" The Assassin's Apprentice" fanfic by Winterlyn Dow
Posted: Tue Nov 22, 2016 8:50 am
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10192614/9 ... Apprentice
Her skin prickled even to think of the wolf here inside the temple, so incongruous were the two. The serenity and damp coolness she felt in the main chamber, even as she removed those who had come to seek the gift in the night, clashed uncomfortably with the thrill of the cold night air in the forest, ruffling her fur as she raced through the trees… as <em>Nymeria</em> raced through the trees, growls ripping through her from deep inside as she pursued her prey. She felt so <em>alive</em> after the dream, she could almost <em>taste</em> the warm blood and meat…</p><p>As she carried the half-starved corpse of a young woman from the far side of the pool to the corridor leading to the passage below, she wondered if these dreams were meant to inform her somehow. Were they born of memories alone, the memories she was urged regularly to forget? Was this her Arya-ness trying to leave her, given up in the misty form of dreams to the wind to be carried away? Could Nymeria and the North be <em>dreamed</em> out of her? Or were the dreams a creation of the desire to <em>not</em> forget, designed by the part of her that wished to remain <em>her</em>, burning that self into her brain with such permanence that it could never be left behind? The feeling of <em>being</em> Nymeria was just so strong, it felt as if she was supposed to understand something or learn something or…</p><p>"Or they're just stupid dreams, you silly girl," she grumbled under her breath, pushing open the door to the chamber where she would strip the thin woman of anything useful.</p><p>As she set about her work, her mind wandered back to the dream. There was nothing identifiable about the forest, but she knew it wasn't the Wolfswood—no snow on the ground. As she picked over the dead woman's clothes, not expecting to find much but intending to remove whatever was there, she found a small dagger in the woman's pocket. It was not particularly fine, but was still an odd thing for a poor woman of Braavos to be carrying into the House of Black and White. The Cat placed it in her pocket, intending to take it to the armory when her work was done, wondering if the wood in which Nymeria's pack had been hunting was the same one she had seen in her previous dream; the one around the Inn where Gendry and the children had been fighting. She removed the woman's shoes and thought that even at full speed, the pack could not have travelled far in the few days since she had last dreamed of them. She shook her head in disgust, wondering why it <em>would</em> be the same, why a <em>dream-wolf</em> would be concerned with particular territory or would need to even move in a logical way. <em>It was just a dream.</em></p><p>In this way, she went about her work, completing the task of moving and stripping corpses, sorting their things (now the Many-Faced god's things) all while pondering her dream and mocking herself for every thought she had about it.</p><p>She folded breeches, skirts and shifts as she allowed herself to think about Nymeria outside of her dream.
Her skin prickled even to think of the wolf here inside the temple, so incongruous were the two. The serenity and damp coolness she felt in the main chamber, even as she removed those who had come to seek the gift in the night, clashed uncomfortably with the thrill of the cold night air in the forest, ruffling her fur as she raced through the trees… as <em>Nymeria</em> raced through the trees, growls ripping through her from deep inside as she pursued her prey. She felt so <em>alive</em> after the dream, she could almost <em>taste</em> the warm blood and meat…</p><p>As she carried the half-starved corpse of a young woman from the far side of the pool to the corridor leading to the passage below, she wondered if these dreams were meant to inform her somehow. Were they born of memories alone, the memories she was urged regularly to forget? Was this her Arya-ness trying to leave her, given up in the misty form of dreams to the wind to be carried away? Could Nymeria and the North be <em>dreamed</em> out of her? Or were the dreams a creation of the desire to <em>not</em> forget, designed by the part of her that wished to remain <em>her</em>, burning that self into her brain with such permanence that it could never be left behind? The feeling of <em>being</em> Nymeria was just so strong, it felt as if she was supposed to understand something or learn something or…</p><p>"Or they're just stupid dreams, you silly girl," she grumbled under her breath, pushing open the door to the chamber where she would strip the thin woman of anything useful.</p><p>As she set about her work, her mind wandered back to the dream. There was nothing identifiable about the forest, but she knew it wasn't the Wolfswood—no snow on the ground. As she picked over the dead woman's clothes, not expecting to find much but intending to remove whatever was there, she found a small dagger in the woman's pocket. It was not particularly fine, but was still an odd thing for a poor woman of Braavos to be carrying into the House of Black and White. The Cat placed it in her pocket, intending to take it to the armory when her work was done, wondering if the wood in which Nymeria's pack had been hunting was the same one she had seen in her previous dream; the one around the Inn where Gendry and the children had been fighting. She removed the woman's shoes and thought that even at full speed, the pack could not have travelled far in the few days since she had last dreamed of them. She shook her head in disgust, wondering why it <em>would</em> be the same, why a <em>dream-wolf</em> would be concerned with particular territory or would need to even move in a logical way. <em>It was just a dream.</em></p><p>In this way, she went about her work, completing the task of moving and stripping corpses, sorting their things (now the Many-Faced god's things) all while pondering her dream and mocking herself for every thought she had about it.</p><p>She folded breeches, skirts and shifts as she allowed herself to think about Nymeria outside of her dream.