fearcutsdeeperthanswords | ❈ | 031

[With all these people graduating lately and all her wardens gone off, Arya has been doing a lot of thinking. She's wormed her way into the CES - she always seems to find a way - and is sitting against Nymeria, using the direwolf as a pillow. She's wearing a modern looking zipper hoodie over her usual threadbare attire; the zipper is open, but the hood is up, and on its top are two fuzzy, gray wolf ears. There's dirt on her face when she clicks the feed on, in a swoop from her cheek to her jaw; on the other side she's managed to accumulate a couple scratches. She doesn't seem to notice either.]

There's no one left from Westeros, besides me. Tyrion's gone. Viserys used to be here; I don't think there are a lot who remember him. Jon Snow was here, too. But he left.

[They all left is what she doesn't say out loud. She scratches at her jaw, somehow missing the dirt.]

I've been here a long time, though. I checked - it's two years, now. [She doesn't pause; she's already let that sink in.] Your worlds are all different from mine. You treat people like babies till they're old; you call them kids until they're eighteen, twenty. In Westeros, and Essos, and all over in my world - a girl is grown when she's flowered. [She makes a face, because it's a dumb euphemism, but it's ingrained.] My brother was a king when he was fifteen. He wasn't a boy, he had a beard and led men and killed his enemies. [And he died.

She pauses for a moment, looking up as a shadow passes over her, presumably a cloud.]

When I was littler, I wanted to know if I could build castles, or be a High Septon, or be a councilor to a king. He said I could marry a king, and my sons could be Septons and builders and knights and lords. Well I'm not getting married, and I'm not having sons, not ever.

Is that what it's like in your worlds, too? I don't mean, do they say no and you do it anyway, that's not any different. Are girls allowed to be rulers and builders and fighters where you all are from?

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What happened when you did?

They died.

[Her lips curve into a very, very small smile.]

You think your power is dead?

[She matches it, like the game she played with the waif in Braavos, mirroring expressions until she can control them.]

I don't have to whisper anymore.

No.

Who is it you want to kill now?

The people who killed my family.

[This doesn't fit in her head for a minute, until she switches family to Kelsier and feels the beginnings of rage.]

And who are you protecting?

[She hesitates, there, almost says no one, almost says myself, but there's another answer. It's shaky, uncertain, but it's the right answer.]

My pack.

[There's that smile again. Approving.]

They give you strength?

Yes.

Do you have a pack?

Yes. Not all here, though.

At least some of them are. That's good.

My husband was one of them.

[A hint, a whisper. And then she veers away again.]

Is your pack or your revenge more important?

Was?

[No people need to stop asking her shit like this.] They're both important. And it's justice, not revenge. [...] It's both.

Is.

[Which is also true. But also isn't. He will always be hers. But at the same time, he's just as dead as she is.]

[She won't say this anywhere Kelsier could see.]

Then . . . you need a balance.

I have a balance. [She thinks.]

...What would you suggest?

Justice that accomplishes a goal. Violence to protect.

How do you fight?

With a sword.

With teeth and claw, if I have to.

Do you want to learn more?

Yes. [All the time always from everyone. There are many good things to know, here.

I can show you. I think maybe we're . . . not so different. Under everything.

What can you show me? [She will be the best student ever just watch.]

How I fight.

But how do you fight?

With daggers and swords and tooth and claw.

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