You're in love with Gendry. Sansa told you, and so did the Hound and your brother Jon Snow, though you could see the uneasiness in Jon's words through the letter he wrote to you; stiffly handwritten in a failed attempt to make it less awkward, you presume, because Jon's words are slightly scrambled and messy on the thin cold paper, and you imagine him staring dumbly at his own choices of words and cursing. You think you are in love with him too, because it is hard to get him out of your head and not look at his face, his mussed black hair, and the electric blue eyes that would surely make King Robert's younger brother jealous. You look at him and you remember the King and his handsome brother; you look at him and you remember your father.
"You are to marry Ser Gendry," Sansa said one day, and you hesitated, but said nothing in return. You love Gendry, you tell yourself, and Sansa tries her hardest to make everything right, still trying to rebuild their lives better than before, although you both know it is impossible after all that happened. The Hound is helping her, helping them, and you are grateful that you didn't kill him after all. You smiled at Sansa and feigned happiness. She actually believed you are happy.
(because the House of Black and White had taught you to lie, taught you to make people believe, taught you to change your face and speak just right to make even the worst kind of lie into reality, and you only have one person to thank for that and he's—)
Gendry sits at the couch by the window, staring at you, studying you carefully with those blue eyes of his, and you are trying not to flinch at the intensity of his stare as you read one of Jon's letters from the wall. He's been staring at you a lot lately and you're not sure what to make of it. At first you were happy, talked to him more than you should, making Sansa pleased with herself. He talked a lot too, and you noticed the changes in him; the tanned of his skin, the lean muscles on his chest and arms, the rough calloused curves of his hands and fingers, and the scars across his back and ribs. He's a man-grown and you think he is more comely than King Robert's younger brother. You hear whispers about how lucky you are to marry such a handsome man, a Baratheon man.
"He doesn't have a face." Gendry says suddenly, breaking the silence, and you look at him, dumbfounded. As if on cue, he goes on; "The man you're truly in love with. He doesn't even have a face does he? Your sister says that you're in love with me, but you really don't," he stops, looks down, shakes his head, stands up, and looks away.
"Never mind."
You watch his back as he leaves, shaky fingers clutch so tight at Jon's letter that you almost tear it apart. A drop of warm water falls on your wrist, and you realize that you're crying, cheeks stained with hot tears, trailing down to the length of your neck, and you sigh.
(his name is said one day, by one of the maids in the kitchen. You stop to listen and—
"I heard them talking, Lady Sansa and Lord Sandor, that she whispered one and only one name in her sleeps, for more than two years now. They didn't hear it clearly at first, and Milady thought it was Ser Gendry she was talking about.
"But one night when they slept together, Ser Gendry stormed out of the bedroom and broke the kettles, before telling us to fetch some water in the well. I didn't know what happen, but the guards said that Lady Arya had a nightmare, and she screamed one and only one name she had been whispering ever since she returned—
"It's Jaqen H'ghar."
—you're not surprised why Gendry stops talking and starts staring at you more often than not, now.)