They held their training on the beach. Arya and someone she got used to referring to as Jaqen H`gar, though she was well aware that this man had no name, really. And no face, too. Yet it was almost impossible for Arya not to think of this man as if he was, indeed, someone from her past, for he had marked her heart during their first meeting in Harrenhal. And his mark was strong and still burning: Arya thought that for him it might have been something small and truly insignificant; the fact of their meeting, that was.
For him, however, she must have been but a grain of sand on his path of a devoted servant of Many Faced God. He was so kind to offer her a helping hand and become her master, but she knew it was only because of this devotion. It was part of his service, nothing more. Jaqen cared about his apprentice not because she was someone special to him, but because it was his duty to lead Arya to his God. In some sense she was merely an offering. Oh, by the names of the Seven, just how much Arya wanted to be special! Not 'a girl' training to become no one. How strong her desire was to be Arya! His Arya. But she knew it was too much to dream of: he was only with her, because she aspired to become no one. And it was so wicked and so unfair: that she had to become no one in order to be someone to him. Yet she always wondered, if she could manage to reatin some of her identity despite the ruthless training she had to undergo.
Her line of thought was broken by a sharp stiletto blade pointing at her navel. She sighed, lowering her own daggers. So, it happened again: she let her mind drift from the fight to Jaqen and all that was connected to him - and it gave her master advantage. He was facing her with his left side only, and not looking her in the eyes, yet both his blades were situated deadly against her body.
"A girl takes her mind elswhere thinking of matters irrelevant, and, thus, the girl is surely dead," Jaqen pronounced scratching Arya's neck, just a little up the collarbone pit with the other stiletto. There was no protection there, and the light leather armor she was wearing was useless against the piecring type of blade pointed at her navel, so yes, he was right: in a real fight she would have been gutted already. But would she ever get so distracted in a fight? Not unless she's fighting Jaqen H`gar, the Faceless man, her handsome master of deadly arts.
"What do we know about taking our thoughts off the fight?"
"One who lets his mind wander during battle is as good as dead".
"And what do we say to the god of Death?" he inquired supplying the question with a smirk Arya loved so much.
*Oh, why does he have to wear this face around me all the time?*
"Not today", she replied almost instantly, and suddenly a feeling of bitter nostalgia arise from her childhood memories as she recalled one of the expressions Syrio Forel used to say to her.
Her reminiscing never escaped Jaqen's eyes.
"How can a girl become no one if she keeps dwelling on her past so eagerly?" he wondered with a teasing tone in his voice, as he turned around to face Arya, withdrawing both weapons.
"I don't need to become faceless to take my revenge. You've already taught me the art of Stealth..."
He laughed. Genuinely. Arya knew it was all a big lie, there was no Jaqen H`gar, yet here she was admiring her master's loud laughter and desperate to join him in his amusement. She wished everything about Jaqen was as simple and real as he made it seem. If only...
"It is not only stealth one requires to conceal themselves from those about to be blessed by the Gift. In the quietest chamber, breathless, an assassin may be sensed by the very fact of being alive. And life - is what only Faceless can hide well, for they are already dead."
"You're not dead," Arya blurted out. Somehow she needed to object to the idea of Jaqen being a dead man. She couldn't bear a glimpse of such a truth.
A sudden blow of the wind messed up his loose red hair. Mesmerized, Arya couldn't take her eyes off the single white strand, imagining her own hands toying with it instead of the wind. Sometimes she didn't understand herself.
*Why does he have to look so pretty all the time?*
Sometimes she was sure Jaqen possessed the mind-reading abilities.
"Indeed, a man eats, a man sleeps and behaves like any living person," he explained with a quiet chuckle. "Yet a man is dead at the same time."
"I don't understand it," the girl exclaimed.
"This man is afraid he cannot explain. A girl will grasp the idea when she becomes Faceless herself."
"What if I never become Faceless? What if I choose to not say the vows?" Arya averted her eyes to the sea, spotting a small shape of the house of Black and White far away, almost completely hidden from sight by a foggy mist. In her heart she knew she wasn't ready to say her vows, she knew she might never be able to forego her identity. She was too stubborn for that, too clinging onto her past, as if it truly defined who she was and what she was. She knew how much hope Jaqen had for her and it was shameful. Was she deceiving her master by asking all kinds of training from him, but still planning to back off from the most demanding part of the assassin's path? Will he let her go once she learns the secrets? Or will he offer her to his God, should she refuse to say her vows?
He moved closer to her and placed a hand on her right shoulder. Arya was only wearing a sleeveless doublet on top, her skin burning under Jaqen's firm touch. She tried to suppress the strange shiver this touch gave her, but her effort was fruitless: Jaqen sensed it and, with his usual smirk, he pressed harder, caressing her skin with his thumb.
*If he's dead, how come his palm's so burning? No, he can't be dead. He can't be... Can't be...*
"A girl thinks too much," he said calmly, his voice soothing and peaceful. Not teasing this time. "A girl dwells on her vengence, a man knows, and a girl must have faith. Did a man not promise she would get what she wants?"
"One by one," she said, turning her intense gaze towards him. "That's what you told me, when you gave me the coin, right?"
"A man remembers. And a man stands by his words. A girl will get her revenge one day. But a girl must be patient and persistent in her training... And a girl will become Faceless."
"So that I conceal myself from the living?"
"Just so," he nodded, his hand still burning through Arya's bare shoulder, making her almost whimp from the intense sensation starting at the place of their skin to skin contact and biting its way through her towards the heart.
"Anyway, I can always feel your presense," Arya shrugged her shoulders, throwing her master's hand off, because she was unable to hold anymore. This was too much, just too much for her.
She made a step forward, still too intimidated to look at him. If she did it, he'd surelly guess. That very moment he'd know he was successfull in making her blush, and that would mean she'd lost the game again: got herself too attached to the persona he was wearing, letting his false charms get to her, influence her state, making her easy prey. Wasn't it the only reason for him to wear this very face around her? Indeed, she'd seen Jaqen wear other faces when interacting with his brothers and sisters in the order. Yet she could always tell it was *him*, and he always wore the face of Jaqen H`gar whenever he spoke to her.
Facing away didn't help. He already knew her thoughts. Jaqen knew them all, and it amused him.
"A man has no reason to conceal himself from his lovely girl," he said, his voice husky and purring. "In fact, a man only spied on a sweet girl once, and she gave no notice to it".
Arya felt her heart race.
He did what? When?! Did it happen here? Or in Harrenhall? Why would he spy on her? Or was it all just lies to get her aggitated? In which case it worked.
She turned to face him, burning with anger.
"When did you spy on me?" she didn't ask, she demanded the answer right away.
Jaqen was looking at her with a bit of a head tilt, clearly amused.
"A girl wants a tale then?" he inquired with a wide smile all across his face.
She sighed. Oh, not now...
"Can't you just tell me?"
"Oh, but a girl knows the rules, no?" he chuckled again. "A tale is entertainment, and if a girl wants to be entertained, she must earn the pleasure first."
"Allright, what do I have to do?"
"A man will show," he said and in a trice he took his both weapons out and got in a fighting stance. "A girl will attack first".
Arya took her daggers out and lunged at her master once, and again after him blocking the attack. He didn't fight back the second time, dodging to the side first, then, with a swift backflip he was already behind her, pointing his stiletto right between her shoulder blades.
"And a girl is dead," he pronounced cockily.
"I can feel that," Arya replied, turning to face her master. "So, is it what I must learn to do to hear your tale?"
"Just so. A girl will dodge the man's attack with a confident backflip to position herself behind the man's back. A girl does this well enough, and a man will tell her all about when and why he was spying on her."
"But it's an increadibly difficult move, Jaqen!" she protested. He didn't reply, only looked at her out of the corner of his eye, smiling, before he turned his back to her and walked away, letting her try and practice the move which she had no idea how to do.
No-no, he couldn't be doing this to her! He should know how much she's invested in... whatever that was going on between the two of them.
*Oh, but Jaqen knows...*
He knews exactly how to motivate her, even if it required certain measures. Measures which would be considered inappropriate by most people, but Jaqen didn't care about what most people would think of him and his apprentice. She was all his to train, and he knew just how to boost her effort ten times, how to make her really strive and struggle to advance in her fighting techniques. And as long as she developed, it surely didn't bother Arya's master that his games got too much to her, cut her deeply and hurt her, and caused so many sleepless nights!
*Curse his face! Curse his lovely handsome face and his irresistible smile, and those damned eyes! You be damned, Jaqen H`gar!*
Arya had no idea how to do a backspin, but she was too stubborn and too proud to turn to Him for help.
*I`ll do it*, the girl thought. I will manage!*
Jaqen sat quietly, leaning on a big round rock, greenish with moss. He wasn't even looking at his apprentice, and seemed most uninterested in her unfortunate efforts.
She couldn't. She obviously couldn't do a backflip on her own. She'd done a nice cart-wheel, a couple times even, but nothing remotely reminding a move Jaqen'd just performed before her eyes.
May be she just isn't strong enough, and he wants her to become stronger. In which case, she should and she would, how could she not?
Arya tried to remember just how high Jaqen hopped when he did a backspin. Pretty high. The girl wasn't even sure she could jump nearly as high.
*That must be the problem*
Her master saw her, jumping up, as high as she could. A light smirk of amusement touched his face, Arya could see it very well: he was pleased, and she got on the right way.
"A girl guesses well," Jaqen said, approaching. "A girl needs stronger legs".
In a blink of an eye he hopped behind Arya's back. Arya startled as her master suddenly kneeled behind her. A warm hand covered her right calf. She couldn't catch her breath as he squeezed the muscle firmly.
"Can a girl feel this muscle?" he asked, but Arya just stood there speechless. A shaky nod was the best she could do.
"This is the one a girl must train to jump as high as that," he put the other hand on her left leg, circled the inner side of the knee with his thumb. "But here a girl should be careful, this place she must spare from excess effort."
Arya swallowed hard. Feeling his warm palms on her skin was overwhelming, too much more than she could bear. A minute longer, and she'd moan and shiver. She'd let him know just how much she enjoyed the touch.
"Jaqen," she croaked, "Will you show me again?"
He did. Using one of the rocks instead of Arya, her master demonstrated her the move several times.
"A girl will learn to jump first, and then a man will show her the rest of the technique," Jaqen breathed out landing in the sand right before Arya.
He went up another rock, a little lower than Arya, ending just about at the level of her shoulders.
"A girl can train with this rock. When she can jump atop it, she is ready to do the move."
"Are you kidding me?! This rock?!"
The task seemed completelty impossible. And when Arya tried to jump, not even reaching half the rock, she understood how far the result was, and how many hours of training lay ahead. And just how not ready she was.
*I better be listening to what he says. The man's wise.*
Every day Arya took some time to train her leg muscles. She added two more cycles to her running routine and every evening she practiced with the rock on the beach. All of it to do one single flip, but also so much more than that. How could he do this, she wondered: just a couple of phrases escaped his lips, and now that's how she was, determined and focused.
*I just want to know why he was spying on me*
One day came after another, and several weeks passed, before Arya was finally able to hop as high as Jaqen had told her to.
"I did it, Jaqen! Look!" she shouted, too proud of herself to try and act modestly.
Her master, who had been watching her from the distance, stood up and approached her, wearing the usual self-assured smirk on his face, the one of a red-haired handsome guy, someone, who Arya never knew and whose face she never grew tired of looking at.
"A man sees, and a man is pleased," he said in his amusing manner, common for decendants of Lorath. "But a girl is only halfway through, is she not?"
"She is," Arya agreed, and she barely noticed herself picking up Jaqen's manner of speech. "But now you have to teach me the rest".
And he did. And, oh, Arya could never have imagined how much this all would seem like a beautiful wild dance, rather than training of deadly art. How much it would feel like a dance. The way he swiftly moved around her, demonstrating the stunt, the way his hands supported her when she tried to copy his actions. How he was always near, too close. More than it was bearable. Just to make shure she wouldn't hurt herself.
*If only he could feel the same... Master... Jaqen...*
She couldn't do the trick on the same day, of course. But for some reason it didn't frustrate her any longer. It was actually quite the opposite, as Arya was lying on the hard bed in her cell, reminiscing about the day behind her and anticipating the next training with Jaqen.
*I wonder what he's thinking about now? Does he think of me at all? I bet he doesn't really care much... Or...*
But she could think of nothing more as slumber caught her and Arya was slowly carried away into the realms of unconscious. Her dreams were vivid, and, as usual, full of bloody murders, gore and horror, but somehow she felt different. She no longer woke up in the middle of the night. She was more in control and felt sheltered and safe. He would never ever let anyone hurt her, right?
Jaqen H`gar.
Jaqen H`gar.
Jaqen H`gar.
His name was like a protecting spell, and Arya wasn't aware of this, but during the most terrifying nightmares his name would often escape her lips, and it got better. It always did.
Because she had Jaqen by her side.
Arya performed just a little better on the next day. She understood it by the curious look on her master's handsome face, and a strange expression of his eyes. For a brief second she could swear she saw content and... admiration? Was she close? She had to be... She could do it. Just another hop. And one more. She was almost out of breath, but no one could stop her now.
It was only when she heard his hands clap, that she understood she'd done it. That was a real backflip! By the Seven, she did it!
"You saw it, Jaqen, didn't you?"
Arya was too proud.
"Now a girl must do the trick many times until she can use it in the real combat," Jaqen replied quietly with an acknowledging nod. "Shall we practice the dance together, at last?"
And it was all the girl ever wanted.
She failed, of course. Jaqen was too quick to attack, and the move was still too new to her. She fell a couple of times, and in her thoughts she thanked Jaqen for choosing the sandy beach as a place for stunt practice. Still, the falls were painful, and Arya felt like she'd sprained some muscle on her left leg.
"No more hopping today," Jaqen said, stretching his hand out to help her up. He looked concerned, sorry even, so Arya couldn't hold herself from bargaining.
"I almost did it, Jaqen," she practically begged, limping a little, as she walked beside him, clinging onto his arm.
"Indeed," the faceless master nodded.
"So..." she started in a pleading voice. "Jaqen?"
"Mmm?"
"Aren't you entertained just a little? One tiny bit enough to tell me the beginning of your story?"
But of course, he didn't bend to her will. He only looked at Arya and gave her the famous smirk. As if it was the only emotion he was capable of showing.
"No, girl, a man is not entertained. Who do you think a man is to be entertain by a girl's injury?" he asked, and Arya noticed his eyes weren't smiling; he was flinching as if in pain.
"Indeed," she muttered. Still, it was worth a try.
*Why does he look so sad? Could he actually feel sorry for my injured leg? But it's nothing, and I've suffered worse at the very beginning of the training. And I'm always covered in bruises, aren't I? So why the sadness?
Why, Jaqen?*
She understood it the same very night. By the time they finally got to the House of Black and White, her left ankle had got red and swollen, and each step she took made her flinch and hiss as the pain became unbearable. Jaqen asked her if she wanted him to carry her, but Arya was too embarrased to let him do that. Instead, she kept her tight grip on his left arm to support herself and walked, gritting her teeth at the pain and trying not to think why her face felt so hot, her ears and cheeks, particularly; and why, oh, why all of a sudden all she could think of was the image of Jaqen lifting her up, holding her gently... so that she could probably rest her head on his shoulder. And may be... just may be... the beautiful silver strand of his hair would brush against her cheek so softly.
She walked the rest of the way up to the bath chamber, cursing herself for being too cowardly to accept Jaqen's help and wishing he'd offer it again which, of course, he never did. And Arya couldn't argue, because it was fair.
Jaqen tended to her with extra attention that night. Had her seated on the steps first. He kneeled before her, gently wrapped his soft fingers arond her ankle and took off the light leather shoe she usually wore for training. The apprentice hissed at the touch.
"Are you in pain, Arya?" he asked, and all of a sudden her chest was all burning. Not "a girl" she was. She had a name after all.
"Jaqen..." she whispered.
The master looked up at his apprentice.
"Is the girl in pain?" he was smiling. He knew she'd notice. He was seeing her face now, red and hot. Lips parting softly and lashes going down. A moan then. Arya tried to mask it as one full of pain, but he knew, she was faking. Damned be his soul, he knew it, he knew it all!
She hissed, and that was genuine. Aching.
"Hurts."
"I know."
Him speaking like that drove her crazy. Jaqen must know this, surely he wouldn't try and get personal, would he?
*I? He said I?*
She was gazing at the deep green of the see and maroon sky of the twilight. Arya loved the view, as it always helped her calm, and she often meditated here alone or together with her master.
"Arya".
She gave a shiver. It had no chance of passing unnoticed. In response, his grip on the girl's anke tightened. Jaqen smiled at his apprentice moving his hands up her leg, massaging her calf - and he knew exactly where to rub and where to press to let her forget the pain and relax to the fullest.
It tickled. There. He did it on purpose. Tickled her under her knee. Arya bit her lip. She shivered and gasped.
Jaqen chuckled. As he was rising, he leaned in towards Arya's ear and whispered right into it: "A man is entertained. A man will tell a story for his lovely girl."
It tickled. There.
"Will you tell me now, Jaqen?"
He looked around them. Not a soul. The house behind their backs stood silently and no brother could care less what the order acolyte and her master were talking about, sitting comfily on the highest platform on top of the stairs.
"A man will tell".
"A girl is awaiting. Most UNpatiently!" she giggled, mocking her master.
"A man was in King's Landing," he began. "The Order sent a man there to sort out the terms of our partnership with the one who prayed to the Many Faced God. A man went to serve."
"Which means you were there to kill someone."
"Rather learn the name."
"Of the one you were going to kill."
"A man could not continue, if a girl keeps talking instead. A girl wanted a story she sweated so hard for, and now what, she is not quite ready to listen?"
"Oh, please, Jaqen! Tell me more! I promise, I`ll listen!"
He nodded with a mischievous grin.
"A man sorted his business and accepted the payment. He was on his way to the inn intending to sleep a good seven hours and ready to carry out the deal. A man did not know that the God had other plans. His god told a man to stop. It was not a voice, but a feeling, strong intention, a touch of holy will, truly. A man still remembers. A man heard a voice, he turned to his right and saw a high born lady in the street walking hastily beside her father, the very Hand of the King. They were being accompanied by a squad of guards. A man did not approach. But a man watched. Silently. Unnoticed."
"That's when you were spying on me!" Arya shouted, her heart ponding. She couldn't believe her ears. Her eyes. How hot was the blue of his eyes, that he had fixed on Arya's lips.
"It was the only time, my lovely girl," her master murmured. "A man was following, discreetly. He had no other choice, the God's will was clear: he wanted the girl."
*By the North, what does he mean to say? How is it that god wanted Arya since the beginning?*
A cold shiver ran down her spine. Jaqen placed his burning palm on her lower back. Arya could feel healing energy pouring through his skin into her. It was his secret gift. A one of magic. The magic his god blessed Jaqen with. Or cursed, as some would say. Well, let them.
"A man stood at the window to a lovely girl's chambers. A girl was sad. A girl did not enjoy her day company, she looked unfulfilled, and a man was wondering what could help this girl, pleasing the God by doing so. A man wandered around King's Landing. Until a man saw a girl's father, the Hand of the King. A man followed, unseen and unnoticed, all the way from the castle to the marketplace where Lord Stark had a meeting with a short dark haired man. He said his name was Syrio Forel, and he was the best sord of Braavos."
Arya opened her mouth, but was so afraid to speak, that she went completely silent.
"A man had never heard of any Syrio Forel, so the guy was just a boastful type, but he had Braavosi accent. A man heard Lord Stark's conversation. He was hiring Syrio as a fencing teacher for his daughter. My lovely girl. And... I knew that it was a perfect chance. The God demanded it, too.
Lord Stark told the Braavosi guy to come on the next day. They parted.
A man followed Syrio Forel into a lone alley..."
Arya couldn't breathe. She was angry. She wanted to kick Jaqen in the stomach. She couldn't yet quite comprehend the truth of it all.
*I never knew Syrio Forel. Jaqen. It was always him*
"It was always you..." she whisered.
"Always, Arya."
He placed a firm grip on her shouler, squeezing it, almost painfully. She kept silent. Stunned, paralyzed by the sudden knowledge and by his calling her "Arya". Again.
But she wanted to know more.
"What next?! Tell me, Jaqen! Now"
"A man told the girl how he spied on her, did a man not? He fulfilled his promise. A story is over."
"It is most certainly not! Don't even think of it!" Arya barked.
"If a girl wants to be entertained more, she needs to entertain a man again. And a man wants nothing, but her to perform a full stunt."
"You are. Horrible!"
Ну, это мы исправим 
Ши, а как же "все персонажи Мартина картонки, никакой мотивации"?
