Chapter 23 Chapter 23 Arya

Every night before going to bed, she murmurs a prayer into her pillow. "Ser Gregor," began the prayer, "Dunson, Raff Sweetmouth, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei." If she knew the names of the Freys at the Ferry, she would say them too. .Someday I'll know, she told herself, and killed them all. In the House of Black and White, no matter how low your voice is, you will be heard. "Son," said the kind man one day, "who are those names you whisper every night?" "I didn't read any names," she said. "You lie," he said, "people lie when they're scared. It's just that some people tell a lot, some people don't tell a lie, and some people just repeat a big lie until they almost believe it's true... But somewhere in their hearts they always know that a lie is still a lie and it shows on their faces. Tell me the names."

She bit her lip, "The name doesn't matter." "It is very important," insisted the kindly man, "tell me, child." If you don't say anything, I will drive you out, she understands the meaning behind the words. "I hate them, I want them dead." "In this house, there are many such prayers." "I know," Arya said.Jaqen H'ghar once granted her three wishes.I just need to whisper in his ear... "Is that why you came to us?" continued the kind man, "to learn our art so that you can kill these people you hate?"

Arya didn't know how to answer, "Maybe." "You are in the wrong place. Life and death are not your decision, but the God of Many Faces. We are but his servants, sworn to represent his will." "Oh." Arya glanced at the statues that lined the wall, candles flickering at their feet. "Which god is he?" "Ah, all of them." said the priest in black and white robes. He never told her his name, and neither did the waif.The waif had big eyes and sunken cheeks, reminding her of another little girl named Weasel.Like Arya, she lived in the temple, along with three acolytes, two servants, and Uma the cook.Uma liked to talk while she worked, but Arya couldn't understand a word she said.Others were not named, or did not want to be named.One servant was too old and bent like a bow; another had a red face and hair growing out of his ears.She thought they were dumb until she heard them pray.The acolytes were younger, the oldest about her father's age, and the other two not much older than her sister Sansa, who also wore black and white robes but no hoods, and they were black on one side and white on the other—like the Good Man and the Waif. exactly the opposite.They dressed Arya in servants' clothes: undyed wool tunic, baggy trousers, linen underclothes, cloth slippers.

Only kind people know the Common Tongue. "Who are you?" he asked her every day. "Nobody," she replied.She was originally Arya of the Stark family, "Troublemaker" Arya, "Horse Face" Arya, and later, she became Ali and Weasel, Suckling Pigeon and Ah Yan, and Nana the bartender. It's gray rats, sheep, and the ghost of Harrenhal...but deep down, none of those are her real names.In her heart she was always Arya of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, her brothers Robb, Bran and Rickon, and her sisters Sansa and Iceborne Nymeria the Wolf, and her half-brother Jon Snow.In her heart, she had a name...but that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear.

Arya was unable to communicate with the others due to a language barrier, but she listened to them as she worked, repeating words she heard in private.The youngest acolyte is blind, but he is in charge of the candles. He walks around the temple in soft slippers every day, and the old women who come to pray whisper beside him.Even out of sight, he always knew which candles were extinguished and which needed to be relit. "The smell guides him," the kind man explained, "and the air is warmer where the candle burns." He told Arya to close her eyes and feel for herself. At dawn, before breakfast, they knelt and prayed by the calm pool of black water.Some days the kindly man takes the lead, other days the waif.Arya knew only a little of Braavosi, the same words as High Valyrian, so she said her prayers to the Many-Faced God, which was "Ser Gregor, Dunson, Raff the Sweetmouth, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei." She prayed silently, thinking that if the God of Many Faces was the true God, he would listen to her.

Worshipers come to the House of Black and White every day, most of whom sit alone, light candles on the altar, pray by the pool, and sometimes cry.Some scooped water out of black cups and went to bed, and many more did not drink.There are no rituals, no carols, no hymns to the gods, and it's never crowded.Occasionally a worshiper would see the priest, and the kindly man or waif would take him down to the sanctuary, but that was rare. Thirty statues of different gods stand along the walls, surrounded by candlelight.Arya discovers that the Weeping Woman is the old woman's favorite, while the rich man prefers the Night Lion, the poor worship the Hooded Walker, and soldiers will worship at the altar of the Bakalon, the Pale Child. Before lighting the candles, the targets of the sailors are "Virgin of the Pale Moon" and "King Mermaid".She was also surprised to see the Stranger's altar, though hardly anyone went there.Most of the time, there is only one candle flickering at the Stranger's feet.The kindly man says it doesn't matter, "He has many faces, and many listening ears."

Numerous tunnels have been dug inside the hill where the temple is located.The bedrooms of the priest and acolytes are on the first floor, and Arya and the servants sleep on the second floor.The lowest level, except for priests, is forbidden to enter, which is where the holy chamber is located. Whenever she is not working, she is free to walk around the cellar and storeroom as long as she does not leave the temple or go down to the third floor.She found a room full of arms and armor: enamelled helmets, strange and ancient breastplates, longswords, daggers, knives, and crossbows and spears with leaf-studded points.Another cellar was full of clothes, including thick furs and colorful silks, but next to them were piles of smelly tattered robes and rough shirts that were threadbare.There must be a treasure room, Arya decided.She imagined stacks of gold plates, bags of silver coins, seas of sapphires, large green pearls strung on strings.

One day, a kind man unexpectedly appeared in front of her and asked her what she was doing.She said she was lost. "You lied. Worse, you lied poorly. Who are you?" "The nameless one." "Another lie." He sighed. Wes would beat her up if he caught her lying, but the rules were different in the House of Black and White.If she got in the way when she was helping in the kitchen, Uma would hit her with a spoon, but no one else did.They only kill, she thought. In general, she has a good relationship with the chef.Uma puts the knife in her hand and points to the onion, and Arya cuts; Uma pushes her up to the dough, and Arya kneads until the cook tells her to stop ("stop" is her first Braavosi word learned in the temple); Uma handed her the fish, and Arya deboned and sliced ​​it, wrapping it with the cook's crushed dried fruit.The fish and shells around Braavos are too fishy and sea-smelling for good people to like, but from the south a gentle brown river flows into the Great Lagoon, winding its way through a great mass of reeds and tidal puddles and bogs and shallows, There is an abundance of clams and scallops, including mussel shells, muskfish, frogs, turtles, mud crabs, flower crabs, climbing crabs, red eels, black eels, striped eels, lampreys and oysters, all of which have a thousand faces. The food that often appears on the carved wooden table where the servants of the gods dine.Some nights, Uma seared fish with sea salt and crushed peppercorns, or eel with minced garlic, and occasionally even added a little saffron.Hot Pie would like it here, Arya thought.

She liked dinnertime, because she had gone to bed hungry for what seemed like endless eons before.Some nights, kind people allow her to ask questions.One time, she asked him why the people who came to the temple always seemed so calm, but the people in her hometown were greedy for life and afraid of death.She remembered how he wept when the pimple-faced squire plunged his dagger into the belly; she remembered how he begged Ser Amory Lodge when The Goat threw him into the bear pit; "Began to ask about the whereabouts of the gold, how the villagers screamed and poured out shit and urine.

"In a sense, death is not a bad thing," replied the kind man, "it is a gift from the gods to end our longings and end our suffering. On the day each person is born, the God of Many Faces sends a A dark angel who is by our side for life. When our sins become too great, when our suffering becomes too much to bear, this angel takes us by the hand and leads us to the land of night, where the stars Always bright and shining. Those who drink from the black cups are angels who come to find them, and the candles calm them. Tell me, what do you think when you smell our candles, child?"

Winterfell, she almost said, I smell snow and pine needles and hot broth.I smell the stables.I smell Hodor laughing, I smell Jon and Robb fighting in the yard, I smell Sansa singing, about some beautiful foolish lady.I smell the catacombs where the stone statues of kings sit, I smell hot toast, I smell the godswood.I smell my wolf, smell her fur, as if she is still with me. "I don't smell anything." She wanted to hear his comment. "You lie," he said, "but you can keep your secrets if you like, Arya of House Stark." He only called Arya that when he displeased him. "You can leave this place too. You are not one of us, not yet. You can go home anytime." "You tell me that if you leave, you can't come back." "That's it." This answer made her very sad.It was Syrio's catchphrase, Arya remembered, "that's it".Syrio Forel not only taught her to use a sewing needle, he died for her. "I don't want to leave." "Then stay...but please remember, don't use the House of Black and White as an orphanage. Under the roof of this temple, the duty of all is to serve, understand? Valar dohaeris. We demand your obedience, Any time, anything, you must obey. If you can't do it, please leave." "I will obey." "We'll see." In addition to helping Uma, she was also assigned other tasks: sweeping the floor, serving food and wine, sorting piles of dead people's clothes, emptying their purses, counting strange coins, and so on.Every morning she walks beside the benevolent and patrols the temple, looking for the dead.Quiet as a shadow, she told herself, thinking of Syrio.She was carrying a lantern with a thick iron partition, and every time she came to a hole, she would open a gap in the partition and use the light to find dead bodies. There are many dead.They come to the House of Black and White to pray, or for an hour, or a day, or a year, drink the sweet black water in the pool, and then lie flat on the stone bed behind a certain statue, close their eyes and sleep, and never wake up again Come. "The gift of the Many-Faced God has countless forms," ​​the kind man told her, "but here it is always in the gentlest and most merciful way." Whenever a corpse is found, he will first say a prayer, confirming that the life has passed Finally, Arya was sent to call the servants, and their task was to carry the body to the cellar below.There the acolyte will undress the dead body and clean it.Clothes, coins, and valuables of the deceased were put into boxes, ready to be sorted, while the cold flesh and blood were taken to the lower sanctuary, where only priests could enter, and Arya didn't know what would happen there.One time while eating dinner, a terrible thought suddenly entered her mind, and she quickly put down the knife, staring suspiciously at the pale piece of flesh.The kindly man noticed the horror on her face. "It's pork, boy," he said, "but pork." She also slept on a stone bed, which reminded her of the one she slept on when Wyss at Harrenhal scrubbed the steps, but this one was stuffed with rags instead of straw, and was less flat than Harrenhal's. , but also less troublesome stabbing.Plus, she could have as many sheets as she wanted: thick wool blankets, red, green, checked, and the room was hers alone.She pulled out her belongings and tidied them up: the silver fork, bonnet, and fingerless gloves given to her by the sailors on the Daughter of Titan, her dagger, boots, belt, the little money she had saved along the way since selling the horse, and the clothes she wore ... And sewing needles. Despite her busy schedule, she still tries to find time to practice sewing, fighting with her own shadow by the light of a green candle.One night the Waif happened to pass by and saw Arya dancing with a sword without saying a word, but the next day the kind man came to Arya's room. "Get rid of it all," he said, pointing to her belongings. Arya was devastated, "They're mine." "then who are you?" "The nameless one." He picked up her silver fork. "This belongs to Arya of House Stark. All these belong to her. There is no place for them here, no place for her. Her name is too proud, and we have no room for pride. Our business is to serve." "I will serve." She felt hurt.She liked the silver fork very much. "You pretend to be a servant, but you are still a lord's daughter at heart. You have used many names, and you have changed like a few robes lightly, but under the robes is always Arya." "I don't wear a robe. You can't fight in a stupid robe." "Why do you fight? Do you envy those ostentatious, blood-hungry assassins?" He sighed. "Before you sip from the cold cup, you must give all to the Many-Faced God. Your body. Your soul. Yourself. If you cannot, you must leave this place." "That iron coin—" "—paid for your travel here. From now on, you'll have to pay your own bill, and it's expensive." "I have no gold." "What we offer cannot be bought with money. The price is everything to you. Mortals in this world have taken different paths in their lives through the canyon of tears and pain, and the path we have chosen is the hardest, and only a few can do it. It It takes extraordinary physical and mental strength, and a strong heart." There's a hole where my heart is, she thought, and there's nowhere for me to go. "I'm strong. As strong as you. I'm strong enough." "You believe this is the only place to go." He seemed to hear her thinking, "You're wrong. You can find an easy job in a merchant's house; or do you wish to be a courtesan and have people sing about your beauty? Just Speak, and we shall send you to the Black Pearl, or the Daughter of Darkness. Henceforth you shall sleep on rose petals, and walk in silk skirts, and lords will bow for your virgin blood; or, if you If you want to marry and have children, we will find you a husband. An honest and reliable apprentice, a wealthy old man, a sailor, whatever you want." She didn't want any of these, so she shook her head silently. "Don't you dream of Westeros, boy? Luco Prestan's 'Lady of Light' departs tomorrow and will stop at Gulltown, Duskendale, King's Landing and Tyrosh. We can try to get you aboard .” "I've just come from Westeros." Sometimes, fleeing from King's Landing seems like a thousand years ago, but other times, it seems like it happened yesterday, and the world is so bad.She knew she couldn't go home. "If you don't want me, I'll go, but I won't go back." "It doesn't matter if I want you or not," said the kind man. "Maybe the God of Thousand Faces guided you here, but in my eyes you are just a child... What's worse, you are still a little girl. Thousands of faces Many men have served the God of Many Faces over the years, but few of his servants are women. No wonder. Women bring life. We give death. No one can do both." He's trying to frighten me, Arya thought, just like last time with the corpse worm. "I don't worry about that." "You should be worried. If you stay, the God of Many Faces will have your ears, your nose, your tongue, and your sad gray eyes, eyes that have seen the coldness of the world; and he will have your Your hands, your feet, your arms, your legs, your private parts, your hopes and dreams, your loves and your hates. He who serves him must first give up himself. Can you do that?" He held her up The chin looked into her eyes, the eyes were so deep that she shivered. "No," he said, "I don't think you can." Arya pushed his hand away. "I can do it if I want to!" "The girl who eats worms, says Arya of House Stark." "I can give up everything!" He gestured to her items, "Then, let's start with these." After dinner that night, Arya returned to her room, took off her robes, and whispered the names, but sleep refused to come.She tossed and turned on the bed stuffed with rags, biting her lip, feeling the hole where her heart should have been. So she got up in the dark of the night, put on the clothes she had worn from Westeros, and buckled her sword belt.A needle dangling on one side, a dagger on the other.With her bonnet on her head, fingerless gloves tucked into her sword belt, and her silver fork in hand, she climbed the stairs cautiously.This is no place for Arya of House Stark, she thought.Arya's home is in Winterfell, but Winterfell is long gone.When the heavy snow falls and the cold wind blows, the lone wolf will die, and the pack will live.But she had no wolves, they were all killed, by bad guys like Ser Ilyn, Ser Maryn, and the queen. Later, she tried to find new wolves, but they all left her, Hot Pie, Gendry, Yu Len, "Green Hand" Romy, and even Harwin, his father's old man. She opened the door and stepped into the night. This was the first time she went out since coming to the temple.The sky was overcast and foggy, like a worn gray blanket.There was the sound of oars in the channel to the right.Braavos, the City of Mysteries, she thought, was a fitting name.She walked quietly down the steep steps to the covered pier. The mist swirled beneath her feet, so thick that she couldn't see the surface of the water.A little light shone in the distant darkness, it was the night fire in the temple of the red monk. She stops by the water's edge, silver fork in hand.It is genuine sterling silver.This is not my fork, it was given to Yan by the sailor.She tossed the fork lightly, and heard it sink to the bottom with a "plop". Then came the bonnet and gloves, which also belonged to Ah Yan.She emptied the purse in her palm: five silver stags, nine bronze stars, and some odds and ends.She threw them all into the water.Then there were the boots, which made the loudest splash.Then came the dagger, which she had taken from an archer who had begged the Hound for mercy.The sword belt also entered the waterway.Cloaks, tops, breeches, underwear, everything.Except for sewing needles. She stood on the edge of the pier, shivering in the mist, pale and covered in goose bumps.The sewing needle in his hand seemed to be whispering to her.Lesson one, use the pointed end to stab the enemy, said the sword, and, no matter what... never... don't... tell... Sansa!The blade bears the mark of Mikken.Nothing but a sword.If she needs a sword, there are hundreds of them under the temple.The needle is too small to be a real sword, not much better than a toy.She was a hopelessly stupid little girl when Jon had the blacksmith make the sword. "Just a sword," she said aloud... ……However, it is not. Needle is Robb, Bran and Rickon, mother and father, and even Sansa.Needles are the gray walls of Winterfell, and the city's people's joy.It was the snowflakes of summer, and Old Nan's tales, and the red leaves and scary face of the heart tree, and the warm earthy smell in the glass garden, and the north wind that rattled the windows of her room.Needle is Jon's smile.He always likes to mess with my hair and call me "my little sister", and suddenly there are tears in her eyes. When the Mountain's men seized her, Polliver took the sword, but when she and the Hound went to the inn at the Crossroads, it returned to its rightful owner.This is what the gods gave me.Not the Seven, or the Many-Faced God, but her father's god, the old Seven of the North.The God of Many Faces can take all that I have, she thought, but he cannot take this sword. Naked as she was on her name day, she walked up the steps, her needle clutched tightly in her hand.Halfway there, a rock gave way under her feet, and Arya knelt down, picking at its edge with her fingers.At first she stood still, but she persevered, scraping off the broken plaster with her fingernails, and it finally paid off.She grunted a few times, and using her hands vigorously, she dug out a stone. "You'll be safe here," she told Needle, "and no one will know but me." She pushed the dagger and scabbard behind the steps, and pushed the stone back so that it looked like the rest of the steps.She counted the steps as she walked back to the temple, remembering where the sword was.Someday she will need it. "One day." She promised herself softly. She didn't tell the kind man what she had done, but he just knew.After dinner the next day, he came to her room. "Son," he said, "sit down beside me. I'll tell you a story." "What story?" she asked warily. "A story about our origins. If you want to be one of us, you have to know who we are and where we came from. People in the world whisper about the Faceless Men of Braavos, what they don't know is that, We are older than the City of Mystery itself. We came before the rise of the Titans, before Uthello unmasked, before the city was founded, we flourished with the Northmen in Braavos, but our roots are in Valeri Ya, born of miserable slaves, our ancestors toiled in the mines deep beneath the Fourteen Fire Peaks, which illuminated the nights of the old Freedom Fortress. Ordinary mines are dark and cold places, where Hewed out of cold and dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames are lava volcanoes that burn all day long, so the mines of Old Valyria were very hot, and the temperature rose higher and higher as the shafts were drilled deeper. Slaves It was like working in an oven, the rocks were too hot to touch, the air smelled of sulphur, it burned in the lungs, and the soles of even the thickest shoes blistered. Sometimes, they The walls of caverns were breached in search of gold, only to encounter steam, boiling water, or lava. Some shafts were cut so low that slaves could not stand, but crawled or stooped. There were worms in the reddened darkness." "Earthworms?" she asked, frowning. "Fire worms. They are said to be a distant race of dragons, because they breathe fire too. They cannot fly in the sky, they can only burrow in rocky soil. If the ancient legends are to be believed, long before the dragons came , There are fire earthworms in the Fourteen Fire Peaks. The larvae are about the size of your thin arm, but they can grow to be extremely huge, and they don't like humans extremely." "Do they kill slaves?" "The charred bodies are usually found in the shafts that have been drilled. However, the mines continued to dig deeper and slaves died in large numbers, and the slave owners did not care. They believed that red gold, gold and silver were more precious than the lives of slaves. Slaves It is worthless in the old freehold. In every war, the Valyrians will capture thousands of slaves. In peacetime, they let the slaves breed, and the worst of them are sent to die in the red dark underground. .” "Don't the slaves rise up and rebel?" "Some have resisted," he said. "Revolts are common in the mines, but with little success. The Dragonlords of the Old Freehold have powerful sorcery, and it is dangerous for weaklings to challenge them. The first Faceless Men were the ones who resisted. one of the "Who is he?" Arya blurted out before she could think. "Nobody," he replied. "Some think he's a slave himself, some insist he's a citizen of the Freedom Bastion and of a noble family, and some will even tell you he's an overseer who sympathizes with his slaves. The truth is, no one really knows where he came from, everyone All that is known is that he moved among the slaves and heard their prayers. People from hundreds of countries were taken to work in the mines, and each prayed to his god in his own language, but they all prayed for the same thing ——Relief, the end of pain, a very ordinary and simple little thing, but there is no response from God. The suffering continues endlessly. Are all the gods in the world deaf? He wondered...until one day At night, in the reddish darkness, he understood." "All the gods have their own tools, and the faithful men and women who serve them carry out their will in the world. On the surface, the slave is crying to a hundred different gods, but in fact it is the same god, with a hundred different cards. It's just a face... and he is the instrument of this god. That night, he chose a slave who was in the most miserable situation and asked for release the most, and set him free from his pain. This is the origin of the first gift." Arya stepped back. "He killed the slave?" That's not right. "He should have killed the slave owner!" "He also brought gifts to them... This story will be told another day. It belongs only to the unknown and unknown." He raised his head. "Who are you, child?" "The nameless one." "you are lying." "Why are you so sure? Is it magic?" "See with your eyes, and you don't need magic to tell the truth from the fake. You have to learn how to read expressions, how to look at the eyes, the mouth, the movement of the jaw, and the muscles at the junction of the shoulder and neck." He pointed two fingers Touched her lightly. "Some people blink their eyes when they lie, some open their eyes wide, some look away, some lick their lips, and many cover their mouths before lying, as if to cover up their deceit. Other signs It may be more hidden, but it is always there. Fake smiles and real smiles may be similar in your eyes at this moment, but in fact the difference between them is like dusk and morning. Can you tell the difference between dusk and morning?" Arya nodded, though she wasn't sure. "Then you can learn to distinguish lies... After you learn it, no secret can be hidden from you." "Teach me." She was willing to be an unknown person, willing to bear the price.There is no hole in the heart of the Nameless. "She will teach you." The waif appeared outside the door. "Start with Braavosi. If you can neither speak nor understand, where do you begin? You must teach your language too." To her. You two learn from each other. Would you like to?" "Yes." She replied.So from this moment on, she became an apprentice of the Academy of Black and White.Her servant clothes were taken away, and she was given a black and white robe, soft as butter, that reminded her of the old red blankets at Winterfell.Beneath the gown, she wore a worsted white linen undergarment and a black undergarment that hung to the knee. From then on, she stayed with the waif all day long, touching this thing, pointing at that thing, and teaching each other languages.Start with easy words like cups, candles, shoes, then get harder and end with sentences.Syrio Forel once made Arya stand on one leg until she couldn't, and then made her catch cats.She also used to dance on the branches with a wooden sword in her hand.Those were hard, but now it's even harder. Even needlework was more fun than learning languages, she thought, because the night before she had forgotten half the words she thought she knew, and pronounced the other half so badly that the waifs laughed at her.I learned sentences as messily as I used to sew stitches.If the girl hadn't been so hungry and small, Arya would have punched her so stupidly that she could only bite her lip now.I'm too stupid to learn anything, and I'm too stupid to give up. The waifs learn the lingua franca faster.At dinner one day, she suddenly turned to Arya and asked, "Who are you?" "The Nobody," Arya replied in Braavosi. "You lie," said the waif, "you must tell better." Arya laughed. "Better to tell? You mean better to tell a lie, stupid." "It's better to lie than you are stupid. I'll teach you how to lie." The next day, they played the lying game, taking turns asking each other questions.Sometimes the answer is truthful, sometimes it is a lie, and the questioner must try to tell the truth from the lie.Arya could only guess.She guesses wrong most of the time. "How old are you?" the waif asked her once in the Common Tongue. "Ten," Arya said, holding out ten fingers.She thinks she's still ten, but it's hard to be sure.Braavos counts days differently than Westeros.But she knew her name day was past. The waif nodded.Arya nodded back, and asked in her best Braavosi, "How old are you?" The waif stretched out ten fingers.Then I stretched it a second time, and a third time.Then there are six fingers.Her face was still as still as still water.She couldn't be thirty-six, Arya thought, she was a little girl. "You lied," she said.The waif shook his head and showed her again: ten, ten, ten, six.She tells Arya what "thirty-six" says, and makes Arya repeat it. The next day, she told the kind person about the matter. "She's not lying," the pastor said with a chuckle. "The person you call 'the waif' is a grown woman who has served the God of Many Faces all her life. She gave everything to God, every possible future, everything Vitality in the body." Arya bit her lip. "Will I be like her?" "No," he said, "unless you wish. The poison made her what she is." poison.She gets it.After each night's prayers, the waif empties a stone pot into the black pool. The waif and the good man are not the only servants of the God of Many Faces.From time to time, other priests visit the House of Black and White.The fat man has fierce black eyes and an aquiline nose, and his wide mouth is full of yellow dies; his old face never smiles, his eyes are white, his lips are thick and black; the handsome man changes his beard every time he comes The color, the nose are different, but still handsome.These three come most often, with occasional others: Squint, Lord, and Hungry Ghost.Once Fatty came with Squint, and Umma sent Arya to pour them drinks. "You have to stand like a stone statue when you're not pouring wine," the kind man told her, "Can you do that?" "Yes." Learn to move first, learn to be still. Syrio Forel taught her in King's Landing City a long time ago, and this has become one of her creeds.She was Roose Bolton's cupbearer at Harrenhal, and he'll skin you if you spill his wine. "Well," said the kind man, "you are still blind and deaf. You may hear something, but it must go in one ear and out the other. You cannot hear in." Arya had heard much conversation that night, mostly in Braavosi, which she could not understand a tenth of the time.Unmoving, she told herself, so the hardest part was trying to hold back the yawn.Before the dinner was over, she began to be in a trance.Holding the jug in her hand, she dreamed that she was a wolf, running freely in the forest under the moonlight, followed by a huge pack of wolves howling. "Are the others priests too?" she asked the kindly man the next morning. "Are they all showing their true colors?" "What do you think, child?" She thinks not. "Is Jaqen H'ghar a priest? Will Jaqen go back to Braavos?" "Who?" He didn't know anything. "Jaqen H'ghar. He gave me the iron coin." "I don't know anyone by that name, boy." "I asked him how to change his face, and he said it's as simple as changing his name, as long as you know how to do it." "yes?" "Can you teach me to change faces?" "No problem." He said holding her chin and turning her head around. "Puff out your cheeks and stick out your tongue." Arya puffed out her cheeks and stuck out her tongue. "Okay. You've changed your face." "That's not what I meant. Jaqen used magic." "Witchcraft has a price, boy. It takes years of prayer, devotion, and study to acquire true magic." "Years?" she said dejectedly. "If it were easy, anyone could do it. For you, learn to walk before you can run. Why use magic when the mummer's tricks will do the trick?" "I don't even know the tricks of an actor." "Start practicing grimacing. Beneath the skin are muscles. Learn to use them. Your face grows on you. Cheeks, lips, ears. Smiles and anger should not come and go like storms. Smiles should be servants, when Only appears when you call. Learn to control your face. "Teach me how to do it." "Puff your cheeks." She puffed her cheeks. "Raise your eyebrows. No, higher." She raised her eyebrows again. "Okay. See how long you can keep it up. Not yet. Try again in the morning. There's a Myrish mirror in the cellar. Practice an hour a day in front of it. Eyes, nostrils, cheeks, ears, lips, learn to control it all .” He lifted her chin. "Who are you?" “无名之辈。” “谎言。可悲的谎言，孩子。” 第二天她找到那块密尔镜子，然后每天早晚都坐在它面前扮鬼脸，两边各点上一支蜡烛照明。控制你的脸，她告诉自己，你就能撒谎。 此后不久，慈祥的人命她去帮侍僧处理尸体。其实这比替威斯擦楼梯轻松多了：有的尸体肥胖高大，她铆足劲才搬得动，然而大多数死者都是皮包骨头，干干瘦瘦的老人。艾莉亚一边清洗，一边观察，琢磨着他们为何会来到黑水池边。她还记得老奶妈讲的一个故事，故事里说，在某个漫长的冬季，一群活得太久的人宣布自己要去打猎。他们的女儿呜咽哭泣，他们的儿子将脸转向火堆，她仿佛仍能听到老奶妈的声音，但没人阻拦，也没人询问他们打算在这深深的积雪和呼号的寒风中捕什么猎。她不知这些布拉佛斯老人在前往黑白之院前是如何跟子女们说的。 月亮一轮又一轮地变换形状，但艾莉亚完全看不到。她在黑白之院中侍奉，清洗死者，学习布拉佛斯语，就着镜子扮鬼脸，试图记住自己是无名之辈。 有一天，慈祥的人传唤她。“你的口音太糟糕，”他说，“但积累的词汇已勉强能让别人明白意思。该是让你暂时离开我们的时候了。要想真正掌握我们的语言，只有每天从早到晚地讲，不停地讲。你走吧。” “什么时候？”她问他，“去哪儿？” “现在，”他回答，“去神庙之外。布拉佛斯是海中的上百岛屿，你已经学会怎么说蚌壳、扇贝、蛤蜊，对不对？” “对。”她用自己最好的布拉佛斯语重复了一遍这些名词。 她最好的布拉佛斯语让他露出笑容。“行了。去水淹镇下面的码头，找一个叫布鲁斯科的鱼贩，他是个好人，可惜背不大好使，他需要一个女孩，推着他的小车售卖蚌壳、扇贝和蛤蜊给船上下来的水手。你就是那个女孩。明白吗？” "clear." “假如布鲁斯科问起你，你是谁？” “无名之辈。” “不。那不行，在黑白之院外不行。” She hesitated for a moment. “我是阿盐，来自盐场镇。” “特尼西奥·特里斯和泰坦之女号上的人们认识阿盐。你的口音很特别，因此肯定来自维斯特洛……但我想应该是另一个女孩。” 她咬紧嘴唇，“可以叫我凯特吗？也就是'猫儿'？” “凯特。猫儿。”他考虑了一会儿。“好。布拉佛斯到处是猫。多一只也不会引人注目。你就是猫儿，一个孤儿，来自……” “君临。”她曾随父亲两次造访白港，但更熟悉君临。 “就是这样。你父亲是一艘划桨船上的桨手长。你母亲死后，他带你一起出海，接着他也死了，船长觉得你没用，就在布拉佛斯把你赶下了船。那艘船叫什么名字？” “娜梅莉亚。”她立刻接道。 当晚，她便离开了黑白之院，右腰插着一把长长的铁匕首，隐藏在斗篷下面，那是一件打过补丁，又褪了色的斗篷，适合孤儿穿。她的鞋子夹脚，漏风的上衣破旧不堪，但想到展现在眼前的布拉佛斯，一切都无所谓了。夜晚的空气中有烟尘、盐和鱼的味道，运河曲折蜿蜒，街巷更加离奇，人们好奇地看着她经过，乞儿们朝她叫喊。她听不懂，完全迷了路。 “格雷果爵士，”她一边念诵，一边踏上四拱石桥。在桥中央，她看到旧衣贩码头的船桅。“邓森，'甜嘴'拉夫，伊林爵士，马林爵士，瑟曦太后。”雨水哗啦啦地下，艾莉亚仰头望天，让雨点落在脸颊上，犹如愉快的舞蹈。“Valar morghulis.”她说，“Valar morghulis，Valar morghulis.”