Chapter Text
They lied awake together, their chests breathing in unison. Her head rested on his extended arm and despite being slick with sweat, she liked the feel of her skin against his. Hot against cold, she was iron and he, wine. She laughed as he whispered sweet things into her ear.
He was Jaqen again, whose hair was as red as a blood and held a contrasting silver-white lock on the side. She twirled locks of his hair as he spoke. His eyes were sky blue again. She loved the sound of his voice and his throaty laughter. She no longer asked him what his real face looked like because this was who he was for her. He chose to be the man from Lorath with a foreign purr to his voice though she no longer noticed it when they spoke to each other in Valyrian which was most of the time. Jaqen H’ghar was dead in name but he was right here, with her.
When he finally fell asleep, a habit he eventually developed when he began to feel more comfortable with her, she stayed awake. The crackling of the dying fire was the only sound that filled the room. That and Jaqen's breathing, which was accompanied by the soft heaving of his chest.
She thought of the first time they had seen each other again, years after Harrenhal. She had been No One back then. Having already been put on the field after her training, she had to wear the face of a beautiful, young girl who had thick, fat lips and long hair so blonde it looked white. She wondered what drove such a pretty girl to look for the gift. Beautiful girls don’t always have it easier, thought No One, briefly seeing an image of a beautiful but sad girl with red hair, long and glorious. The image went as quickly as it came and No One continued going about with her assignment. Her task was to seduce a man who had raped dozens of young girls and later give him the gift. It was a relatively simple task, she thought, how difficult was it to seduce a raper?
As it turns out, it had not been so simple. The man was rich and had many servant girls. Having posed as one, she learned that he was not as stupid as she once presumed. He always meticulously chose his victims, rather than picking them out at random. He would be kind and generous to all of his servant girls, winning their trust and loyalty. As they grew to have blind faith in the man they served, he would assault the youngest ones. He always observed them all, looking for the quietest or the shyest or the weakest. Whoever he deemed to fit his standards would be attacked eventually. The victims would obviously go to the others and tell them what he did. The other servant girls would refuse to believe them. They believed their master would never do such things and they often banished the girls.
A moon and some days passed and the man had quietly asked No One, who went by the name of Aztrid, to come empty his chamber pot. He smiled at her, as softly as possible and she realized why the girls before her had never suspected anything. You don’t scare a lamb before you slaughter it, she thought, you entice it and make it feel safe before you betray it.
She bowed silently and followed him to his chamber. It was not long ‘til the man flung her on to his bed and covered her mouth with his large hands. Aztrid had watched him in his sleep for weeks and she had been very aware of the dagger he kept under his pillow. As she feigned her surrender, he began to undress himself. She quickly slipped her hands to the dagger as he untied the laces of his smallclothes. Before he successfully untied the last knot, she kicked him hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. She bounced up and slit his throat before he managed to call for help. She held him ‘til she had seen a light go out in his light green eyes.
She put on the hood of her cloak and and climbed out of his window, crept up to the roof. She stayed in the shadows, waiting patiently for the other servants to find his body. When she finally heard the screams one by one, she silently leapt to the roof of the next house, knowing the little time she had to make her escape. The night was her friend, making her go as unnoticed as a ghost
Once she was at a safe distance, she looked back, making sure she was not being followed. And she wasn’t.
As she turned back to the direction she headed to, a man stood before her. He had soft black hair and dark green eyes that shone in the moonlight. His skin was dark and beautiful but it was his smile that caught her attention.
She had never seen him in her life but she knew that she did…somehow.
He swiftly uncloaked her and she smiled at his speed. She knew exactly who he was now.
“A man does not remember a girl being blonde.” He lightly picked up a lock of her hair and waved it in front of her, smirking as he did.
“A girl remembers a pale streak in a man’s hair,” she teased as she stood on her toes to properly look at his head and pretended to search for it.
“A man did not know that the House of Black and White partook in the doing of justice. Killing rapers today, punishing thieves tomorrow.” He grinned.
She shrugged. “One of the girls he attacked came and asked for the man to receive the gift. I only complied.”
“Did a girl enjoy killing that sort of man?”
“I’m good at it. All men must die and sometimes I like when men that deserve to die actually do. You’re not going to tell on me are you?” She flashed a devilish smile at him and he only chuckled.
“As beautiful as Aztrid is, a man would very much like to see a girl’s true face. He does not know this Aztrid, he knows a different lovely girl.”
She raised a pair of thin, light eyebrows at him. “I am not very familiar with whoever you’re trying to be. I’ll show you my face if you show me yours.”
“A girl has never seen a man’s true face. A girl has only met a criminal from Lorath.”
“Then show me the Lorathi or I won’t show you the lost Westerosi.”
“The Lorathi is dead.”
“As is the girl.”
“Please.”
“No.”
He sighed. She figured he wasn’t going to change his face for her so she began to walk past him until a hand grabbed her arm, firmly but not violently.
As she turned back, she saw Jaqen H’ghar.
She laughed. Not the way Aztrid laughed, which was a shy giggle or the way No One laughed, which was more of a snort rather than a proper laugh. She laughed the way Arya Stark would laugh, loud and unladylike.
They had been inseparable ever since.
Well not truly, since each had to leave Braavos for tasks from time to time but they’d eventually find their way back into their beds at odd hours of the night. Each reunion was much like the last, a soft but firm kiss and a couple of sleepy whispers were exchanged. In the morning that followed, they would make love as wildly or passionately as possible, depending how much desperation had built up during the time that they had been apart. Things would often go back to normal until they were met with another assignment that separated them. She was still No One when it counted but in the privacy of her own room, she was Arya and he was Jaqen.
When and how they decided to get romantically involved with each other was another memory for another night. Arya smiled to herself and curled tightly against Jaqen’s body and drifted off to sleep.