Sometimes in the lateness of the nights since his return, Arya had been scared by Jon's descriptions of the Great Other as R'hllor's opposite. As a being of ice and cold and darkness. She thought that meant perhaps it was a source of evil and that it meant she was going to be evil.
Jon had always reassured her that it only meant the shadows and the cold answered her call the way the fire and the light answered his. That for all the power he wielded, he would only be evil if he turned around and used these powers to commit acts of evil. If he chose to light men on fire simply because he could, if he used the power of his light to create illusions that caused people harm. He told her time and again the same was true of her.
But now Arya couldn't be sure.
The day it all began to unravel had started like any other: awakening in her bedchamber and briefly flaring magic to her eyes to practice seeing as no one else could where everyone was.
She saw father's men scattered but oddly none of them participating in the Ripdyne as they had been. This lack of practice had been happening ever since Jon had left the Tower of the Hand to reside in the Dragon Pits like some outcast.
It made Arya feel as though they were either preparing for something or deliberately trying to erase the memory of Jon's presence in the day-to-day proceedings of her father's men. Neither was particularly happy for her to contemplate.
She'd been in one of the solars with Sansa attending Septa Mordane at the Septa's insistence when a great hue and cry came from the courtyard. She and Sansa had both rushed toward the window with the Septa entreating them to return to their sewing. Arya could clearly see a lot of men in the king's livery carrying something at a hurried but careful pace into the red keep, father's men gathering close to where the courtyard entered the area that belonged to the tower of the hand.
"Girls! Return to your sewing at once!" The septa had ordered.
Sansa returned dutifully, Arya only doing the same reluctantly because she remembered the promise the Septa had extracted that she would behave when she attended the lessons in exchange for allowing her to be taught more by Maester Luwin and now Jon when they came to the capital.
She knew if she disobeyed now, the Septa would use it as an excuse to bring her lessons with Jon to an end and she didn't want to be banned from learning to fight and how to control the magic within her.
Father came home only very late in the day, telling her with a grave countenance that the king had been injured while on a hunt and that they needed to start packing. That they needed to be ready to leave immediately. She and Sansa had both protested, Sansa asking why they wouldn't be welcome with her being engaged to Prince Joffrey while Arya herself had loudly protested that they shouldn't leave Jon behind.
Father hadn't discussed it with them any further, saying only that they needed to get to sleep and be ready to leave upon the morrow. Her sister was visibly troubled but went to bed like a good proper lady. Arya left for her room and paced it for she didn't know how long, practicing her forms until she was sweating and her thoughts had slowed to a sluggish crawl from circulating her magic to keep her going for longer than she otherwise could've. Forgoing a call for a servant to bathe, she simply changed into her sleep shrift and climbed into the bed, falling asleep the moment her head touched the goose down filled pillow.
At daybreak, she awoke to a hand over her mouth. As one of her hands instinctively lashed out at the offending arm, a hushed voice made itself heard.
"You must be quiet little sister." It said.
Instinctively trusting him, Arya aborted the beginning of the strike at Jon's arm and nodded. His hand quickly withdrew from her mouth.
"I need you to follow me into the city Arya." He said quietly, the sun barely peeking over the walls of the Red Keep as it started to rise.
He moved closer to the door, apparently checking to see if anyone would find him here. She quickly changed into her dirty leather and linen clothes from yesterday, wanting to know what was happening.
"What's going on, what's happening?" She asked as she laced on the riding boots she'd never gotten the chance to use on a horse's back.
"Lord Stark has committed a grave error and I need to make sure you'll be safe." He said in a still whispering voice, checking the corridor again, this time with an accompanying flare of magic. Arya recognized the feeling from having been around him whenever he used it ever since his return from across the Narrow Sea, growing more concerned as she wondered why Jon was so afraid of anyone discovering he was with her or that he was back in the Tower of the Hand.
"What about father and Sansa?" She asked, catching the cloak Jon threw to her even as she came closer to him on instinct.
He leaned down so their identical grey eyes met.
"Father and Sansa have their own plans in place. And I know what I can do to help them. But that all depends on making sure you're safe little sister." He told her, briefly enveloping her in a hug before leading her out toward the corridor, their footsteps almost non-existent from the near daily practice they'd had together.
Arya's heart pumped as they moved, her mind racing even as they slipped past Father's household guard and made their way into King's Landing proper before they came upon a manse with Baratheon banners on it.
This only confused the youngest Stark girl more. Why were they at a manse that belonged to the King's family? Why couldn't she and Jon have simply stayed at the Tower of the Hand with father? What was happening that was so urgent that he'd needed to spirit her out like this?
"Stay in this place. Do not come out for the next three days until I or someone you know comes for you. If someone doesn't come in three days, find a way back North to Robb and the Starks." He instructed.
"But Jon-!" She started.
He turned and knelt before her again, his intense gaze impressing upon her the severity of his request.
"I know it's a hard thing to ask little sister." He told her.
"I know it's one of the hardest things I can ask you to do. But I need you to trust me the way you've trusted me with your magic. Do you understand?" He asked, eyes pleading with her for acceptance.
Though it tasted sour in her mouth, she mutely nodded in assent. Jon kissed her forehead gently in farewell before he made his way out the door.
Arya padded her way up to the second floor, finding a bedroom with a hewn wooden walking stick in it nearby the window. She chanced a brief glance out the window to see Jon making his way hurriedly into King's Landing.
Day turned to night as she practiced her fighting technique, pouring every bit of her helpless rage and stomach knotting uncertainty into her strikes and movements. There came a time during the day when it sounded like a great clangor arose. Briefly coming close to her hiding place but quickly moving away, like a roving battle barreling through the streets. She was sorely tempted to look out the window to see what it was but heeded the promise she'd made to her brother and stayed hidden.
As she settled atop the covers still fully clothed, she wondered what would take Jon three days to settle.
As she slept, not for the first time she dreamed of darkness. But this time it was different. This time there was a prickling to go with it. This night Jon didn't share her dreamscape. This time it was her alone with the darkness and the whispers. But a smaller spider scuttled closer, its legs trying to be silent in the gloom of her dreamscape. And as it came closer in the dreamscape, Arya became aware of something at the edge of her consciousness. Something was…making a very soft rustling noise.
One of her eyes gently opened, her magic flaring to life as it did so, highlighting the figure of what looked to be a cloaked figure, mayhaps a woman, coming closer to the room she was in. Arya's blood ran cold, Jon's warning coming back to her. As silently as possible Arya rolled to the side of the bed closest to the window before gently lowering herself to the ground and sliding under the bed, her eyes fixed on the closed door.
The heavy wooden door opened slowly: whoever had come was making a concentrated effort not to let it create too much noise. As Arya waited, she knew she couldn't disguise the fact that the sheets were visibly rumpled and used. She cursed herself even as she tried to gather her magic to the tips of her fingers to strengthen them, knowing she wasn't going to go with whoever this was without a fight.
She watched as the booted feet silently treaded toward the bed, Arya herself inching toward the edge of the bed frame, her right hand drawn back and ready to lash out. It seemed the figure was trying to lean to see over the other side of the bed. This was likely as close as they were going to get so Arya took a deep breath and lashed out.
Her fingers rent several lines in the boot of the figure, her power channeling to leave behind edges of frost on the surface of the boot. A muffled shout came from the figure as it stumbled back in surprise. Arya quickly rolled from under the bed, quickly taking in the size and position of her opponent as she quickly rose first to all fours and then on two crouched legs as she charged forward: clawed hands lashing out.
Arya hadn't anticipated the figure to try and use a cloak to defend herself from the strikes, muffled curses emerging from the bigger person's mouth as she backed away to try and get distance from the younger daughter of Stark who was relentlessly trying to slash her with fingers capable of cutting through her boots.
The youngest Stark daughter's ears picked up the sound of something sliding against leather and then there was a knife lashing out at her.
"Stop fighting and come with me quietly!" Hissed the figure.
Arya didn't stop to reflect on why this figure had drawn a blade if she supposedly wanted to take her alive. She kept driving her back into the hallway, one hand always trying to strike while the other attacked the arm with the knife in it whenever if flashed toward her.
Her shorter reach and smaller body worked against her here, allowing the figure to score some shallow cuts on her arms before Arya managed to take her off guard. A claw strike to the back of her right forearm before her left leg lashed out and caused the figure's right knee to buckle. As they collapsed on their back with a cry of surprise, Arya gathered the dark magic of the Other into her left hand before bringing it toward the now exposed face of the woman who had come for her.
However, as soon as her hand made contact, something entirely unexpected happened.
Instead of generating ice the way she had before, Arya felt her power flowing into the woman beneath her. The woman's mouth opened in a silent scream as her brown eyes started to turn a vibrant shade of blue: like a tree frosting over in the winter.
In that moment Arya could feel everything of this woman's soul. How tattered and worn it was from a life lived in the shadows. How she hated the man who commanded her. How she no longer even had enough hope to long for a day when she didn't need to spy and steal and act as the eyes of a far seeing spider. The darkness within Arya took all this and more, siphoning it all.
Frightened at the idea that she was draining someone's soul, Arya tried to clumsily put it back, using the force of her magic to make it flow back into this woman. It was like trying to direct melting snow but even more ethereal and barely there. By the time it was done, Arya was panting heavily and feeling more drained than ever before. Instinctively, she now knew this woman was her creature. That all her wants and desires had been subsumed by the darkness within Arya: swallowed by the essence of the Great Other before Arya could put it back.
The woman knelt stiffly on one knee, almost as though she were getting used to her body again.
"I am yours." She intoned quietly, head bowed to Arya.
As the youngest Stark gathered her wits, she wondered what she was to do about this. Jon had never said anything about being able to overwrite people's minds. About dominating their very essence like this. To take her mind off the implications, she quickly asked:
"Who are you?"
"Rona Grey." Came the immediate answer.
Arya could feel through her magic that the woman was telling the truth. That she could no more lie to Arya than she could halt the movement of the skies.
"Who commanded you?" She asked.
"Varys." The name escaped with a hateful frown on her face.
Rona apparently hated Varys and had longed to be free of him ever since he had conscripted her into his service. Arya wondered if she would hate her too if her magic permitted her such feelings toward herself.
"Tell your master you found nothing here than wait with me." Arya commanded, testing to see if what she felt was true.
Rona looked at her, brown eyes now shot through with prominent veins of blue.
"As you command." She said, giving a brief nod before standing and turning to immediately obey.
Arya was out cold on the floor before her cloak was even around the corner.
An unknown amount of time later, Arya awoke to the feeling of bone deep weariness. It must've been late as the sun was setting even as she groaned to herself and slid backward to prop herself up on one of the legs of the bed.
"I'm glad you're awake." Came Rona's voice from the doorframe.
Arya looked to her, too tired to even jolt from her position on the floor.
"Tell me everything you know about what's happening in King's Landing." The young girl commanded, caring only about being able to know what was happening to her family right now.
An explanation of the hunting accident, a rolling fight through the city by the guards who were left at the tower of the hand and an extremely brutal showdown in the throne room of the Red Keep later, Arya's head was spinning for a reason other than magical exhaustion.
Her worries over Father and Sansa had increased threefold and she didn't even know what to do. As she unsteadily rose to her feet, she heard the door of the manse open and a familiar silence greet her as her new companion quietly drew her dagger as if to defend it.
It looked as though Jon had finally come back for her. Just when she needed him.