[ She doesn't believe he's just a passer-by, not for a second, when he's capable of the changing his face as easily as she can herself, and especially when he seems to know so much about her. And yet, she doesn't get the sense that he's lied to her, either, which just makes her even more confused. But if he says he's a friend, she'd take it - Gods knew she needed them. ]
You can call me Arya.
[ She deliberately echoes him there, though she omits her full name inclusive of Stark and Winterfell, both of which seem dangerous to admit in the enemy controlled Riverlands, and both of which she's sure he knows already. ]
[He paused for a moment. That's the type of thing one would want to keep a secret, of course.]
Don't worry. No one heard us. No one will hear us. But regicide's a lofty goal. I would know. Do you intend on staying alive once you make your way through that list?
[ She'd always dreamed of finding Jon and Sansa, the last of her siblings she definitely knows are alive, and running away together to somewhere far-flung, since she assumes that Winterfell is lost to them forever. But she knows that's just a pipe dream, and that with a list of enemies so long and filled with such prominent people, she's never been destined for a long life. ]
Of course I intend to stay alive.
[ But she tries not to think about after. She'd been in the revenge business so long, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. ]
And unless you can capture the throne yourself, the murder of a queen doesn't usually go unpunished. It may take years, but someone will put two and two together and come for you and yours.
[Running was an alright option. Across the sea, perhaps. But that didn't leave House Stark with a terribly bright future, as if things hadn't been grim enough for them already.]
You could use a few more tricks up your sleeve. Regaining and keeping your stronghold would help, as well. Winterfell, was it?
[ Retaking Winterfell had never calculated into her plans before. Even if she could reach it, even if she could kill the Boltons and their entire army, she knew that she wasn't the right sort of person to command there, even if she were the last Stark. But Flagg was right, she needed a better plan and more tricks with which to carry it out. Just getting in and killing Cersei wasn't enough, not if she wanted to taste her victory instead of carrying it with her to an early grave.
And if this man thought that changing his form was small potatoes, what he had to teach her must be great indeed. She leans forward with interest - he clearly has her full attention now. ]
Tricks that'd make the same folk that would have you hanged for regicide bend the knee to you instead. Or, at least, run away screaming if they detest you too much to bow to you.
[He takes a knife from his pocket - a knife with the twin Frey castles carved into the handle - and plunges it into his own chest. He doesn't wince. He doesn't cry out. And when he pulls his hand away, there's no blood, not even a hole in his clothing.
Instead, where the ornate and no-doubt treasured family keepsake of a knife used to be, he now holds a simple, harmless pink tulip.]
I don't want them to bend the knee to me, I just need to--
[ She's thrown off mid-sentence by his display, finding herself just staring at the spot where he should be bleeding, at the tulip in his fingers. Slowly she reaches up to turn his hand over in her own, looking up his sleeve to see where he could be hiding the dagger that he surely must have switched out at the last moment. ]
That wasn't sleight of hand. You stabbed yourself, I saw it. Then how--
If you don't want them to bend the knee, you can at least make them leave you alone.
[He throws the flower on the ground, and it begins to wilt as soon as it leaves Flagg's hand.]
How? With the same magic I use to change my face. Once you've learned how to change yourself, changing other things is simple. I've been studying magic for a long, long time.
[And then he holds out his hand, a burst of flame briefly appearing on his palm.]
[ She isn't sure she wants that, either. She did, back when the world felt a lot simpler, when her happy ending was striking all the names off her list and returning to Winterfell to live with her siblings and hoping the rest of the world would leave her alone. But as much as home calls to her - or at least the memory of it, for as far as she knows Winterfell is lost to the Boltons - the talents she's learned call in equal measure, knowing how they'll languish if she were simply to leave them to rust after she'd finished what she started. What Flagg is offering isn't merely a trick to help her kill Cersei, she realises, it's the next step down the road of training her in the art of death, a road she started down all the way back in Kings Landing and one that she aches to continue down, as if massacring the entirety of House Frey over dinner weren't proof enough of that. ]
[He tilts his head to one side. Now, that was unexpected. Revenge was a simple enough motive, and one that seemed easy to come by in this world, but this girl had tasted blood and wanted more. After her list was complete, she wanted to keep going.
And that? Well, that was just delightful.]
I can. And I will, if you're not afraid of magic darker than that of the Faceless Men.
[ She shakes her head, it never having occurred to her that she should be afraid of it. With some of the things she'd faced, she'd had to conquer fear very quickly, when she was still far too young to have to do so. ]
That's like being afraid of fire.
[ The comparison makes her think of the Hound, and she resents that she misses him just a little. ]
It's only dangerous if you're not the one in control.
Some people are less afraid of being harmed by magic and more afraid that it'll...steal their soul, or something like that. That's a bunch of bullshit, of course.
I've studied death for almost two-thousand years, and I've learned some things that would drive most people mad. [What comes after death. The scope of eternity. Dying and being revived, over and over and over.] Is that a risk you're willing to take?
[ She nods agreement at that proclamation. It was the smartest thing she'd heard anyone say in a long time. ]
I'm willing. [ She says it perhaps a little too quickly, too willingly. ] I've already seen things that would drive people mad. They can't hurt me any more.
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You can call me Arya.
[ She deliberately echoes him there, though she omits her full name inclusive of Stark and Winterfell, both of which seem dangerous to admit in the enemy controlled Riverlands, and both of which she's sure he knows already. ]
My only ambition is my list.
no subject
[He paused for a moment. That's the type of thing one would want to keep a secret, of course.]
Don't worry. No one heard us. No one will hear us. But regicide's a lofty goal. I would know. Do you intend on staying alive once you make your way through that list?
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Of course I intend to stay alive.
[ But she tries not to think about after. She'd been in the revenge business so long, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. ]
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[Running was an alright option. Across the sea, perhaps. But that didn't leave House Stark with a terribly bright future, as if things hadn't been grim enough for them already.]
You could use a few more tricks up your sleeve. Regaining and keeping your stronghold would help, as well. Winterfell, was it?
no subject
And if this man thought that changing his form was small potatoes, what he had to teach her must be great indeed. She leans forward with interest - he clearly has her full attention now. ]
...What kind of tricks?
no subject
[He takes a knife from his pocket - a knife with the twin Frey castles carved into the handle - and plunges it into his own chest. He doesn't wince. He doesn't cry out. And when he pulls his hand away, there's no blood, not even a hole in his clothing.
Instead, where the ornate and no-doubt treasured family keepsake of a knife used to be, he now holds a simple, harmless pink tulip.]
no subject
[ She's thrown off mid-sentence by his display, finding herself just staring at the spot where he should be bleeding, at the tulip in his fingers. Slowly she reaches up to turn his hand over in her own, looking up his sleeve to see where he could be hiding the dagger that he surely must have switched out at the last moment. ]
That wasn't sleight of hand. You stabbed yourself, I saw it. Then how--
no subject
[He throws the flower on the ground, and it begins to wilt as soon as it leaves Flagg's hand.]
How? With the same magic I use to change my face. Once you've learned how to change yourself, changing other things is simple. I've been studying magic for a long, long time.
[And then he holds out his hand, a burst of flame briefly appearing on his palm.]
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Can you really teach me? Would you?
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And that? Well, that was just delightful.]
I can. And I will, if you're not afraid of magic darker than that of the Faceless Men.
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That's like being afraid of fire.
[ The comparison makes her think of the Hound, and she resents that she misses him just a little. ]
It's only dangerous if you're not the one in control.
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[And he was always in control.]
Some people are less afraid of being harmed by magic and more afraid that it'll...steal their soul, or something like that. That's a bunch of bullshit, of course.
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Souls belong to gods. And there aren't any of them. Only death.
[ And she didn't revere death in the same way Jaqen did; she intended to master it like Syrio had drilled into her long ago. ]
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I've studied death for almost two-thousand years, and I've learned some things that would drive most people mad. [What comes after death. The scope of eternity. Dying and being revived, over and over and over.] Is that a risk you're willing to take?
no subject
I'm willing. [ She says it perhaps a little too quickly, too willingly. ] I've already seen things that would drive people mad. They can't hurt me any more.