Arya Stark. You would serve as my blade …can you make that sacrifice?"

"What would happen to me…to Arya, she won't have my skills, will she?"

"She will live, and her path will unfold with her choices. Perhaps it can be altered. The choice will be hers."

Arya considered the offer, surprised that she was not raving like a madwoman, "And I can save them?"

The Many-Faced God, still as Child-Arya, shrugged. "I will turn back the clock and blank your pages, Arya Stark. No, I name you wrong. You will be Darkheart, my favoured servant. Any face you desire is yours just as it is mine."

Arya…Darkheart…bowed her head, "I will do it, but how?"

"I will send you back."

Arya nodded and then remembered, "Where I was before you came for me. There was a woman. My lover, Tamo did you bring here her too?"

"No," mused the Many-Faced God. "I sensed nothing else in the between. It took a great deal of power to find you. It is a very dangerous and confusing place populated by spirits. Once you are on your journey, I will seek her out. It is a dangerous pace for a spirit to linger."

Arya was about to speak again when she felt a great painful jolt as if her body were on fire. Opening her mouth to scream as everything stopped.

oOoOo

Temple of the Moonsingers, Braavos 296 AC

"Well, this is an unexpected pleasure, young lady. I feared that you would never wake," said a kindly voice, speaking in High Valyrian with a strong Braavosi accent.

Arya opened her eyes and found herself looking up at an elderly face, laced with wrinkles and yet bright-eyed. "W-where am I?"

The woman laughed, reminding Arya of Old Nan in one of her humorous moods. "You are on Braavos, in the temple of the Moonsingers."

"Who…how…" Arya trailed off, unsure how to ask what she wanted.

The woman laughed, seemingly genuinely amused. "I am High Priestess Solayria. As to how you arrived. Well, that has my sisters and I puzzled…Never have we seen such a…unique event. That one of the God-Touched should appear, out of thin air in our temple. I am blessed to have seen it."

Arya frowned as she sent a silent curse to the Many-Faced God, "Out of thin air?" She tried to sound confused but the expression on the High Priestesses face told her that her ruse may not have worked.

"Yes," replied Solayria with a raised eyebrow. "In the middle of our evening prayers."

Arya paused, unsure what to say.

The High Priestess sighed, "I suspect that I probably don't want to know the details. The blessed lady does not judge but I cannot help but wonder at your appearance. The Many-Faced God seldom chooses women as his servants and has, rarely chosen a woman as one of his God touched."

"You seem familiar with the house of Black and Whites servants?"

"You seem surprised, how strange," her gaze was curious and sharp before she sighed and sat back. "Our brethren helped found Braavos…We were here when the slaves of Old Valyria first sought shelter here. It should not surprise you that I know somewhat of the House." She smiled wryly, "Why else give you my true name?"

Arya acknowledged the point with a nod, "Then I thank you, for your care." She would have to give a name…she couldn't use Arya. "This servant of the Many-Faced God is named Cat."

She received a tired nod as the High Priestess stood, "Then Cat, I will leave you to your rest. I assume that you need it before you leave…I will leave suitable clothes for you. You shouldn't leave here unconcealed. Wearing your current…face. Your people have never been popular here."

Then Arya was alone. After a few minutes, she stood and walked over to where a bronze ewer and bowl sat on a small vanity that had a small mirror. Despite what the Many-Faced God had told her, she half-expected to see Arya Stark.

Instead, it was a pale face with silver hair and amethyst-coloured eyes.

"What the…" Arya cursed as she took in the very Valyrian-looking young woman in the mirror. "You bastard, very fucking funny." Who knew that the Many-Faced God had a sense of humour? She would have to wait until dark to venture out unless she wanted to change faces here. While the old priestess seemed unconcerned, it would not do to have a mob chasing her.

Laying back on the comfortable bed, she closed her eyes and began thinking through her options and planning out her steps. As she drifted off her last thoughts were of her amber-eyed lover.

oOoOo

She must have slept, for a reasonable time because she awoke to a darkened room and a different, far younger priestess holding a small lantern.

"You are awake, yes?"

"I am," replied Arya.

"I am Etainia, and I have brought you food, please eat and then I shall return and take you to the High Lady," the priestess laid a covered plate on the table. "I have also brought you some clean clothes, here on the dresser."

Arya thanked her and she quickly disappeared out the door.

The plates turned out to be a selection of dried fruit, spicy smoked sausage and hard white cheese. Even as she considered it, she realised she was, indeed, hungry. It was rather good, and she ate the lot, not willing to pass on the chance of a good meal. Then she studied the clothes.

Braavosi men's clothes, water dancer's clothes. Colourful pants and a silk shirt with a leather vest. There were fresh underclothes, and the calf-high boots were soft and fitted well. There was also a grey hooded wooden cloak, so she donned it as well. Then padded, almost silently out into the corridor. She had only taken a few steps before spotting the young Priestess from earlier who sat demurely on a hard-wooden bench seat.

"If you would follow me," she said as she stood and led Arya down the corridor that travelled deeper into the temple complex. After a few minutes, Arya found herself in an office that was as large as her father's solar in Winterfell.

"Thank you Etainia, that will be all."

The junior Priestess turned and left, closing the door behind her.

The High Priestess waved Arya toward a seat and waited until she was seated. "Well, it seems that despite the temple being closed to outsiders, the House of Black and White has noted your arrival."

Arya froze, unsure what this might mean. "Oh?"

The humourless smile on the face of the old woman did nothing to reassure her. "Yes, indeed. One of their…representatives left some gifts for you and a message."

She gestured to a large cloth bundle on the floor and then handed Arya a sealed leather pouch.

Arya frowned and then broke the wax seal, looking inside. There were two sheets of parchment and a very familiar iron coin. She was somewhat surprised that her hand was not shaking as she removed the parchment.

The first was a draft from the iron bank, for a thousand Braavosi gold pieces. It was a considerable sum and would be a huge help. The last was an unsigned letter, with no signature and was addressed to Darkheart.

The letter, written in High Valyrian, was short and to the point. The Many-Faced God has visited his faithful in their dreams and commanded their assistance in getting her to Westeros or wherever she might wish to go. Thus, she would leave on the evening tide, aboard a Braavosi fruit trader headed for Kings Landing.

'They want me gone; I wonder why?' Arya mused. Still, it suited her purposes. She had already trained in the House of Black and White and had no desire to once again do so.

"It appears that my travel plans have been made, I leave on the evening tide," Arya said aloud. "I had best be getting on. I thank you for your assistance High Priestess Solayria."

Arya was escorted back to her room and once alone, investigated the bundle. The cloak was wrapped around a sheathed sword and dagger and a set of spare clothes. Leather vest, cloth pants and a wool shirt with a bit of expensive silk ribbon threaded around the collar. Some spare silk underclothes, a weapon harness and pair of soft slippers. Satisfied she turned her attention to the dagger and then her new sword.

The dagger was well balanced, sharp with no ornamentation. Useful, well-made, and non-descript. Placing it aside she picked up the sword. She couldn't hide the small gasp that escaped her as she slid the slim sword from its sheath to expose the distinctive rippled pattern of Valyrian steel. The blade was similar but much longer than needle and had a slight, blue tinge.

'Why send me a Valyrian steel sword?" Arya asked herself. Not that she would return the blade…given the rarity, reforging an existing blade into a more modern Braavosi sword would not have been cheap.

When Cat left the temple, she was dressed as a typical Bravo with a dagger and a water dancer's sword on her hip. She had once again debated changing her face but, for now, she wore the face she had woken with. Despite her annoyance with his choice, he may have had a reason for choosing it.

oOoOo

The docks had not changed.

They were busy, even at this time of night. Which worked in Cat's favour as she made her way to the ship, she had been told would carry her as a passenger.

The Lucky Maiden looked in good repair to her eyes. The crew looked to be experienced as they efficiently loaded crates of oranges and lemons into the hold. She managed to get the attention of one of the crew. He pointed her to an older man talking to someone out of her line of sight. She hurried over, wanting to get things settled so that she could get safely below deck.

"…of course, you are always welcome old friend. Despite the ill grace of the new Sealord, you have many friends."

"You have my gratitude, travel is always more welcome with friends," said a familiar voice as the figure turned to face her.

Cat froze, shocked. Standing in front of her, very much alive was Syrio Forel.

Syrio raised an eyebrow at the silent, open-mouthed figure before him.

"You must be my other passenger, Valar Morghulis. I am Tyro Valerius," the Captain very clearly introduced himself by his full name. Which had Syrio studying Arya more closely.

"Valar Dohaeris," Cat replied, the phrase spilling from her lips reflexively.

Syrio continued to study her, "And I am..."

"Syrio Forel, The best first sword in a generation," finished Cat. "It is an honour to meet you, Swordmaster." She bowed deeply to her master from another life.

Syrio bowed his head in acknowledgment, "My thanks…girl, do you have a name?"

Cat smiled wryly, no doubt the Captain and Syrio had her pegged as a faceless man, "I am Cat, it is truly a pleasure to meet you formally, First Sword Syrio Forel. A name I will not forget. And I thank you, Captain Tyro Valerius, for taking me on as a passenger."

Both men relaxed somewhat. By acknowledging their names, she was telling them that they were not her target.

"You wear a fine blade young Cat; may I see it?" Syrio asked politely.

Arya unbuckled her sword belt and passed the sword, still in its sheath, to him. The Braavosi swordmaster raised an eyebrow in pleased surprise. Looking at Cat for permission, which she gave with a nod, Syrio drew the blade and the two men stared at the distinctive Valyrian steel.

"A fine blade for a young bravo. Can you use it?" Syrio asked as he slid it back into its scabbard and handed the blade back to Cat.

"I have trained with a water dancer, but I know there is much still to learn," Cat smiled modestly.

"True words girl, perhaps we should find the time to spar on our voyage," suggested Syrio.

Cat smiled as she offered Syrio a polite nod, "It would be a pleasure."

oOoOo

Cat's cabin was clean and comfortable, if small. It would certainly do for this trip. Despite the relatively early hour she hung her blades on a hook on the hull and pulled off her boots and leather vest before laying down on the small cot, with its rag-stuffed mattress.

She must have slept because she was woken by a light tapping on the door.

"A moment," called out Cat as she made sure she was presentable. When she pulled the hatch open, a young girl of perhaps eight was standing with a wooden bucket and a cloth.

"Some warmed water, milady," explained the girl with a shy smile.

"Thank you. Just put it on the chest. I'm sorry, I don't know your name," prompted Cat.

"Beth, I'm the Captain's niece…he's my uncle," explained Beth nervously as she stared.

"Well thank you, Beth, and it's Cat, I'm no lady."

The warmed water was fresh, with a few drops of…maybe lavender oil. Regardless, it was welcome, and Cat washed up quickly before getting dressed and heading aft toward the galley. First food and then she would see about finding somewhere on deck to practice with her new sword.

After she had eaten, one of the crew directed her to a section of the deck where the heavy wooden hatch that allowed cargo to be loaded was located. It was free space, in so much as anywhere on a working ship could be called 'free' and large enough to practice. Few a few moments she simply stood, getting used to the ship's movements. She had not spent time perfecting fighting on a ship. This was an opportunity to work on that gap. Drawing her blade, she assumed the basic water dancing stance and moved through a few basic movements. Thrust, advance, parry, riposte…the Valyrian steel blade was remarkably well balanced. More confident of the adjustments needed for the ship's movement, she began moving faster. She caught glimpses of crewmen watching her as they went about their duties but ignored them as she continued.

After going twice through the training routine, she had developed as Arya Stark she looked up to see Syrio leaning against the railing, watching.

"First Sword," offered Cat as a polite greeting.

Syrio smiled wryly, "A girl is courteous, but I am no longer First Sword."

Cat smiled, "I think you will always be the First Sword, yes?"

Syrio nodded as if accepting a touch in a spar. "Perhaps…you move well girl. Your teacher did well by you. Would you care to cross blades with me?"

Now it was Cat's turn to smile as she nodded, "He was a good teacher and a brave man who gave his life so that I might live."

Syrio inclined his head, before straightening with his own sword in hand. "As a teacher should. Although, I admit seeing a Bravo with Valyrian blood in her veins is most intriguing. There are few of Valyrian stock seen in Braavos…less with the Targaryen exiles gone from the city." With those words he struck, blade whistling as it reached out for Cat.

Cat flowed away from the attack and countered with a lightning-fast thrust that Syrio turned away skilfully as Cat laughed. "We are not related."

Syrio looked pleased with Cat's display of skill. "Yes, you move well, Girl."

Cat grinned as her sword cut through the air, "Ready to show these dock rats some real swordplay?"

oOoOo