Braavos – 300 A.C.

Arya was remarkably calm as she pondered at the sting of the cold wind that touched her cheek. She had always thought that when someone was at death's door, all of their senses would fade, yet for her, everything seemed exceptionally sharp, especially the pain.

She tried to concentrate on other sensations, like the feel of the wet stones underneath her or the sound of the waves, but it was the approaching footsteps that managed to distract her. Jaqen seated himself silently beside her and she lifted her head slightly to meet his gaze. The emotion he always concealed seemed to seep through his normally impenetrable mask, if only a little. Perhaps Arya was imagining the crease between his eyebrows or the clench of his jaw. "I'm going to die," she told him, although she knew he was already aware. A normal person might have tried to comfort Arya or reassure her otherwise, but that was not Jaqen; he merely nodded in confirmation as he studied her expression. Arya preferred his lack of reaction, it's not as if she wanted a particularly dramatic death. No, this was much better, she decided. She looked away from her faceless master so that she might survey the scenery. The sky was a terrific orange and although she had never been the kind of a girl that found things like that beautiful, she nevertheless thought it. However an acute pang caused by one of her many wounds forced away all thoughts of anything pleasant.

Her involuntary wincing caused the Lorathi man gently shift her body so that she would be more comfortable. "Are you frightened?" he asked her in an even tone.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords," she laughed shakily, causing the cut across her stomach to feel as if it were ripping her in half.

"A faceless man must accept death, greet him as an old friend. We have served him for years and in return, he will give us the same gift." Arya would have responded with sarcasm, but her fatigue prevented her. Not only the weakness of her body, but the dismay that she felt. Her eighteenth name day had just passed only a few months ago. When she thought of all that she could not do and the people she would never see again, every muscle in her body seemed to ache. The sadness that threatened to overwhelm her was soon replaced by seething anger at her at all that she would lose.

"A girl looks as though she's ready to fight a bear," Jaqen mused, but his tone lacked its normal mirth it usually had when he teased her.

"I don't think I'm ready for anything right now," she responded with a cough that caused Jaqen's frown to become more pronounced. He sighed resignedly before brushing away strands of hair from her pale face and tried not to take note that her skin was cold as ice. His eyes roamed over her injuries once more, but of course, nothing could be done. The gashes that covered her body were too deep and she had lost too much blood. From the first moment he had seen her, he had always been confident that somehow she would always be free from serious harm. The girl before him was in no way predictable, but he had always counted on her ability to survive. Why was this time different? Why did she always have to surprise him?

"How can you be so careless? To rush into battle as you did!" Jaqen snarled. His harsh words baffled Arya, he had never spoken like that before. She was stunned that he had referred to her directly; in one fail swoop, Jaqen H'ghar had cast away his 'no one' persona. His mask seemed to dissolve completely, leaving behind a mix of emotions from frustration to anguish. "What?" he barked.

"Who are you?" she wondered, eyes wide. It took the man a moment to gather his thoughts- to realize what Arya Stark had done to him. It was an epiphany of sorts, the realization of what this beautiful, exasperating, deranged, girl meant to him seemed to lift the weight of the world off of his shoulders. He smiled warmly and took her hand.

"The moment we met, I became Jaqen H'ghar," he told her sadly as he gave her palm a swift kiss. Arya's façade crumbled: her strength had never failed her, but today it did. The tears flew freely without any hope of stopping them. "Hush, silly girl. In another life, I will find you again." Her erratic breathing had slowed and she mustered all the effort she could to give one last parting smile.

"May the gods help you if you don't," she threatened in a low voice, her lids struggling to remain open- the pain of her wounds long forgotten. For a moment, Jaqen believed she would stir, she would smile or threaten him, or dust herself off and head for the temple, but she did not. She did not wake.

With an audible release of breath, Jaqen fell to his side so that his body lay parallel to the lovely girl beside him. He tentatively pressed the wound above his breast and as he thought, the blood soaked through his clothing. He was surprised to have lasted as long as he did. Without tearing his eyes away from her, he fished through his pocket for the most precious item in the world to him: the coin. The coin he had given her, the coin that brought her, the coin he searched the ocean for, the coin he carried with him for luck. It had never failed him before and he hoped it would not now. His fist tightened painfully around it as he shut his eyes.

"In another life, let me find Arya Stark."