Valar Morghulis.
No-one woke up sitting bolt upright. The sun shone bravely through the small diamond window angled to the left of her form, it gave a wondrous view to the main city of Braavos. Its swirling panes sent a spattering of light on the bed, No-one sighed flopping back down taking that bittersweet moment where she knew she would have to rise but knowing she could just let slumber curl around her.
A foolish longing rose in her stomach as her hand lingered on the emptiness next to her. It was a stupid child's fancy but No-one wished he would stay with her. But the dangerous thoughts were quickly stowed away to the back of her mind and locked in a dark abyss with the rest of Arya and a man she once knew as Jaqen.
She slipped from her bed, she smelled of sweat and sex. It was with hurried hands she splashed her nakedness with cold water, resentment building for the lack of luxuries on offer. No-one had come to value operations where she was permitted to take steaming baths that melded her skin with steam and allowed her to bask in a delicious heat which rivalled that which she only felt with a certain mans cock shoved deeply inside of her.
She dressed and smoothed out her wrinkled thoughts so that no persons intruded on her musings, like a wet scrunched up robe, laden with water she twisted and flung her mind to the breeze, thoughts of a certain individual were forgot.
Although soon they returned for the moment No-one slipped from her room's she knew something was wrong.
The ground felt uneven and the air spun with larger haste, either way No-one continued with cautious steps. She dared to close her eyes to enhance her hearing. No strangers shallow breaths greeted her ears, only her own blood pounding in her ears was to be heard. Her eyes flicked open as she slowed her heartbeat.
Someone No-one once was would have called her wariness paranoia, but No-one sensed something dirty shadowing her. Unfortunately it was a time before she realised the shadower was not behind her but in front.
She knew who was testing her; it was the-man -she -loved -but -couldn't -love -because -she -was -No-one -and -he -was -someone -who -she -couldn't-name.
It irked her he knew which twists and turns she would make to navigate the house of black and white. She turned a corner berating herself for not pausing as No-one's world shifted
and the walls flipped. No-one slapped onto the hard ground rolling and jumping upright immediately, her eyes assessed her opponent.
Brown locks framed a strong face but No-one knew who this someone was Jaqen-who-wasn't-Jaqen; she slipped from the hands which suddenly grasped her, sending a kick which smacked against thin air. In the moment it took to regain balance Jaqen-who-wasn't-Jaqen got his hands around No-one's neck, she twisted with a huff, escaping the hold. It was with a rush of adrenaline No-one got a grip on her opponent, her opposition used their weight and strength advantage but No-one managed to push him to some winding stairs, she struck but he didn't fall as she wished, nevertheless No-one gained the advantage pushing further and further until her rival stumbled after a series of forceful blows.
No-One gained a messy hold which could easily have snapped his neck had her foe not then conceded defeat. Jaqen-who-wasn't-Jaqen flashed a smile.
That fucking smile. Suddenly she remembered the night just passed;
She was kneeling opposite him as moonlight filtered into the room. Their eyes were wide and their pupils wide black circles which consumed the iris, his bruised lips moved,
'Give me a kiss lovely girl' No-one grinned and went to kiss his lips; she raised an eyebrow as she was lightly pushed back.
'I should specify, blow me a kiss my lovely girl' No-one gave puzzled look, aiming a kiss at his lips anyway; again she was pushed back.
He flashed a smile.
'Lower'.
Emotion roiled inside of her and an intense sadness made her turn on her heel and speed away from the smiling figure, it was a bad day, she felt as her identity merged with someone who was lost long ago, it made her feel weak.
No-one had finished training a few distant moons ago, yet still Jaqen-who-wasn't-Jaqen liked to test her, it was frankly infuriating. She was a faceless man, she had a twisted metal blade and the black and white robes to prove it. Yet still Jaqen-who-wasn't-Jaqen liked to test her, she no longer saw the waif girl and yet she saw him around every corner she turned.
Inevitably they saw each other for sex but that was merely for pleasure and it didn't mean they would need so much contact at other times.
Again No-one pressed the unwanted thoughts from her mind and proceeded to quicken her pace to go about her duties.
She changed her clothes to fit her new face and stepped into the city. The name she was meant to erase was Willas Durian he was a Westerosi man who had travelled to the free cities after being cast out for piracy, he had taken up a new hobby as a master of many small pick pocketing businesses.
No-one was working as Lizz a mangled thing of a girl. Plain face, quick hands, that was Lizz. She worked in the bottom chain of Durian's organization but managed to get close enough to scope him.
He was anticlimactically round faced and broad shouldered, common features and only a quick wit to truly differentiate himself from any other criminal. Lizz gave a moment to curse the lack of a breeze knowing the blazing sun would soon irk her even more but continued on through the winding passages of the busy streets, green ferns snaked their way through cracks in sandy walls and she slipped past the trailing fingers to the oval stage. The Gods seemed to favour her as a large crowd was gathered around the centre; it seemed a hanging was taking place, her mission was almost done.
Lizz slipped into the crowd, the heat was suffocating and she paused as she realised the irony of her words. A silence fell over the crowd and the sound of something being kicked away was met by groans of pain. Lizz peeked through the crowd and watched as Willas Durian's face turned purple. His legs flailed as he was slowly strangled, his round fce seemed to expand and balloon outwards. His eyes bulged from the sockets giving a grotesque illusion that they would explode out with a gentle pop.
Lizz watched for another twelve minutes and thirty seconds, that was how long it took for the man to die. Eventually people became bored at the pathetic flaying and squeals of the condemned man, rocks were thrown and Lizz landed the first and killing blow, her job was complete. As the girl walked away from the dispersing crowd Lizz died and for a split second a child named Arya begged to be reborn. Arya was ignored by No-one.
Willas Durian. That was the only thing Arya could see, she remembered his face as it danced with colours. She remembered the squawking, his has been a shameful and pitiful death, one which gave her more amusement than empathy for his suffering.
Arya groggily opened her eyes to a white haze before she felt a cold bolt rush through her and ecstatic pain seared her mind as a surge of desire was thrust upon her.
Something smelled good, the type of good which made her shiver and drool. Arya's eyes gained vision as she padded through the white forest with no apprehension as to why she was in a dim frosted forest. Arya did not question where she was, why she wanted that smell and why she was walking on four legs and was sniffing the air with a muzzle.
The scent became stronger as her nose tilted towards the stained ground , a quick blur of motion ensued as Arya was suddenly hurling through the air. On instinct she leapt into the snowy air receiving something hot in her mouth as her jaws closed around a warm piece of flesh. An urgency made her pull on her haunches as she teared away the meat, dropping it while lunging at the preys throat. A strangled noise was silenced as Ayras jaws snapped taunt chords and stiff bones so they snapped and splintered in a moment of quiet explosions.
It was at this moment a sense of reality seeped into Ayras mind. The wolf dropped the kill before appearing to convulse. The wolf forced itself to the ground then shuddered. Ayra saw the young boy drenched with blood as he lay twisted in the snow, white bones protruding from his throat in a an ugly mess, her stomach rumbled as she padded towards her kill.
Arya drifted from the forest and snapped into a new place, a familiar hell which reeked of reality and corruption.
Disorientated was an understatement for how Arya felt, it was as if someone had forced her into her past then ripped her from her body throwing her into a future she didn't yet comprehend.
She wished she was in Winterfell, swaddled in her covers with Nymeria softly whining in her ear.
Instead she felt pain in her throat but an unusual heat, it was uncomfortablely hot and she opened her eyes to see a slashed up face inches from her own, the lip was a now limp piece of flesh hanging from the jaw and Ayras face scrunched up in childlike confusion before an orange hue disrpted her vision.
Fucking fire.
Ayra shuffled realising she could only hear a distant roaring noise, her hand slipped into a gaping hole in someones chest and she removed her fingers from what she assumed was a mush of intestines, she smiled and spent some time contemplating the strangeness of her situation. She seemed to be lying on a mass of dead bodies as flame consumed them one by one.
A detached part of her thought 'wow I feel like you should be panicking a bit more' and the other wondered when she last took a real long piss.
That was until the flame licked at her arm, a pain like the seven hells flooded her with strength, she rose up scrambling over the mass of bodies, a roaring in her ear. It was like climbing through sand, her heels digged into flesh and she propelled herself through the fire to a lone site. She stumbled to see horses moving in the distance and dread washed over her as the cold wind swept through her being. A blast of pain flushed her cheeks red as a bolt buried itself into her leg, in the confusion she had not seen she was left in a lone site but one.
With fury she turned and pounced on the fumbling child reloading the bow. Ripping the arrow from her leg Ayra beared down on the man; snarling .
'Where is he?'
She pushed the by to the dirt the bow forgotten, he pissed himself and Ayra pressed the tip of the arrow to the stretched flesh on his neck.
'Where is he?'
He stuttered and stumbled a question, the words 'the prisoner?' were barely audible as he whined. Jaqen was not dead, yet. That brought something to hope for but he was gone, her world was gone, they were separated and suddenly the roaring quietened.
Arya heard as the boy whimpered, whimpered like a babe, like Willas Durian, like a dying pig and Ayra felt No-One rest a hand on hers guiding the bow into the childs neck. She knew Jaqen was alive, but to him she was dead, she wanted to see suffering.
In Ayras fury and detachment she missed the last words the boy whispered in death; for house Stark.