Return of The Dragons Chapter 32 (A Secret) (Patreon)

Today is my birthday, so I made an early update for all of my stories, I hope you enjoy it.

Arya Stark

The one-eared black tom arched his back and hissed at her.

Arya padded along the alley, perched delicately on the balls of her bare feet, listening to her heart flutter and inhaling slowly and deeply. She convinced herself she was as quiet as a shadow and as light as a feather. The tomcat kept a cautious eye on her as she approached.

Cats were difficult to catch. Both knees were scabbed over where she had scraped them raw in tumbles, and her hands were covered in half-healed scrapes. Even the cook's enormous fat kitchen cat had eluded her at first, but Syrio had kept her going day and night. He'd replied to her when she'd run to him with her hands bleeding, "So sluggish? Girl, you have to move faster. Your foes will do more than scratch you." He'd used a cotton swab to wipe her wounds. Myrish fire, which burned so bad she had had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. Then he sent her out after more cats.

A swarm of cats swarmed around the Red Keep, including sluggish old cats napping in the sun, cold-eyed mousers twitching their tails, fast small kittens with claws like needles, ladies' cats all groomed and trusting, and ragged shadows prowling the midden piles.

Every one of them had been captured and delivered proudly to Syrio Forel by Arya, save for this one, a one-eared black demon of a tomcat with a snout like a devil. A gold cloak had informed her that she was looking at the "true ruler of this castle," who was standing right there. Older than sin and twice as cruel as the devil. When the king was feasting with the queen's father, the black bastard climbed up on the table and stole a roast fowl from Lord Tywin's fingers. Robert laughed so hard he felt like he was about to burst. "You keep your distance from that one."

She hadn't been able to remember where she was after he had taken her halfway across the castle, twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor's Walk, then down again and through a gate and around a well and in and out of strange

She had finally gotten her hands on him. Pristine stone walls were pressing in on either side, and the expanse ahead was a blank, windowless wall of stone. She repeated herself, as quiet as a shadow, moving forward as light as a feather.

When she was three steps away from him, the tomcat ran from the scene. He turned left, then right, while Arya turned right, then left, cutting him off from escape altogether. He snarled once again and attempted to scurry between her legs. She imagined herself to be as swift as a snake. Her arms wrapped tightly around him. Then she wrapped her arms around him, twirling and laughing aloud as his claws slashed across the front of her leather jacket's lining. She kissed him in the middle of the eyes and wrenched her head back just in time to avoid his claws grabbing her face in the process. The tomcat yowled and spit on the floor.

"Can you tell me what he's doing to that cat?"

Arya was startled, and she dropped the cat and whirled toward the source of the voice. The tom bolted from the scene in the blink of an eye. An angelic young lady with a mass of golden locks, dressed as lovely as a doll in blue satin, stood at the far end of the alley. On the other side of the table sat a fat young blonde boy, his doublet adorned with pearls and with a prancing deer stitched across the front, as well as a little sword at his belt. Arya pictured Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen in her mind. An imposing septa, the size of a draft horse, watched over them, with two massive men in scarlet cloaks, Lannister house guards, trailing after her.

"Can you tell me what you were doing to the cat, boy?" Myrcella inquired once more, her voice firm. Then she muttered something to her brother about him being a "ragged boy," which meant that he was filthy. "Take a look at him." She burst out laughing.

Tommen agreed that the youngster was "a ragged unclean stinky boy."

Arya came to the realization that they didn't know who I was. They are completely unaware that I am a female. It was no surprise that she was barefoot and filthy, her hair matted from the long dash through the castle, and dressed in a jerkin shredded by cat claws and brown roughspun leggings that had been hacked off above her scabby knees. "It's a small wonder," she said.

When you're out collecting cats, you don't dress in skirts and silks. In an instant, she bowed her head and bent one knee in front of her. It's possible that they wouldn't recognize her. If they did, she would never be able to get away from them again. Septa Mordane would be embarrassed, and Sansa would never talk to her again as a result of the embarrassment she would feel.

The old, bloated septa made its way ahead. "How did you find your way here, boy?" "You have no business being in this area of the castle," says the Lord.

"You're not going to be able to keep this sort out," one of the red cloaks stated. "It's like trying to keep rats out of the house."

"Can you tell me who you're affiliated with, boy?" The septa demanded to be heard. "Please respond to me. What the hell is wrong with you, are you deaf?"

Arya's voice was caught in the back of her throat. If she answered, Tommen and Myrcella would know her voice.

It was the septa who said, "Godwyn, bring him here." As one of the guardsmen approached the alley, he was the taller of the two.

Panic tightened around her throat like a giant's clutch. Arya would have been unable to speak even if her life depended on it. She spoke in hushed tones, as calm as still water.

Arya moved as Godwyn stretched out to grab her. As swift as a snake. She shifted her weight to her left, allowing his fingers to brush over her arm as she spun around him. As silky as a summer's day. Her sprint down the alley had begun by the time he had gotten himself turned around. As quick as a deer. The septa was yelling at her from behind her. In the blink of an eye, Arya slid between legs that were thick and white as marble columns, sprung to her feet, bowled into Prince Tommen and leapt over him when he sat down hard and yelled "Oof," turned away from the second guard and was past them all, sprinting full out.

She heard shouts, followed by the sound of pounding footsteps closing in on her. She was thrown to the ground and rolled. The red cloak sailed past her, stumbling and crashing into her. Arya jumped to her feet with a yell. She looked up and saw a window above her, high and small, barely wider than an arrow slit, and she screamed. Arya leaped, gripped the sill, and hauled herself to the surface. As she wriggled her way through, she held her breath. As slick as an eel, in fact. Then she got up and wiped the rushes off her clothes before scurrying out the door and down a long hall, down a stairwell, over an unseen courtyard, around a corner and over an iron fence and into the pitch-black cellar, which she had entered through a low narrow window in the first place. The sounds in the distance got increasingly distant behind her.

Arya had run out of breath and was completely disoriented. If they had recognized her, she would have been in big trouble right now, but she didn't believe they had. She'd moved a little too quickly. As quick as a deer.

She sank down in the dark against a damp stone wall, listening for any sign of the pursuers, but all she could hear was the thumping of her own heart and the faint drip of water from a nearby stream. She vowed to herself that she would be as quiet as a shadow. She was perplexed as to where she was. When they first arrived in King's Landing, she used to have nightmares of getting lost in the castle, and this continued until they left. Father had told her that the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her nightmares, it had seemed enormous, an unending stone maze with walls that seemed to shift and transform behind her as she walked. While traveling through dreary rooms past faded tapestries, descending endless circular staircases, darting through courtyards or crossing bridges, her cries would go unheard. Some of the chambers had crimson stone walls that appeared to be dripping blood, and she couldn't find a single-window anywhere. Some of the time, she would hear her father's voice, but it was always a long distance away, and no matter how hard she tried to chase after it, the sound would get fainter and fainter until it eventually faded away completely, leaving Arya alone in the dark.

She became aware that it was really dark outside at the moment. She shuddered as she clutched her naked knees against her chest and gripped them close. She would sit quietly and count down from ten thousand to one thousand. By then, it would be safe for her to come creeping back out and find her way back to her apartment building.

By the time she had reached the age of eighty-seven, the room had begun to light up as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Slowly, the shapes that surrounded her began to take shape. Huge hollow eyes looked at her hungrily through the blackness, and she could make out the jagged shadows of long teeth in the weak light of the night. She had misplaced her count. She blinked her eyes shut and bit her lower lip, wishing the anxiety away. The creatures would be gone by the time she looked around again. It would never have happened. She pretended that Syrio was standing next to her, speaking in her ear in the darkness. She reminded herself that she was as calm as still water. As tenacious as a grizzly bear. As ferocious as a wolverine. She blinked her eyes open once more.

The monsters were still there, but the terror was no longer there with them.

Arya rose to her feet, her steps cautious. There were a lot of heads gathered around her. She reached out and touched one, inquisitive as to whether it was real or not. Her fingertips brushed against a massive jaw. It had the appearance of being genuine. The bone was cold and firm to the touch, and it felt smooth beneath her fingertips. She stroked her fingers down a tooth, which was black and pointed, like a blade forged from the night. She got a shudder as she heard it.

"It's no longer alive," she declared aloud. The skull is only a skull, and it can't damage me, I assure you. Despite this, the monster appeared to be aware of her presence. Something in that murky, vast room did not care for her. She could feel its lifeless eyes staring at her through the shadows, and she knew it was there because it did not love her. She backed away from the skull and into a second one that was even larger than the first one. In that split second, she could feel its teeth pushing into her shoulder as if it was attempting to take a bite out of her flesh. Suddenly, Arya whirled, felt the leather grab and tear as a massive fang nibbled at her jerkin, and she was on the go. Another skull loomed ahead, this one the biggest of them all, but Arya did not even pause to consider it. It took all of her strength to leap over a ridge of black fangs as tall as swords, race through eager mouths, and slam the door shut behind her.

Her hands came upon a thick iron ring that had been embedded in the wood, and she yanked at it. The door resisted for a brief moment before slowly beginning to swing inward, emitting a creak that Arya was confident could be heard throughout the entire city. Opening the door just a crack was enough for her to sneak through and into the corridor beyond.

It was as if the room with the creatures had been the darkest pit in all of hell, and the hall was the blackest pit in all of hell. Arya reminded herself that she was as calm as still water, but even after giving her eyes a chance to adjust, all she could see was a blurry grey image of the door she had just walked through. It felt like the air was moving as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face, but she couldn't see anything. She couldn't see since she was blind. She had to remind herself that a water dancer saw with all of her senses. She closed her eyes and counted to three to keep her breathing steady. She drank in the silence and reached out with her hands.

A rough, unfinished stone surfaced to her left, and her fingers brushed against it. Taking small gliding movements into the darkness, she followed the wall, her hand skimming over its surface and her eyes following it. All corridors go to a certain destination. There is always a way in, and there is always a way out. Fear is more powerful than weapons. Arya would not be scared in the least. It appeared as though she had been traveling for quite some time when the wall abruptly came to an end and a blast of chilly air rushed by her cheek. Loose hairs brushed over her skin, creating a slight movement.

She could hear noises coming from a distance below her. Sounds of footsteps, distant voices, the scrape of boots. An ever-so-slight flickering light brushed against the wall, revealing that she was at the summit of a big black well, a shaft twenty feet across that plunged deep into the soil below her feet. A series of massive stones had been put into the curving walls to serve as steps, circling the building down and down, as gloomy as the steps to hell that Old Nan used to tell them about growing up. And something was emerging from the depths of the earth, from the depths of the darkness...

She peered over the edge and felt the cold black breath on her face as she looked down. She could see the light of a solitary torch, which was as little as the flame of a candle, far below her. She had a sexual encounter with two males. Their shadows writhed on the well's walls, towering over them like giants. It was possible to hear their voices reverberating up the shaft.

"... discovered one bastard," one of them stated. "The rest will follow shortly." The time span can be anything from one day to two weeks to two months.

"And what will he do when he discovers the truth?" a second voice said, her voice tinged with the liquid accents of the Free Cities.

"It is only the gods who know," the first voice stated. A wisp of grey smoke could be seen drifting up from the torch, writhing and writhing like a snake as it soared into the air. "The fool attempted to assassinate his son, and to make matters worse, they staged a mummer's farce out of it. He's not the type to put his feelings aside. If we don't act now, we'll find ourselves at the throats of the wolf and the lion," says the man.

It was a complaint from the voice with the accent, who said, "Too soon, too soon." "What is the point of war now? We aren't quite ready yet. Delay."

"You might as well tell me to stop time. Do you think I'm some sort of wizard?"

The other person laughed. "It can't be any less." The flames lapped at the ice-cold atmosphere. The tall shadows were practically on top of her, almost crushing her. A split second later, the man with the torch climbed into her line of vision, his partner following close behind. After creeping back away from the well, Arya sank to her stomach against the wall and flattened herself against it. As the men neared the top of the stairwell, she held her breath for a while.

"Can you tell me what you want me to do?" the torchbearer, a strong man with a leather half cape, inquired. Despite the fact that he was wearing heavy boots, his feet seemed to glide silently on the ground. The only thing that could be seen under his steel cap was his big scarred face and a stubble of dark beard. He was wearing mail over boiled leather and carrying a dirk and a shortsword at his belt. Arya had the distinct impression that there was something eerily familiar about him.

"If one Hand can die, why couldn't a second?" asked the man with the accent and the forked yellow beard, in response to the question. "You have danced the dance before, my friend," says the instructor. His appearance was completely unlike anything Arya had ever seen before, she was convinced of it. Despite being enormously overweight, he appeared to move lightly, as if he were a water dancer, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. Red-gold and pale silver rings glowed in the torchlight, coated with rubies, sapphires, and slitted yellow tiger eyes, and he was wearing them. Every finger had a ring on it; some even had two.

While walking out into the hall, the scarred man stated, "Before is not now, and this Hand is not the other," the scarred guy added. Arya convinced herself that she was as still as stone and as silent as a shadow. As a result of being blinded by the glare of their own torches, they missed her, who was pressing flat against the stone only a few feet away.

Taking a moment to gather his breath after the lengthy climb, the man with the forked beard said, "Perhaps so." "However, we must provide for sufficient time. The princess is in the process of becoming a mother. The khal will not bestir himself until after the birth of his first son. "You're well aware of how these savages are."

Something was being pushed by the man with the torch. Arya was startled by a heavy rumbling. A massive chunk of granite, glowing red in the torchlight, slid down from the ceiling with such a thunderous smash that she was on the verge of yelling. There was nothing but stone where the well's entrance had formerly been, and it was solid and unbroken.

"If he does not bestir himself soon, it may be too late," the stout man in the steel cap said. "If he does not bestir himself quickly, it may be too late. When it comes to two players, this is no longer the case, if it ever was." They have escaped beyond my reach, and there are reports that they are encircling themselves with a wall of swords. The Knight of Flowers writes to Highgarden, pleading with his lord father to send his sister to appear in court. The girl is a fourteen-year-old maid who is lovely and attractive as well as tractable, and Lord Renly and Ser Loras want for Robert to bed her, wed her, and create a new queen with her. Littlefinger... only the gods are aware of the game that Littlefinger is engaged in. Lord Stark, on the other hand, is the one who keeps me awake at night. He's got the bastard, he's got the book, and he's going to get his hands on the truth soon enough. And now, as a result of Littlefinger's interference, Tyrion Lannister has been kidnapped by his wife. As a result, Lord Tywin will consider it an insult, and Jaime has a strange fondness for the Imp. If the Lannisters relocate northward, it is likely that the Tullys will follow them. You ask for more time. I tell them to hurry up. Even the most skilled of jugglers cannot maintain a hundred balls in the air indefinitely."

"My old friend, you are much more than a juggler. You have the power of a true sorcerer. All I want is that you continue to work your magic for a little bit longer." They began walking down the hall in the direction Arya had come from, passing the room with the creatures on their way.

"What I am able to do, I will do," the person holding the torch murmured softly. "I'll need gold and another fifty birds," says the narrator.

She waited until they were a long way ahead of her before creeping up behind them. As still as a shadow.

"How many are there?" As the light in front of her faded, she could only make out fainter voices. It's difficult to find the ones you're looking for... they're too little to know their letters.... they're perhaps older... they don't die as easily...

"No. The younger ones are less dangerous... handle them with gentleness... "

"....if only they would keep their mouths shut... "

".. the danger...," says the other.

"What about the Dragon Bastard?"

"Leave him to me, he's a honourable one, perhaps he would want to help his big brother"

The glow of the torch, a burning star that invited her to follow, was visible long after their voices had gone away. When she looked down, the candle appeared to have vanished, but she kept going straight and eventually found herself at the top of steep, narrow stairs with the torch shining far below her. She chased after it, stumbling down and down. Occasionally, she tripped over a boulder and fell against the wall, where her hand came into contact with raw dirt supported by planks, whereas the tunnel had previously been dressed stone.

She must have trailed after them for miles and miles. Finally, they were no longer there, but there was nowhere else to go than ahead. Eventually, she came across the wall and continued on, blind and disoriented, believing that Nymeria was padding alongside her in the darkness. Her final state was knee-deep in rotting water, wishing she could dance on it like Syrio may have, and wondering if she'd ever see the light of day again. When Arya finally escaped into the cool night air, it was pitch black outside.

Suddenly, she found herself at the mouth of a sewer, where it was about to empty into the river. She stank so horrible that she stripped down to her underwear right there on the riverside before diving into the murky depths of the deep black water. She swam till she was clean, then climbed out of the water, shivering. Some riders passed by on the river road while Arya was washing her clothes, but they didn't pay attention when they saw the scrawny na*ed girl scrubbing her rags in the moonlight, as she was washing her clothes.

The Red Keep, perched high on Aegon's Hill, could be seen from anyplace in King's Landing, thus she was in no danger of being disoriented despite the fact that she was miles away from the castle. By the time she arrived at the gatehouse, her clothing were almost completely dry. When she realized the portcullis had been taken down and the gates barred, she turned aside and entered through a postern door. When she told the gold cloaks who were in charge of the watch to let her in, they sneered. "I'm off with you," one of them said. After nightfall, we won't be begging for food because the kitchen scraps are all gone.

"I'm not a beggar," she stated emphatically. "This is where I reside."

"I told you to get out of here. What if you need to use a clout on your ear to improve your hearing?"

The want to visit my father is strong.

The guards shared a glance with one other. It was the younger of the two who added, "For all that it will do me, I want to f*ck up the queen myself."

The older gentleman scowled. "Can you tell me about your father, kid, the ratcatcher from the city?"

"You are the Hand of the King," Arya explained.

When the older of the two men chuckled, the younger one swung his fist at her, as if he were swatting a dog in a casual manner. Even before the attack began, Arya sensed that something was about to happen. She danced back out of the road, leaving no trace behind. "I'm not a male," she said, spitting in their faces. "I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell, and if you lay a hand on me, my lord father will have both of your heads pinned to spikes," Arya explains. You can check with Jory Cassel or Vayon Poole in the Tower of the Hand if you don't trust me." She crossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips. "How about now? Are you going to unlock the gate, or do you need something to press on your ear to improve your hearing?" he asks.

Her father was alone in the solar when Harwin and Fat Tom marched her in, a faint glow from an oil lamp at his elbow, when she first arrived. Harwin's report was being delivered to him while he was hunched over the largest book Arya had ever seen, a great thick tome with cracked yellow pages of crabbed lettering, bound between old leather covers, but he closed the book to listen. His expression was harsh as he thanked the soldiers and sent them on their way.

"Did you know I had half of my security team out looking for you?" When they were alone, Eddard Stark whispered something. The fear in Septa Mordane's eyes is beyond measure. Currently, she is in the ninth, praying for your safe return. "Arya, you are well aware that you are never permitted to leave the castle grounds without my permission."

"I didn't go out the gates," she exclaimed emphatically. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to." I was down in the dungeons, but they had been changed into this tunnel by accident. I couldn't see anything because it was pitch black, and I didn't have a torch or a candle to guide me, so I had to rely on my instincts. Because of the creatures, I was unable to return the way I had originally come. The rumor was that they were planning to kill you, Father. It's not the monsters, it's the two gentlemen. They couldn't see me because I was as still as a stone and as silent as a shadow, but I could hear them. They claimed you possessed a book and a bastard, and that if one Hand could die, why couldn't another? Is that the title of the book? "Jon's the jerk, I'm sure of it."

"Jon? What exactly are you talking about, Arya? Can you tell me who said this?"

"They did," she confirmed to him. "A fat one with rings and a forked yellow beard, and another dressed in mail and a steel cap, and the fat one said they had to postpone, but the other one warned him he couldn't keep juggling and that the wolf and the lion were going to eat each other, and it was a mummer's farce. She struggled to recall the rest of the conversation. Because she hadn't yet grasped anything she'd heard, she was now completely disoriented in her thoughts. "The chubby one claimed that the princess was expecting a child. He was the one with the steel cap and the torch, and he insisted that they needed to move quickly. "I believe he was some sort of wizard."

"He's a wizard," Ned remarked, his face expressionless. The question is, "Did he have a long white beard and wear a tall pointed hat with stars on the brim?"

"No! It wasn't like the stories told by Old Nan. He didn't appear to be a wizard, but the obese one assured me that he was."

"Arya, if you're thinking about spinning this thread of air, I'm going to warn you - "

"No, as I previously stated, it was in the dungeons, near the location of the secret wall. I was chasing cats, and, well, you know the rest." She made a squinty look at me. Prince Tommen would be quite enraged if she admitted to knocking him over in the first place. "... so, I went in via this window..." "It was there that I discovered the creatures."

"It's full of monsters and magicians," her father explained. "It appears like you've been on quite the excursion. You claim that these folks you overheard were talking about juggling and mummery?"

"Yes," Arya acknowledged, "but only if - "

"Arya, they were mummers," her father informed her of the situation. "It appears that there are at least a dozen troupes in King's Landing at the moment, all hoping to make some money off the tourney throng. We are not sure what these two were doing in the castle, but it is possible that the monarch has requested a performance."

"No." She shook her head, adamantine in her stance. "It wasn't the case - "

"Regardless of the reason, you shouldn't be following people around and spying on them. I also despise the idea of my daughter attempting to get into unknown windows in search of stray cats. Take a look at yourself, sweetheart. Scratches have appeared on both of your arms. This has gone on for far too long."

Arya hung down her face, she didn't like disappointing her father.

"Cheer up Arya, Jon has returned,"