Arya woke up in a state she hadn't felt in a very long time. Carefree and most unusually for her, satisfied. But then it seemed this year's Unmasking celebration had been incredibly interesting. She breathed in a deep, cleansing breath and felt it catch in her chest.

That scent? His scent was still here.

She had expected it to have faded somewhat when she woke, but it still smelled as strong now as it had last night when they had fallen into her bed. Rolling over to look beside her for assurance, she was greeted by a taut, bare chest and red locks kissing a pale collarbone, a tell-tale white streak falling over one eye on a sleeping face that she now knew as well as her own. He had stayed. He had said he wouldn't and for her to not expect him to. But, it seemed, he had.

Rolling back over onto her back, Arya puffed out a disbelieving breath. Gods above and below, how had she ended up here? With the one person, she had never expected to end up with. Much less end up singing with pleasure, for. She closed her eyes again then, she wouldn't fall back to sleep now, but she wasn't completely ready to get up yet either. And so she allowed her thoughts to meander as she enjoyed the warmth of the sun shining through her window and the scent of him surrounding her, lulling her into a deep state of relaxation.

After the death of the Night King and the subsequent coronation of Bran as King of the seven (well now six) kingdoms, and her sister's installation as Queen in the North. Arya had travelled with Jon as he returned to the wall. She had spent a decent amount of time with her once brother, now cousin before she had decided to return to Braavos and began tutelage in blacksmithing. Her dealings with the House of Black and White had long since concluded but it seemed upon her return, that she wasn't finished with the faceless men. Or at least, one of them anyhow.

She had taken up residence close to the house on one of the islets and had made a decent living for herself as an emerging blacksmith. She had a stipend, gifted to her by Sansa and Bran that she received every moon cycle but she kept it aside in the Iron Bank and allowed it to build. This stipend was presented as a 'gift', but she knew it for what it truly was. It was an assurance that should anything happen to Sansa or Bran, she would be alive and well, to return to Westeros and take their places on their thrones, should one of them fall. It was an unspoken agreement between the three of them. She could go her own way and live her life as she saw fit for the most part. But that she would be duty and honour-bound, to return if needed. She was still a Princess after all. But although her freedom came with a price, she still would rather keep the stipend untouched. She was comfortable on her own income but she would have the money from her siblings as backup if needed.

At the moment she rented her workspace from a kindly fellow who was the owner and who had become too old to run the forge by himself. So for a reduced rent, she looked after the place well and also helped the owner as and when he needed it with his personal errands. He was a widower and had no children, so he was alone in the world. Because she herself knew what that felt like and how miserable it was, she did her best to be there for him and help him in any way she could. She did not ask for payment for these deeds, he instead had been the one to offer reduced rent in place of separate payment for her services outside of the forge. It was a nice, comfortable setup and she was happy with it. But she planned to buy the space from him when she had built up enough renown and had a bigger, steadier customer pool than she currently did.

Things had been going well for her and life had been utterly uncomplicated until shortly after she had graduated from her smithing teacher's lessons and taken up shop at the forge, she had met him again. Jaqen H'Ghar. The man who had taught her how to destroy herself just to build herself back stronger and smarter than before. His initial reaction to seeing her again had been interesting, to say the least. She had, after all, grown quite a bit since he last saw her and he had been noticeably thrown when he realised that she stood before him again, but this time as a grown woman.

As she had gotten older, she had begun to look more and more like Lyanna Stark, her aunt and Jon's mother. But she had also found that if she looked closely? She was almost a perfect blend of Aunt Lyanna and her mother Catelyn. She was beautiful though, she had to admit it but other than acknowledging it? She didn't place much further stock on it. Beauty was superficial after all and it always faded over time. Jaqen had taken a fair amount of notice of this but to his credit, he didn't allow it to show much. If anything he appeared more concerned about why she was standing before him at all, much less why she was running a forge.

"Now why is a girl again in Braavos? Does she have unfinished business, perhaps?" He had asked her curiously his tone laced with a modicum of suspicion as he handed her a beautifully made dagger. One she knew to be one of his personal armaments. His favourite blade.

She noted as she took the ornately designed silver and red hilted blade from him, that the edge was obscenely dulled and the sheen of the metal, terribly muted. Gods but that thing had been through the wars!

"A man should listen to a woman, when she tells him that he needs to take better care of his personal arms. He has practically destroyed the edge and scratched the face of the blade beyond recognition. A woman should claim possession on principle alone. How soon will he need this for?" She asked instead, setting the blade down between them on her table to look at him. She had deliberately stressed the word woman, to correct him politely.

She wasn't a girl any longer and no one would refer to her as such. It had not escaped her notice, however, how she still slipped into the faceless men's way of speaking, seemingly naturally. It appeared that some things did, indeed, become too ingrained. But then, she had to expect something like this. She had spent a great deal of time with their organisation and with Jaqen specifically. So, she supposed, slipping into the preferred manner of speaking would be inevitable. It was something akin to languages, if you knew a language someone else was speaking? You would naturally switch to that one to communicate effectively. But even so, to be here now with him in front of her and them speaking so casually? It threw her off and she wasn't quite sure what to do. The last time they had seen one another, they had not parted well. The terms hadn't been terrible but they hadn't been great either and so it now felt somewhat awkward to be face to face once more.

Curiously though, she had noticed that Jaqen was still wearing the face that she was so accustomed to. A face that, at one time, he had told her belonged to a strange man from long ago. And yet, he always seemed to wear it. The faceless men, as she understood them from her time in their house, always changed their faces. But Jaqen never seemed to unless he had to. So, could it be that the one he so favoured was his true face? Was the 'strange man from long ago' just a metaphor for who he had been before the House of Black and White? She had always wondered absently about this but until now, she had never properly questioned it. But she would most likely never know. Even if she asked him, he would probably give her one of his usual vague answers like 'just a face, nothing more.' He was a frustrating person like that.

"Propriety would deem that a woman…" He began, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his full lips as his eyes flicked over her from head to toe. "...should answer a man's question, before asking one of her own." He finished, meeting her eyes with his once more.

She had felt a strange pull then, one low in her gut, as she stared back at him. He was…strikingly handsome she realised somewhat in surprise. She had never noticed before now, but then she supposed, at the time they were together? They were student and tutor and she was a young girl, barely stepping into womanhood. At that time, she wasn't paying attention to his looks, just to the staff he used as he dished out his tough teachings in his quest to help her become 'no one'. There hadn't been much time for physical appreciation in between dodging staff blows and nursing bruises and wounds. And at that time, she also wasn't looking at anything male with lustful eyes. She would have much rather thrown them onto their backs in defeat, than in the pursuit of any kind of pleasure.

Besides, she had experienced the ways of the flesh once and although he'd tried? Gendry hadn't exactly been a master lover. Nor had he had much stamina when it came to the dancing of bodies. All in all, the whole thing had left her rather disillusioned with the whole act in general, so she hadn't been rushing to repeat the experience. But now, looking at Jaqen she was starting to possibly understand how women could easily lose their heads (figuratively and literally) over a man if they weren't careful and the man was attractive enough. She found herself wondering, with a modicum of horror but mostly intrigue, whether Jaqen would be as good in bed as he was while fighting and killing? Because if so, then she could see how that would be one hell of a lure. Shaking her head to clear these thoughts away, although judging by the slight widening of his smirk, Jaqen had a fair idea of where her mind may have gone, she spoke.

"The difference is, Jaqen? Now I can decide whether I answer your questions or not. Propriety be damned. When have you ever known me to give a shit about it?" She shrugged then, lifting his blade to begin apprising it once again, this time a little more closely than before.

It truly was in a dreadful state, she had to wonder how it had gotten this way. He had always been so careful with this blade. Or really, any of his personal arms. So why then, was this one in such a sorry state?

"I thought I told you in a time long past, that Jaqen is dead, lovely girl?" He said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, as he turned slightly to lean his hip against her table and lazily crossed his arms.

His tone though, carried a strange note to it, almost wistful or something similar to it anyhow. She also finally took note of how he was dressed today. It was rather becoming actually. She had only ever seen him in armour or the robes of the tutor. Never in regular civilian clothing. He was dressed in rich, well-fitting burgundy and silver robes, that seemed to be something you would see on the back of a Braavosi noble. Rather than a highly trained stealth artist and assassin. His hair, she noted, was pulled back in a half ponytail, leaving the rest to fall to just past his shoulders in soft and shining waves. The white streak that was almost like a trademark for him, was left loose to curl down the side of his face, framing it nicely. The notice of his scent came next. It was something decadent and musky, that reminded her of warm fires and sin. It smelled divine and was, again, something that she had never smelled from him before. He had always smelled clean because it was obvious he was particular about his hygiene, but while at the temple, there had never been anything remotely similar wafting from his skin. Shaking her head once more to clear it of her thoughts, she rolled her eyes.

"Woman. And if he is so long dead, why do you still wear his face and bear his name?" She asked boldly, leaning over the table a little, naturally bringing herself into his space a bit more.

That scent of his…it was something else and she really had to wonder if it had some sort of aphrodisiac qualities that she knew some people enjoyed to include in their scents. Because if so, judging by how she was feeling right now? It was working like a charm because the heat on her skin didn't feel like it came from the fires of the forge that was behind her.

"Five days. Lovely girl. I will return in five days." He replied his voice holding something in it that screamed he knew what was going on in her mind and with her body. And strangely? He did not seem to mind in the least that it was happening. In fact, he leaned in just a little closer, as if he would kiss her but then stopped, smirked and turned.

And just like that? He was gone. She should have known better than to ask that question when she already knew that he would not answer. But that wasn't her biggest concern right at that moment. No, her big concern was the warmth and the hum within her body, centred in a place where she hadn't felt sensations in a long time. Shit. She was aroused and Jaqen, her old teacher and borderline torturer, was the cause. Fuck. This was the last thing she needed.

-X-

When next she saw Jaqen, it was six days later. He had returned to her forge to retrieve his blade. She had scolded him for being late but handed over the weapon gently. She had been quite proud of her work on it.

She had honed the edge to a disgustingly perfect sharpness and had also polished up the metal to a high and fine sheen. She was fairly sure that this was her most perfect repair yet and although proud, she refused to acknowledge that this repair was personal. Nope. She did not put extra effort into that blade just because it was his! Gods no, why would she ever? She was simply an artisan who took pride in her work. At least that was what she had been chanting to herself, since three days prior when she had completed it. And she most certainly hadn't delayed her earlier, smaller orders, just to get his completed sooner. No, absolutely not.

She watched as he appraised his blade and gave it a few tosses and throws up into the air, testing its balance and weight. He had probably expected that it would need to be melted down and reforged, but she was damn good at what she did. And although the blade had been dull as a branch and the metal scuffed and worn to shit? Its tang was still in perfect condition, so she did not need to add any extra metal to it or reforge it in any way. When he was satisfied, he slid the blade back into its sheath and gave her a curious look, when he examined the sheath itself. She may or may not have cleaned and polished that up too and repaired any dings or corrected any colour dullness.

"It seems a woman has impeccable skills and offers extra services, even if they were not requested by the customer." He said knowingly, smirking at her in that teasing way of his that apparently now made her melt on the spot.

How fucking frustrating. She did not like this much, it felt too much like a man had control of her and it chapped her ass in ways that she could not describe. But it seemed that her weakness was quickly becoming Jaqen H'ghar and she wasn't sure if she could shake him. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't try.

"And if a man would take better care of his weaponry, then a woman wouldn't be forced to provide extra services, free of charge. A man is lucky I did not need to melt it down and reforge. Because he would be now handing over a hefty coin purse for services rendered. Cost of time and materials, plus an inconvenience fee with interest." She quipped in return, before she began to clean down her workstation it would soon be time to close for the day and have dinner. Lord knew she could do with it, tonight. She had worked through lunch accidentally and so was now starving.

"Has Arya Stark become a thief with legal protection? With such cost, a man could buy a brothel in the red district and make a profit thrice over." Jaqen fired back with a faux look of disbelief. Huh? Well, that was fucking cute.

She was not used to seeing the expressions that she had started to see since they met again. Before he had always held a rather neutral expression. And on the few times he smiled, it was usually because she had lost one of his games and he would smile like he had expected nothing less. She had seen anger in him only twice. The first at Harrenhal when she manipulated him by naming him in order to get his help to escape. The other was during her stint at the temple and she had disobeyed him and so he had made her blind. But never had she seen his playful side. He had always been so serious or matter of fact. So to see this now? Well, it was something else and it did things to her. She wanted to see what other expressions she could draw out of him.

"Aye, he could. But I would love to see the whores fix his blade." She muttered snarkily, the unintended double entendre going unnoticed by her as she turned to smother the forge in preparation for closing.

"Is that not their purpose, already? To fix men's swords?" Jaqen responded, his tone teasing and light. He had picked up on the accidental wording and decided to poke her with it. Her breath caught in affront as she realised what she had initially said, but she managed to swallow it down before it made her hack. Good gods. But never one to be outdone, she glanced back at him with a smirk.

"I wouldn't know. I'm not a man, so I've never been to one. You be sure to come back and tell me how well they fixed your sword. It will give me an idea of the competition that is out there so that I can adjust for you accordingly." She said cheekily, not missing as his eyes seemed to begin to twinkle in mischief. She was catching on now, and even though she knew she probably shouldn't goad him? She had never been one to always make the best decisions. She wouldn't be her, otherwise.

"So Arya Stark is willing to become the sole fixer of this man's sword? On second thought, maybe the cost isn't all that terrible…" He mused with interest, as he bent over to lean his forearms on her table. His smirk, now, was different to the ones he had thrown her way previously. They held something a little darker and a bit more sinister, but Arya found that she kind of liked it. A revelation that wasn't really all that surprising to her at this point.

For the past six days, he had been the only thing on her mind. She hadn't been able to get him or his scent out of her head. These stuck thoughts of him then manifested in her dream world in ways that had her waking up with blazing cheeks and an aching core. The things she had, had to do to herself to settle back down, where they had felt good? They had also filled her with a small amount of shame. Naturally, she knew she probably shouldn't feel that way. It was normal and in the past, she had heard the older girls in Winterfell and King's Landing talk about the things they would do when they were alone in their beds at night. So it was normal. But it wasn't her normal, not yet, and so it had been a hard thing to get past. But she had managed. And now here she was, having a wholly inappropriate although veiled conversation with her old mentor. A trained assassin. One who could kill her in the blink of an eye if he wanted to and she wouldn't even see him coming. But somehow, this made the feelings he evoked within her all the sweeter and more tempting. He was dangerous. There was no doubt about that. But she liked a challenge and taming him would be the ultimate challenge.

Yes, Arya was well aware that they were no longer talking about blades. She was also painfully aware that she probably shouldn't continue this back and forth with him. It was clear that both she and he were getting a little warm under their collars. His eyes were becoming a little hooded and growing darker by the moment, and he looked so inviting leaning over her table as he was. As for her? She could feel the dull throb between her legs that was beginning to make itself known. All she would need to do is close the shutters and lock the door, then slide up onto the tab…no! She needed to stop, this was ridiculous! This was Jaqen! Not some inexperienced boy, who would accept her readily, just to get a little action on principle alone. No. She needed to behave. But try as she might to reign in her misbehaving thoughts, they were refusing to be smothered and she wanted to scream. So, even though she knew she should cut this conversation off, she also couldn't help but do…the exact opposite of that.

"Possibly? A woman may be willing to become a man's sole sword fixer. Provided he can ensure that he treats her sheath appropriately. It can take some abuse, but it is also delicate and still new to sheathing swords."

Whatever Jaqen was about to say, and she was sure it would be something entirely in keeping with the current theme, never came as blessedly, they were interrupted. Looking over as she heard the bell outside the entrance of the forge ring, she found one of her regular customers. Aniya. She was a lady in waiting for a prominent figure's wife and said wife had commissioned a piece from her two moons ago.

"Apologies for the intrusion, Arya dear. But my lady has asked that I come to check on the progress of her commission?" Aniya asked sweetly.

She was a nice girl. A bit younger than her and like her, was also of high birth. She was on her training expedition, ahead of her debut on the marital eligibility circuit. And although she came from a very well-known family she was still quite humble and polite. Arya liked her, she liked her a lot. Unfortunately, a lot of people in Braavos did not know of her true origins, so the likelihood of her becoming friends with Aniya was low.

"Oh, yes. I have it right here, Aniya. Give me just a moment to finish up with this customer and I will be right with you." She replied brightly and with a smile, ushering Aniya in from the growing chill of the twilight.

Then to Jaqen she turned and spoke, her eyes speaking something to him that she couldn't say aloud. Something that he recognised and acknowledged with a smoky look of his own. Before he straightened himself again and became the epitome of professionalism.

"Consider this one free of charge, given our history. But should you return with this weapon in such a sorry condition again? After all the extra work I have done, out of the goodness of my heart? I will relieve you of your blade before throwing you into my forge. Clear?" She said pointedly, her gaze surreptitiously flicking below his hips quickly, before meeting his eyes again in playful warning.

"As the water appears like glass to show the bounty of the sea, I hear this. Good day, lovely Arya."

Then, like before, he smirked one last time and turned to disappear out of the forge and into the crowd that was starting to teem through the streets outside.

"Oh my, oh me! Arya! Who was he!? And how do you know him?" Aniya asked with interest as she giggled in girlish fancy. Arya couldn't help but chuckle at her antics before answering.

"Oh, him? He's…well he's no one." She said, pausing for a moment to find her words before adding; "Now about your Lady's new dagger…"

As a hand snaked its way up her thigh, to rest at her hip intimately, Arya was pulled out of her memories. Hmm. It seemed he was finally awake and apparently, he was feeling chatty as well as handsy.

"I never did get to see you in the early morning sun, lovely girl. I feel a sadness at this knowledge, for you are beautiful." He murmured against her ear before his head dipped and he placed a soft, lingering kiss to the pulse-point at her neck.

Although she was still irked that he kept calling her 'lovely girl' no matter how many times she corrected him. She now knew, after the past few months, that he was using it not as a degradation of her. But rather as a sweet term of endearment. One that he reserved just for her. It held a connection for them both, after all. This knowledge helped her swallow the irked feeling she got from it. With him, she could allow and accept it, but only with him. Anyone else and they would lose their balls. Another thing she had noticed, he had dropped his regular way of speaking with her and had adopted a more personal approach to their interactions. In place of 'a man' for example, he had started to use 'I'. Then to replace 'a woman' he used 'you' and so on. But when he spoke to others and she had heard him, he always spoke as one of the faceless. It seemed, with her at least, he wanted things personal and intimate. He did not seem to want the detachment that the faceless so prized.

Arya felt as unbidden, her head moved to the side to give him more room to do as he pleased. His lips felt so good on her skin and elsewhere on her body. A fact that he had ensured was driven home for her, multiple times the night before. Who would have thought that he would approach intimacy in much the same way as he approached his position within the faceless? Well, she had thought it, but she hadn't actually believed her idealistic thoughts. Because well, she'd done that with the last person and had been left with nothing but bitter disappointment and regret. But then the big difference, between the two men that she had now gotten intimate with, was simple. Jaqen was a bit older than Gendry had been and thus Jaqen had clearly had much more experience behind him. Huh, she thought absently, she guessed sex was much like warcraft as had once been described to her by one of her drunken customers. The more you played at it, the better you became.

"Yes, you did. Many times. At Harrenhal, I was always up before dawn, and so were you. You took night patrols as and when you could. You also saw me under the morning sun, while we were at the temple." Arya corrected, squirming a little as she laughed lightly. His lips had run over a particularly ticklish spot on her neck. She felt him puff out a quiet laugh as well before he found his voice again.

"Mmm, while this is true…" He began, his lips dancing a path further down to her chest. "I was not paying attention in that way, then. It would have been immoral. You were still a young girl, while I had just barely become a grown man. It would have been inappropriate." He explained as he passed over her breasts, much to her annoyance. But he continued further down her body, trailing soft, gentle kisses until he reached her navel where he paused for a moment, to lavish attention to the sensitive skin surrounding it.

"But now…" She prompted him softly, sinking her fingers into his silky, blood-red hair. He hummed out a noise of innocent bliss as her nails began to slowly and gently scratch at his scalp. He soon found his voice though and when he did, Arya couldn't help but shudder in slowly growing pleasure.

"But now that girl has long since become a woman. So I may feast my eyes and my mouth upon you, without immorality or wrongdoing."

His words were spoken with a seductive quality that stopped her in her tracks. He had sounded damn near ravenous and she wasn't sure what he was about to do. But as his head moved to disappear below the sheets covering her hips, she tightened her hold on his hair, halting his movement. She had a couple of questions and she wanted the answers before she allowed him his playtime once again.

"I thought you said that you would not be with me when I woke? That I shouldn't expect you to be?" She asked, looking down at him and quirking her brow. He chuckled at this before he smirked defiantly and licked at the sensitive skin below her navel. Cheeky bastard. She found herself thinking with amusement, unable to hold back her small smile.

"I changed my mind. It's been known to happen a time or two. Such as deciding to allow a girl, masquerading as a boy, to learn the ways of the faceless, so that she may become strong and send her enemies to the Red God." He answered easily and without hesitation before he licked at her skin again.

Her grip slipped a bit at this one, it had hit a little differently than the last and she could feel her core warm in anticipation. Noticing this, he had tried to sneak by her defences again and continue his path below the sheets, but she caught him once more at the last second.

"I am not finished speaking. I have one more question." She explained and watched as his look of mild annoyance crossed and then faded from his handsome face before he nodded for her to go ahead.

Gods but she hoped he would answer this one favourably. Because to have a man get annoyed when a woman wouldn't allow him to shove his head between her legs? She had heard it would be a dream come true. And given what she had experienced with him last night? She could understand why.

"Do you plan on this being temporary, Jaqen? Because if so, I would like to know so that I can prepare myself."

Arya waited with bated breath for Jaqen's response and found her worry intensifying the longer he stayed silent. It seemed he was thinking about her question before he answered. But why? Why did he have to? It seemed a simple enough question that required an equally simple response of yes or no. So why did he have to think about it? As she felt the venomous sting of insecurity building within her, alongside a dark thread of feeling used, he finally broke his silence. But although she was glad that he did speak up, she found herself struck dumb by his words…

-X-