Arya Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2014-04-09 10:04 pm
fearcutsdeeperthanswords) wrote2014-04-09 10:04 pm
❆ | 036 | Text + Spam
[Leaving the bloody mess behind her in her little rented room, Mercy rushed down five flights. She had some lines to say, and Izembaro would have her head if she was late for her entrance. She wouldn't be late: the first act would finish soon, and she'd have plenty of time to catch her breath and say her silly lines. It would be harder not to roll her eyes at Bobono's fake cock.
As she ran through the day's heavy fog, though, something changed. Shifted. She couldn't tell what, at first, only that the fog was not so thick as it had been. And then, all a sudden, the fog was gone. And so was Braavos.
Skidding to a halt, Marcy stared down the long hall ahead of her, lined on either side with doors. This was not the way to the Gate. This was not the way anywhere.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, she thought to herself, and started forward again. Some magic was at work, here. She had to sort out what magic would send her back - before she was late. That was all there was for it.
One of the doors looked familiar, and she came to a halt in front of it, staring. This is Mercy's door. Reaching out, she pushed the door open, and there was Mercy's little room - only the spot where she'd left Raff's body was plain wood. The blood that had sprayed across her floor boards when she cut his throat was gone, too. But on her bed was something new. Closing the door behind her, Mercy picked up the queer black box, turning it over.]
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[No sooner does she accidentally send the text to the network does she manage to turn on the video: there's a flash of a shaven head, a shapeless brown dress of wool, even the blue hempen rope that serves as her belt. A flash, and no more. Her fingers find the off button, and she slips the device into her pocket. It doesn't belong in this room, but neither does she. Only Mercy does, and Mercy wouldn't spend time looking over such a strange thing. So she turns and leaves again, looking up and down the hall before picking a direction. Mercy is bubbly and sweet, but Arya knows how to disappear.
She follows her feet, wearing Mercy's confusion and her sweet smile, but looking with Arya's eyes. There is something familiar here, only she knows Mercy has never been in a place like this. The problem is, she doesn't know when she would have been, either.
When she reaches the deck she gasps, and for a few moments, Mercy is too afraid to move. It's the whole of the sky, and Mercy is afraid it will swallow her whole. But that, she knows, is silly. She forces herself forward, finding a secluded spot by the rail where she can crouch and pull the communicator out for a better look. Mercy wouldn't bother with this strange thing, but she understands that many things are worth knowing.]
As she ran through the day's heavy fog, though, something changed. Shifted. She couldn't tell what, at first, only that the fog was not so thick as it had been. And then, all a sudden, the fog was gone. And so was Braavos.
Skidding to a halt, Marcy stared down the long hall ahead of her, lined on either side with doors. This was not the way to the Gate. This was not the way anywhere.
Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, she thought to herself, and started forward again. Some magic was at work, here. She had to sort out what magic would send her back - before she was late. That was all there was for it.
One of the doors looked familiar, and she came to a halt in front of it, staring. This is Mercy's door. Reaching out, she pushed the door open, and there was Mercy's little room - only the spot where she'd left Raff's body was plain wood. The blood that had sprayed across her floor boards when she cut his throat was gone, too. But on her bed was something new. Closing the door behind her, Mercy picked up the queer black box, turning it over.]
asdfsdljkgh
[No sooner does she accidentally send the text to the network does she manage to turn on the video: there's a flash of a shaven head, a shapeless brown dress of wool, even the blue hempen rope that serves as her belt. A flash, and no more. Her fingers find the off button, and she slips the device into her pocket. It doesn't belong in this room, but neither does she. Only Mercy does, and Mercy wouldn't spend time looking over such a strange thing. So she turns and leaves again, looking up and down the hall before picking a direction. Mercy is bubbly and sweet, but Arya knows how to disappear.
She follows her feet, wearing Mercy's confusion and her sweet smile, but looking with Arya's eyes. There is something familiar here, only she knows Mercy has never been in a place like this. The problem is, she doesn't know when she would have been, either.
When she reaches the deck she gasps, and for a few moments, Mercy is too afraid to move. It's the whole of the sky, and Mercy is afraid it will swallow her whole. But that, she knows, is silly. She forces herself forward, finding a secluded spot by the rail where she can crouch and pull the communicator out for a better look. Mercy wouldn't bother with this strange thing, but she understands that many things are worth knowing.]
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Something warms the edges of the hole in her chest, though. Vin would kill anyone who would try.
There's something else, too - the Barge, that's familiar like the other Mummer's homes. The Ship is no place she wants to end up - any man knows he can have any girl he sees on stage there, if his purse is fat enough - but the Barge and the Ship are separate entities. Her head throbs, for a moment, and she closes her eyes for a moment. Grass and trees and glass daggers flash behind her eyes, and she looks around the deck, then above at the other levels.]
Will you take me to the trees? I haven't seen trees in so long. [Mercy, growing up in foggy, watery Braavos, never has. Timber is shipped into the secret city, sprawled on the rocks and canals as it is.]
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[She's a touch impetuous, but no less genuine or precise for it. Yes, she can kill Izembaro. She doesn't know who Izembaro is, and she probably wouldn't kill him right away, but she can do it and she will, if he mistreats Arya.]
[She cocks her head at Arya, a little concerned about being manipulated. Something isn't right, besides the obvious lack of memory, and she doesn't know exactly what to make of it. But she nods anyway.]
Come with me.
[She doesn't hold out her hand. Arya isn't a child. She just goes, and expects the girl to follow.]
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She follows, swift and silent, silent as a shadow, swift as a deer. She doesn't try to take Vin's hand: not even Mercy would do that. Both of them would speak, though.]
Is it far? [She knows it's not. Isn't sure how she knows, but she does.]
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[She doesn't look behind her, either. She can hear Arya coming, just as she can smell the freshness of the CES slipping under the door to the entrance.]
[When they get there, quickly enough, she opens it with her earring and holds the door open wide.]
Go. Run, little wolf.
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She wants to. Everything that makes her a Stark wants to run and run and run until she has exhausted every part of her. She wants to howl, and find a pack and be a part of something. But the Starks are dead and buried, too. It's not safe to be a wolf.
Mercy draws in a breath to say as much, but in the distance, she hears a howl. A proper howl, and it thrills her to her bones. The wolf is alone, confused and angry and sad, and she thinks she can hear all the sharp notes that say exactly that. Her eyes widen, and she starts forward, one halting step at a time. She leaves Mercy behind with each slow step, sheds her skin as she reaches for someone else.
Nymeria.
For a second, she smells everything, every blade of grass, every tree, every scent of man. Then she's back in her body, with her small nose and small eyes. But her feet carry her, and she does run, crashing into the brush with her heart hammering in her chest.]
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[She does not know wolves. They didn't live on Scadriel, not proper wolves; certainly not direwolves. There wasn't the environment to support them, just mist and desert and dust and cities and ashfall. Mountains sprinkled with volcanoes in the distance. Not any kind of land for wolves.]
[She recognizes the sound of the wolf from being here, from living alongside Nymeria. When she hears, she smiles, small and grim; and when Arya runs off, she follows, swift and steady, though she doesn't run.]
[There was never any doubt that this was Arya. But if there had been, it would be extinguished now. The other half of her soul is out there, howling for her.]
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For a moment, she feels a spark of fear. When last she saw her wolf, she was a puppy, barely the size of a full grown hunting dog. What she sees now is of a height with a pony, and thought Arya has grown considerably since the day they parted, she's still as scrawny as ever.
But she isn't just a girl. Run, little wolf.
Nymeria charges forward with a growl, and Arya holds her ground, throwing her arms about the direwolf's thick neck. She holds on tight as Nymeria tosses her head, and her feet leave the ground completely for a heartbeat.]
I'm sorry, [she mumbles into thick gray fur.] I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.
[It's been a lifetime since she threw a rock at her wolf, two since she forced her to run, a thousand since Lady died in her place. Slowly, Nymeria quiets, accepting Arya's position and licking every bit of her she can. It's been a long, long time.]
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[Instead of dwelling, she watches the movement of the direwolf's muscles under her fur. Such strength. She is so much stronger than Arya looks, but they're the same underneath it, Vin is very sure.]
[She will forgive you, she is part of your heart. Vin doesn't say it. It's not her place to say.]
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No more wolf dreams, she thinks. The night wolf is finally here. She scratches under Nymeria's jaw, behind her ears, down her sides. She's vigorous, and Nymeria is excited, and eventually she bounds up again, trotting past Arya to examine Vin. She sniffs at her, as Arya comes up beside her.]
Thank you. For letting me in.
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You're welcome. But don't thank me for it again. This place belongs to you as much as it does to me.
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[It's the same impetuous tone that Vin used, almost perfectly mimicked. But there is a small smile pulling at her lips. Not Mercy's smile, not the wide, easy, open smile. This one belongs to another girl, a girl who has wolf dreams full of blood and snow.]
I'm not Mercy.
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[Vin's dreams are dust and mist. Her smile is melting rock. She comes from a different place, far different, but just as harsh, just as violent.]
You're Arya Stark, and you're looking for a pack. But you don't know if you believe in packs anymore.
I'm Vin Venture, and all my pack that's not here is dead and gone or beyond my reach.
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Is Arya Stark your pack?
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It's up to Arya Stark, isn't it? But I'd like her to be.
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[She stops, doesn't look away. For a moment she stares up at Vin and remembers things, and lets the style of speaking she learned in the House of Black and White slide away from her.]
My father taught me that in the long winter, the pack survives. But our packs are dead. Or gone. Now we're the lone wolf. And we survived.
[She doesn't know if she believes in packs anymore. But if she does, she wants Vin to be in hers.]
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We did. But does that mean we have to be alone forever? Because I don't think I'd like that.
I don't like being with lots of people. But some people, that's good.
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I lost my packs. Both of them. But they weren't real. [She does not chew her lip. She only thinks about doing it.]
I like being around people. I've been around people for a long time. But that doesn't always make you less alone.
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Do you want to be alone now? [Does she want Vin to leave, is what she means - does she want to be alone with her wolf, the other part of her soul, and run and run. Because Vin would leave her here. Vin would let her.]
[She trusts Arya. Maybe she shouldn't, but that's just how it is.]
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[Not forever. She was never going to be alone forever. No matter what her name is, she makes friends, even if they aren't always pack. But Nymeria is, Nymeria is a part of her sleeping self, and she has spent so long away from the night wolf.
Nymeria has caught a scent. She can tell just by looking.]
For now.
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[Vin nods - to Arya, to Nymeria in turn - and turns to go. Nymeria can find the way out when they're done. There's no need to say anything else. Arya knows - or will know, or will realize - that she can come to Vin if anything's needed.]
[Whether she does or not, well, that's another question. Pack is complicated.]
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