82 A Girl is Arya Stark

Laughter, the joyous laughter of children echoed through the halls of the Red Keep that fine, sunny morning. Eight years old and filled with the rambunctious energy of their wolf and dragon blood, Rhaegar and Arya Targaryen - Crown Prince and Princess of the Targaryen Empire - raced into their chambers. While many would have been exhausted from over an hour at the training grounds with Grey Worm and their 'Uncle' Podrick, the two had the stamina of their father the Emperor. That is, boundless. They fell onto their beds, still laughing and grinning over all the new tricks and stances they had learned that day.

"Alright," Stated Catelyn Tully Stark, her ankle-length skirts brushing the travertine tile as she entered behind. "Time to get ready for your studies with Lord Samwell." With the Emperor and Robb at Harrenhal and the ladies cavorting in Daenerys' solar, Catelyn had volunteered to watch her grandchildren - they may not have been of her blood, but were hers from love. 'The way I should have been to Jon.'

Still clad in their training leathers, the twins jointly stared at their grandmother. "You should do the lessons, grandmother." Rhaegar pointed to the small bookshelf in the corner of the shared chambers. "Read us a story."

Smiling at them, Catelyn shook her head. "Fun as that would be, you need to truly absorb the wisdom of your lessons." She sat in between the beds, switching from Rhaegar, to Arya, and back to Rhaegar. "A Prince or Princess must learn more than stories or how to wield a blade. You will be ruling the Empire one day, Rhaegar, and your sister will be right alongside you as your loyal ally and advisor."

"Please, grandmother," Arya pouted. "These stories aren't boring like the lessons." Despite her pure Targaryen looks, the grey eyes and simple earnestness reminded Catelyn of her children at that age. Rambunctious, but so hard to say no to.

Sighing, Catelyn couldn't say no. "Alright, little wolves." Even she had gotten fond of the pet name. "How about the first chapter of the Dance of Dragons?" Delighted squeals made her chuckle. As far as she knew, the twins' lessons were on the history of Westeros and House Targaryen. This was part of it, after all.

Just as she was about to peruse the first line of the old but simply written epic, the door opened to revealing a balding, pudgy man. "Oh…" He seemed slightly aback at her presence. "What are you doing here?"

Catelyn couldn't help a slight chill up her spine - as if the air in the chambers reminded her of something from her past. "I am the Dowager Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark. Who are you?"

The pudgy man hefted a load of books tucked underneath his arms. Entering, he bowed. "Forgive me, Lady Stark. I am their tutor, Maester Tellfar."

Her eyes narrowed, slowly stepping in front of her grandchildren. "Where is Lord Samwell?" asked Arya. Though she preferred her grandmother or aunt Sansa's lessons - or more specifically, her Aunt Arya's training - Samwell did his best to spice up the learning beyond the droll basics since he arrived from the Citadel with an armful of books. He mostly secluded himself in his chambers researching, but emerged to gladly tutor the children.

"He has fallen ill, Princess." Maester Tellfar dropped the books off on top of a side table. Haphazardly, as if not caring that they could be scratched or ripped. Subtle, but someone as experienced as Catelyn Stark was one trained to sense the subtleties. It was not a habit one would pick up at the Citadel.

Puzzlement filled Rhaegar's face. "No… I saw him with Little Sam in the courtyard earlier, playing. He didn't look sick."

Eyes widened just as Catelyn heard the distinctive scraping of steel against a scabbard. Just like when her Bran was in danger, she reacted. "No!"

"Daenerys' pregnancy is coming along well," Sansa mused, walking towards her own solar holding Podrick's extended arm. "I'm rather excited to become an aunt… from the start this time."

"Rhaegar and Arya certainly adore you, my lady." Sansa smiled up at her lover - even though he practically lived in her chambers, he nevertheless was a complete gentleman. "I'm not sure what they think of me, though."

Sansa's eyebrow rose. "Oh? And why is that?"

Podrick looked put out. "Every day at the training yard, they essentially run me ragged. Lady Brienne treats me less strenuously, and I still think I have the bruises from when she and I trained."

It took a moment before the Hand of the Emperor started laughing. "Oh, Podrick." Feeling more carefree than she ever had since leaving Winterfell all those years ago, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I do love you, you know. A lot."

Tugging on his collar, feeling a bead of sweat rolling from his forehead down his cheek, Podrick summoned the courage to ask the question he'd been meaning to ask for a long time. "Enough to marry me?" In the end, the question was asked less than perfectly - it sounded like one large word, and with a squeak. 'Seven Hells,' he inwardly cursed, blushing as he slowly looked at Sansa.

She just stared at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped. "Do… do you mean that?"

Gulping, he nodded. "Aye, I do. Marry me, Sansa." Azure eyes sparkling, a beaming smile stretched out on Sansa's face as she leaned in to capture his lips in a sweet kiss…

"No!"

Their moment was shattered by the sounds of a violent scuffle. Mind snapping into battle, Podrick pushed Sansa behind him and drew his sword. "It's… twins' chamber…" Sansa croaked, shocked still as her shy lover… betrothed had transformed into the man that led the charge up the Heights of Luthor - now racing for the chambers of the prince and princess.

A resounding kick sent the door flying open, revealing a sight that made Sansa's entire face lose its color. "Mother!"

The lady Catelyn was caught in a literal embrace of death, arms twisted around the back of a heavyset man in maester's robes. He held a short blade, for which Catelyn clawed to get. Leaving lines of red blood all over his forearms. Hissing, the man dropped the knife to his other hand and plunged it backward, spraying blood from where it hit the screaming noblewoman.

Podrick dashed into the fray just as Catelyn fell back, grunting in pain. Her fingers made one last attempt to harm the one who dared attack her grandchildren… literally ripping his face off. Halting, Podrick took but a split second to look at the new face of the attacker. The true face. Long blonde hair, masculine jaw, dark green eyes. But the observation was cut short as he slashed at Podrick. Sending him back with a sort of animal ferocity - without even a flicker of expression on his face.

Cries from the corner revealed the twins. Arya tucked behind Rhaegar and the Crown Prince holding up a practice sword. Torn, the assassin made the decision to go for his prey…

But Podrick was quicker. Regaining his balance with agility that Lady Brienne would be proud of, his sword tasted blood just before the assassin could plunge his dagger into Rhaegar's throat. Guts spilling onto the stone below, the man collapsed into a heap of meat and blood. Dead.

"Mother…" Sansa knelt by her unconcious mother, her blood seeping out of the wound in her gut. She was alive… but barely. "We need a maester here, or she'll die." Podrick nodded.

"Aunt Sansa!"

"Little Wolves!" The twins leapt into their aunt's arms as Podrick yelled for the guards, and a Maester."

"It's too soon!" The Empress shrieked, a mournful, piercing dragoncry driven by pain and terror. "I need to go to my children!" Missandei and Gilly held her down, Daenerys' protests loud but weak.

"You can't go, your Highness." Though trying to remain calm, inside Missandei's heart was thumping out of her chest. "Think of the child in your womb."

The contractions were rippling through Dany like knives. "I can't… not time yet…" If the baby was stillborn… or died soon after… "Where's Jon. I need Jon!" Missandei shared a look with the Lady Tarly. The Dragon Empress, honed through fire and blood, was gone. In pain and sorrow, all that was left was a wife in childbirth that needed her husband.

But Jon wasn't there.

"Towels, we need towels," Aemon mumbled, racing about the room. Sam pulled a stool at the edge of the bed. He didn't have too much experience, but was the only person with eyesight that had medical training - Gilly could assist given her practical experience with Craster's other wives.

"No one get in or out!" Grey Worm was having none of it. Had they not been maesters, he wouldn't have even let in Aemon, Sam, or Gilly. Three other Unsullied guards patrolled the bedchamber. "Anyone entering will die!" No news drifted in about the Prince and Princess, so Grey Worm took no chances. His heart already panged with the thought of them being hurt… he couldn't have the Breaker of Chains on his conscience either.

"Ahhhhh!" A wet rag on her forehead helped some with the discomfort of the body, but Daenerys couldn't soothe the discomfort of the heart. "He needs to be here." This was supposed to be their happy moment. Where Jon would finally see a child of his come into the world. Teeth clenched as another contraction slammed through her.

The door opened. Grey Worm's short sword was already out. "I said no one enters!"

The old servant woman, hobbled by gout, looked with wide eyes. "I… bring… towels for Her Highness."

It was then that Grey Worm noticed the stack of linen in her arms. He lowered his sword. "Fine, but make it quick."

Setting the towels atop a table, the woman met the eyes of one of the Unsullied troopers. A nod was given. A nod given in return.

Suddenly the Unsullied drew his sword and buried it in the back of his 'comrade.' Eyes wide, Grey Worm drew his own blade as the mutineer dueled with the remaining guard - it didn't last long, throat cut open and sent to the ground. It was then that Grey worm was upon him, the two short swords clashing, steel to steel.

So riveted to the clash unfolding before them - or busy tending to their Empress - no one but the screaming, moaning Daenerys noticed the old washerwoman brandish a knife of her own. Malevolent grin on her face, she approached, ready to do the same killing blow that befell Talisa Stark upon the Targaryen Empress…

Door flying open, Arya quickly found the threat and leapt into the room. The washerwoman collapsed upon the ground, catching a punch to the face from the Stark girl before lashing out with a punch of her own. Dany and Missandei watched in horror as the two tumbled about, Arya getting a grip on the servant's hair and yanking back with a cry… revealing the Waif. "You will die for this," Arya hissed. The Waif elbowed Arya in the gut and quickly scrambled to her feet, racing for the open window - the other girl hot on her heels.

Grey Worm was clearly gaining the upper hand, for the mutineer clearly wasn't an Unsullied. With a guttural battle cry, the commander sliced the sword downward, sending it toppling to the floor causing him to stumble back.

But he was unfazed, drawing two daggers. One flew from his hand, catching Grey Worm in the abdomen. Missandei screamed as the Unsullied commander collapsed to the floor. His own breathing an erratic cacophony and with an overwhelming duty to protect his best friend's wife and child, Sam grabbed a short sword from the ground. As he faced the white walker, he would face the assassin.

Pain, blinding pain. The Unsullied were conditioned to block it out, but Grey Worm stumbled each time he tried to rise. Perhaps it was weariness. Perhaps it was the wounds of his past eating into his stamina. Or perhaps it was Missandei, and his loyalty to his Empress and her family - human attachments that dulled the weight of his soulless conditioning. Ironic, given the things that gave his life meaning also made him less resilient.

A scream. His eyes opened wide. Missandei, his Missandei, darting to Empress Daenerys' side as she also screamed with the pain of childbirth. Lady Gilly Tarly and Maester Aemon attended to her - draping their bodies over her while Lord Samwell struggled to fend off the assassin. He wouldn't succeed. It was obvious - and it filled Grey Worm with a new kind of grit and determination.

Mind focused on one thing and one thing only, the warrior's fingers curled around the dagger buried in his side. Teeth clenched in a pain that would have blacked out any lesser man. Seeing red, he pulled and heaved until the clatter of bronze to stone rang out. Panting, Grey Worm spotted the assassin - still in his Unsullied armor - bat Samwell away. Sending him to the ground in a groaning heap. Gripping his short sword in hand, it rose as the assassin advanced on the Empress still wracked with contractions.

With a feral snarl that he didn't even register, Grey Worm lowered his head and charged.

The chase played out not within the Red Keep, but atop it.

Gusts of wind slamming against her, Arya struggled to keep her balance as she chased the taller girl across the red-tiled roof of the great palace. She nearly stumbled as a sandstone shingle crumbled beneath her feet, but her skill and agility kept her going. Kept her in the fight. The Waif dangled tantalizingly before her, one of the last marks still breathing on her list.

Arya Stark would not let her family be hunted by these monsters ever again.

Each girl ran like their lives depended on it. Scaling walls, leaping over chasms of brick and stone. None noticed, hunkered in place or too attentive to their posts to notice the fight occurring above them. Smirking back at the chasing Stark girl, the Waif dove, sliding feet first down the sandstone shingles to a deserted inner courtyard below. Arya soon followed, but the shingles gave way again and caused her to spin. With a thud, she landed on her back, sending shooting pains through her muscles and bones.

Her eyes noticed the glint of the swinging blade just in time.

Needle shot up to parry the bronze dagger. Wrenching it to the side, Arya leapt to her feet. "A girl has quick reflexes," the Waif said, lunging forward. Her long dagger screeching against the straight steel of Arya's blade. Her smirk was untouched by strain. "A girl will still die."

She was giving ground, the clash of bronze against steel leaving a cacophony that echoed through the courtyard. Arya's muscles tensed, struggling prevent the massive razor's slices. 'No!' she screamed inwardly, feeling the Waif's sweat drip on her as she bore down with the dagger. "No!" One hand still wrapped around Needle's hilt, her other slammed into the Waif's ribs.

The Waif stumbled, feet losing their balance and sending the lithe body toppling down a staircase… deep into the bowels of the Red Keep. Where the dragon skulls had long been kept. Arya allowed a quick, wolfish smile. It may have been a lifetime ago, but she knew them like the back of her hand. Without hesitation, she followed.

Only a single lantern illuminated the deep catacombs of the Red Keep. Its flame flickered, an almost ethereal glow that cast rippling shadows on the two girls. Heartbeats thumped, the silence all-encompassing around them. The mere chirping of a cricket blared with the resonance of a thousand handcannons. Such was a fitting climax to this story.

The knights fought in the open. No one fought in the shadows.

"The Many-Faced God requires an offering," the Waif stated.

Arya nodded. "Aye, he does."

The smirk widened on her former tormentor's face. "Even in failure, I am content for you to be my offering." The dagger shined dark orange, as if flames danced along the bronze.

Flicking Needle across her chest, Arya could hear Syrio Forel's words loud in her head. 'What do we say to the God of Death?'

"Not today." A flick of the wrist sent the lantern crashing to the ground.

Darkness.

"Easy, your Highness, easy…"

"Can't…"

"You can," Gilly said, encouraging her. "You've done it before."

Daenerys cried in pain, the contractions slamming into her like waves. "Jon… need… Jon…" Her own mother had died giving birth to her… alone. Without any person who loved her. If that happened to her… Dany needed Jon. Needed her husband.

Sam grasped her hand, hoping to give her whatever comfort he could in his friend's place. "The raven has been sent out. I'm sure he's on his way on Rhaegal as we speak." If he knew Jon, the Emperor would burn through mountains to return to his wife.

Wiping his sword with a rag, Grey Worm motioned in several Dothraki bruisers - ones his trusted soldiers had checked personally for any… additional faces within. "Get this filth out of my sight!" he simmered coolly, pointing to the body of the assassin. It was covered in bruises, the Faceless Man nearly beaten to death before Grey Worm finished the job with a slice of the neck.

"Hold still." Missandei gainfully wrapped the bandage around his torso. "Lord Tarly said the wound missed anything major by just half an inch… don't move so much!" Her Grey Worm was too proud for his own good.

"Take care of her Highness…" He winced in pain.

"You already dismissed Samwell. Let me." Daenerys would never forgive her if she let Grey Worm grin and bear it.

Another scream left Dany's throat. "Please… where's Jon?" Her voice was scratchy, nearly lost from all her wails.

"Jon will be here, sister. Nothing could keep him away."

"Sansa?" She opened her eyes to see the redhead looking down on her. "The twins… where…?"

"Podrick has them in the solar. They're safe." Relief spread on Dany's face before being engulfed in the worst pain of her life. The Red Keep shook from her dragon shriek.

"It's time," Maester Aemon said, having delivered enough babies in Wintertown to know the signs. "Is she fully dilated?" He shuffled to where the towels rested, blind but still useful.

Sam nodded. "Yes Maester. Gilly, be ready to clean up." She took a towel from Aemon. "Alright, Daenerys, push."

Her mouth hung open in a wail as she pushed with all her might. Eyes were scrunched tightly shut, hands fisting the mattress - desperate for Jon, needing to hold his hand through the worst of the pain. "Can't… too much…" She felt Sansa grip her hand, offering her the needed familial comfort.

"I can see the head, Daenerys." Sam could see the baby crowning. "One more push. One… two… three!" Another scream, and a hiss of pain from Sansa as her sister did her best to break every bone in her hand, echoed through the bedchamber…

Until all that was left was the sharp cry of an infant. Almost as if a heralding trumpet commemorating something joyous. "A girl!" Sam stated, smile on his face as Gilly cut the cord with a bronze knife. "A healthy princess."

Unseeing, milky eyes prickling with tears of his own, Aemon reached out with his bony hands. "Please, Samwell. Let me." Catching the earnest look of love, Sam nodded and handed the baby to Aemon - at long last, the eldest of House Targaryen could hold a babe of his own blood in his arms. A dream come true at last. 'I can now die in peace,' he thought.

"Uncle. Give her to me." Dany reached out, frantic for the now quieting down newborn. "Please, I need my baby." Maternal bond lashing out with fright and apprehension. Until her sweetling was in her arms, she could not be sure of anything.

Nestled in his grasp, Aemon shuffled gingerly to Daenerys' beside. "Here she is." His finger tickled the baby's cheek. "Here's muña."

Warmth finally returning to her as soon as her fingers came into contact with her daughter, Daenerys gasped. "Oh my gods." She stared in pure wonder. "She's so beautiful." Squirming softly, the newborn was flushed pink from birth, but that couldn't mask the wisps of dark hair and hypnotizing grey eyes. Her father's eyes.

"A little wolfling," smiled Sansa, tearing up as well. "But with plenty of you in her, sister. A fair beauty, of the North and Old Valyria."

Throat catching with emotion, Dany hugged the bundle to her chest. She was sore, aching all over from it all, but the little miracle in her arms was worth it. "My sweetling." There was no stopping her sobs. Joyous sobs. "My perfect little girl." Gently, she kissed the wrinkled crown of her head, welcoming the new princess into the world.

Silence hanging over the Imperial solar, it was shattered as the door was abruptly thrown open - slamming with a resounding crack against the far wall. "WHERE IS MY FAMILY?!" thundered the Emperor, every inch a Valyrian Dragonlord at that moment.

Having not left the arms of their Aunt Sansa or Uncle Podrick since the chaos earlier, Arya and Rhaegar were up and racing towards Jon - the only two among those present not recovering from near heart attacks at the pure dragonfire erupting out of nowhere into the solar. "Papa!" Fresh streams of tears fell from their eyes as they threw their arms around Jon.

Jon immediately knelt, arms open for the twins. Clutching at his babies, he was near tears himself - distraught at the thought that they had nearly been taken away from him. That he had been elsewhere at their time of danger. "Oh Gods, you're alright." He pulled back, checking them over. Patting them down for any injuries. "Are either of you hurt?"

"No, poppa." Arya buried her head in the soft fur of his cloak. "Grandmother and Uncle Podrick protected us."

Standing, allowing them to clutch at him, Jon's fury returned as he glared at the others. "What in Seven Hells happened?!" he ground out with a hiss, the only thing stopping Jon from going full Dragon Emperor being the twins still enveloping him. The raven from King's Landing had arrived at Harrenhal abruptly, and just as abrupt was how Jon hopped on Rhaegal and raced for the capitol.

"There was assassin, your Majesty," Grey Worm answered, fighting a wince as his bandaged wound ached. "Three assassin. They attacked the prince and princess, only for Ser Podrick to stop them. The Lady Catelyn was wounded."

"She's unconscious, Jon," Sam stated, having tended her wounds after dealing with the Empress' health. "We don't know if she'll live."

Jon gulped. This was bad, but there was something worse in the air. "And Daenerys?"

"There were more assassin in Red Keep." Grey Worm shuffled awkwardly - the enraged, terrified gaze of his Emperor was enough to wilt even an Unsullied. "They infiltrated palace to attack Empress Daenerys while she was…" He trailed off, not knowing if they had told Jon yet.

Jon searched the eyes of anyone who would look at him, gaze frantic. "What? While she was what?" Panic coursed through him. "What happened to my wife?!" he yelled. There was silence, as if no one was willing to breach it. "ANSWER ME!"

"Jon, please." At Sansa's frantic gesture, Jon looked at his children, both shaking as they tried to melt into his cloak.

The sight broke Jon's heart. "Please, just tell me that Dany's alright." He couldn't help how his throat caught. Just thinking that Daenerys could be hurt… or worse…

"The stress caused her to go into labor." Wide eyes found Missandei. "Her Highness is in her chambers…" The handmaiden couldn't finish before Jon kissed the twins' cheeks, nestled them back with his sister, and ran towards their bedchamber as fast as his legs could carry him.

Four Dothraki bloodriders stood menacingly outside the door to the imperial bedchamber, but stepped aside for their Khal as soon as he approached. Jon ignored them, various tragedies flashing through his mind at the speed of light. A sense of numbness infiltrating his body, Jon shuffled slowly to the door handle, gripping it and pushing inside.

Gasping, Jon fought to keep his knees from buckling. Lying on the massive bed was Daenerys, pale and worn, but a smile stretched out on her face. The smile widened as her violet eyes found him. "Jon," she said weakly, reaching out for him.

His head spinning, Jon rushed over to her side. "Dany!" A sudden rush of wetness clouded his eyes. "My love." He threw his arms around her and buried his head in her neck.

Draped in his warm embrace, Daenerys felt all was right in the world again. "Oh Jon."

"I thought I lost you." Jon was openly sobbing, tears flowing down his cheeks.

"I'm alright Jon. Hey." Pulling away, Dany cupped his face. Seeing the grey eyes she loved red and sparkling with tears, it broke her heart. "Please don't cry."

"I can't help it, my dragon." He kissed her, lips and tongue desperate for contact. "I don't know what I'd do without you in my life." His demeanor changed, now a blazing dragonfire. "Whoever did this will get fire and blood."

His voice being a cross between a growl and a low roar, Daenerys kissed him again. Trying to calm him down. "My love, I want to show you something." A soft whimper snapped him out of his dragon-like rage. Blinking, Jon gazed down at his wife, finally noticing a tiny bundle wrapped in a light grey blanket nestled on Dany's side. A wide smile broke on her face as she lifted the bundle in her hands. "Meet your daughter, Jon."

Slowly, Jon took the bundle in his arms. As soon as he set eyes at the baby - their baby - all worries, fears, and anger just left him in a wave. An awed smile spread on his face, the baby yawning as he brushed his finger along her cheek. "She looks like you, Dany," he said, wonder tinging his voice.

"Yes, but with the Stark coloring," she said, tears starting to affect her too. As their daughter started to shift in Jon's arms, he handed her back to Daenerys. "Saera. Princess Saera Targaryen." The name wafted beautifully off the tongue. "We made her, my love. We made this beautiful angel," she breathed, settling little Saera on her chest.

He wiped the last tears from his eyes. "We did, Daenerys."

The door opened at that point, Sansa's whispers urging the twins to the bed. "Is that our baby sister?" Rhaegar asked, peeking over the bed to look at Saera.

Dany motioned for them to climb on the bed with her. "Yes, sweetlings. Your sister Saera is here at last." They began to coo at the little one.

Though the rage and vengeance were sure to return, at this moment nothing could stop the Emperor's unadulterated joy. Easing himself into the bed next to her, gingerly so as not to disturb the precious gems, Jon wrapped his arms around his family.

Shadows danced upon the inner hall of the House of Black and White, cast by the hundreds of flickering candles lining the base of the columns. A man sometimes known as Jaqen H'ghar walked calmly along the floors of polished limestone, relighting candles sniffed out from an errant draft. Occasionally, he gazed upon the vast alcoves containing the offerings to the Many-Faced God. Offerings obtained through the vast gulf of the centuries by the Order of the Faceless men. Soon to be adorned with four others…

Stopping, Jaqen sensed something out of place. A disturbance, one that brought him for closer inspection.

Looking up at the wall of faces, Jaqen saw three new ones resting on designated mounts. Three faces he recognized quite clearly. The Waif, and the two others he had sent to King's Landing. Dried blood, a brick red almost black, crusted over their cheeks and foreheads - whomever had killed them having made no attempt to clean the faces.

A warning. A message.

"You sent them to Westeros." Jaqen turned to see the girl who had saved his life so long ago. The girl he had recruited and trained… needlepoint sword levied to his chest. "Joffrey hired you to kill the Targaryens - my family - and you sent them there to do the job."

There was no denying it. "Yes, I did." Jaqen had no reason to lie. Not an ounce of fear coursed through him - no one who truly embraced the God of Death would feel fear.

Arya gripped Needle tighter, the Lady Baratheon fighting her anger. "Joffrey is dead. I killed him. Your contract is null and void."

"No contract is null and void." He tilted his head. "But even still, a girl took lives - lives whose time hadn't arrived. The Many-Faced God needs life to pay for the death."

Her teeth clenched, seething. "You mean to pad your coffers. Daenerys and Jon are fighting to make a better world, and yet you'd kill them to satisfy a monster!" As the last word echoed through the cavernous hall, her expression changed. "A death to pay for a life that was not mine to take. For Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, and Amory Lorch. Payment for the Many-Faced God." Zero emotion left for each word stated. Arya simply stood, face hardened into stone.

Jaqen finally allowed himself a smile. "At last, a girl is no one." His prized pupil, the one he had true faith would succeed, had finally done it. "A girl to carry out the legacy of the Many-Faced God."

Arya's brow rose in questioning. "Oh? That is where you are wrong." Standing straight, she began to walk in a circle around Jaqen. A she-wolf cornering, toying with her prey. "Did you honestly think, that Jon of House Targaryen will take this lightly? That the Dragon Emperor would tolerate the attempted murder of his beloved wife and children? Winter is coming for the Faceless Men. This place will not last the fortnight, Fire and Blood coming for it." Completing the circle, a wolfish grin spread on her face. "But you will be given mercy, Jaqen… for your kindness to me."

He showed nothing. "Mercy?"

"I killed Joffrey. The Many-Faced God deserves one final offering."

A flash of realization in his eyes, Jaqen only nodded. Accepting his fate. And the bite of Needle as it ran through his gut.

Meeting the eyes of her mentor, her refuge at the worst period of her life, Arya allowed the fire to fill her grey eyes. "A girl is Arya Stark, Lady Baratheon of Storm's End and Wardeness of the Stormlands. Sister of Jon Imperator and Daenerys Stormborn, Emperor and Empress of the Targaryen Empire. Anyone that touches my family will feel the wrath of Winter upon them."

'The God of Death, manifest in mortality.' The last thought in the mind of the high priest of the Many-Faced God.