Game of thrones belongs to George RR. Martin. Valar Morghulis.
Jaqen and Ayra picked their way through the streets of Braavos, besides from the clothes on their backs, two daggers earned by all faceless men and Ayra's needle, the pair had no possessions, money or valuables. They no longer bore the black and white robes the faceless men wore but instead stole away some breeches and tunics.
Luckily for the two they were faceless men...
Leaving the house of black and white did not mean that they lost their skills; they could change their faces and slip almost anywhere unnoticed still.
It was with these gifts that Ayra found herself pushing through the crowds of the bustling main square of Braavos, Jaqen followed closely behind.
Men at stalls screamed in a sea of different languages, from the harsh tosh language to the fast high Valerian. Ayra slipped out her dagger and subtly slit one man's purse as she walked past, her face passive giving nothing away, no hint of the now hidden dagger.
The clink of gold falling to the floor was non-existent as Jaqen slipped a bag under the hole in the purse and the money plopped quietly into his pouch, then he and Ayra were gone and the victim none the wiser.
This mummer's act had been played many a time before and the pair pulled it off with practiced ease.
Jaqen weighed the coins in his hand considering a break from the blaring heat; he scanned the crowd for Ayra to see a slick handsome man selling roses placing one in her hand a charming smile painted on his face.
Jaqen scowled unknowingly and made his way over to the pair a forced smile breaking onto his face "a lovely rose for a lovely girl" Jaqen said pinching the rose from Ayra's small hand.
Jaqen's voice was light but his eyes cold as he slid his arm round Ayra protectively.
"I agree and a most lovely rose indeed" the salesmen said smiling falsely
"Thank you for the flower" Ayra said reaching for a coin and not too subtly stepping on Jaqen's foot, his face remained the plastered smile.
Ayra was not one to waste money on flowers but the man had information from across the sea, his tongue told Ayra of home and she was ready to punch Jaqen for being so blind as to her true motives.
"No no no" the salesmen objected "like the man said a lovely rose for a lovely girl- I could not possibly make you pay" Ayra smiled and Jaqen's face turned to stone.
Jaqen all but dragged Ayra away from the smug man, dropping the crumpled rose to the ground.
He knew he could not take his life; the red god did not want it. Damn him.
Once they were out of sight of the salesmen Ayra jabbed Jaqen "don't be such a child" Ayra seethed her smiling pretence dropped
"A man is not a child but the silly girl is" Ayra yanked him down an empty shaded passageway cornering him against a wall
"I am not a silly girl because one man cannot face being a jealous bastard" Jaqen bumped against the wall of a building the stone digging in his back "it is not my fault a man cannot see!" her face loomed closer to Jaqen's "it is not my fault that you were behaving like an absolute ass!" she spat her words at Jaqen snarling slightly before she turned to storm off.
Fuck. Jaqen thought.
Ayra stormed away her swirl of emotions eclipsed her senses so when the windows opened above her she took no notice.
"Silly girl" Jaqen muttered as he grabbed Ayra's arm pulling her to his chest and pulling her from beneath the window, entrails splatted in front of them yellow acids pooling at the bottom of impact. Ayra wanted to vomit; she gagged and swallowed down hot bile.
A beefy man above them screamed abuse at them for standing where he dumped the butcher's leftovers. Now Ayra looked she saw the alleyway with no rash anger blinding her and noticed the traces of rotting meat almost everywhere. No wonder it was empty.
The stench made her eyes water and the two raced out the alley spluttering but smiling.
"Does a girl not owe a man thanks for stopping cow guts from ruining her lovely face" Jaqen said with a smirk.
Ayra paused before answering "no" turning to face Jaqen and another pause "but a woman will give a man forgiveness for being an absolute shite" there was a second of stillness where they looked at each other, Ayra thought he would lean in a kiss her but then both their smiles broke and nervous laughter filed the silence, all was forgiven… but not forgot.
They continued their work until Jaqen had a heavy purse brimming with coin and the streets were occupied by only drunkards returning home and the odd whore looking for a late night client.
When weariness of hours in the hot sun overrode their sense of urgency to keep moving they bought a room at a nearby inn, it was nothing to boast; it smelt of shit and the straw beds were scratchy and worn.
Ayra thought back to a time she rested her head on featherbeds and had- though reluctantly- bathed in steaming rosewater.
Ayra shook her head, ridding herself from those thoughts and turning her attention to Jaqen. For a while she stared at him and his face, remembering, Jaqen felt her stare and a deep questioning thrum rumbled from his throat, signalling her to talk.
Ayra took the noise as a go ahead "Why did…-do- you wear that face?"
Jaqen looked up "a man must wear a face"
"But why that face"
His lips quirked as he forced back a smile "a man has his reasons"
Ayra huffed despite his closure of the conversation she pressed on "I've seen you with other faces but always that face; you always go back to it" Ayra stopped herself mentioning how he always chose young faces when he saw her, none repulsive but none specifically attractive.
"A girl asks too many questions" Jaqen finally replied and caught the stained pillow as it came hurtling towards him casting a smirk at Ayra who now wore an exasperated expression.
As a faceless man you are no-one and no-one has no emotions. Your face is a mask; he had never truly gotten to see the side of Ayra where she could openly show her emotions so…vividly.
After a few minutes of silence Jaqen got up from an old wooden chair he sat on slipping off his cloak before climbing into the same bed as Ayra, neither had taken off their footwear. They were prepared.
Ayra turned to face Jaqen "what are you doing" she questioned a grin forming on her lips
"A man must sleep must he not" Jaqen answered his eyes narrowing in suspicion; she was going to do something.
"Well then a man can sleep elsewhere" she said kicking Jaqen from the slight comfort of the bed.
He landed on the floor with a thump, startled. A rare thing for a faceless man, or a man who once was what he cannot be no longer.
Ayra shot him a smug grin before she rolled away so she faced away from him.
Jaqen chuckled to himself using his cloak to make a pillow on the floor, a wise decision as to not push the young wolf.
Neither of the two snored so Ayra could not tell if Jaqen was sleeping, she resisted the urge to roll about in frustration. Even at night the heat stuck to her body like a second skin but Ayra knew it was not the Braavosi warmth which was the source of her discomfort. It was the fact Jaqen H'ghar was lying on the floor and not in the same bed as her.
She had no doubt that if he were with her she would still be unable to sleep and she would be even more irritable, nevertheless she yearned for it.
Ayra resisted the urge to huff. She had never had this much time to think when she was no-one, now memories flooded back and thoughts swelled in her mind.
As no-one her nights were dreamless and her days full of work. As Ayra her head was filled to the brim with ideas, notions and worst of all emotions.
It was then as she stared at the low ceiling she realised Ayra stark had grown up too fast, she had been flung into the game of thrones early on and was soon on her own.
Ayra stark had died many a time but she was always Ayra underneath her masks, she had been 'arry, Ayra Horseface and many more. Names she had used, Ayra had been a boy and no-one but always Ayra beneath each skin.
Like how Jaqen to her was always Jaqen.
She first saw Jaqen as 'arry at the tender age of twelve, he gave her three names. She had not realised it but by saving him she had broken not just a cage but unleashed a number of events which would forever determine her fate. He had saved her not just from physical allies but from herself.
She had known Jaqen as no-one, as 'arry but most importantly Ayra.
She loved her family more than life itself but she had lost them at some point. Ayra hated herself for not remembering anything but vague blurs; Jaqen had been a constant throughout the worst times in her life, an anchor to grip to in times of need, he seemed to her as the last thing left, it was only him who had not abandoned her.
Ayra drifted away, walking on the tightrope that was sleep, as one of the faceless men she need be only close her eyes and she would fall asleep.
She had exulted when she became a faceless man, faceless women were not unique but they were uncommon, they had other assets which they could use to their advantage, it was those assets that broke her. She was Eddard Stark's daughter; she had honour, as did all the Starks.
Every job, every employment made no-one's mask crack until it was a myriad of scars worse than the hound's, soon it broke and Ayra stark, pale as death but not dead could see again, her mask broken at her feet.
What still remained concealed to her was the knowledge every time she drowned in tears as Ayra, Jaqen H'ghar cried too. Both wept for things they could not remember.
However, all was hidden, because faceless men are merely masks and masks can't cry.
What Ayra did know was she shared something with Jaqen, perhaps it was a hidden guilt, she had forced him to tear himself away from his god, and she made him follow her. In truth the only valuable each truly possessed were each other, and even then what broken valuables they were.
Ayra let tears slip down her face for the first time in years, she had lost her family, her wolf, and even Jaqen was lost to her sometimes. Regret lingered in his eyes when he believed her to be not looking. Every touch chained her; she tied him tighter to her every time they brushed past each other.
The truth was Ayra didn't understand. Fluent in many a language skilled with all breeds of weaponry yet Ayra did not understand.
She did not truly know where to turn; Jaqen was a reminder of how she failed so much. She was Ayra stark that she knew, but some small part of her missed being no-one.
Then she remembered the killing, the poison on her lips as she kissed bastards she wished so much to stab with a hundred daggers. Not all jobs were one of them sort but still killing another being no matter how much deserving was a toll. You could never overcome murder but simply be more attuned to enduring it.
Through all these thoughts was some answer to why Jaqen was not lying next to her but on the dusty floor, but Ayra was lost and she searched through her mind unsuccessfully.
When she did fall into a fitful sleep, Ayra stark of Winterfell started to heal, and for the first time after too long…dreamt of wolves.
Thank you to all reviewers especially lalyta8 for first review and to anonymous sorry for not making it clearer but it was poison not asphyxiation that killed the man, Ayra swallowed an antidote so it wouldn't affect her.
Okay, a bit more action next time, this chapter was used to really show where each character stands. Currently there is little to no romance- it will exceed. This is because love is forbidden as faceless men and also reminding you Ayra was taken away very young so she herself never experienced anything truly akin to love besides from that of her family, she only understands due to her teaching, she still only really grasps the concept of the physical side of love.
I will try to keep to weekly updates. Please read and review.