POLL: No One for Too Long (Patreon)

There are untold dangers of the faceless men. It's true that they have the mystical ability to seemingly become someone else, changing their face as easily as changing their clothes. However, it's important that one who dons the faces of others be no one. Only those without self are safe from losing themselves to the faces they wear. 

Arya Stark never learned that lesson, nor was she warned of what could happen if someone wears a mask too long. She had left the Faceless Men several years before, refusing to give up her name. Now, after returning to Westeros and after leaving Winterfell, she continues to use the skills she learned from the assassins to keep the realm safe in her own way. She was on a hunt in the South, waiting for a mark that was threatening to throw the world of Westeros back into a war while it still was recovering from the last fight. He was a tall man, a gifted warrior with a scar across his face from cheel to temple. He had been a sellsword during the War of the Five Kings and sought to stoke the flames of war once more to regain his wealthy emplyment. However the man was discreet, rarely seen and barely left a trace wherever he went. The only place he'd been known to frequent was an upscale Brothel in King's Landing. Arya took up a mask of a young whore, Ariel, and set about waiting for her target. However, because the Brothel was known to keep hours almost all throughout the day and the target's coming and going was unknown, she was forced to remain in her disguise from dusk until dawn. 

For a time, she kept herself busy doing oddjobs, cleaning, and serving, simple tasks that kept her from the bedchambers and helped her keep vigilant watch over those coming and going from the brothel. However, she found that as the days wore on without sight of the man, she found herself aware of the patrons' leers. At first she found it unseemly, but without realizing it she began to carry herself and move with a flirtatious air. A sway of the hips, a deeper bend as she served wine, the girl began catching the attention of many customers. Arya was surprised when she found herself seated at a table with men, laughing as she drank from their cups. She didn't know why she was acting like a common strumpet, but as long as it kept her cover then it didn't matter... right?

Days turned to weeks as Ariel began to gain popularity in the brothel. Where once a seemingly prudent girl would turn away from leering eyes or wandering hands, the whore would giggle and ignore it. While seated and serving a customer, she felt a rough hand stroke her thigh. She was going to swat it away, but her body seemed to move on its own as she leaned in closer. She could smell the wine on the man's breath, the scent reminded Ariel of her first- Arya snapped out of the haze and quickly excused herself from the table, what had she almost done?

The weeks ran into months, and still no sign of the man, but Ariel took little notice of this as she entertained the guests. She had been wearing the mask so long, she no longer noticed it wasn't her own face. She would look in the mirror and all she'd see was herself, Ariel the whore, a well-known and 'well-traveled' prostitute. She smiled and primped, the seam of her mask seemed to fuse to her face now, though even if she could find it it was unlikely she'd know how to remove it. She turned, catching a glimpse of her womanly curves, a proper Southern borne who could warm even the longest of winters. "I hope this pleases you, m'lord," she cooed, twirling her short hair as the tall man approached her. She knew he wasn't a lord, a sellsword or something, but the customers always liked being called lord... made them feel superior and loosened their grip on their gold.

"Yes, a true pleasure," his gruff voice made Ariel's body melt as she leaned against him. Her fingers lifted to his face, tracing the scar as she kissed his chest. She would show him true pleasure before the night was over... He'd certainly paid for it...