[ "Waits at the window,
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door-
Who is it for?
All the lonely people ... Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people ... Where do they all belong?" ]
Braavos had been your home city all your life- though far less populated in comparison to the great freed slave city Meereen, or King's Landing across the sea in Westeros, it was still plenty afresh with adventure and excitement. It was a city met with many a strange face- many a shady shift of hands exchanging coin for any known poison under the sun; blood money for bloody deeds- if you could imagine it (but wish you hadn't done so), it was probably being sold in Braavos.
Growing up, Braavos provided your innocently roguish mind a place you could constantly eavesdrop the carelessly told tales of assassins, smugglers, outcasts and runaway nobles alike- whether it be from a window left ajar or from the ceiling beams of an inn on the night, where for good reason the doors were shut to strangers, tourists and children. You cherished the tales of fellow women razing cities to the ground for noble conquests of power (though whether you heard the lady be told as the 'true queen' or as the 'mad queen' varied per place), of children working their way up from near-death on the streets to the high councils of noble houses across the sea-
but above all, the greatest stories you heard were set in your very own city- rumours, legends and alleged encounters with The Faceless Men. They were a discreet and well hidden group of people, but whispers ran through generations of the older families in Braavos- yours being one of them- and you heard your fill of horror stories about the men that could end a life within a fraction of a breath after someone spoke their name. Men who stole faces for a multitude of reasons according to the myths- your grandmother had told you it was because they sacrificed their identities: when they became Faceless, they were unbecome, and were thus nobody. This had puzzled you deeply as a child- the children stories of them being born with no faces, or no heads, or being demons made of shadow who could only survive in the day by living through a Man made more sense.
All these rumours and terrifying tales had enchanted you and ignited your curiosity, rather than made you averse to further investigation as you grew- and so you embraced the tales of the cunning, cut-throat and wily, growing to be a feisty, adventurous young lady at the age of 18 as you were today- you had spent so much of your life adoring these faceless beings without even beginning to consider what such a life would entail, and yet it was all you were certain you wanted.
It was a selfish thought- you cared a lot about your family and friends built up in the city, and you didn't consider the fact you might be sent to kill them- that you wouldn't be able to call yourself no-one and forget their faces so easily- and yet it wasn't until the day that you came across someone who had had intimate interactions with the Guild did you finally realise how naive you'd been.
Determined to be ready to join the Faceless in the next year, you had spent your teen years disciplining yourself by practising water-dancing with dual scimitars on an isolated spot of rocks by the docks, a winding path and steep hill away from your family's townhouse. You would twirl and lunge and spin the blades through the salty air till the sky went from pale pink to blood-orange, and in years had found solace in the spot, undisturbed as the day grew to a close.
Today things would change.
As you hopped down the rough, barely marked path, you were certain you spotted a silhouette hunched over by the rocks; it could've been the heat casting an illusion over the rocks, but you still drew your blades and found yourself slowing, tiptoeing down the path and instinctively keeping low- your heart pulsed in your throat with conflicting emotions. On one hand, you had heard tales of the Faceless ones chasing after a talented few to add to their ranks, and perhaps your day had come earlier than you could ever dream.
On the other hand, someone could have come here to kill you, or rob you (then kill you), or to enact shady business of their own that you would be unfortunately dragged into simply by witnessing it-
and then killed. Of course.
You weren't taking any chances, but as your sight grew clearer and you finally dropped to even terrain, you couldn't help but let out a disappointed, "Oh." as you were faced with a woman your own age or slightly older, rooting about under the rocks. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, the short little figure darted up, and with a resounding twang of metal against rock, whipped about a rapier and thrust it straight in your direction. You backed up, panicked at being presented with your first ever possible fight, "Hey little lady! I didn't mean to scare you, I was just-"
"I know who you are, Waif. If you want to kill me, then let's get it over with."
"Waif?-" Before you could even question the woman's cryptic words you were shielding yourself with your scimitars, shaking as you tried to fight off the lightning-fast jabs of the girl. It was impossible to even get a word in edge-ways as you fought off her thoughtless attempts to sever every important bit of your body you were fighting to maintain. Eventually, you managed to get a sense of her fighting patterns and although she was quicker and more aggressive, she fought much like you, another water-dancer- but with a bizarre western twist in how she thrust out her blade at the end of an attack sequence, the way her feet instinctively moved before she corrected them;
You had one opportunity to get this to stop, and so as she lunged at you once more, you weaved out of the way and knocked her off of her feet, kicking away her sword long enough that you could drop yours and back up with your hands held high, praying to the Gods she'd finally accept you weren't trying to kill her.
Thankfully, it worked. Though your temporary opponent refused to take her piercing blue eyes from you as she slowly scooted away to a fair distance, when she finally picked her sword up she sheathed it at her side. Seemingly, she still felt the need to grip the handle tight with her opposite hand as she approached you, the stormy look in her eyes persisting. You slowly swept your own blades from the ground and sheathed them, before letting out a long sigh,
"I was going to say that I train down here, and that I didn't mean to interrupt what you were doing- and even if you did make me fear for my life for a minute I think that's the most productive training session I've had in years." You jested, but the woman gave no direct response, and even when she did it was as though she hadn't processed any of what you said, "Sorry, I thought you were a different person- I need to get a ship back to Westeros, do you know if there are any sailing today?"
You crossed your arms and frowned at the woman, irked by her insincerity and graveness, "Of course you come from Westeros, I should have known- nobody this side of the sea is so cold." The bite in your words seemed to catch her attention. Wincing, she gave an equally unenthusiastic "Sorry."- but the deadness of her tone this time seemed to be from an exhaustion you couldn't comprehend rather than apathy. You hummed, satisfied, and beckoned her to follow you back up the hill- though you had tried to avoid making new friends and acquaintances for the sake of your future, you couldn't help but ponder on this unusual stranger- and before you could help yourself, the questions were floating out,
"How does a Westerosi lady like you who has very obviously not been in Braavos so long, learn how to dance as you did?" You tilted your head to the side to watch her as she responded, but after the slightest signs of a smile with eyes sadder than you'd ever seen she stared at the path before you and murmured, "I had a teacher. In Westeros- he was from Braavos too."
"You speak of him as though-" you didn't need to say it, and felt guilty bringing up the dead even for this woman you hardly knew- so instead, you shifted your questioning,
"I never got your name, little lady-"
"Stop calling me that. I've never liked it-... I was- I am now Arya Stark, again." It was rather confusing to see a girl so happy to speak her own name, as if she had only just learnt to say it, but you didn't question things straight away.
"Well, Arya Stark- a pleasure to meet you and keep your company for the time being. I'm Lena Cattell-" you flushed red as your very blatant attempt at a useless lie was cut short by a round of laughs from Arya, and you dug a fist lightly into her shoulder as she stopped to catch her breath from the wheezing. As she rose to speak to you, Arya's demeanour remained as puzzling as ever- a twinkle in her eyes and a grin plastered on her face- but her hands curled up in hard fists and her jaw set like iron, "Practising every day at fighting and lying just to go 'live' your life as nobody, with nobody, killing anyone and everybody." her tone dropped as she gripped your arm hard, and pulled you close, staring into your soul, "I tried to be no-one- it's shit. Now I'm taking back my name, and getting out of here before they kill me."
For a moment as you stared into this hardened woman's eyes, you felt yourself gripped with fear and shock- you had spent a lifetime idolising The Faceless, and the one person you had met and spoken to that had walked the path of the many-faced God stood here with a malice and discontent gleaning from her person at the very thought of the people. After a moment, Arya snapped out of her trance of thought, flushing as she realised how close her face had come to yours, and she awkwardly let go of your arm, turning away and awkwardly fiddling with the hilt of her blade. You could feel the scratches from where her short nails had dug into your wrist as she backed up, and you were afraid.
You walked in silence then, for a little while, and though every few minutes you opened and shut your mouth to protest, ask why she was so upset about The Faceless Ones, you quickly snapped it shut again, not wanting to upset your temporary companion any further as she lost herself in a thick cloud of thought. Eventually, you decided you needed to break the silence somehow, so you feebly managed to cough up a few words to say, "Y/N... I'm Y/N L/N." Though her eyes were fixed on the road, a small pleasantness filled Arya's features with a little smile as she nodded in response. As you finally came up onto even ground and man-made paving, Arya turned to you and placed a hand softly upon your shoulder. With sincerity beyond what you had been shown so far, she said, "Good to have you with me, Y/N." After a brief hesitation, she shook her head, as though amused by an unspoken joke, "Go on then. Ask me what you want to know."
"Thank the Gods you said that..."
Slowly wandering through the quieter streets of the city, You asked your questions about Arya's story and she gave it willingly. The setting sun cast a blood-red filter over the city, and though you both kept your hands at your waist, ready to draw steel at a moment's notice, and though Arya stared each stranger that passed down till they were long out of sight, it was strangely peaceful sharing your stories and dreams as you made your way for the docks.
You told Arya of your fighting spirit growing up, the many myths and legends you heard, the infamous criminals you unwittingly crossed paths with chasing rats down the streets with a stick and huddled up in crevasses of out-of-bounds properties, and you swear you could see a happy-sad glint of tears form in her eyes as you recounted a childhood she had longed to experience. Her story was far more tragic, and your own tears fell silently but stronger as you heard the tragedy of her family and everything that had motivated her to come this far. By the time you finally stopped at the harbour, you hardly realised your hands had been gently intertwined for some time.
You didn't pull away until she had a foot on the deck of the boat that would take her home.
Even then, you felt attached to her, like a strand of destiny held you both together where physical contact did not- all you had wanted all your life was adventure and purpose beyond the coddling of your parents and the assured safety of your family name, and this magnificent warrior with the same years as you and a fire in her heart that could not be tamed by faceless gods or nameless assassins had come along and given you a glimpse into the hardships and reality of that life.
It wasn't all a fairy-tale as you'd grown up believing, and you'd be increasing your chances of death tenfold; but Gods, you didn't want to stay here. Not after hearing of a chance to make a difference in a world across the sea-
and the thought of leaving Arya alone, never to be seen again? It rended you asunder.
You leant towards the ship instinctively, and it was not without notice. An irritated captain looked down at you and cussed, "If yer boarding then get 'bout it quick and throw me yer silver lass, I aye' got a minute to spare if we want to cross the ocean without my girl being torn to shreds by the Drowned Gods."
Arya had noticed, too. Chuckling, locking her eyes with you, she ripped them away for a moment to toss a silver to the captain before reaching out an arm and hauling you into the boat with her.
Cupping your face in her hands she lost her humour for but a moment as she spoke, "It'll be dangerous. You might die- you'll probably die. And I'm not stopping until I've worked through my list." You grinned, softly, "I know- but this is all I've ever wanted."
And so are you, it seems. You thought silently, as the ship set off from harbour.