Arya accepts a man's offer to leave with him after escaping Harrenhal.
Arya and Jaqen over the years, leading to AryaxJaqen.
A Man and A Girl
The cloak was crimson red, like the blood that had poured from the man he had slain hours earlier, and the guard she herself had murdered in their escape. The swishing tail of fabric dangled back and forth in front of her as she stumbled along after him. Aching feet tripping over stones, sweat dripping down the nape of her neck and her eyes itching with tiredness. Her mouth was dry and her lips cracked, her stomach rumbling emptily. She was sweaty, tired and hungry but curiosity sated her needs.
Most of them.
"I don't like your new face." Arya Stark complained, brushing dry hair out of her eyes with a huff.
To Jaqen's annoyance she had insisted on sneaking back into Harrenhal to say goodbye to Hot Pie and Gendry, invisible in the dark with a whispered explanation quick on her lips and a hug for good luck in the dead of night. She tried to ignore their incredulous expressions as she turned to go.
"You're going with him?" Hot Pie had paled as he'd held out a bundle of pies and soft bread she'd asked for before springing the surprise news. "B-but he's dangerous Arry." The whites of his eyes were clearly visible.
Arya had nodded and filched the bag before he changed his mind about helping her. "He can teach me a lot of things."
"Like how to murder people." Gendry said flatly, dark eyes unhappy, mouth twisted in anger.
"How to survive." Arya said, jaw locked.
How to get revenge.
Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffery, Queen Cersai.
Then she left, creeping around corners before killing a guard and sprinting to the shadows where a waiting Jaqen H'ghar stood by the castle, idly running an old iron coin along his knuckles.
"You'll get used to it." The man in front of her turned, his cloak flapping around and breaking her exhausted reverie.
His hair was black and curly, no red and white in sight. It blew in the slight breeze, and those unfamiliar sweeping eyebrows furrowed as he watched her closely. She wondered briefly where the scar on his cheek had come from and opened her mouth to ask before stopping. Was it even his scar? Was this his real face, or was it the face before that she knew him as? Which face was Jaqen? Was Jaqen even his real name?
His gold tooth glittered as he smiled amused and she found herself staring at it.
"You don't even talk the same." She mumbled the first uncomplicated thought that popped into her head. She was sad to see his strange manner of talking had gone, that alone had set him apart from anyone else she had ever known. That, and his willingness to kill anyone for her.
"Jaqen is dead, as I told you earlier."
Arya paused on top of the ledge they had approached contemplatively, staring at the landscape before her and never looking back, for only bad things remained there. Whimsical memories of her childhood were slowly fading away, the path behind her as dark and gloomy as the prison she had escaped.
The forest ahead of her was starting to look alive in first light, the early morning dawn making everything clearer. She took a deep breath savouring the light breeze fluttering across her face, caressing her lips. The countryside was nothing like Winterfell but it soothed her the same, the crisp autumn air reviving her as she stood on that cliffside.
With a flourish the man who was not-now-Jaqen held out a hand to help her down. With a glower she ignored the hand and jumped, landing with a huff and scraping her hands.
They walked for hours, passing fields of destroyed crops stinking of burnt farmers, the corpses pinned up in a crude mockery of scarecrows. Jaqen had tutted at that and muttered something unheard. Arya had watched a worm flounder out of an eyeball.
They stopped to make water in a patch of bushes, Arya squatting down and suddenly realising with childish recognisation that Jaqen was making water now too-
She was startled by the thought and even more disturbed, and she frowned as she laced up her breeches and tried to avoid watching the back of the cloak through the trees.
At one point in their journey Arya broke into the bread, passing it back and forth with her companion, their fingers brushing more than once. Arya recalled the time Jaqen with Jaqen's face had woken her in the night. His hand was strong and smooth and warm then, unyielding as a stone. These fingers were different, an old silver scar or two that created bump on the rough and calloused skin. Hands that recognised hard work and paid the price.
"So which is your real face?" She asked during their long walk. "Do you have a different name now too?" Perhaps he would answer this time as he didn't before.
"You know me as Jaqen, so you can call me that if you wish."
Arya glowered at him frustrated. "That's not a real answer stupid. Can you ever be him again?" She kicked away a stone in her path.
"The dead are able to talk by certain ways." He divulged, batting aside a tree branch as they walked in the cool shade of another forest, huge trees with thick trunks and leaves that rustled as they walked past.
"And you're going to teach me those ways?" She queried, striding beside him and looking up eagerly.
"Yes you evil child." A smile played on Jaqen's lips,
"I'm not evil." Arya grumbled under her breath, eyeing her path carefully for stray tree roots.
"But you're not good." He countered and Arya's eyes flashed up to meet his in anger.
"I saved my Father's men, men of the North-"
"Through evil tricks and a man's name."
"But you said the Red God wouldn't mind."
"The extra gifts will have delighted him have no doubt, but he is always looking for more, every second of every day." He plucked an apple from a tree they passed and took a bite, pulling off a second to toss to her.
She sank her teeth into it gratefully, the fruit juicy and refreshing and making her decide she could go no further without rest. She sank to the floor, perching on an half rotted tree stump to devour her snack. Jaqen turned, retraced his last few steps through the bracken and sat down beside her.
"We cannot stop long if we wish to catch a ship." He warned and Arya nodded.
"Just a few minutes. It's not far to Riverrun...we are going to Riverrun aren't we?" Arya checked.
"I do not know of a place named Riverrun." Her heart sank into her chest and she opened her mouth wordlessly, hand squeezing her apple tight.
"It's near here. We can just make a quick stop, just so I can tell my Mother-"
"And how do you think your Mother would react hmm?" He shot her a knowing look. "You may write a letter when we reach Braavos."
"Well how long will that take?"
"Patience sweet child." He stroked her hair fondly, and she took another bite of the ripe apple.
"Why do we have to go to Braavos? Can't you teach me how to kill here?"
"There is a great deal more to killing than a sword thrust into a heart." Jaqen leant back against a tree, legs crossed in a brief moment of relaxation. He still had on the uniform from Harrenhal, Arya still the ragged clothes and Arya wondered if anyone would even notice they were missing amongst the chaos of Weasel Soup.
She picked at her grime filled fingernails, bit at the short and spiky hangnail and debated whether to tell him there wasn't a great deal more to killing than entering a tiny sword named Needle into the belly.
"I've killed before." Arya said quietly in the silence and Jaqen arched one eyebrow. "I didn't mean to." She said quickly, eyes flitting up to meet his. "Not- not the first time." The guard she had killed hours before had to die, and the stable boy, he was just an honest accident. "He had hold of me and I just... stabbed him with the pointy end."
Jaqen let out a quick burst of laughter and Arya felt a burning deep in her belly as her lips turned up.
Jaqen tossed the apple core aside and stared at her intently. "When we get to Braavos you may stab a man as many times you like with the pointy end, and see how quickly you are captured. To be a Faceless Man, to kill the many names on your list you must be careful and quiet. Even a blind man sees everything if they pay attention to the little mouse scurrying in the corner."
"I am not a mouse, not anymore. I am a wolf." Arya declared and she stood up and stared up at him with those soulful eyes he could not refuse before they continued.
They made camp as night set, Jaqen creating a fire while Arya rifled through the meagre supply of food. Two bread buns and a small squishy piece of cheese Arya poked doubtfully. A few pies with the crust crumbling, three strawberry tarts with the filling slopping out. No water.
"A man can get water." Jaqen said and she smiled at him brilliantly.
"You talked like the old Jaqen." He didn't deny it, grabbing the old bucket beside her. "I heard you."
"Sometimes some personality traits stick with the face." He told her as he walked to the bank of the river they stopped near. She heard him splashing around with the bucket he stole from a farmhouse earlier.
She had stared at him when she saw the dying man in the bed, the flies buzzing and landing on her skin, hot in the heat as he drew his knife.
"The gift of mercy is the best gift a man can offer." He had told her, slitting the mans throat and stealing the bucket with a riddle. "Is it stealing when No One is there to see?"
Arya had frowned confused about the answer he wanted but Jaqen had merely smiled and said she had a lot to learn when they reached Braavos.
Arya put the strawberry tarts aside, divvying up the piece of cheese into equal pieces and breaking the bread buns in half. When Jaqen returned he brought the water to boil and let her sip from it in tiny measures.
"We'll need more food." She had finished her bread with a hollow pit still in her stomach, and looked at him then. "Can you kill rabbits?"
He laughed and pushed his portion of bread over to her. "I can kill all sorts of creatures Arya Stark."
When the meal was eaten they prepared to sleep, Arya wishing she had Needle. She missed the slim sword more than ever, and she curled in on herself muttering her list.
Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, The Tickler and The Hound. Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffery, Queen Cersai.
She stared at the dimming fire, the orange and red flames dancing and crackling. They warmed her, made her remember the hot halls of Winterfell that were warm even when snow raged outside. The sparks made her recall Gendry and his work and she felt a pang of guilt. Gendry will be fine, and Hot Pie too. They were happy there. It is I who did not fit in. She shuffled closer, straining for every inch of heat the fire provided. The flames illuminated the changes in Jaqen's eyes, who spied her looking and smiled, a smile full of comfort.
"A lovely girl needn't be scared." He reassured her. "I can kill any who dares approach before you even stir."
"I'm not scared," She told him, voice barely a whisper in the night. "You made me brave again."
"And I will make you braver still." He promised, and Arya smiled in anticipation before closing her eyes.