Jon used his dagger to gently pry the oyster meat from its shell. He slipped it into his mouth, chewing slowly as he spoke with his mouth half-full.
"The sauce is excellent."
Arya ate one as well, licking her fingers. "Aye. Brusco makes a better spicy vinegar than anyone on the wharf. I sell a full barrel every day."
"Once the barrel is empty tonight, go and say your farewells to Brusco," Jon said, his tone turning serious. "I've taken a room at an inn. Come back with me. Tomorrow or the day after, we'll find a ship for home."
"Home?" Arya tilted her head, a complex shadow crossing her gray eyes. "Jon, Winterfell is gone. The Ironborn burned it. They killed Bran and Rickon."
Jon went silent for a long moment. "I know."
"And do you know that Robb and Mother are dead, too?"
"I know that as well. I was at the Twins the night of the Red Wedding. I saw Sandor Clegane carry you away while you were senseless."
Arya dropped her shell, her voice barely a whisper. "He knocked me out... but he saved me. I was in the castle when Joffrey took Father, just playing..." She trailed off, recounting the long, bloody road she had walked since the capital. "...and after I killed Polliver and the others, the Hound got sick. I left him in the woods to die and came here alone."
Jon reached out, ruffling her matted, messy hair. "Sandor Clegane didn't die. A Friar of the Light named Ray saved him. He's with my brother-in-arms now, Kevin Turner, escorting refugees to the Master's lands. Kevin is a Sunwalker."
Arya nodded slowly. "I know of Sunwalkers. Lord Beric had one in his company—Roger Hughes. He could mend wounds with a touch."
Jon tapped his chest with a hint of pride. "I am a Sunwalker too, Arya."
Arya's eyes went wide. "You? I thought you were a man of the Night's Watch."
"I am both," Jon said. He looked at the blackfish swimming lazily in the canal and told her of the last two years—the journey from the Wall to the Gods Eye. "I promised your mother I would find you and bring you home. There is no reason to hesitate."
Arya's lip trembled. "You're lying. My mother is dead."
"Why would I lie to you? You are the only kin I have left," Jon said firmly. "Thoros of Myr is here in Braavos. He came on your mother's orders. He can swear to it: Lord Beric gave his own life to bring her back."
"But I'm... I'm dirty," Arya muttered, kicking her legs against the stone quay. "Mother always wanted me to be a lady like Sansa, but I couldn't do it. If I go back alone, without her... will Mother even want me?"
Jon shrugged. "Why wouldn't she? Sansa could never have survived what you have. You aren't just a little girl anymore, Arya."
"And you? Will you stay with us?" She looked at him with desperate hope.
"I..." Jon felt a pang of guilt. "Once I see you safe, I must return to the Master. I swore a vow to serve Anshe's cause. But the Brotherhood's lands aren't far from the monastery. We'll see each other often."
Arya's disappointment was a physical thing.
The autumn wind off the water carried a sudden chill. "Roger Hughes said the Sunwalkers want to get rid of the lords," she whispered. "A world where everyone is equal. Is that true?"
Jon tossed a shell into the canal, watching the ripples. "It is. My Master says the system of lords and fiefs is the root of the wars. Only by breaking the borders and letting Sunwalkers manage the realm can the smallfolk truly know peace. Every one of us is willing to die for that goal. I am no different."
"Does that include the North? Does it include Winterfell?"
Jon didn't answer.
"If Bran and Rickon were alive," Arya pressed, her voice rising with anger, "would your Master kill them too?"
"Bran and Rickon are dead, Arya."
"But Sansa is alive!"
"She was married to Tyrion Lannister by the Queen's order. Tyrion is a good man, but any child they have will inherit Winterfell. Do you want a Lannister cousin ruling the North?"
"No! He's ugly! Sansa would never love him!"
"Noble marriages have nothing to do with love," Jon said coldly. "Your mother didn't love Lord Eddard when they wed."
"My mother loved my father!" Arya screamed. "Your mother was the one nobody loved!"
Jon flinched as if she had struck him. He went silent, the hurt plain on his face.
The tension stretched between them until Arya whispered, "I'm sorry, Jon. I didn't mean it."
Jon managed a hollow smile. "It's fine. Like I said... love is a luxury even the most powerful cannot always afford."
"Will you save Sansa from the Lions?" Arya asked.
Jon shook his head. "I don't know. If the Lannisters mean to use her for the North, they'll guard her night and day. I cannot break into the Red Keep alone."
"But you said you were a Deputy Commander! Can't you bring your Sunwalkers and storm the castle?"
"Arya, life isn't a singer's tale. Fifty men cannot take the Red Keep. And I am only a student. Aldric Cerese is the leader. Since he broke with Robb at Oxcross, he has stayed out of the games of lords. I don't think he would go to war for one noble girl."
Arya's fury erupted again. "This won't work, that won't work! So Sansa just rots with the Lions?"
"Tyrion is kind—"
"The Lannisters are monsters!" Arya shrieked. "You didn't see Joffrey's face when he ordered Father's head off! The Mountain, Tywin... to them, we are just meat on a board! You won't join the Brotherhood to help Mother, you won't save Sansa, you won't even avenge Robb! You just want to follow your Master and build a 'heaven' for strangers! Why should I go with you?"
"For your mother—"
"No! If I go back now, I'm just another target for the Lannisters to use against 'Lady Stoneheart'! I'm not a child! I've survived on my own, and I'll keep doing it! I will find my own power! I will have my revenge!"
She stood up, grabbing the handles of her oyster cart.
"Arya, be reasonable! You're ten years old!" Jon grabbed her wrist.
In a blur of motion, a thin blade flashed. Jon hissed, pulling his hand back as a line of blood appeared across his knuckles.
Arya stood there, eyes red and brimming with tears, clutching her dagger. "I'm eleven and a half, Jon! I'm nearly a woman grown! Go away! Leave me alone!"
She put her shoulder into the cart and pushed it into the crowd, disappearing among the sailors and merchants.
Jon clutched his hand, watching her go with a heavy heart. Is she truly that grown? He knew she was still a child at heart, blind to the costs of war and politics. He wanted justice too, but he could not drag the peaceful people of the Alliance into a blood-feud that would see them all burned. Aldric wouldn't allow it, and the Light didn't demand it.
Arya couldn't win a war selling oysters. She was smart, but she was hurt. He decided he would stay in Braavos a while longer. He wouldn't force her—that would only make her run again. He would wait for the anger to cool.
Following their agreement, Jon headed to the Isle of the Gods to find the Temple of the Lord of Light. It was the largest structure on the island besides the Temple of the Moon-Singers. Inside, the air was warm, smelling of cedar and smoke. There were no statues; only a massive iron brazier filled with roaring flames served as the focus for worship.
Jon approached a young acolyte in red. "I seek Thoros of Myr."
"Brother Thoros? What is your business?"
"Tell him Jon Snow of the Golden Dawn has found his sister."
The boy nodded and vanished through a side door. A moment later, Thoros emerged.
"Where is she?" Thoros asked. "Is she with you?"
"No," Jon sighed. "She refuses to come."
Thoros led him to a quiet alley outside the temple walls. Jon explained Arya's fury and her refusal to return. "Perhaps you can talk to her?"
Thoros offered a sad smile. "I am a stranger to her, Jon. If she won't listen to her own blood, she won't listen to a drunk priest."
"But you promised Lady Catelyn—"
"I promised to find her. I have. I know she is safe," Thoros said, shaking his head. "I may not be returning to the Riverlands, Jon."
Jon frowned. "Why?"
"Lady Catelyn is not Lord Beric," Thoros said carefully. "She does not want a shield; she wants a sword. She hungers for vengeance, not protection. She has no use for me. The Sunwalkers in the Brotherhood are already turning toward your Master's radical path. I would only be an obstacle to what they are becoming."
Thoros looked at Jon with regret. "I'm heading North. Not to the Riverlands, but to the Wall."
"The Wall?"
"Melisandre of Asshai is with Stannis Baratheon. Word has reached the temple that the Great Cold is stirring. My brothers and I must go. The squabbles of lords are Melisandre's game; the war against the Great Other is the duty of every follower of R'hllor."
He placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "If you see Lady Catelyn again, tell her I am sorry. But the Will of the Flame comes first. Stay with your sister, Jon. Convince her. Take her back to the Master. That is the only place left for a Stark girl to grow."
Jon watched him go, feeling the weight of his own forgotten vows to the Watch.
"Goodbye, Thoros," Jon whispered. "May your god watch over you."
"And may your Sun light your path," Thoros replied.
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