Hey lovely readers! A huge thanks to all those who have given comments. I cannot begin to describe how meaningful it is! So this chapter is a little bit shorter but its quite crucial and I wanted to give it its fair due.
Also not to give a spoiler but...*trigger warning for attempted rape*. This will be the only warning I plan to give in this story but I would hate to trigger past trauma for someone.
Y'all are the best! Hope everyone had a good weekend!
Another Friday night rolled around and Arya leaned against the bar talking with Brienne. Arya had arrived to her shift with Brienne extra prickly and snapping orders which was unusual for her. She decided to wait to ask about it until it was just the two of them and the afternoon rush had finished. Brienne valued her privacy. Arya did not want her to feel as if she was invading it. She genuinely was concerned for her friend.
The last customer was walking out the door when Arya cast her eyes over to Brienne, rinsing out a blender at the bar sink. "Alright, what's going on?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You are clearly upset about something. Spill."
Brienne glared at her then turned away. "It's nothing."
"My ass…tell me, you'll feel better."
She purposely looked around, giving herself an extra few moments to debate if it was worth it. Finally she slumped slightly and looked at Arya. "Tormund asked me out again."
"Why is this bad? I thought you were trying to get over Renly."
"Yeah…but not like this."
Arya raised an eyebrow. "What do you have against Tormund? This is the what…fourth? Fifth time he has asked out?"
"Fourth."
"I thought you said he was a good guy. You used to like when you would pair up for practices."
Brienne ran her hand over the back of her neck, avoiding eye contact.
"Brienne, Renly is gay. As flaming gay as they go. You have got to stop moping over him."
She shifted, looking down. "I know, it's stupid. He's been my friend for so long. I should have known."
"Why won't you go out with Tormund?"
"I don't want to be a conquest…to be tossed aside when done."
Sympathy filled Arya. She knew of the cruel jokes about 'Brienne the beauty' from some of the guys. "That's fair. From what you've said, I don't think he would. But maybe you're right, he shouldn't be your rebound guy."
Brienne shrugged, clearly still miserable. "Why are the good guys gay or taken?"
Arya chuckled lightly. She thought of Jon and Gendry, who clearly were not gay, having found a pair of lacy panties in their laundry. She had pointedly asked them about it, saying she was not washing girls' items for them. Neither one had confessed so the mystery remained for her, not that she was genuinely inclined to want to know. Her eyes drifted to Jaqen, sitting in his spot by the window, working on his laptop this time. I wonder if he's gay or has a girlfriend? Not that it should matter to me. Just curious. She looked back at Brienne. "Guys are idiots."
A hint of a smile touched her lips for the first time that night. "Yeah. If you're good, I'm going to put away the order."
Arya nodded then pulled out her phone to begin scrolling through social media. She could clean later. A picture of her beautiful, red-headed sister popped up, arms around her boyfriend in Chicago. Arya groaned. Sansa can do way better than Joffrey. He is such a jerk to her, I don't know why they are still together. A few other pictures of different friends and family caught her attention but nothing noteworthy. Most of the pictures and posts on social media screamed fake to her so she did not indulge in it often. She preferred her few, true, real friends to the multitude of fake ones online. I should not be so harsh. It's good for some people. She thought of her younger brother, Bran, and how it helped him. He was in a wheelchair so attending a regular school was possible but difficult. Mentally, he had scored in the genius category so attending a normal high school was out of the question. Their mother had found an online schooling program that could cater to him and actually challenge him. He had made friends through the school, even so far as having a "girlfriend" but it really was more of a friendship across the country, who texted way too much.
The rest of the shift passed quickly. Only a few late stragglers came in. Jaqen gave a brief nod when Arya called 'good night' and waved to him before he walked out the door. She chastised herself for the pang of sadness that hit her chest when she did not receive a smile. It doesn't matter. Doesn't it? Shut up!
Once they closed the coffee shop, Arya parted ways with Brienne as she walked towards the bus stop. The stars twinkled delightfully and the cool, night air caused goosebumps to appear on her arms. Fall was definitely here now. She was going to have to start bringing a jacket with her. At the last minute she decided to skip the bus stop and walked to the next, wanting to enjoy the night air a bit more. Actually, she was delaying returning to her apartment. Shireen and her had worked out an arrangement that Tommen, Shireen's boyfriend, could come over and they could have "alone" time until ten in the evening, in which it was then safe for Arya to return. So it gave her an hour to kill after getting off work. Normally she would lounge in the foyer at the apartment building or head to the library. Tonight, though, the coolness of the air reminded her that winter was coming and she would not be able to be outside for much longer without a winter coat, snow boots and the increasing chance of frostbite. She took a back street, behind the row of loud bars, making her way towards the river to walk along. The rowdy, drunk cries of those coming out of the bars amused her but she paid them no heed, thinking about tomorrow's soccer game. So lost in thought about her excitement to use her new trick she learned that she did not pay attention to the footsteps coming up behind her.
"Hey baby girl…"
Arya whirled around to find Ramsay too close for comfort and reeking of beer already. Where did he come from?
"What are you doing here all alone?"
Disgust and annoyance clouded her voice. She did not want to deal with him. Why could he not take a hint and leave her alone? "Get lost, Ramsay."
He reached out and snagged her wrist, beady eyes unblinking. "Why should I do that?" He licked his lips. "I know you want me."
"Ha! Seven hells! You're drunk. Let me go!" She tried to pull her hand away but he held fast. Suddenly he grabbed her chin and crashed his lips against hers. The taste of cheap beer and cigarette smoke assaulted her senses. Reacting unconsciously, she bit his lip hard and shoved him with her free hand. He released her, taking a step back.
Anger lit his eyes when he looked at her. "Stupid bitch!"
Panicking, Arya turned to get away. He roughly grabbed the backpack she was wearing and ripped it off her, causing her to stumble and lose her balance. He seized the neckline of her shirt, stretching it as he drew her up. He shoved her against the brick wall next to them. Her face scrapped against the uneven texture. She cried out as she tried to fight back. She twisted and tried to kick him. He pinned her painfully with her chest against the wall. Trying to grab anything to use as leverage, she reached back but he held her against the wall with his body and used his hands to pin hers above her head. He was a good, almost foot taller than her and stronger so her feeble attempts were proving useless besides making him more angry. Trying again to kick him, she miraculously managed to get his knee causing him to curse loudly in her ear and buckle momentarily. His hold on her did not loosen. Gods, no! Please no! She was a virgin, not that he knew that but this was not how she wanted her virginity to be taken. Not that even if she was not a virgin, she would want this. She continued to struggle, unwilling to make this easy for him no matter what. She was a fighter. He took her two small wrists in one of his hands. Then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head against the hard wall. Momentarily dazzled, she tried to headbutt him but he slammed her head painfully twice more, growling and swearing at her.
She was seeing stars and the edges of her vision were beginning to blur. A tugging on her leggings announced his intentions and brought her focus back. She screamed. Only earning herself another strike on the side of her head against the brick wall. Her vision was disorientated and she could taste blood in her mouth.
A scream echoed off the brick buildings. Before he consciously told his feet to move, Jaqen was running towards the sound. It is nothing. These college kids are loud and are probably having too much fun. His feet did not stop though. Something drove him, what, he did not know. His sense were on high alert. As he rounded the corner, his eyes hastily scanned the street where he heard the scream come from. His training kicked in. He found the source of the scream in moments. A freight train could not have stopped him as he barreled down the street. He saw the two figures in the shadow of a building. Catching a glimpse of the persons, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized the victim against the wall. Lovely girl? In the movies, the hero would come charging in with a roar and in one solid hit take down the assailant. But that was not Jaqen. He was no hero. I am darkness. I am a dealer of death. Valar Morghulis.
Jaqen silently approached the fight. He was aware of his surroundings, that the boy did not have companions nearby to help him. Time slowed. His attack was flawless, as usual. Like a dance but with pain for the partner. He kicked the back of one of the assailant's knees. As the boy began to crumble, his hold loosened slightly. Just enough. Jaqen viciously wrapped his hand around the boy's throat and threw him down. Slamming onto his back, the boy chocked out a cry. A rapid glance showed the lovely girl falling to her knees against the wall. Red colored Jaqen's vision. Red of anger. Red of blood. He pounded mercilessly into the boy's face. The blood in his vision began to sprout from the boy's face as his hits drew blood. His hand was still on the boy's throat. It would be so easy to give the red god a life right now. The boy deserved far worse. He almost gave in. Taking this life would be simple. Walking away from his corpse would be easy. The red in his vision demanded it. The piece of his conscious that maintained awareness of his surroundings called for his attention. A half sob, half cry sounded from behind him. He turned to see the lovely girl trying to rise to her feet but collapsing, holding her head. The red vanished and he raced to her side. Schöne mädchen.
The next moments were a blur that she was sure she would never fully recall correctly. Arya tried to get to her feet. Her balance was askew and she began to tip precariously to one side. A warm set of hands suddenly held her steady. The smell of cinnamon and his white forelock was all her mind could scramble to interpret before his foreign, husky voice penetrated the gloom of disorientation on her mind.
"Abwarten, schöne mädchen." He murmured, helping her onto her unsteady feet. Some small part of her realized her ass was exposed to the air. She gingerly pulled her leggings and panties back up, not really paying attention to her actions. The ground seemed to be lurching underneath her dangerously. Hands moved from under her arms to hold her face. Dark eyes staring into hers. In the streetlight, his eyes appeared the color of dark chocolate while his white forelock seemed to glow.
"Can you hear me?"
She blinked, eyes unfocused. Her hand drifted up on its own accord and gently ran her fingers through his forelock, twisting the glowing hair around her own pale digit.
"Arya?"
His gentle shake snapped her mind back from wandering aimlessly. Her mind was able to focus on his face now, to see the furrowed brows, the tightness of his lips, and the line on his forehead. "Jaqen?"
His relief was physically evident. "Yes, lovely girl. Let us get to the hospital." In the streetlight he could see the blood along the side of her face and head. She was shaking, eyes dilated. He worried she had a concussion if not something far worse. The desire to pull her into himself, to hold her until the shock passed arose within him. It startled him. Was ist los mit mir?
Her reaction came out much more strongly then she would have imagined but everything still felt altered, like her mind was unable to correctly judge how to react. "No! No hospital, please!"
"A lovely girl is hurt."
"I…I'm fine…I hate needles…I'll be ok."
She needed to be examined. He knew it. In any other situation he would have demanded it. Seeing the blood on her face and the fear in her eyes, he hesitated. A shift happened within him, not by choice and he could feel his will, his power cease. He could not tell her no, nor abandon her. He moved to stand by her side, allowing her to lean on him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders tenderly. "Come."
She followed his lead, unsure why she implicitly trusted him. Yet she did. He saved her, but it was more than that. She could not put it into words. It was a feeling. He reached down and grabbed her backpack, tossing it over one shoulder before resuming his arm around her shoulder. They walked back the way she had come, she was not really paying attention. Her mind was in turmoil. Sensations were beginning to slowly come back to her attention. Her head was pounding. Her face and arms hurt where they had been scraped against the wall. Suddenly she leaned over and retched on the sidewalk, luckily away from Jaqen. After, she could still taste the faint traces of blood and vaguely wondered if she should be worried. Jaqen held her hair back that had once been in a bun but now hung like a dead thing against her neck, part of it having escaped the tie. When she finished, he tightened his arm around her shoulders, continuing to lead her. Although her head still throbbed, her vision was returning to normal and her thinking was clearing up. She noted they passed by the coffee shop and walked down another street, going further away from the sounds of drunken part-goers and car horns. They stopped in front of an apartment building as Jaqen pulled out a set of keys. The building looked nice but it was hard to tell in the streetlight. It seemed they were entering through the back door which confused her.
"Where are we going?"
"A man's place, so he may attend to your wounds."
"Oh. Why aren't we going through the front?" She was not sure why that was suddenly important to her.
He smirked before answering. "There is blood on a girl and a man would rather not draw attention to it if she still refuses to go to a hospital."
She nodded, following him inside. The bright florescent lights blinded her and she rapidly threw a hand over her eyes. She tried desperately to focus on anything else beside the pain residing behind her eyes. The heat radiating from his body, arm still around her, guided her along the blinding hallway felt oddly comforting and reassuring. He saved me. A surge of gratitude hit her and she placed her head on his shoulder.
"Fast da, schöne mädchen. Almost there." An elevator ride and down another hallway, they finally stopped in front of apartment number 412. He opened the door and then locked it behind them before guiding her to a leather couch. Turning a lamp on behind her, Jaqen moved away. She could hear him in what she guessed was the kitchen behind her. The dim light was a relief from the florescent lights of the hallway. She blinked, rubbing her temples, hoping to coax the headache away. Glancing around the room she sat in, she was amazed by its Spartan furnishings. There was a short coffee table in front of her and a flat screen TV on a stand against the far wall. There was nothing hanging on the walls.
Jaqen came around from behind her, holding a glass. She murmured a 'thanks', taking it and the aspirin he held out to her next. Quickly she swallowed the two pills and chugged the water, clearing the last tastes of bile and blood from her mouth. He sat across from her on the coffee table, watching her warily. Her shaking had subsided but she felt like she could collapse at any moment.
"Thank you." She looked up at him, holding the glass in both her hands. "You…you saved me." Tears pooled in her eyes before she had a chance to fight them. She bit her lip as her breathing became shallow and the emotions finally raised their heads in her mind. Tears slipped down her cheeks. "I never…he…I never thought he would." She stifled a sob before it escaped her. "Thank you." The torrent of emotions overwhelmed her and somehow she managed to place the glass down before covering her face with her hands as sobs racked her petite, pained body. A pair of arms found their way around her and she vaguely realized he had moved to the couch beside her before pulling her against him. She turned her head into his chest and allowed the emotions to flow freely. Anger. Fear. Hurt. Terror. Vengeance. They each took their turn filling her core until she felt utterly spent and empty. She could hear Jaqen murmuring something, his check pressed against the top of her head. Somewhere between the sound of his heartbeat against her ear and her sudden, overwhelming exhaustion, sleep took a hold of her and she fell into a dreamless, deep slumber.
He held her close, face pressed against the top of her head. Not for comfort. To make sure she is still breathing. When sleep took her, he felt her body collapse against him. Carefully, he shifted so he was leaning against the back of the couch, with her across his chest. He would have liked to clean up her wounds, to check the damage. Hearing her soft breathing, he resigned himself to monitor her until he felt sure the head trauma was minor. Sleep and rest were the best medicine for her now. He managed to pull out his phone from his pocket, taking note of the time. A sigh escaped from her lips as she burrowed herself further into his chest. His arms, instinctively, tightened around her small form. He thought of her storm gray eyes, the easy side-smile that changed her countenance when appeared. She was fierce. She was a fighter. He witnessed it in the street as she fought against her assailant futilely. Yet there was compassion within her. He thought of her bringing him the sweet treat to lessen the sting of pain. It had not been pity in her eyes. It was a shared sympathy. Few in his years had been able to read him the way she easily did. And it frightened him. What power did she possess to read him so easily? His life had been a training of guarding one's emotions, not allowing others to see or read them. You are No One. No One does not need anyone. No One survives. Watching her secretly, life radiated from her. She did more than survive, she thrived. She was a fighter. Wer sind sie, schöne mädchen?
He monitored her for several hours, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his. It had lulled him into a state of silence and stillness. He never feel asleep, he had too much control for such an action. Their breathing, their heartbeats, those were the only sensations he focused on. In the early morning hours he felt safe to move her, although a faint part of him regretted it. With utmost delicacy, he cradled her in his arms like a child. She never woke as he brought her into his bedroom and laid her on his bed. Her eyelids fluttered but she remained in a dream state, oblivious to the man watching her with fondness. Quietly, he drew the quilted blanket from the closet and draped it over her sleeping form. In the dim darkness he admired her pale skin, the curve of her neck and the fullness of her lips. Her hair was scattered about her as if a dark halo encircled her head. Sie ist hübsch. He had always noticed that she was pretty. Tonight though, blood and tear stains on her cheeks, pretty no longer defined her. Abruptly he turned and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him. He stood outside the door, running his hands through his hair. The mission. Remember the mission. You are Faceless. You are darkness incarnated. You are a servant of the Many-Faced god. Watching her lying in his bed, having felt her heartbeat for several hours competing with his, he could feel it growing. The desire for more. To be more. He stuffed it down. He thought of what his Master would tell him to do. Kill or walk away. Tomorrow he would walk away. From her. From the feeling of wanting to be more. He walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the bottle of whiskey he kept in the cabinet over the refrigerator. He needed a drink.
