Chapter 4: The House of Black and White

Arya turned off her phone the moment she boarded the ship for Braavos. By now, her mother had probably found her note and would soon be frantically calling her for answers. But Arya couldn't afford to look back or doubt. She needed answers of her own. That was all.

She had a plan, though it was thin at best, and mostly based on the scant information she tracked down on the internet. Most sites about the Faceless Men were wholly unreliable. They were hubs for conspiracy theories or straight up guessing. But there was one piece of information which popped up many times.

Do not ask directly for the Faceless Men. Show a Braavosi an iron coin and say 'Valar Morghulis.' The Faceless Men will find you.

Valar Morghulis. It meant 'all men must die' in High Valyrian. A foreboding phrase. But it was the only lead she had, and she was willing to try.

Once she found the Faceless men-or they found her-she would offer them money in exchange for the truth. If the stories were true, the Faceless Men were a neutral force. They didn't choose sides, and they always fulfilled their promises if said promises were bought and paid for. It would be in their interest to help someone with money.

Or at least… that's what she hoped.

On the voyage over, Arya spent most of her time locked in her small cabin, trying to avoid prying eyes and questions. When she bought the tickets (two of them to make it seem as if she was not travelling alone), she said she was travelling with her father. She did not want anyone on the ship to inquire into that story, so it was safest to stay out of everyone's way. Not to mention, someone could recognize her face if she wasn't careful. She didn't frequent the news, but as the daughter of the Stark family, she had ended up in more than one paper. Not as much as Sansa or Robb, but she still wouldn't risk being noticed. She already got lucky that Tywin Lannister hadn't cared enough to call her mother. She wouldn't test that luck. She only ventured on deck at night-for the fresh air and the sky full of stars.

Her father used to know all the constellations. When they went up north once a year to visit the old Stark family manor, which sat vacant for most of the year, they always spent time outside, laid out on the grass together, enjoying a night sky undisturbed by the city lights. Arya never remembered all the names of the constellations. She just enjoyed listening to his voice as he named them. Just looking up at the stars made her feel closer to him.

He wouldn't want her to be doing this. He would want her to stay safe at home with the rest of the family. But it didn't matter. If she couldn't find out the truth, she would spend the rest of her life tormented by questions. The 'what if's'.

She set aside her doubts and returned to the cabin. The sky was clouding over, anyway.

On the dawn of the third day, the ship arrived in Braavos and Arya stepped out onto the planks, her bag slung securely over her shoulder. A fine mist covered the port, and the city had just started waking. Men and women wandered the planks and opened the shops and stands lining the docks. She spied fruit sellers and pubs, and stores with fine silks displayed in the windows.

But for every open shop, there stood a vacant building with a crumbling archway and broken windows. The second Essosi war ended seventeen years ago, before Arya was even born, but the political turmoil in Braavos continued for years after that. The dust had settled now, but the crisis had carved its mark into the city.

She slid a hand in her pocket, palming at that iron coin again. Wondering where to start.

Show a Braavosi an iron coin and say 'Valar Morghulis'.

She worried about the validity of the tip, even though she had seen it repeated across several sites. It could just get her robbed. Not to mention she was Westerosi. Maybe the locals wouldn't look kindly on her for that.

No. Westeros didn't cause the damage here. They never even fought on Braavosi soil, she reminded herself. If she was in Volantis she might worry, but Westeros and Braavos had an open trading relationship these days. Even if she faced any trouble, she had a lock blade in her pocket beside the coin. If need be, she could use it. Or… try to use it anyway. She had never actually used a knife before. Not for real.

She took a deep breath and approached a man working out the docks, holding out the coin and speaking the words.

"Valar Morghulis."

He looked up at her, his fearful gaze flicking from her face to the coin. Then he shook his head and left his post immediately. As if she was some ghost who would curse him.

She tried again and got much the same reaction. Fear and confusion. Some ignored her completely, as if they were deaf. One man told Arya to go home. That this was not the place for her, and she did not understand what she was saying.

Her search led her into many taverns and shops until eventually she found herself back on the docks. The words Valar Morghulis had gotten her nowhere and the Faceless Men had not appeared.

Arya stared at her reflection in the water, fighting the urge to fling the coin into the sea. This was stupid. She was stupid. Did she really think it would be so easy to find the Faceless Men? They had maintained control over the free cities for a reason. This had all been a wild goose chase, and she had nothing to show to her anxious, angry mother when she returned home.

She slid her phone from her pocket, thinking of turning it on again and calling her mother. Or maybe she should wait until she was back in Westeros. She wasn't sure which would be worse.

"A girl looks upset."

A strong Braavosi accent reached her ears. She turned to see a man who had not been there a moment ago, sitting beside her on the docks. He was something between young and old, red-haired but with a white streak down one side. His grey eyes seemed friendly enough, but she didn't trust them.

"I'm fine," she muttered.

"Those asking around for Faceless Men are rarely 'fine'," the man said. "They are looking for death. Their own or someone else's." He glanced at her. "Which are you looking for, lovely girl?"

"Neither. I'm looking for answers," Arya said. "Just answers."

"Interesting," the man said. "That makes you different from most that come looking. I suppose that will make your price different."

"I have money," Arya said.

"That is the usual price," the man said.

Annoyance flashed through Arya. This man seemed to enjoy speaking in riddles and she could not tell yet if it was a quirk of his or if he was just screwing with her. "I just want to talk to them."

"Then you have all you need," the man said. "Show me that coin, lovely girl."

She did, holding it out to him.

"Good," he said. "Now go to the house with a black and white door, on the north-west side overlooking the sea. Knock and show them this coin. And if you are prepared, say the words."

"Valar Morghulis," she said.

"Good," he said. "But remember girl… you should only go if you can pay."

"I can," Arya said. "I have money."

The man smiled as he stood. "I told you. That is the usual price. And you are not asking for something usual."

Arya looked from him to the coin in her hand, tracing her thumb over its surface. "What is the price then?"

She received no answer. And when she looked up again, he had disappeared.

Arya swallowed hard and returned her phone and her coin to her pocket. Then she stood. She was already here. She refused to return without something to show for it.

The House of Black and White stood on the edge of the water, just like the man said. It would have been prime real estate in Westeros but every building on the block looked abandoned and there was no one in sight.

" Following the advice of a stranger," Arya thought. "This is a very good way to get murdered."

Her hand curled around the lock-blade in her jacket pocket as she knocked on the door three times. Then she waited, counting the seconds of silence, trying to ignore the racing of her heart.

On the fifteenth beat, the door opened slowly, and an old man peeked out his head. He had a hunched back and his hood obscured most of his face, aside from a mouth full of crooked teeth.

"No visitors," he growled.

"Please, I won't take long," Arya held out the coin to him. "Valar Morghulis."

He studied the coin for a long time before he replied. "Valar Dohaeris." Then he stepped aside, gesturing for Arya to enter.

" I could still turn back," she thought. As if she would. As if she had ever turned back from anything in her life. Her father had always warned her about that.

Pick your fights Arya. Some fights are too large for you.

But if she picked any fight… it would be this one. And anyway, if the old man attacked her, she could probably move faster than he did.

She slipped through the door and into the unknown.

The front hall of the House of Black and White was poorly lit and narrow, lined with identical white doors. The old man hobbled past all of them, never turning to make sure Arya was following. She glanced nervously over her shoulder a few times, half expecting someone to attack her from behind. No attack came.

Soon enough, the hall opened into a much larger room with high walls and a patchwork of holes in the rafters. Beams of sunlight streamed through, casting patches of white amongst the shadows. One beam fell over what remained of a stone fountain. It was cracked in places, but water still bubbled weakly into the basin.

If Arya were to guess, this used to be a ballroom meant to host exclusive events. She could imagine tables all around, and there was a raised platform at the other end of the room, like a stage. Now, it was a ruin.

There were others in the room, stalking between the beams of light like shadows, sweeping the floor. They were all dressed in identical grey outfits, which hung loosely on their frames. Arya made eye contact with a girl who could not be much older than her and she shivered. There was nothing in her eyes. Just a cool emptiness.

You shouldn't be here, a little voice said in the back of Arya's mind. She had never been good at listening to that little voice and her curiosity overwhelmed her good sense.

The old man did not stop in the large room. He continued forward, slipping through a door off to the left and down another hall. Arya hurried after him, her hand clenching on the hilt of her lock blade again. Just in case.

Eventually he led her into a dark room. She paused outside the doorway, wary of entering until she saw what was inside. When he turned on a lamp light in one corner, she identified a desk and a few chairs. It was an office. He gestured for her to sit in the chair across from the desk.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Then perched on the edge of the chair, ready to run at a moment's notice. The man hobbled behind the desk and took a seat.

The moment the old man sat in the chair, his back straightened, his shoulders rolled back and he raised his head. He pulled back his hood, along with the ratty wig on his head, letting it fall to the floor, and snapped away a pair of false teeth. And at once, Arya recognized the man from the docks.

"You," Arya whispered. "You're a Faceless Man?"

"I am, lovely girl," the man said. "A man has no name, but you may call him Jaqen H'ghar. And a girl is Arya Stark."

She froze where she sat, gripping tight to the arms of her chair. "You know my name?"

"I know more than your name," Jaqen said. "A girl is Arya Stark, the second daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. She has four siblings and a cousin she considers a brother. And less than a month ago her father died in a car crash. She came here in her grief, hoping for answers." He raised one eyebrow. "Tell me. What answers does Arya Stark want?"

It took Arya a long time to respond. Just the fact that he already knew so much about her seemed to answer her question. Why would he know all of that unless…

"Was my father murdered?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Jaqen said. He spoke so calmly, as if answering a question about the weather. And yet that single word was a gunshot to Arya. Her whole body shuddered.

"Was it… was it your people?"

"No," he said. "But we know who did it."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Who," she muttered. "Tell me who."

"That answer comes at a price," Jaqen said.

"I told you I'll pay. My family is one of the wealthiest in Westeros. Whatever you want, I know we can-"

Jaqen held up a finger, wagging it back and forth. "Ah, ah. A girl was not listening earlier. She thinks the price is money. That is not the price we seek."

"What then?" Arya asked.

"A name," Jaqen said. "The name Arya Stark."

Arya's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"You know the words we spoke to each other, do you not?" Jaqen asked. "Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris. What do they mean?"

"All men must die," Arya said. "I don't know what the second phrase means."

"All men must serve," Jaqen said. "Sometimes, that is the price of death. To serve." He tilted his head to the side. "A girl says she wants answers, but that is not all she wants. She wants vengeance. She wants to take the life of the one who took her father. But before she can kill, she must serve."

Arya swallowed hard. He was right. If someone intentionally killed her father, she wanted them to suffer. She wanted to take their life away from them. They didn't deserve it. "How would I serve?"

"A girl will give the Faceless Men her name. She will train with them until she is ready. And when she is finished training, the Faceless Men will give her the answers she wants. They will give her revenge. And once the deal is complete, a girl will no longer be Arya Stark. She will be one of us."

Arya stood abruptly from her seat, so fast that she knocked it over. "Why would I ever… That's insane. I can't stay here and train, and I can't give up my name. I have a family. I need to get home to them."

"And what will a girl do once she is there?" Jaqen asked. "Sit and wonder all day about her father's death and the one behind it. Worry about the family she still has. Who is to say the culprit will stop at the father?"

The man's words sucked the breath from Arya's lungs. Of course. Whoever killed her father could have a vendetta against the company as a whole. Maybe one of his coworkers who wanted to take over. Maybe one of his rivals. They could go after her eldest brother next or her mother. Perhaps they would target her little brothers or her sister to get to Robb. Anyone of them could land in the crossfire, just like Bran. Who was to say? She did not know the culprit so she could not discern their motives.

"A man can guarantee that no one will harm the Starks while a girl trains," Jaqen said. "And then the girl will be ready to eliminate the threat and protect them forever. Is not your name a worthy price for that?"

"It's not just my name," Arya murmured. "It's my life."

"We trade in life and death here, lovely girl," Jaqen said. "I warned you not to come unless you were prepared to face that."

Arya's grip tightened on the knife in her pocket and Jaqen raised an eyebrow.

"Does a girl think she is ready to kill?" He stood from his desk, circling around and gliding toward her. "Ready to take a life? Is she ready to trade in death?"

Arya's heart rammed against her rib cage as if it wanted to break its way through the bone. Her whole body was trembling but especially the hand which gripped the knife. If she could just… if she could just strike fast enough.

"Show me," the man purred with a voice soft and smooth as silk. "Kill me and you can leave."

Arya bared her teeth in a snarl, flicking the knife from her pocket. She jabbed it forward, trying not to think about what it would mean if the blade sank into his chest.

He caught her wrist just in time. Her blade had barely punctured his robes but not his skin.

"A girl is too slow," Jaqen said. Arya shuddered as he twisted her wrist away from him, forcing her onto her knees into the process. She dropped the knife, and it clattered against the stone floor. "You cannot hope to take revenge like this, Arya Stark. You cannot hope to save your family."

Arya looked up at him, eyes wide. She had never been so terrified in her life. Why? Why had she come here? She should have known better than to cut a deal with these people. Just like her father warned her… she had picked a fight too large for her. "Why do you want me?"

"It does not matter," Jaqen said. "It is still your choice, lovely girl. You can leave this place. But if you do, I fear your father will not be the last dead Stark."

Tears rose to Arya's eyes. "You… you promise me that if I stay, my family will be safe."

"Yes," he said.

"And that if I train, you will lead me to the culprit?"

"Yes," Jaqen said.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Arya asked.

"You don't. But a man has no reason to lie," Jaqen said. "The Faceless Men always keep their bargains and always give what is bought in full. Life. Death. Answers. Vengeance." He knelt down in front of her, drawing her phone from her pocket and holding it up to the light. "If you come to doubt this promise, you may leave. No one in Westeros will believe you if you tell them what happened. We have nothing to fear from a single girl. So if you would like, you may leave."

He seemed as if he did not care much at all about Arya's decision. It was nothing to him… and everything to her. If he spoke truly, then if she left, someone else she loved could die. If he spoke falsely, the Faceless Men could kill her before she reached the docks. And then the rest of her family, just to be safe.

I can't let anyone else get hurt, she thought.

"I'll… I'll stay," she whispered. "I'll stay and train."

Jaqen smiled at her. Then he released her wrist and grasped her shoulders, drawing her to her feet. She watched him slip her phone into his pocket.

"Then welcome girl. Welcome to the House of Black and White."