Author's Note: Hey everyone, if you're reading this, thanks for giving this story a chance. This will be my second story (and who knew I would be just as nervous putting this one up as I was my first one). My first story was Cast Your Soul to the Sea… and have promised a sequel to those who liked it…this story however is not that. I will have the first chapter of that story up next week. This story is just another one of my Arya/Theon whims. There will be a strange mixture of book and show in this, same as my first story, if things seem out of order and timing seems different, it's because it fits my narrative better. And please be aware that I've aged Arya up a few years. As a bit of a back ground, most of what happens to Arya prior to the opening will have been what happened to Arya in the show, with the exception of her training at the House of Black and White. That follows the book more.

Chapter 1

The blind beggar girl sat quietly on the dirty, cobbled stones just outside the door to one of Bravosi dockside brothels. She leaned uncomfortably back against the rough wood of the building, staring sightlessly ahead. Every once in a while she would hear the dull thunk of metal clatter into her begging bowl. She would mumble a thank you as the person continued to walk on. Her position was good here. The proprietor of this particular brothel was kind to let her stay there as long as she didn't blatantly bother her customers. Drunken men who had recently been with a woman tended to be generous after their needs had been met. If they were especially happy, every once in awhile they would throw a bit of coin her way.

She had not always been blind, nor a beggar. Before her sight had been taken from her she had been many things, almost all of them had been a lie, all except one and now at times she even thought that Arya Stark was a lie too, and that she truly was no one. That suited her, that was her goal, it was better to be no one than Arya Stark any way. If she hadn't seen the man that had given her a sharp reminder of that stupid girl, Arya Stark, then perhaps she would still have her sight.

The girl supposed she deserved to have her sight taken from her. She had taken a life that had not been asked to be taken, even if Arya Stark had wanted the man dead. Even if Meryn Trant had killed the man who had taught Arya Stark how to water dance and justice called for his death. She shook her head lightly as if to wipe away an unwanted memory. Those thoughts were dangerous. Those were the thoughts of a girl who was named Arya Stark. She was not Arya Stark. She wore a different mask now. She was a blind girl. Arya Stark was dead, and she was buried within that blind girl. She should not even be thinking of Arya.

She should be focusing on begging for money, of worrying about her continued studies at the House of Black and White. She was still learning, even in her blind state. Her sense of smell and taste had sharpened, which was an advantage when she trained with the Waif in learning her poisons. Even if the study of such things was a bit dangerous without her eyes. Her physical training also continued, a man would attack her with a staff and she was expected to block the blows and eventually counter them. She supposed even the begging was part of the training, not just a punishment. Every so often she would be asked if she had over heard any new and interesting things, as she was expected to eavesdrop on those who passed her in the streets. It did not escape her notice that she escaped most everyone else's notice and that her hearing also improved with the lack of her sight. She had learned many things that she wouldn't have if others had noticed she was paying particular attention to them.

But this today everything was slow. There were no loiterers in the street that talked off handedly about news from around the city; and even less foreigners gossiping about what was happening in ports from Westeros or other more exotic harbors. The night was quiet, and she was bored and her ears heard nothing but the normal sounds of the city. Eventually her mind wandered.

She thought that perhaps she had fallen asleep and the largest evidence of that was that her vision had returned to her. She immediately recognized that it was not her normal vision, she was low to the ground. It was one of her dreams where she was an animal. Most night's she dreamed that she was a wolf, hunting and roaming the outdoors. This time as her feet padded across the stone floor, she recognized that she was inside and when she looked down she saw, not the paws of wolf, but rather feline ones instead. She looked up again and instantly knew she was in the brothel she was begging outside of.

It had been weeks since she had seen it, but she had sold shellfish there when her name had been Cat…and people called her Cat of the Canals. She saw the feet of patrons and whores alike. She looked up and even recognized some of the regulars. One of the women that worked there absentmindedly reached down and patted her head before she scolded her and told her to get out of the way. The woman had called her 'Mouser' and the girl blinked in surprise at the name. She remembered the brothel's owner had a cat by that name.

Such an odd thing, to dream oneself as a cat, her wolf dreams felt more natural. And it was odder still that she had once called herself Cat, a name that gave her a pang every time she thought of it. It reminded her of when she had been Arya, people had called the girl's mother by that name sometimes.

Her cat-self heeded the woman's advice and padded quietly over to a bench. She looked up, and noticed that if she hopped on the bench, she could jump on the table, then there was a series of shelves she could climb until she was on one of the long beams that ran below the vaulted the ceiling. It was a good place to perch and watch her surroundings. Her instincts proved to be good, because as soon as she made herself comfortable atop , two men, Westerosi from the sounds of them, sat below her, wearily. From what she had gathered they had just come into port and they sounded relieved. The winter storms had been harsh on the seas and they discussed the option of waiting out the winter in Bravos.

There was a quiver in her memory about winter, but she let it slide over her with no attention. The girl was becoming better at letting go of such distractions. And she had more important business of listening to the news these men brought with them.

Stannis Baratheon was in the North sitting at the Wall with an army of his own men and apparently as many sell swords with him. It was curious that he had the money to supply and recruit this army. The last she heard was that he had lost Storm's End and Dragon Stone. There was also unrest in King's Landing, something about two queens at odds. After awhile the information dwindled as the men became more interested in drink and eventually the women that had sauntered up to them.

The feline body she had dreamed herself in stood up and stretched luxuriously. She would have to find information else where now. Briefly, it dawned on her that she just dreamed this information up. Dreams would be useless at House of Black and White. She gracefully balanced on the beam, keeping ears and eyes open for anything that might prove interesting.

Suddenly an there was a clamoring of over turned cups, the loud laughing of two women, and she could just make out a masculine chuckle. Of course her cat eyes were drawn to the noise and just like that something dropped within her. From her perch, she could gaze steadily at the young man who chuckled, studying him intently, hoping she had made a mistake. Then the man smirked the smile of someone who should not be there. Then he let out a laugh, and she knew she had made no mistake.

Arya Stark had always heard that laughter in concert with her her older brothers, most often with Robb and on occasion Jon. She listened as the carefree voice of Theon Greyjoy cut through the din of the brothel talking to the women who sat at his table. And just like that her beggar persona shattered. She watched helplessly as the boy who had been a fixture in Arya Stark's childhood drunkenly paid off the whores he had used and the drink he had consumed. And for a moment, she even forgot that this was only a dream as a feeling of anger overcame her, the anger at seeing this man who had ultimately betrayed the Stark family. She had heard rumors both when she was in Westeros and she had heard even more when she was in Bravos about what Theon Greyjoy had done to Winterfell, to the Stark family, to her family.

Arya Stark clawed her way to the to the forefront of the girl's mind. Arya Stark had not been buried within the blind girl, only hidden. In that instant she could never be no one. She was always Arya Stark, she should have realized that when she killed Meryn Trant. With that realization she gave a loud hiss of frustration.

With that hiss she seemed to wake from the dream. Her heart beating wildly and for a moment she was disoriented as she realized she once again could not see. She grabbed the staff she used as a cane and groped for the cup that held her daily earnings. Once she collected that, she used the staff to help push herself up from the ground. She shook her head as if to clear it. For a brief moment in that dream, she had remembered that she had once been Arya Stark, that she was in fact still Arya Stark. Reluctantly she realized that Arya still needed to be pushed back into her hiding place deep in the shadows of her soul. Arya Stark could not go back to the House of Black and White. She must remember that she was the blind beggar girl.

The dream had rattled her. She needed to calm herself, to center her thoughts. She was just about ready to go, when the door to the brothel opened and a drunken costumer had spilled out. Before she knew it, the person collided with her and the cup slipped form her grasp and the coins went clattering all over the place.

"Seven hells," muttered a voice.

Arya froze, it was the voice form her dream, and in that moment she realized she hadn't been dreaming. She shuddered to think what that meant. A distant memory of old Nan telling her and her siblings about wargs…skin changers and she shuddered again.

She heard Theon take a sharp intake of breath and for a moment she wondered wildly if he recognized her. Then she dismissed that thought. The homely beggar girl was a far cry from the little girl she had been when she last saw Theon Greyjoy. She kept her face carefully neutral, her eyes staring blankly in his general direction.

Theon cursed again. "You're blind." He said almost in wonder. "I am sorry."

Arya managed to offer him a shrug and then leaned down to grope again for her cup and money. She suddenly felt the urge to leave his presence. The anger that Arya Stark felt for this man threatened to erupt forth and that could be disastrous.

"Here let me help you." He said quickly. It seemed odd that this man was so intent on helping her. He had been an arrogant, callow youth, she remembered, and worse a traitor, a murderer even. "He killed your younger brothers," Arya's inner voice screamed. She could sense that he leaned down to help her and instantly she was struck by how near he was.

She could smell him. With her eyes gone, her nose worked wonders and his scent paralyzed her. It wasn't the stale smell of sex and alcohol that all men seemed to have when they exited brothels. That of course was on him too; but no it was his underlying scent that tore at the scabs of her heart. It was a scent that Arya had smelled as a child, whenever she had been allowed to tag along with Robb and Jon, and by extension Theon. It was an underlying scent that was uniquely him. Everyone had their own, and she would have thought that she had forgotten his, as a child she had never even paid attention to it. But with her eyes gone and her other senses heightened, it must have awakened something in her memory. He must have awakened her memory. The smell of him, triggered the flood of memories: the smell of the summer snows in the North, the smell of her father's solar, the kitchens when she had wanted to steal lemon cakes, the smell of her mother's perfume, and the smell of Winterfell's stables. It was as if he was the scent of home and her heart bleed.

It was not fair that this traitor could undo so much of what she had become and make Arya return. She knew without a doubt that Arya Stark would not go back in the little box of her psyche anymore. She would have to work on hiding herself from the man and the girl who awaited her back at the House of Black and White.

This terrified her. He, Theon Greyjoy, terrified her. The anger and hate that she had thought she had buried terrified her. She knew that if she had the means she would have killed him where he stood. Instead she turned and fled, leaving a confused young man behind her, holding her begging cup and the coins within it.

Arya would not realize that a small cat was following her until she reached the doors of the Temple to the Faceless God.