Hereafter

TeeFade

Disclaimer: I am so glad George R. R. Martin allows me to play in his world with his
characters, and goodness knows their genius does not belong to me!

Thank to those who have followed and reviewed this, and to everyone
taking the time to read this. Please enjoy this chapter!

There were motions, and each morning the acolyte went through all of them. The cleansing, meditating, transformation and dressing were so much routine now that she probably could do it all in her sleep, but each new morning it was harder and harder to pretend that she was successfully making a clean slate of herself. If they hadn't taught her to lie so well she was sure to have been thrown out by now.

The truth was that the slight, fierce girl, going by whatever name she might think up, was in a predicament. She owed much to the House of Black and White, to Him with Many Faces, the waif, the kindly man, even Izembaro, to whom she was apprenticed. This she knew.

She also knew that she wanted to learn this craft—the ways of the faceless men were so intruiquing, the power they had so attractive that she was lying with her whole being every day to remain and learn more. Therein lay the problem; she was unwilling to be a servant.

She was not 'no one', as she tried to pretend to be all the time. She was a Stark. Arya Stark. And though she sometimes struggled with remembering everything that Arya Stark was before she tried to forget herself, she knew that Arya Stark had only one purpose for spending her years learning the sacred art of the faceless man.

It was so she could bestow the gift upon those whose name she still whispered to herself in the dead of night. Valar Morghulis.

ooooo

When he entered the temple he used the ebony door, seeking shelter beneath its shadow. He would pay hommage to whichever God of death he adopted that night, he would circle the pool, and then he would find a spot to wait and watch.

But it was in the city, among its merchants, thieves, and whores, in its alleys and on its docks that he searched more ruthlessly. One did not speak in the Many-Faced God's temple, after all.

"A man seeks a girl," he would start, but when his search came up empty he altered it so that he was seeking a boy. Maybe Arry had come. Still nothing. Patience waned and eventually a man's questions quickened, his tone of voice edging on desperate.

"I am looking for a girl," he said then, "dark hair, grey eyes, foul mouthed and clever."

But there were many girls in Braavos eager to be the girl he sought, their hands outstretched for coin.

The problem, he thought, was that she was trying not to be Arya Stark, and if that were true than he was looking for no one.

ooooo

"Welcome, brother," the priest greeted. He wore a robe of black and white and the face of an old man with crows feet wrinkles hinting laughter and a smile on his lips, "Valar morghulis."

"Valar dohaeris," he replied, though he now questioned the saying. Why exactly was it that all men must serve? It did not even sound a choice, and it hadn't been in his case.

He had been a child of eight, orphaned by the black cup and peaceful death the temple offered and left by his mother as her thanks to Him of Many Faces. There had been so much pain in him that forgetting who he was had been a welcome task. It was a lifetime ago, and though a man had lost track of his years of service he felt that he must have served long enough.

It was frowned upon to show interest in a specific servant. But he could think of no other way to find out if Arya had ever used that coin he gave her.

He started carefully, the right side of his mouth tilted up slightly. Masking himself with amusement was a habit that followed him through many faces.

"A man gave a coin and has come to search for it," were his words. His eyebrows lifted slightly, asking the unspoken question.

"You ask of a coin, yet it is a girl you seek," the priest's smile faded, eyes darkening with suspicion.

A man did not know what to say.

"I—" he started without finishing. Instead he pressed his lips together and stared boldly. Yes, he was looking for a girl, what of it?

"Who are you?" the priest asked.

His jaw tensed in order to hold back the scowl that threatened his lips. The question is reminiscent of his long ago days as an acolyte.

"I am no one," he deadpanned dutifully. Valar dohaeris.

The priest nodded in satisfaction, his lips twisting and eyes glinting with meaning, "And so is she."

Emotions scourged through him, sharp as a double-edged sword. His years as a faceless man helped to still his expression. She was here. She may be out on assignment, but the priest knew of her and she's here.

Conversely, she would soon be gone, and a man cannot say what they do with your true face once they take it from you. She was not yet old or trained enough for the last rite, but he would have to find her soon.

"Who have you come to serve?" the priest sighed, "Him of Many Faces, or yourself?"

He gathered his trinkets, the girl's name, her face, her voice, and buried them all beneath layers of blankness. His mind cleared, his mouth frowning in shame, and then he lied with all of his being.

"A man comes to serve. Valar Dohaeris," he bowed his head, eyes closing reverently, and he waited. He did not notice the cat peering down at the scene from the rafters.

ooooo

She may have lost herself if it weren't for the dreams. Many nights she slept in her bed but spent the hours living through the eyes of a wolf. At first she had assumed they merely were dreams, but some things were too real. She would wake up with lungs filled with the cold air of the north, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and more than once with a growl on her lips.

Once accepted, it was a comfort to know that Nymeria was alive and thriving with a pack of her own.

The night they came upon the man, Arya woke up with her heart racing and a name on her lips. It was a name she hadn't thought of in quite some time. "Jaqen H'ghar." He did not look like the dead man she remembered, but something about his stare was familiar and bade her to stay Nymeria's attack. It were his parting whispered words that confirmed everything.

Once she remembered him she remembered everything. Her reason for coming here in the first place. That Arya Stark owed it to her family to deplete that list of hers.

With all that came the realization that Jaqen H'ghar—despite that he'd kept her secrets, despite the odd sort of trust she'd been able to afford him, despite those that he'd killed for her—had lied to her.

Yes, the art of the faceless men could help her complete her task, but her training would have her believe that she could not be the judge. As a servant of Him of Many Faces, a girl would only be able to bestow the gift on those she was tasked or hired to kill.

And so she struggled, trying to hide herself without consequence. To learn and know but not master.

Yet again, Arya played a part.

She had known when a man arrived in Braavos, almost to the day. Morning meditation found her experiencing the world through the eyes of a cat. The wolf girl had never had an easy time of staying still, so this was just another instance of pretend. Truthfully, her apprenticeship would have her feeling caged in most every day if it weren't for these explorative meditation times each morning. Not only that, but it was her way of keeping tabs on the city. She continued learning three new things every day, most of them through the eyes of a stray feline.

A man had been roaming the docks that morning, asking after a dark haired girl with the look of a boy to her and a foul mouth. He was tanned with a full, dark beard and a chunk missing out of one ear. Though he appeared exhausted, his face would have him aged no more than five and twenty. Not Jaqen H'ghar, to be sure, but she'd only known one man who had given her a coin like the one he was transferring from one clenched fist to the other.

Gasping, eyes jerked open and a girl felt faint at the speed with which she had retreated from the cat. She struggled for a moment, ignoring the stiffness her limbs had acquired from being still, to gather herself off the floor. It was as if standing on her own two feet was the best way to remind herself that she was indeed a girl, not a cat. Or wolf, for that matter. She was a girl who was in control of herself and had chosen to stay here and learn despite...everything.

So why did his arrival muddle her thoughts so?

Her teeth clenched together as well as her fists, and the girl's face adopted Arya Stark's trademark scowl as she stood in the middle of her room and decided how she should feel about this.

Jaqen H'ghar was dead, first of all. He had said so himself. This man was a stranger. And yet Arya still felt betrayed that he wasn't truthful about all it meant to become a faceless man, and angry that he lied about the coin. Use it if she needed him again, he said. That day had come and gone moons ago and the coin had only brought her further from anyone she knew and no closer to him. Until this day, it seemed.

No, she decided stubbornly, she would not seek him out. She had not given him a coin in case he needed her, after all, and she'd managed without him this far. Her decision was made and cast in stone.

But, of course, she could not keep away.

When she could get away without notice she would don a blind, beggar girl's face and go wandering Braavos as Beth. A ratty feline never strayed far from her feet, and the girl would keep moving until she found a man searching for a face that had belonged to her. Fierce, he said. Clever and scowling, he said.

Once he stopped in front of her with a question half asked. "Have you seen-" and then cut short with a softened sigh. Beth's face screwed up into a scowl before she could stop it; even disguised Arya didn't take well to pity.

"I know what you look for," she spoke with Beth's soft voice, Braavosi accent heavy, "clever girls with foul mouths don't last long in Braavos."

"This, a man knows," he replied, Beth could hear the resignation in his tone but through the feline she noticed something familiar. The right corner of his mouth has been tilted up, as if to force a look of amusement. She wondered for a moment if he has seen through her disguise, but the man retrieved a coin and pressed it into her hand instead, "Such a silver tongue will do a girl well."

"Thank you, sir," Beth nodded her head, the coin clutched to her chest with both hands. She had to bite her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from saying 'This, a girl knows.' He walked away without another word, continuing his search for the girl he just left.

She did not like him. She decided this as she climbed into bed that night. His face was too unfamiliar despite the words he spoke, and he should have been able to know it was her. Had he not known her secret all the time that Arry had been a girl? No, he was too much changed, she thought. Her Jaqen H'ghar really was dead and this was a man she knew not.

This was why she was unprepared the next morning during her meditation when through the eyes of a feline in the rafters she found him speaking to the kindly man.