Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Isn't it lovely, all alone

Heart made of glass, my mind of stone

Tear me to pieces, skin to bone

Hello, welcome home"

- Billie Eilish, Khalid 'lovely'

She had no idea. Not even the tiniest clue how much she affected him. He saw it in the genuineness of her smile. He saw it in the sparkles that lit up the gray sky of her eyes right before entering his house. Her lungs breathed in all the new experiences, while her soul was busy getting lost in the moment, and that was all that mattered to her. Which he did not blame her for, of course, that's how a young person like herself should be; with eyes full of wonder, not a heavy chain of woe restraining her spirit. It could be that way, Jaqen reminded himself, still standing outside the closed door to her room, clutching his coat tightly. With no one reaching out to her, his lovely girl could be trapped in her misery, probably in King's Landing right now and God only knows what would happen to her there. Until now, the distractions that drew her thoughts away along with the memories, good or bad, were temporary. They allowed her to carry on, they gave her a reason to stay focused, something to yearn for, something to chase after. All of them were provided by him so far, though the assassin couldn't feel less worthy of the credit. But now? She's got to her safeplace. She's fled from her captors (quite gloriously so) and spread her wings that carried her to the House of Black and White. Arya Stark was an exile no more, but she's become something else entirely. No, she wasn't faceless just yet, but she was an arsonist. And a killer. She's brought this on herself, one could say, she demanded it by taking her chances at tricking the most expensive hitman known in Westeros. One could also say, that beneath the little girl's skin there was a little demon prying, and she got what was coming for her sooner or later. But that someone was definitely not Jaqen H'ghar. He couldn't blame her for the words and doings, which set her on the path to fulfilling the darkest wants of her heart. It was what she deserved, just as much as the world and life that's been taken from her.

Taken from her.

By the people he used to work for. He had a part in her tragedy, no matter how small. The Lorathi had not only owed her one life, but so much more... And the debt carried on, didn't it?

And yet somehow, and that's the most bizarre part of it, she managed to trust him. To gladly hide in his shelter after sailing across the seas with no protection other than his. Jaqen couldn't brush off the sensation that she even... liked him. It sounds like a particularly infant confession, but that's how it was. Her actions convinced the man she wasn't just a confused, desperate child, but a clever girl aware of her choices.

The only problem was, it should not be like that. At all.

Jaqen unfolded the piece of clothing in his hands and threw it a look as if he was seeing it for the very first time. It wasn't his anymore, oh no. Not after he's seen it hang down from her shoulders. Not while it smelled of her. Arya Stark's left a piece of herself wherever her mice feet carried her, and the man was perfectly aware of that. A sound of floor creaking gently under her footfall at the other side of the closed door could be heard. He imagined her exploration in stillness, harshly holding himself back from clutching the thick, black material to his chest. The man could picture her, as he closed his eyes, going around her private space, leaving invisible traces behind, that only the icy stare of No One could detect. Soon enough she would leave them all around his house, and his city, and his life, and his heart. For that was where she'd started, but Jaqen had noticed it too late to be able to act. And what would you do, huh? It's not like being aware of it even from the very beginning would change anything. She's not the problem. No, of course she wasn't. She was his lovely girl.

Jaqen let his head hang down loosely, and chuckled under his breath, feeling completely powerless. Since when do you get to call her yours? Is that because she's here? Is that it? Does inviting her to your hideout make her yours to keep? Again, no. No such thing was reasonable. His whole life he had no one. He was no one. And that's how it was ought to remain. Everything else was just an illusion that would fade away after a month, a year, or a decade. Sooner or later it would be no more, but Jaqen H'ghar was supposed to stay invariable. This was the way of a Faceless Man.

Oh, but... His fingers trembled slightly.

But what? Whatever this ruthless voice in his head was, he utterly hated it at the moment. See? She's not the problem.

You are.

He didn't want to brush off the feeling.

He didn't want things to be as they were.

He craved a little chaos.

You're a fool.

You're No One.

You'll always be No One. To yourself, to others, and to her. That was his design, that was how he got by, and there was no way of changing it now. And why should he involve her in this madness of his? Why should he burden her with it? That's right; he shouldn't.

But the dice have been thrown, and their story had to carry on, and so it would. Jaqen would do his best for her. His sweet girl came here for a reason, and she would get her prize if she worked hard enough. Let that be another distraction. Another lesson for both the student and the teacher. Don't go easy on her. She's strong, but she needs to be even stronger. Easy to say, hard to actually fulfill such a plan, but that's what must be done.

A tall figure topped with red-white hair falling to the shoulders went down the corridor, and opened the third door to the left. It was no different from all the others, no significance betraying the secrets, which could be found only by those who enter through. And no lock guarding these same mysteries. Jaqen opened them, and darkness thick as smoke welcomed him. Through all the years, the man wasn't able to befriend it or even get used to it, but luckily, it is known one should keep his friends close, and enemies even closer. He needed no light's guidance, for even if goosebumps made their way up his spine as shadows enveloped him, it was a darkness he knew. Disappearing into it, the hitman went down the steep, stone stairs.

There were quite a few matters awaiting his attention. A Faceless Man does not come back from the dead and into the place most think to be his home, without the news spreading immediately. It was time to get back to work.

The sound of the door being slammed shut, notably louder than they should was what woke Arya up. Then, the room was suddenly flooded with light, and she squeezed her eyes in attempt to chase the brightness away. A weak 'Please, five more minutes, mum.' almost left her mouth, but was prevented by a voice the girl didn't recognize at first.

"Get up." A single command. Said in a way that brought up the image of a particularly bored Sansa; as when she was supposed to take care of little Arya instead of going to a party, where that boy she liked would be. But no, wait, words always rolled off Sansa's tongue, and these left this someone's mouth dryly. That wasn't Sansa. Who then?

The youngest Stark girl opened her eyes with a groan, that got muffled into her pillow, when suddenly, the fact she was not at home struck her with its pointy end quite painfully. She thought... White walls, black floor, ebony bed frame, snowy sheets, plainly cut desk and shelves above it hanging empty. Ooh, okay, a faint outline of yesterday's memories flashed through her mind. House of Black and White. Not Wnterfell. It must've been the coziness she felt wrapped around her frame. The feeling of security. She hasn't had that for a long time.

The confusion slowly left her face, as the girl ran her fingers through her hair, now shiny and fresh. Finally she'd been able to take a proper shower. Yesterday, as soon as she was done examining every inch of her perfectly tidy room, and the mind's had some time to cool down after all that... well, all that, Arya'd kicked her shoes off unceremoniously, stripped off those awful clothes and went for nearly an hour-long, big-time shower. She'd been singing and laughing, and even felt like crying a couple times, though no real tears were spilled. An hour was a long time, while using someone else's bathroom (which it was, technically) and Arya did feel a bit guilty of it, but what could she do, when her head was swirling with all kinds of life reflections. It is known, that the only right place for mental problem-solving is nowhere else but in a shower. Only id didn't bring her much salvation this time.

"Get up." The voice was even more austere now, and having gained her sense back, Arya knew who it belonged to. The girl lifted herself up on her elbows to see a petite woman, gazing down at her with a certain pride in her features. She wore the same outfit as for swiping floors, while Arya on the other hand was only in her underwear. She sat up, dragging the covers up with her, and rubbed at her heavy eyelids.

"Hi." The greeting left her mouth along with a loud yawn. "Who are you, actually?"

Yes, who was she, a great question indeed. And why was she the one to wake her up. Maybe the dawdler of a woman did live here after all. Wait. Could it be possible, that she was... No. No, no, of course not. She'd been so cold towards Jaqen, that would not be possible. Just no.

The Dawdler walked up to the foot of Arya's bed, laying a heap of neatly folded clothes next to her feet.

"Who are you?" She asked, without honoring the girl even with a brief glance. Gods, is everyone in Braavos unable to give a simple answer? This is a serious question.

"Arya." Answered the half-naked girl, with frustration. The woman only smiled, and it was the least convincing smile Arya's ever seen. If smiles could be compared to animals, this one would be a reptile. Did she say something wrong?

Eager to be done with the unpleasant interloper, the girl reached for her clothes, and found a white tank top with black leggings. At the floor near the foot of her bed she saw a pair of black boots laced almost all the way up to the knees. While dressing up, in front of her extremely kind companion, Arya was wondering just what was in stock for her today. The clothes were comfortable enough so that even stretching would not be a problem, so she expected something chiefly physical, but what did she know. You can't be certain of anything in a place like this. Very recently, she believed it was no more, but a medieval ruin, and now it was a grand manse.

When the girl was done, her waker just turned on her heel and proceeded to walk away, and a while had to pass before Arya figured out she was supposed to follow. They walked through the hall in silence, only the rhythmic click of the apprentice's heels accompanying the two. Was this suspiciously looking woman like that? But well, if she preferred it this way, be it. Arya did not speak, and walked a few steps behind to spare her leader a couple hateful stares.

They passed the main hall, the large stairs flooded with dim light from above. The sun was just about to rise. When she thought about it, the huge, square skylight was the only natural light source she's seen in the entire building. It must be hard not losing the sense of time with no windows around. She'd have to invest in an alarm clock to avoid more unpleasant morning meetings with the wench, because starting each new day like today was definitely not a good idea.

Arya was led to the western wing, where apparently the kitchens were located, though the entrance was no different from all the others in the hall paralleling the eastern one impeccably. Was that done on purpose? Designed to confuse the newcomers? Because the girl could easily see herself getting lost in the plain black-and-whiteness of the passageways. There were no uncommon surprises awaiting the little wolf there, for the kitchen was just a kitchen, no need to mention the lack of color dominating its space. Arya wasn't given much time to have her breakfast, considering she'd have to shuffle through all the cupboards to find what she needed, but ended up just grabbing an apple anyway.

I'll show you one day. The girl thought, chewing the fruit aggressively. This is not funny at all. One day I'll be the one standing over you and watching you struggle.

Jaqen was waiting for them, where the hallway transfigured into a cave-like corridor which Arya entered through yesterday. The man scanned her head to toe, and Arya tried not to think this was the first time she wasn't wearing clothes twice her size in his presence. Suddenly, the tank top felt tighter than it had been, and she wanted those awful rags back. For a hundredth time the girl reminded herself how much easier her life would've been, had she been a boy. She wouldn't feel that anxious nudge in her middle. But no, she had to get a grip. Hells take her if she were to become the kind of girl who blushed at the sight of her crush passing by.

She lifted her chin up, and walked towards her teacher, noticing just now that his hair, significant as always, had been tied up. He's never worn it like that, and the girl wondered if there was a purpose behind it. Also, he didn't have his coat, and Arya felt slightly let down by that, but the familiar, tinted glasses partly made it up for her. And the smirk. It was barely there, but Arya could easily detect it creeping in the corner of his mouth.

He nodded at the Dawdler approvingly and dismissed her, and it made the apprentice bite her lip thoughtfully. There was no other case she wanted to unriddle more than the woman's relation with the Faceless Man. The way he ordered her around... Well, obviously, she wasn't a servant, they were not in the Middle Ages, and she definitely had a higher position in Jaqen's eyes than Arya herself, but still...

Is there a chance the wench is Faceless as well?

The woman turned, and left Arya with the assassin in an almost machine-like manner. The teacher was leaning against the stony wall, still gazing at the girl.

"Today, and every day from now on a girl will be able to choose her tool." The man gestured to both his sides. On one, there was a broom and a bucket, looking conspicuously similar to the one the cleaning lady had been using, at the other — a large gun. Arya could not believe her eyes. She didn't know much about guns, or weapons other than her fencing sword, but this looked very much like a sniper rifle to her. She gulped at the man in front of her with wide eyes. Was he really making her choose between a broom and a deadly rifle?

"I..." She hesitated.

"A girl must not ponder. Only two options are in store for her this day. Two options and much work to be done."

What was this charade for? Was Jaqen of mind she'd panic like a scared little girl and quit her training? How could she? Arya Stark didn't come here to sweep floors. She came here to become like Jaqen H'ghar.

She chose the gun.

"Isn't it a bit too much for the first time?" Slowly, the realization as to what she's just agreed on started to make its way into her brain. They were at the very roof of one of the taller buildings near the House of Black and White. It was colder up here, and shivers crawled up and down the girl's arms, but not due to the weather or the height. A thousand warning signs appeared out of thin air right before her eyes as soon as she saw this part of the City from above. She really was about to use that gun.

When she'd picked her tool, the girl was far from picturing herself actually putting it to work, and all the emotions cumulating inside her drove her towards this decision, 'and' Jaqen seemed like a guy reasonable enough not to make her do something stupid, which she obviously was going to.

"No, lovely girl, it's perfect for the first time." He said, as the cello case swung on the leather strap around his shoulder. It was a good disguise. A really good disguise. Had she not known him, Jaqen might've passed for a musician in her eyes, with that long, unusual hair of his and preciseness of every movement. It was funny, how no one apart from the girl knew what really was in that case when they'd been crossing the nearly empty streets, but it also made Arya feel uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable, and unfortunately she wasn't that good at pretending. Okay, she's been traveling alongside a hitman for quite some time, but Seven Hells, throughout this entire time not once had he been wearing a damned sniper rifle on his back! If the Stark girl was bothered with her acting abilities now, surely she had no idea what the future had prepared for her.

"The closer you get to your target, the closer you are to becoming Faceless and you, child of chaos, are very far from both." The assassin explained, kneeling close to the roof's edge, and setting the large case at his feet.

Oh. Well... maybe that was reasonable. And yet she still thought it wasn't. But who was she to judge? He was the professional here, and she was just a mere student. Two light clicks, and the case revealed its true content. Jaqen proceeded to arrange the shooting position for both of them, while Arya sat opposite to him to observe. The sun was rising slowly behind his back, making the loosely tied strands of his hair glow orange as he fixed the silencer on the rifle. He must've done it a thousand times before...

"Jaqen I've been meaning to ask you something." She began, eyebrows burrowed slightly.

"Hm?" He did acknowledge her question. That's good. Although his hands never stopped working on the heavy gun. Arya was free to scan his face, which seemed to be focused on the weapon, and on the weapon only. She liked the way his eyes narrowed when he was busy, but that's entirely beside the point, you stupid girl! The pint was maybe if he was focused on something else, perhaps the man would spare her the speaking in riddles part. Would she get an answer this time?

"Who's that lady? The one who came for me today." She felt stupid for laying out the obvious before him, for what other lady was there, but the girl got the sensation she'd have to force her question into his brain for him to get the point.

"A man thought a girl already got to know. She is No One." The assassin stated impassively, pulling a box of large bullets from the open case beside him. So she is Faceless... It was a huge disappointment, and yet Arya did not know why.

"But... Who is she to you? What does she do?" Why did she remain in the temple while you were gone? That's what Arya did not add. Jaqen finished off with attaching the telescopic sight, and now all was prepared. The man looked up at his apprentice and sighed.

"If a girl must give the other a name, she may call her a waif. The rest is not for a girl to know." He spoke as he would've to an eight-year-old. Why, Jaqen? Why is the rest not for a girl to know? She thought things would change now, as she officially became his pupil, but again, what did she, an inexperienced youth, could possibly know about that. "Now lie down. A girl can't shoot from a sitting position."

Arya had to bite back her temper, and lied down on her stomach, crawling closer to the rifle's stock. "No, not on this side." Came Jaqen's slightly amused instruction. Arya huffed. Not enough, that her recent conflictions made it really hard to keep it cool, she was at the complete disadvantage right now. It was a true miracle her cheeks weren't glowing red by now.

"Is this funny to you? I've never even come close to a gun like this in my entire life. I have no idea how to use it." Her tone might've been a bit too defensive. Just a bit. And yet it managed to make him smile, but only momentarily, before he went utterly collected and focused again.

"A girl is left-handed, so the stock should rest right here." The man tapped the area where the girl's collarbone connected with the shoulder with two fingers. "And her left hand should support the rifle, while the right one's ought to rest beneath the trigger. And bend one leg." The teacher made sure she's got it right, and further directed her if needed, before finally saying: "Good." and leaning down to lie down next to her. "Now, here's the aiming device. A girl should do just fine on her own now. The shooting is the simplest part if one starts with a steady target, close enough for them not to miss."

Arya gazed around through the visor, marked with small dots and lines that directed her aim. She saw all the buildings and nearly-empty streets, and not even a spot of green. There was no such thing as a park in Braavos — a fact, which she acknowledged just now. They were here at just the perfect time. The day was just about to begin, meaning it was bright enough to see everything perfectly clear through the round sight, and, at the same time not many would notice her making a hit. But she still doubted it would come to that. With a sniper gun in her own hands, she still doubted it.

"How do I know the target's close enough?"

"Well, if a girl can see each finger in their palm, that's about a hundred and sixty feet. If she only sees the hands, it's nearly twice as far. And if she can distinguish the arm from the body, that's as far as the target can get, otherwise she does not shoot at all. Too much of a risk. If the target gets away, a girl has just lost her contractor." The girl nodded, her fingers as stiff as thin little sticks gripping the rifle. The man was so close now, she could feel the vibrations each syllable made while leaving his throat. She was sure they'd never been this close. But Arya needed to shush the part of her brain that was screaming that Jaqen was actually laying next to her (she could feel his shoulder brushing against hers, the warmth of his breath on her extinguished arm), and will her eyes to keep focusing at the limited vision.

"So who do I shoot?"

"Whoever."

The girl froze. What? Did he really say that? What did he mean whoever? So this wasn't something planned, this wasn't a hit, but just wild improvisation? How crazy do you have to be to invent such a plan?! Whoever, yeah, right. That's just bonkers! People aren't like lifeless punching bags! You don't just shoot anyone that comes to your vision, otherwise you're a psychopath.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"A man would not dare to make fun of his apprentice. She's holding a lethal weapon. This is no joking matter." He seemed perfectly calm. Just undisturbed by the fact she might actually kill someone. Anyone. Whoever. A man, a woman, a child, an elder. Guilty or innocent. Whoever.

She didn't believe him. It surely was just a test. She's seen him pull out the bullets, but not loading the gun. That's right. Jaqen could not be that crazy. He wasn't a psychopath, or at least she was convinced he wasn't.

Her vision went up the nearest street, then up an alley, leading her aim to a bench, which some unlucky wretch decided to serve him as a bed. The guy was old, and probably homeless. At least three empty bottles hid below the temporary, wooden bed. You say whoever, you shall have whoever. I'm not scared of your little games.

The little dots conjoined at the older man's middle before Arya's eyes, and her grip was steady. The gun is not loaded, it can't be. If you think I'm gonna cower, you're mistaken. The girl let a couple heartbeats pass, then took a deep breath in, and placed her index finger slowly on the trigger. This is not rel danger, in a couple seconds the curtain will fall, and I'll show you I'm not afraid.

A gentle click, a silent swish, and the bullet was sent flying, and cutting through the air until it struck. Arya let out a hiss so sharp, she almost made the gun fall to the side. Shock replaced the blood running through her veins as she shot her master a disbelieving stare.

"It was real." Her voice was shaky. Yes, it was real. Only, she missed. Instead of spilled blood, there was a pool of wine on the paving beneath the sleeping man. He didn't even shrug at the sound of shattering glass.

"As a man had said." Jaqen's voice gave off no emotion, as his face became a mask. He did not look at her, but ahead. "The weapon was of a girl's choosing, and her every choice will have its consequences as long as a man teaches her. Today she's the one to choose her targets, but in the future she might not." The assassin reached to pull the bolt and reload the gun. The shiny hull jumped out of it like a shooting star. He replaced it with another, equally deadly one. "Now, again. Practice. Next time, a girl reloads her weapon herself."

Arya's body had become kind of lump, but she got the message. With all the confusion in her mind sprawled around in scattered parts of thoughts, she understood. Playtime was over. She's marked her hands with blood before, and she'd do it again, tomorrow if not today. Killing. That was the profession of the man, who had introduced himself to her as Jaqen H'ghar. The man, whose icy stare had a special place in her heart. The man, who gave her a chance, and opened a new door in her life, but the path it led to was never going to be easy. But she chose him just as much as he chose her. She's become a hitman's apprentice, and she was ought to behave like one. The girl waited a while in stillness until her pulse was steady again, and her eyes returned to the small sight, scanning the area in search of other targets.