Entry 02: For Her Family Was Found By The Lone Wolf
Title: For Her Family Was Found By The Lone Wolf
Entry Number: 02
Author: mihnn
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst, Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Spoiler Warnings: Season 3 of Game of Thrones.
Word Count: 1323
It only took a moment for the gift to be given.
She wore the face of an old woman, frail and hunched with pockmarks on her skin. She had watched the man for days, studying his role as a wealthy merchant while he walked the docks, made cruel japes to those who owed him coin and fucked whores. A fat man and balding he was, but cheerful in his slights against others. She saw the way he waddled when he paid unwanted visits along the docks, two men with protective spears on either side, and a sharp arakh resting on his hip that was boasted to have once belonged to a Dothraki savage.
She had watched him for two days and two nights before understanding the love he bore for meat. His eyes would become bright when a suckling pig was put before him, his yellow-toothed smile wide as his fingers plucked the skin from the bones. He would slurp and suck and by the fourth bite, the gift had been given.
She did not wait until his heart had given out; instead she went to the Kindly man to receive her old face, the one that was young, hard and weathered.
“Has the gift been given?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice expressionless, her face even more so.
“And who are you?”
“I am no one.”
“That you are.”
She then wore the robe of the House of Black and White and slipped her feet into soft slippers before continuing the day with chores.
If she counted the number of gifts given, truly counted them, she would have called this recent gift by its true number. But it had been years since she had given a number for each gift. She stopped count more than four seasons ago when the gift given to an old woman was number nine and forty. Each gift became easier to give and while before the act had been thrilling, she now felt the act bore her. The victims were never the same but the gift was not.
It was with precise movements that she braided her hair and tied a bun at the base of her neck before she got on her hands and knees to scrub the floor near the pool. When she had first begun these chores she was always drawn to those who had entered the House of Black and White, those who had huddled at the feet of the statues to beg for the gift, but now her mind had no thought as she did as she was bid. Her hands were rough and calloused, her legs and arms strong from the labour she had endured. She didn’t notice the prayers nor was she interested in their words. If she was meant to give a gift the Kindly Man would send for her. That was how she had lived her life the past few years and that was how she envisioned to live her life the years to come.
She continued her chores diligently until the kindly man sent for her.
It was rare, when she was asked to give the gift more than once a moons turn, but when she was asked, she was always ready.
“He is a boy. No more than one and ten and he wishes for the gift.”
It was the first time she had questioned the Kindly man. He continued to speak, knowing her thoughts better than she did.
“It is not our place to question when a person wants the gift nor is it our place to not give it because we believe it is folly. Who are you?”
“I am no one.”
“Not today,” said the Kindly man. “Today you are Cesere, a merchant girl who was once a salt wife. Today you are in search of a beggar boy whose name is Lycien.”
“Lycien,” she said softly, tasting the name on her tongue.
“He is known for being brash and quick to anger. You can find him in the docks going from ship to ship in search of work in exchange for coin.”
“Lycien,” she said again. “A boy at the docks.” She had what she needed and now all she had to do was find him.
Her journey to the docks was not as interesting as it once was. As Cat of the canals she had known which ship was whose and which captain was fucking which whore. Now, she learnt everything she needed to know with a glance as her feet moved quickly and without a sound. She knew that a war was coming. There were men shouting and jostling as they loaded cargo aplenty. She counted six ships ready for Westeros and one for Castle Black.
She found the boy, Lycien, being shoved out of the third ship she passed, loud laughter causing him to scowl. She watched as he kept his back to her and said something foul causing the crew to laugh louder. “Get outta here you, runt,” they said before promising to kick him the next time he thought to stow away in their ship. The boy yelled once more, kicked a lone rock and stormed away.
She followed him carefully, her practiced steps a safe distance away. The boy walked through the docks, ducking his head under heavy crates and easily jumping over chests. It wasn’t hard to follow the boy, the docks were busy and she easily kept her pace with him. Once he left the docks, the boy continued further inland. He stopped to purchase a piece of black bread and raw meat. With a wrapped package under each arm he started once again. He walked and walked until finally coming to a house that was as broken as the rest surrounding it. The roof was thatched and half-held; the door was broken in half.
She watched him enter the house before her eyes darted across the street. Spotting a relatively clean window, she crouched low and went to watch what was happening inside the house. She saw the boy give the bread to a man much older than him. The man accepted the bread only to give it to a woman. She watched as they carved a small wheel of cheese preparing to eat their meal. The boy then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A wolf, bigger than anything she had ever seen before, came crawling from the side. Black and shaggy it was, as it tore into the package the boy had placed on the floor and coloured its muzzle red.
She stood transfixed while she watched the party of three and their pet eat before tightening the cloak around her shoulders and starting for the House of Black and White. Once she was given her face back the Kindly man asked her once again, “Who are you?”
She hesitated before saying strongly, her voice rough and full of emotion. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, Daughter to Eddard Stark, Hand of the King and sister to Robb Stark, King in the North.”
The Kindly Man waited a moment before he said, “You wish to reclaim the life you had lost?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“You came to us without a family and now you wish to leave?”
“I thought they were all dead,” she said softly, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “But they are not all dead. My brother is alive.” She felt her lips forming a small smile as a lone tear trailed down her cheek unhindered.
“Very well, Arya of House Stark. I trust you know if you are making the right decision.”
She nodded before taking off the clothes she had donned. When she had accepted her role in the House of Black and White she came with nothing, and as such, she must leave with nothing.
She wondered if the Kindly man knew who Lycien was before he had sent her.
Entry Number: 02
Author: mihnn
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst, Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Spoiler Warnings: Season 3 of Game of Thrones.
Word Count: 1323
It only took a moment for the gift to be given.
She wore the face of an old woman, frail and hunched with pockmarks on her skin. She had watched the man for days, studying his role as a wealthy merchant while he walked the docks, made cruel japes to those who owed him coin and fucked whores. A fat man and balding he was, but cheerful in his slights against others. She saw the way he waddled when he paid unwanted visits along the docks, two men with protective spears on either side, and a sharp arakh resting on his hip that was boasted to have once belonged to a Dothraki savage.
She had watched him for two days and two nights before understanding the love he bore for meat. His eyes would become bright when a suckling pig was put before him, his yellow-toothed smile wide as his fingers plucked the skin from the bones. He would slurp and suck and by the fourth bite, the gift had been given.
She did not wait until his heart had given out; instead she went to the Kindly man to receive her old face, the one that was young, hard and weathered.
“Has the gift been given?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, her voice expressionless, her face even more so.
“And who are you?”
“I am no one.”
“That you are.”
She then wore the robe of the House of Black and White and slipped her feet into soft slippers before continuing the day with chores.
If she counted the number of gifts given, truly counted them, she would have called this recent gift by its true number. But it had been years since she had given a number for each gift. She stopped count more than four seasons ago when the gift given to an old woman was number nine and forty. Each gift became easier to give and while before the act had been thrilling, she now felt the act bore her. The victims were never the same but the gift was not.
It was with precise movements that she braided her hair and tied a bun at the base of her neck before she got on her hands and knees to scrub the floor near the pool. When she had first begun these chores she was always drawn to those who had entered the House of Black and White, those who had huddled at the feet of the statues to beg for the gift, but now her mind had no thought as she did as she was bid. Her hands were rough and calloused, her legs and arms strong from the labour she had endured. She didn’t notice the prayers nor was she interested in their words. If she was meant to give a gift the Kindly Man would send for her. That was how she had lived her life the past few years and that was how she envisioned to live her life the years to come.
She continued her chores diligently until the kindly man sent for her.
It was rare, when she was asked to give the gift more than once a moons turn, but when she was asked, she was always ready.
“He is a boy. No more than one and ten and he wishes for the gift.”
It was the first time she had questioned the Kindly man. He continued to speak, knowing her thoughts better than she did.
“It is not our place to question when a person wants the gift nor is it our place to not give it because we believe it is folly. Who are you?”
“I am no one.”
“Not today,” said the Kindly man. “Today you are Cesere, a merchant girl who was once a salt wife. Today you are in search of a beggar boy whose name is Lycien.”
“Lycien,” she said softly, tasting the name on her tongue.
“He is known for being brash and quick to anger. You can find him in the docks going from ship to ship in search of work in exchange for coin.”
“Lycien,” she said again. “A boy at the docks.” She had what she needed and now all she had to do was find him.
Her journey to the docks was not as interesting as it once was. As Cat of the canals she had known which ship was whose and which captain was fucking which whore. Now, she learnt everything she needed to know with a glance as her feet moved quickly and without a sound. She knew that a war was coming. There were men shouting and jostling as they loaded cargo aplenty. She counted six ships ready for Westeros and one for Castle Black.
She found the boy, Lycien, being shoved out of the third ship she passed, loud laughter causing him to scowl. She watched as he kept his back to her and said something foul causing the crew to laugh louder. “Get outta here you, runt,” they said before promising to kick him the next time he thought to stow away in their ship. The boy yelled once more, kicked a lone rock and stormed away.
She followed him carefully, her practiced steps a safe distance away. The boy walked through the docks, ducking his head under heavy crates and easily jumping over chests. It wasn’t hard to follow the boy, the docks were busy and she easily kept her pace with him. Once he left the docks, the boy continued further inland. He stopped to purchase a piece of black bread and raw meat. With a wrapped package under each arm he started once again. He walked and walked until finally coming to a house that was as broken as the rest surrounding it. The roof was thatched and half-held; the door was broken in half.
She watched him enter the house before her eyes darted across the street. Spotting a relatively clean window, she crouched low and went to watch what was happening inside the house. She saw the boy give the bread to a man much older than him. The man accepted the bread only to give it to a woman. She watched as they carved a small wheel of cheese preparing to eat their meal. The boy then put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A wolf, bigger than anything she had ever seen before, came crawling from the side. Black and shaggy it was, as it tore into the package the boy had placed on the floor and coloured its muzzle red.
She stood transfixed while she watched the party of three and their pet eat before tightening the cloak around her shoulders and starting for the House of Black and White. Once she was given her face back the Kindly man asked her once again, “Who are you?”
She hesitated before saying strongly, her voice rough and full of emotion. “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, Daughter to Eddard Stark, Hand of the King and sister to Robb Stark, King in the North.”
The Kindly Man waited a moment before he said, “You wish to reclaim the life you had lost?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“You came to us without a family and now you wish to leave?”
“I thought they were all dead,” she said softly, tears prickling the back of her eyes. “But they are not all dead. My brother is alive.” She felt her lips forming a small smile as a lone tear trailed down her cheek unhindered.
“Very well, Arya of House Stark. I trust you know if you are making the right decision.”
She nodded before taking off the clothes she had donned. When she had accepted her role in the House of Black and White she came with nothing, and as such, she must leave with nothing.
She wondered if the Kindly man knew who Lycien was before he had sent her.