The thought of returning to the House of Black and White felt like a double-edged sword to Arya, stirring up a mix of emotions within her. On one hand, it granted her the freedom to take lives without fearing the wrath of the Faceless Men or anyone seeking to harm her loved ones through them. Yet, the prospect of going back didn't sit well with her.
Arya considered the potential outcomes and prepared for the grim possibility of surviving the impending long night, though she knew her odds were slim. She understood the importance of appearing unchanged, ready to slip back into the role of No One if necessary, even if it meant donning Arya Stark's face as easily as she once wore Littlefinger's.
For now, Arya would have to cast aside her concerns. She would have plenty of time to worry about her doomed fate as she sailed to the Vale. Right now, she had more pressing worries.
Arya considered her next moves, the task of eliminating Littlefinger and the reasons behind his demise. There were still objectives she needed to accomplish while inhabiting his persona. Arya wanted to ensure The Vale's allegiance to the North under Jon's leadership was paramount, which required a journey to the Vale. Once completed, Littlefinger's timely demise would follow his proposal to Lysa. However, before executing this plan, Arya needed Tyrion to be convicted of Joffrey's murder and sent to the Wall. Yet, there remained the thorny issue of the Tyrells.
Arya harboured intentions of thwarting the marriage between Tommen and Margaery, turning the Tyrells against the Lannisters. The only viable strategy was to implicate Olenna and Littlefinger in Joffrey's assassination. With Margaery's power reliant on the Queen of Thorns, this plan held significant promise. But Arya knew she couldn't navigate this intricate web alone; she needed help from Varys.
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Arya navigated the maze of tunnels until she reached the passage leading to Varys' quarters. She had ventured here once before, first with Jack and then alone, ensuring she had the location fixed in her mind. Although this would be the first time she had stepped into his solar.
Varys' chamber was modest, but its hidden door made it invaluable. It provided access to the central arteries of the Red Keep and offered discreet exits to the streets of King's Landing—ideal for secret meetings with his network of informants, his "little birds."
Accompanied by Jack, Arya sought to gather enough material to mimic Varys' distinctive script. She cared little for the contents of the missives; Varys was far too cunning to leave behind any damning evidence. All Arya desired were his words.
With a faint groan, Arya nudged the door open, allowing Jack to slip into the solar while she lingered in the shadows of the passageway. If anyone were to intrude, they'd think nothing of a cat skulking about. Cats were a common sight in the Red Keep, often seen in pursuit of rats or mice—though, in Arya's estimation, they pursued the wrong type of rats.
The plan seemed straightforward: Jack would scour the room for letters, and once located, Arya would swoop in to retrieve them. What could go wrong? As it turned out, quite a few things.
To Arya's dismay, Varys hadn't left his correspondence lying about in plain sight for a feline to find. The overwhelming scent posed an additional challenge. Despite Varys' prolonged absence, the lingering aroma of Essosi perfume, permeated the air, causing Jack to cough. While the scent didn't trouble Arya, it affected Jack, hinting at some deterrent within its cloying notes.
Arya relied on Jack's keen senses to navigate Varys' chambers with no need for a torch. It was common knowledge that the eunuch was absent from King's Landing. If a guard spotted light emanating from his window, it would raise suspicions.
As Jack moved through the room, a sickening feeling washed over Jack and Arya. How had Varys' perfume persisted for so long? Was it masking another scent harmful to cats? Arya knew she had to evacuate Jack. Turning him toward the door, she noticed his unsteady gait, hardly able to stand. Concerned, Arya reached out to support him, fearing he wouldn't make it to the hidden exit.
With a gentle touch, Arya released Jack and hurried to his side. She scooped him up, cradling the black and white cat in her arms, her heart pounding with worry. In many ways, she had grown fond of the cat. Though not Nymeria, Jack held a special place in her heart, and she was determined to keep him safe.
"Stay with me, Jack," Arya murmured, her voice laced with urgency as she stroked his fur, unsure of what else to do.
At first, Jack's breaths came shallow, but to Arya's relief, they steadied. Whatever noxious scent lingered in that room had taken its toll on Jack. Arya couldn't fathom why the odour persisted, speculating that Varys' "little birds" might have replenished it. The thought infuriated her. Why would Varys subject even a harmless creature like Jack to such risks? It was maddening.
"Stay put," Arya instructed Jack, though she knew he couldn't understand her in the way a person would. Still, his gaze held a questioning edge, as if he comprehended her words. He wasn't going anywhere, soon, Arya suspected she might have to carry him back. But she didn't mind; her priority was ensuring his well-being before she left him alone.
The marble flooring inside Varys' solar served a practical purpose—it provided a stable surface for Arya to rest the torch without risking setting the tower ablaze as she scoured the room. The lattice shutters remained closed, allowing only a modest amount of light to filter in. Arya knew she had only a brief window to search before drawing attention.
With her entry into the room, Arya detected the distinct aroma of citronella—a potent scent effective against rodents and spiders and could kill cats. It was no wonder Jack had felt ill. A faint hint of lavender suggested an additional measure against moths. Whatever schemes the master of whisperers was involved in, he was meticulous in ensuring his workspace remained free of pests.
Despite the dim illumination, Arya began her search, focusing on the drawers of Varys' desk. The lock was secure, but Arya was well-prepared. Over the years, she had amassed an assortment of iron and steel tools for lock-picking, kept neat and well-organised on an iron keyring for easy access. Aside from her blades, these tools were among her most prized possessions, reflecting her aptitude for clandestine activities. Arya often wondered if she had missed her calling as a spymaster or a thief.
At first glance, the first two drawers yielded nothing of interest, but Arya noted a discrepancy—the second drawer appeared shallower on the inside than it did from the exterior, showing a potential false bottom. She pressed at the corners, attempting to lift it, but her efforts proved fruitless.
Arya ran her fingers along the surface of the wood, searching for any signs of wear or hidden mechanisms, but found nothing. Frustrated, she lowered herself to the floor, where her keen eyes caught sight of something resembling a button. Without hesitation, Arya pressed it, rewarded with a satisfying click as the false bottom released. Standing back up, she lifted it to reveal a cache of scrolls. Ignoring their contents, Arya shoved them into her small sack.
Just as she finished, distant voices and the clatter of armour reached her ears. "Fuck!" Arya cursed under her breath, quickly shoving the drawer closed. She scrambled to retrieve the torch and shut the hidden door before the voices halted outside Varys' solar. Pressing her ear to the door, Arya prayed that whoever stood on the other side remained unaware of the hidden passage.
With a click, the lock disengaged, and the voices entered the room. Arya considered staying to eavesdrop, but when she recognised Tywin Lannister's voice, she knew she had to flee.
"There's no one here..." Lord Tywin's voice echoed as Arya darted down the passage, scooping up the recovering Jack as she ran.
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Since arriving in Kings Landing, Arya had grown weary of the Sept of Baelor. She couldn't help but entertain Cersei's notion of blowing it up, though not with everyone inside—except perhaps the Faith Militant, who could meet their gods for all she cared.
Yet there she sat again, enduring yet another ceremony in the sickly, sweet-smelling place. This time, it was King Tommen's coronation. If not for her obligation to remain for Tyrion's trial, Arya would have departed King's Landing long ago. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the High Septon droned on.
"Do you solemnly vow and swear to govern the people of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and its associated dominions according to the decrees of the Great Councils and the customary laws of the realm?" the High Septon intoned.
"I do," Tommen replied dutifully.
"Will you, to the best of your ability, ensure that law and justice tempered with mercy are upheld in all your judgments?" the High Septon continued.
"I will," Tommen affirmed.
"Will you exert every effort to uphold the laws of the gods, the true profession of the Faith of the Seven, and the religious principles established by the realm's laws?"
"I will," Tommen reiterated.
"Repeat after me: I promise to safeguard the rights and privileges of the Faith of the Seven, the septons and septas of this realm, as well as the sanctity of the holy septs entrusted to their care, according to the laws that currently exist or may come to be," the High Septon instructed.
"I promise to safeguard the rights and privileges of the Faith of the Seven, the septons and septas of this realm, as well as the sanctity of the holy septs entrusted to their care, according to the laws that currently exist or may come to be," Tommen echoed, as the High Septon anointed him with oil.
After anointing Tommen, the High Septon washed his hands, and a page presented a red cushion bearing Tommen's new crown. Grasping the crown, the High Septon lifted it above Tommen's head.
"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times. May the Smith grant him strength that he might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead," the High Septon droned on.
"In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Long may he reign!" declared the High Septon, placing the crown upon Tommen's head.
"Long may he reign!" echoed the crowd in unison, their voices swelling in fervent acclaim. Tommen, now adorned with a crown of gold, bowed before his subjects, a smile gracing his lips.
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The celebration moved to the Red Keep, where a procession of nobles and dignitaries approached to offer their respects to the new King. At the far end of the throne room, Tommen sat upon the Iron Throne, flanked by the formidable presence of Tywin Lannister and surrounded by the Kingsguard.
Arya waited in line to bow and pay homage to the new King. When her turn arrived, she gazed up at the young ruler, struck by the expression of fear on his face. Tommen seemed too tender in years for the weight of his newfound authority. That was when Arya resolved to ensure the safety of both Tommen and Myrcella, regardless of the fate that befell the rest of the Lannisters. They were innocents caught up in a war of schemers.
Bowing on bended knee, Arya pledged her unwavering service to King Tommen and House Baratheon for the rest of Littlefinger's life—a commitment rendered moot by his demise. Now, her priority was to thwart the impending marriage between Tommen and Margaery Tyrell.
As Arya rose and allowed the person behind her to pay their respects, she scanned the room for the telltale visage of Margaery Tyrell. After a few moments, she spotted the former queen perched in the gallery, exchanging flirtatious glances with Tommen. Arya knew she needed to act with haste.
Arya apologised, explaining to anyone who would listen that she needed to depart to attend to preparations for Tyrion's trial. With that, she exited the throne room and ventured into the gardens, finding her way to a hidden door beneath the Red Keep, where the colossal dragon heads were stored.
Inside the skull of Balerion the Black Dread, Jack awaited her. As Arya climbed inside, she couldn't help but marvel at the immense size of the dragon. There, sitting in his mouth, she realised how small Drogon was and he seemed enormous. Balerion must have been terrifying.
To ensure she remained undetected, Arya changed faces and attire. Earlier that morning, she had stashed a small sack within the skull, containing a forged letter in Varys' handwriting, a spare face, and a change of clothes. Now disguised as the little boy to whom she had gifted the Faceless Men's coin, she prepared herself. Ensuring she was concealed within the shadows, Arya slipped into the mind of Jack.
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Jack ascended from the cellar, passing through the locked iron gates and ascending the steps until he emerged in the throne room, positioned behind the Iron Throne. Staying close to the walls, he navigated his way up to the gallery where Margaery stood, clad in a sombre black mourning gown. Despite her poised and graceful demeanour, her exchange of glances with Tommen made Arya's stomach churn.
Even amidst the throng of guests in the gallery, Arya could discern the sound of approaching footsteps. Concealed in the shadows, she observed Cersei approach Margaery, the crowd parting in deference to her presence.
"Your Grace," murmured the courtiers as Cersei passed.
"Your Grace," Margaery acknowledged with a respectful nod.
Cersei's gaze shifted from Margaery to Tommen, who was greeting his subjects. "There he is," she remarked, her voice betraying a blend of pride and sorrow.
"Long may he reign," responded Margaery, her tone respectful yet guarded. "He sits the throne like he was born to it."
Cersei's expression remained unreadable. "Yes. But he wasn't, was he?"
"No, he wasn't," Margaery conceded, a shadow of sorrow flickering in her eyes.
"Do you still mourn for Joffrey?" Cersei inquired.
"He was my husband. My king," Margaery replied, her voice tinged with melancholy.
"He would have been your nightmare," Cersei asserted, her tone firm yet sympathetic.
"Your Grace, I feel—" Margaery began, but Cersei cut her off.
"You knew what he was. I did, too. You never love anything in the world the way you love your first child. Doesn't matter what they do. And what he did, shocked me. Do you think I'm easily shocked?" Cersei confessed, surprising Arya.
"No," Margaery admitted.
"The things he did shocked me," Cersei continued, her gaze now fixed on Tommen. "He's only a boy. A good boy. A decent boy. He always has been. Who was the last decent king, I wonder? He could be the first man to sit on that throne in fifty years and truly deserve it."
"It would be some consolation, wouldn't it? For all the horror that put him there," Margaery offered, impressing Arya with her attempt to kiss Cersei's arse.
"He will need help... if he's going to rule well," Cersei remarked, her gaze lingering on Tommen.
"He has you," Margaery offered.
"A mother is not enough," Cersei countered, her eyes probing Margaery's face for comprehension. "You're still interested in being queen, I take it?"
"Oh. After all that's happened... It sounds absurd, I know, but I am... I haven't even given any thought to it, what comes next. It would be a great honour, of course. But I will have to speak to my father about it," Margaery said. Arya felt a wave of exasperation; unable to roll her eyes, she wished she could conjure up a fur ball to end this tiresome conversation.
"Yes, speak to your father. I'll speak to mine," Cersei nodded.
"We may be faced with an alarming number of weddings soon," remarked Margaery, a hint of amusement colouring her words. "I won't even know what to call you. Sister? Or Mother?" she mused, her eyes twinkling mischievously. However, when Arya noticed the glare Cersei directed at her future good-daughter, she knew that was when the seeds of the destruction of House Tyrell were sown.
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Before leaving the Red Keep, Arya had one final task to complete. She retreated into her own body, leaving Jack to his own devices, confident he would find her later. Disguised as the little boy, Arya carried a sack containing Littlefinger's face, attire and a letter. Escaping through the same door she had entered, she made her way to the gardens.
Her time with the House of Black and White had honed her ability to blend into the shadows, a skill she excelled at. She used her stealth to navigate through the gardens, eventually reaching the wall overlooking Blackwater Bay.
A short distance away stood the White Tower, home to the Kingsguard. Knowing the occupants would be absent, having just seen them all in the throne room, Arya picked the lock and slipped inside.
Racing up the winding staircase, she reached the top floor and slid the letter under the door of the Lord Commander's quarters. With her task complete, she hurried back down and secured the door behind her. Outside, Jack waited, ready to accompany her on the journey back to the brothel.