Summary: Arya has just finished her training at the House of Black and White and gets her first contract out of Braavos and will leave for Essos. Once there she must cope with the betrayal of her pack and those she thought she could trust, while at the same time hiding everything about who she is. The Others are coming, secrets are revealed and lies brought to the light. The last of the Starks begin to converge, question is: will they reunite or end up killing the ones they love? Will Westeros even survive the outcome? (That felt lame, leave a comment and tell me if it snags attentions)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, or whatnot created by GRRM. Everything else that is not covered by his copyright is hopefully fresh ideas from my lovely mind. Sorry if something is similar to something you may have read or written, but I am not doing it on purpose and I am very much trying to be original. If I was making money off of this, it would in no way be on fanfiction. 'Nough said.

Warning: This had been rated M because I like to be detailed, so I will mention: blood, definite gore, vulgar language, and mature situations throughout the chapters. You no like? You leave.

A/N: Okay, so I'll admit that I'm not current in the books. My cut off for cannon in this fic is A Dance with Dragons, so everything else will be made up in my own super special way. And don't expect super regular updates, I'll try but I work a lot. Plus this story is actually for my own pleasure so I intend to finish it at my own rate cause it makes me feel super awesome.

And while I am a more than willing Gendrya shipper, I can't just have them meet and fall in love as soon as Arya steps onto Westeros. Sorry, this is going to be a slow burning romance that will have only one sided Gendry/Arya at the beginning (Up to chapter 10 or so) which will blossom slowly and much later into a raging inferno. There is so little evidence of this pairing in book and show that I want to work up to it in a more realistic way. Besides, he practically betrayed her; she will not forgive so easily. That doesn't seem like an Arya trait

Concerning the theory of Gendry being Cersei and Robert's true child, I'm tearing that apart at the seams. Sorry. I'm going to call author's bullshit and use his unknown mom to my advantage. And I don't really want him to be any kind of king…. Not in this story at least.

The first couple chapters will be lacking in major characters, they will mostly just be there to set the mood of the story and give you a sort of taste test if you will. So dig in and read, leave a review if you will and criticize to your heart's content. Pointers would be very welcome.

Let's see, if I haven't scared you off yet, I'd like to mention my last point. I want to switch views in this story. The POV's will consist of badass killer Arya (and her super nice and sweet cover Lilienne), confused and at a loss Gendry, protective and understanding Jon, and maybe a surprise. Not sure on the last one. I'll figure it out when I get there. Some of the chapters will have multiple point of views.

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Mercy glanced at the many faces, all hidden deep within the House of Black and White. Her eyes wandered across the drawn skin and eyeless sockets, searching for the identity she would take for her next kill. It had to be just right, nothing her target would find suspicious or otherwise notable. The Faceless Men had allowed her the opportunity to choose for herself. It would be hard; her target was a cautious man that had proven to see a few previous attempts to end his life. Of course, none of the would-be killers had been a Faceless Man, as Mercy almost was.

It had been a few good years since she had made to Braavos, gaining a reputation amongst the other assassins as she slowly excelled in her training. She was now a woman of four-and-ten, and neither had her first Moon's blood or lost her maidenhead. And she had gained a slight womanish figure, curving just right even if some considered her lacking. But her lithe body and long legs still attracted eyes when she was on the streets, especially if she wore a dress or fitted tunic.

And she needed to find a face that could work with her body, to hide her true face. It was one thing to occasionally be spotted with the blatant Stark features here in one of the greatest of the free cities, where many faces passed without recognizing the once thought dead noble girl. No, they just appreciated beauty and one or two had once mistaken her for a Courtesan. Yet, once she reached Westeros as her contract demanded, she could not even conceive the risk of such stupidity. A dead girl walking was bound to gather attention.

So she looked, looked hard for the right face. Something thin, older but still young enough to catch the eyes of men easily. Then she found it, a face she was somewhat familiar with. It held a creamy glow associated with those that spent time in the sun often and had long bronze tresses waving around a delicate face. If Mercy remembered hard enough, the obvious beauty of this lowborn woman had been the death of her when she had been seized by drunkards and supposedly raped in an alley from dusk till dawn. Only hours later had the girl crawled towards the alters and in front of the fountain of poison and begged to be given the "gift". Receive it she did, Mercy had watched as the girl's brilliant green eyes had faded.

Mercy did the simple ritual to apply her face to create her new identity. She moved her face and tried the many expressions until she was familiar with what was comfortable. Nothing but slight smiles and grins felt right with this face, something Mercy herself had not felt comfortable with for so long. Not for a very long time, not since such a great betrayal so long ago when she was left alone, to fester in her hate and rage.

All her grudges were buried deep inside of her with all her memories and thoughts and emotions as one Arya Stark, just not enough. Though she was No One, from No Where, she couldn't lock away her blood, which gave her the wolf at night whilst she slept. It appeared that just that one connection with Nymeria kept her true face at the forefront of her mind. No matter how she tried the dreams kept Arya Stark from truly dying, even if she was weak and silent most of the time.

As she made for her room, Mercy was stopped by the Kindly man. "Ah, beautiful girl. May we have a word?"

He spoke in the Common Tongue of Westeros, something he only ever did when he wished to conceal something from the rest of the prying ears. She led the way to her room, where she packed poisons and her favored weapons to prepare for the journey. The Kindly Man stopped her as she was about to seal her pack.

"Take anything you find of value child, this will be the last time you venture these halls. It is not hard to see it in your eyes, No One is not truly No One, but a woman far from home." Mercy stiffened at his words, carefully watching him as he continued. "Fear not, the Many-Faced God has use of you elsewhere."

Mercy nodded, and at his knowing glance, she retrieved Needle. "The contract is still sacred?"

"Yes, be swift with it and strike down none other. Blindness was a warning to you once. Him of Many Faces will find you in his halls should you fail your last rite."

"The end of Mercy shall be swift and painless, and with it Arya Stark will rise as if the Red God had kissed her."

He left then, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she took the last of her few belongings. "If a girl returns, maybe she be a Courtesan yet."

The next morning saw Mercy, now a shy mess of a girl called Lilienne, approaching the docks in an intricate but conservative green dress. Her hair was braided carefully and over the shoulder to rest upon swollen breasts. One silver bracelet encircled her wrist and was set with stone, precious and in the shape of a seahorse. A pack and coin purse the only thing in her visible possession.

Some sailors leered at her from their ships, while others watched in hopes that she'd make way for their vessels. All became disappointed when she reached the docks of a large ship that she knew was heading for Westeros. Many of the deckhands were moving large crates into the hull and glanced her way occasionally. Only when she approached one of the men in charge did she garner more obvious attentions.

"Sir, I was wondering if I could board your ship and be brought to Westros with you." Lilienne said, her eyes fluttering as she bit her lip. "If it helps I have coin."

He was gruff and shook his head in disapproval, "We have no room on our ship and are a trading ship, not some passenger ferry for the folk."

Lilienne widened her eyes and reached into her coin pouch and pulled the heaviest of the coins, palmed so that none of the onlookers could glimpse it. She stepped forward and pressed the iron into the man's hands. When he made to drop the coin, Lilienne stepped in closer, cupping her hands around his own to further block the view of the deckhands. Her breath ghosted out pleading to those at a distance, as if she was begging. But the man stiffened as she let out two soft words filled with all the command that a king could wield.

"Valar morghulis."

"Valar dohaeris" was his quiet reply, and yet louder for those waiting "I think we can come to an arrangement. Come with me to meet the captain."

Work continued and Lilienne shuffled onto the boat, a relieved smile plastered across her face. "I thank you, kind ser."

The talk with the captain was brief and Lilienne had her demands met. With a simple introduction of her name, and both of theirs, she was given the quarters of one of the higher ranking men. And when she told them that she was not to be disturbed when in her room since it was a private matter, they hastily agreed and got the message to remain quiet to their crew of her position. The fear they had for her made them set off shortly after, with panicked haste the ship was leaving Braavos and passing across the Narrow Sea.

That night when she went up to the mess hall, many of the young men tried to strike a conversation with her. All questions were redirected or answered with a flush to the face and a short answer. None of the men suspected her true nature and that was how she preferred it. And when they got pushy, Lilienne gave an imploring gaze to the captain who immediately told the men that if they had time to talk that they had time to work.

For the next two months the crew got the hint that the lovely girl amongst them was not to be disturbed. She made a few coin by tricking the men into playing games that she had mastered long ago. A few seemed to have a suspicious and slightly fearful look in their eyes, but they never acted or talked on any of their beliefs.

By the end of the two months that it took to cross the Narrow Sea and reach Gulltown, Arya was more than impatient. The impatience though never bleed into her new persona, that face was nothing but pleasant to the men on the ship. A few men even called out to her in Braavossi as she was rowed to shore, telling her to take care and be careful.

With her small bag she continued on past the streets and towards one of the local inns. The bustling people on the streets spoke much of how well this city still thrived. Even more so when the bar keeper of the inn said all rooms had been taken. So she left the crowds toward the edge of the city, knowing full well that she was to stay in the near middle of the street and far from the winding alleys and spaces between buildings. She finally made it to a brothel, located closer to the edge of town and the finer streets. A woman was clearly being fucked from the second floor and smiled at Lilienne when she spotted her. In return Lilienne grimaced in distaste but made her way inside.

At the bar was a scantily clad woman, a man's hand inside her shirt and fondling a teat as he leaned in close and appeared to be whispering something to the woman. Lilienne approached the two and the woman's eyes caught sight of her. She moved away from the man and appraised the girl, much to the grumbling of the man who moved off to a more accepting woman.

"And what brings something like ya here; with such looks I say highborn. And ya no looks of any highborn round these parts." Her voice was husky and spoke in nearly a purr. "Looking for a job pretty girl? I assure ya we have no shortage of man here."

Lilienne blushed and shook her head in the negative. "No mam, just for room and a meal for the morrow. There was no room at the inn and they told me to arrive her for boarding."

"Ah, and ya have coin to afford this? If not I'm sure we can agree on another form of payment." The woman looked hopeful and leaned forward, her tits falling out and over a bent arm.

"I have coin mam, and just the room and food would be plentiful." Lilienne reached into her coin pouch and pulled a few pennies and showed the copper coins to the whore. "Will this be enough?"

"Yes," She pocketed the coins and started walking towards the stairs. "Shame, I bet ya'd be a screamer. Wouldn't mind that if I got ta hear that delicious accent as a man fucked you good."

The woman opened the door to an empty room and motioned back towards the way they had come. "If ya in need of food girl come down to the tables. And if I may ask ya name, case ya change ya mind for company?"

"Lilienne, mam. Of the house Rosswaters of Essos." She said.

The whore pursed her lips, "I ain't heard of no house, but look for Kendrell if you change ya mind Lilienne."

When the whore had wandered off, Lilienne closed her door and scowled before she moved to the straw mat in the corner of the small room. She shifted her dress over her head and ran a hand over the light armor. Specially made boots went halfway up her calves and hid her breeches and a few daggers. The tunic was just tight enough that the conservative dress she wore hid it easily, along with her spare coin pouch and Needle. Her one true companion since leaving from Winterfell all those years ago.

An ache in her heart warned her that her memories were attempting to resurface. She kept her iron will and stopped any unbridled thoughts from taking hold. Those would be saved for later when she slept and dreamt her wolf dreams. For now she would be occupied with honing her last gift. Her last reminder of home: her once family that had dwindled to the two outcasts. The lone wolves of the once pack. Just a wild girl and her bastard brother.

And as the last of the sun set, Arya bolted her door shut and lay for the night. Needle clutched in her hand and flush to her naked side, in case she was awoken to unwanted guests. As her eyes shut, before the wariness inside her took, the howls were heard. It was louder than anything she could ever remember, fierce but she knew it was a cry of welcome. Far away it sounded, but as loud as if a pack surrounded her.

When she opened her eyes, Nymeria's pack was at all her sides. They joined her in song and greetings to her littermate, her human. She had reached the shores from the lands across the sea and was home. Forgiveness welled in her cries, as she told her human that she knew why. Why her direwolf partner was forced away. And the thrum of revenge turned the pleasant song into nearly a feral snarl.

It was time for a hunt. Her cousins felt the stir in their alpha and took off into the night's cold grasp. Snow silenced their running as they ran faster and faster towards those fires the men used to warm their furless skins. When the pack neared, Nymeria slowed and slunk into her hunting crouch, teeth bared as she padded towards the only awake prey in the clearing ahead. And then she was behind him and the man stiffened when her frozen breath ghosted on his neck. Before he made a sound, his head was between her fangs and she broke his skull in.

Blood splattered and the crunch woke a few men, who had little time to react to the cousins that fell upon the easy meals. Their shiny claws found no purchase on the stronger predators as they made quick work. When Nymeria set upon the last living member of this infernal pack of man she gave a triumphant huff and tore through the red and gold coats of her prey. The hot flesh had yet to cool and left her satisfied as she rendered an arm from the corpse and feasted.

And then she was aware of the other men approaching. The men did not have the red or gold of her favorite prey, or the joined stone pillars that took her littermate from her. Her first pack. No, these men stopped dead when her dozens of cousins stood by her and barred their fangs on these intruders. They had their sharp silver claws drawn and ready for the fight.

Arya noticed that these men had no banners or coats of arms on their persons, and forced Nymeria to stop inching forward. She did, and then the rest of the pack stopped too, growling at the men and telling them to flee. Arya made Nymeria look into the leader's eyes and stare him down, daring for a battle that these men would surly lose. She had many, many more cousins in the wood hunting down the stone men and the red and gold men with the fluffy cats on their banners.

The leader motioned for his pack to slowly back away, and Nymeria watched as Arya let them. Arya looked from man to man but seemed dissatisfied when she did not find a specific male. And Nymeria settled down and continued with her meal, the soft, fatty flesh nearly gone. Her cousins did the same and soon only a few bones were left to show of the demise to this weak little pack.

Then she was running over fallen trees and deep patches of snow, panting as her pack followed with their bellies full of man flesh. The only ones, seeing as many of her cousins feared the small man beasts. Each one running with her was more than happy to feed on the two legs when given the chance, but only when their alpha led them.

With a skid she stopped atop a cliff that over looked much of her hunting grounds, from the large river in the distance to one side and the distant lake at the other. The moon shone brightly from where it began to sink across the horizon, and Nymeria gave a howl to her pack. All of them joined in, singing for the last time that night. Such pleasant sounds had not been heard in many a year. Those years were a time to morn for not only for the loss of her littermate, but for the loss of her Arya's own pack and littermates. But now was time to sing and let the prey know that her mate of the soul was home to take the life from those that had wronged.