Chapter Text
~ a ~ r ~ y ~ a ~
The evening traffic was awful, and Arya just wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel.
Since she woke up that morning, she just knew that the day was going to be out of the ordinary for one reason or another. Her boss called her at an ungodly hour to request her presence, and later when she got to the office he briefed her on the new, foreign client whose message apparently had been blinking on the answering machine since the night before – that he would be in London for a limited time, that he wanted to meet up as soon as possible, and that he specifically asked for Arya Stark. Who in the Seven hells was so desperate for their services to call so late at night anyway? Whatever. It was possibly a ten-million deal, and she couldn't pass up the opportunity, not even if that meant working on the weekend.
Car horns were driving her crazy, not to mention the nightmarish dress that imprisoned her body. Thank the Gods, Marble Arch was in sight. Two more turnings and she would reach the family residence in Mayfair.
Her sister was visiting with Sandor and the pups. They were leaving the next day because the two boys had to be back at school on Monday, and of course Sansa insisted on going with her little sister tonight. The client offered two tickets after all, and it wasn't like Arya had hordes of friends ready to accompany her to such an event with so little notice anyway.
When she finally reached the first destination of the night, Arya stopped the car and fumbled in her clutch for her phone. She couldn't be bothered to enter the house now; she loved her parents dearly, but she was sure they would be keeping her home all night complimenting her on her appearance and taking pictures of her dress. And there really was no time.
As she started to dial Sansa's number to tell her to come out, the car door creaked open and a whiff of her sister's favourite perfume reached her nostrils.
"Mother Rhoyne! You really couldn't wait to get rid of hubby and kids, uh?" Arya couldn't keep the smirk off her face.
Sansa threw her an annoyed look. "Oh, come on. It seems to me that you rather didn't want to leave your cat. Do you know how late it is?"
It was Arya's turn to look annoyed. "I think you have spent too much time in Bumfuck, Scotland, and you don't remember what the traffic is like on a Saturday in your home town."
"I do remember pretty well, I... Oh!" Sansa's hand flew to her chest as she really looked at her sister for the first time since she folded her tall frame into Arya's car. "You are wearing a long dress! I can't believe you were serious!"
"It's the Royal Albert Hall, Sansa, I had to," Arya muttered as she started the car and moved away from the townhouse and into the traffic again, towards the second and final destination of the night.
"You had to come in! Mum and dad would be so proud of you right now!" Sansa was almost grinning. Almost. Grinning was unladylike after all.
"I know. But I also know that perhaps my client is not willing to wait for me just because my parents are going crazy over my clothing selection." Arya didn't know much about this new client, in fact. Jorah hadn't given her much information; he didn't know much himself.
"What's his name again?"
Sometimes Arya doubted her sister's hair colour. Must be blonde, not red.
She told her the name for the umpteenth time.
"Albrecht Wolfram."
In the morning, after she got home from her impromptu meeting in the offices of Mormont & Mormont Estates, curled up in her computer chair with Nymeria purring on her lap, she had looked up the name on the internet. And what she could find was scarce. Berlin-based pianist and composer. A few albums out. No public appearances. Not a single picture of him anywhere.
This was his first concert ever.
"And he chose London to play?"
Arya sighed. "And possibly, to live."
Albrecht Wolfram.
Who are you?
*
Their box was close to the stage, in the grand tier, very likely the best seats of the Hall, with the best view of the orchestra and the grand piano. It would have been a real pity to throw the tickets away. Mr Wolfram had invited Arya to attend his concert as a sort of compensation for the last minute call; at the end of the performance, they were to meet backstage and plan the details of his house hunting for the following day.
When they entered the Hall, almost all of the seats were already filled, but thankfully the concert hadn't started yet. And thankfully Sansa is here, Arya thought. She wasn't used to this kind of events. She wasn't used to going out at all. Not anymore.
As if she could sense Arya's discomfort, Sansa put her hand on her sister's shoulder and smiled. "This way, let's go sit down."
"Right, so I won't have to worry about tripping over my dress and breaking an ankle," Arya huffed as the two reached their box.
"You really should be more confident, you know? You are lovely. And you should relax. Maybe you'll even meet someone tonight." Sansa paused, obviously waiting for Arya to roll her eyes. She didn't disappoint. "I know what you are thinking. But please, just for tonight, have fun. And leave that utter dastard in the past where he belongs."
As if on cue, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the concert and saving Arya from the uncomfortable conversation.
All the members of the orchestra were seated, the conductor was on the podium, only the pianist was missing. Suddenly, from the side of the stage opposite their box, a man sneaked in and rushed to sit on the bench at the grand piano.
Albrecht Wolfram, here you are.
The music started. And Arya was fascinated right from the first note. Being a rock music lover since her teenage years, she had never taken a particular interest in classical music; however, as she grew older, she learned to appreciate variety. To the point that now the beauty of certain passages almost brought tears to her eyes.
And the pianist was... Unreal. Despite being so close, she couldn't see his features clearly; more than once during the performance she tried to bring his face into focus, but he never looked at the audience, not once, deeply concentrated as he was on the music, on his hands. His hands... There was something familiar in the way he moved his hands. There was something familiar in the way he moved, she realised. And his hair, short and shiny and strawberry blonde, it can't be...
She heard her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and eyes widening she brought a hand over her mouth in shock.
"Jaqen," she whispered in the darkness of the Hall.