"A girl turns into a woman."
She whirls around, graceful as a dancer, and stares at him. His smile dies. A man feels cold beneath the gaze of winter, and a girl is made of winter. She is still a girl to him, even though she is tall and lithe and smells of blood and steel. She has a girl's large eyes and a girl's frame, but a woman she is. A man has known a woman, or two. Through dark lashes she stares, wary as a cat. A smile slowly works its way to her lips.
She strides over to him and they stand before each other. The smile grows and turns wild. A girl does not blink. A man cannot help but look away. She leads him away from the yard, out into a wood with wild trees and soft ground and a carved face that bleeds. A man feels cold beneath the gaze of winter.
They talk of many things. Of her home, Winterfell, and how it grows again. They talk of their lives after Harrenhal, and of the minor goings on of the realm. They do not talk about the Red God. They do not talk about what a man owes. The face stares as they sit before a pool of water. A man feels cold.
"Why are you here?" she asks. A man wonders himself. He does not say, or maybe he cannot, but a girl knows. She covers his hand with hers and a man begins to tremble. She is cold and made of winter and something terrible lives within her heart. Did he put it there? He feels her gaze on him and he is frozen. He cannot speak, or move, or feel. A man is made of winter.
"Jaqen."
She breathes his name and life returns. He flexes his fingers and glides them between hers. A girl does not blink. A man does not look away. He rises and pulls her up, pulls her close, and she only stares, only breathes. Her breath is cold. He weaves her hair behind her ears and watches her face. A man remembers why he came. A man knows. A girl knows, too.
Slowly, gently, he bends down and presses his lips to hers. Winter melts between them and she returns the kiss. A girl is impatient and kisses too hard, too fast. He holds her chin and pulls away. Her eyes open and there is hunger in them. A man feels a chill pass through.
"A man has paid his debts. A man owed three. We are done."
She has time to close her eyes before the blade slides between her ribs. It is sharp and smooth and pierces her heart very quickly. He had forgotten that she was made of flesh and blood. A girl is made of winter, a man believed. But it is not snow that pours from the wound. Blood warms his hand and smokes in the cold, northern air. A girl does not cry out, or struggle. A man's heart freezes in his chest. She falls into his arms and weakly grabs at him. She holds him as a woman would, as a lover would, and stares at him. She tries to speak.
He removes the blade and holds her tight. A man is cold, so cold. Blood flecks her lips and she pulls him closer. A tear falls on her cheek and more follow. A man did not know he had tears. She speaks again.
"Thank you." A girl dies. A man is cold.
The carved face watches as he walks away. He smells like blood and steel. A man is made of winter.