None of Game of Thrones belongs to me. Contains explicit content, not actual sex but indications and swearing.
Alenca shifted her position on the man's lap, his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure as she rocked against him and a loud groan passed the man's lips. For the two their moans would not be heard through the padded walls, the room itself was a myriad of deep reds that burned in the dim light and light pinks to match the flesh of the young women who graced the pleasure barges of Braavos.
The private room was a mixture of silk and velvet, a large feather bed was placed in the middle of the room. It was huge. Opaque drapes dripped from the ceiling in the Westerosi style of the pleasure houses.
The woman's hair cascaded down her back the colour was almost orange and freckles dotted her pale cheeks, it made her seem much younger than her one and eight years. It was why she was popular with the clients; it made her seem more innocent. Even her eyes of almond colouring screamed "I'm a maiden!" when any illiterate lowlife could see she had probably been fucked a million times.
A window was open to allow some air into the room but both occupants were slick with sweat and the sweltering heat of Braavos only intensified as the man groped the woman.
Alenca pressed her lips to the man's and his tongue was jammed down her throat, sucking on her lips. The woman released low moan though her face betrayed her true feelings. It was tight with disgust and only lessened once the man stiffened.
His eyes snapped open to rest on the woman. The whore stood, slipping off the man's lap as his face turned purple then blue, then back to its original colouring. His mouth opened and a hand swiftly covered it as a strangled cry attempted to escape, his face was transfixed in horror as a numbness twisted in his bowls, and the woman trailed her other hand down his cheek, her fingers released the tension locking his face in one of pain and his mask of horror softened and relaxed as her fingers trailed over his stubble.
Placing her hand on both sides of the dying man the woman leaned into his ear "Valar Morghulis" she whispered, then he died. His face was passive as Alenca pulled up her fine robe of silk draping it back over her shoulders and covering her breasts with the material, a cloak swiftly covered the finery.
Alenca took a second to look at the body and then disappeared. Alenca the whore was then merely a ghost, a mirage of someone who once was…
Now No-one slid through the twisting passages of Braavos a cloak billowing behind her despite the heat. Nobody noticed the slight form as it travelled through the bustling streets. Noise flared from every direction covering the sound of no-one's footsteps, not that it was needed, the streets could be silent and she would still not be heard.
With a clear familiarity No-one entered the house of black and white; she was instantly faced by a man with dark locks, and dark eyes, "Is it done?" the man asked, it irritated No-one that she was being questioned.
She completed her training to work for the faceless god more than a year before yet he still treated her like a child, No-one attempted to slide past the man ignoring his question.
She flinched and let out a small growl of irritation as he grabbed her arm, when she turned to face the man almond eyes did not meet his dark ones but grey ones. The face was plain but it still resembled a girl that used to be. A girl who died years ago, a girl who dreamed of wolves and water dancing. The man's jaw clenched.
"It is done" no-one said through gritted teeth.
"Who are you?" the man asked in a low voice, pulling her so they were inches away from each other
"no-one" she replied sharply her eyes dead set. She did not lie.
The man released his grip and No-one stormed away.
Jaqen H'ghar, she still named him, it was not his true name but to her it was true enough. He changed his face but she knew him more than most, he could tell who she was whatever disguise she wore and vice versa.
He had come to her to help her complete her training, and that he had, that was three years ago, when she had seen him for the first time after years of preparation after he had sent her to the house of black and white she did not rush to him as she once might have at the age of one and two, but instead slapped him. Hard. The now grown woman smiled at that thought. It was a sweet recollection.
He had trained her in everything she now knew. According to him all she had learned was wrong, so she relearned. He was softer to her than to others but he worked her hard. He taught her how to use everything to her best advantage, as she grew from a girl to a woman he taught her to use her femininity to suit her own needs and the ways to charm people, or to combine both; to charm people with her femininity.
The lessons she recalled with most detail were the ones on the art of seduction.
Goosebumps raised on her arms as she walked quickly through a corridor with at least twenty different doors. At first she had been awkward and violent. But Jaqen could teach, and he taught her well. It was unusual. When Jaqen touched her she did not feel violated and she cherished the feeling of her body pressed flush against his.
She didn't understand why it was so different with others. Of all the jobs she had done where she was required to use her femininity to get close to her assignments she broke slightly. It disgusted her; with Jaqen she did not feel disgusted. But everyone else…
It was then finally that she managed to make it to the baths. Steaming water rose from the hot pools and she sank into the water discarding her robes on the floor. Despite the heat she shivered in the water.
Three months she had been working on this lord, she had gathered information and the only time he was without company of a burly bodyguard was at the pleasure houses, but he had favourites. It took three months to weasel herself into that category. Now he was dead.
She had hated every moment of it, from the sleazy customers who came on the barge with fat purses, to the bitches that were the other whores, always competing. No-one scrubbed herself until she was pink and her skin raw, but she still felt dirty and her salty tears added to the cooling bath. Her body betrayed her thoughts and she wanted to just submerge herself in the water.
"A lovely girl should not cry" a voice spoke
"A girl died a long time ago; I am a woman now" no-one answered unabashed as Jaqen stepped into her view, she knew he had been there
"the girl may not be a girl any more but still she is lovely" Jaqen answered, no-one stood up, almost reluctantly Jaqen offered her a robe of black and white similar to one he bore. She pulled it over her head and looked up at Jaqen. He took a step towards her and swept her into an embrace.
After a too long a time no-one remembered a girl she used to be. She remembered brothers and a sister, she remembered parents and wolves. She remembered Ayra Stark of Winterfell. Almost reading her thoughts Jaqen whispered to her "that child is gone my lovely girl, you are a servant of the faceless god now- Valar Dohaeris" They stood like that for a while, both wrapped in their own thoughts, eventually no-one broke the silence "I will go" she whispered
"I know lovely girl" he responded his eyes sad
"You will not come" she said, it was a statement more than a question. Jaqen had devoted himself to the many faced God, he could not leave.
His silence answered her question and when they broke the embrace Jaqen was looking at Ayra Stark. She was not the child he first saw, no longer could she be mistaken for a boy she was small but she had a woman's body. He knew that.
They made their way to the front entrance, there were many doors which they could take which would draw less attention but Jaqen was content to just be led by the hand to see Ayra Stark one last time.
A figure slunk out the shadows and Ayra nodded to her old teacher as she passed he mouthed the words and she mouthed them back a solemn understanding between them. Ayra retraced her path from years ago and dislodged one of the steps dropping Jaqen's hand to retrieve Needle. When Ayra retook Jaqen's hand he was how she first saw him the red hair with the white on one side. She smiled and Jaqen answered with a smirk.
"Valar Morghulis" Ayra said
"Valar Dohaeris" Jaqen replied quietly. Ayra reached up and pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was chaste, but lovely.
With that Ayra turned away from Jaqen, from the house of black and white and from years of work, and then Ayra smiled. She was a wolf once again.
Jaqen watched her disappear, his lovely girl, then without a glimpse backward… he followed.
He left his God and followed Ayra Stark. He followed her without a second thought and he had no idea why.
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