A man sees.
He sees her small form with its hidden strength, brittle parchment layered over constructed walls of solid granite. Walls meant to keep out the fear. Walls meant to provide a false sense of security.
(Or perhaps he was that false sense?)
He sees her eyes glaze over when she speaks to him, her weak attempts to keep him from reading her too much. But it is in his nature to read, just as it is in his nature to kill.
Just as it is in her nature to kill.
And what a killer she would make, he thinks.
Molded into a whisper in the night, a thin blade in hand, conforming to the deepest shadows and sliding that slick metal across the throat of a target.
Oh, the girl would make the god of Death proud.
And he sees it in her, this potential, clear as the bright day that never comes to Harrenhal. The icy steel in her eyes as she names him as her third choice, a promise within a threat. Her flippant shrug when he condemns her honor. She would have seen him off to meet Death with but a wave…
And a tear, he thinks.
Yes, the girl was granite walls draped in dried and flaking parchment, but beneath it all he sees the child that she once was.
Innocence, stolen by violence and horror.
Beneath the glossy stare she so often threw at him he could see the girl thinking, wishing, hoping, remembering. He did not ask what she thought of. He did not ask who she missed. He did not ask which noble family she hailed from and he did not ask who she had lost to the blades of her enemies.
He had his assumptions, but he did not ask.
And a girl would not tell if he did.
Oh, what a whisper in the night she would make…
And so he would consider this possibility, of taking this cold, brave, lonely and broken girl under his wing and rebirthing her in the image of the God of Many Faces, to wield her thin slick blade and bring relief to those who sought death in their dreams.
A man sees a girl and her friends stride hesitantly from the gates and into the black air of freedom.
He catches the uncertainty in her eyes and remembers her youth, and for less than a moment in time he acknowledges that this little girl has crawled under his skin and taken root…
The child’s eyes steel over as she leads her comrades out of Harrenhal.
Caring and vulnerable. Courageous and cold.