A/N: What is this? A chapter a day early?! Yes, dear friends, yes it is.
Actually I was struggling trying to decide to give you guys one longer chapter or breaking it up into two smaller ones. And...I decided to break it up. So you will actually get another short(er) chapter tomorrow! Huzzah!
Enjoy!
Chapter 28
"He is here."
Arya popped her head up and looked towards the large window next to the motel room's door. The tattooed man stood in front of the large, closed window, pulling back the curtains just enough to look out into the parking lot. After his statement, he dropped the curtain, unlocked the door and moved to her side. The bed creaked and drooped as he sat down next to her. He murmured something to himself in a foreign language but Arya hardly paid attention. Jaqen is here? He came! Joy and dread struggled within her for dominance. He would save her, there was no doubt. At what cost though? She did not want to see him hurt or killed for her sake. Her chest ached with the warring emotions. She wanted to see him so badly, to have his arms around her and kiss him but she also wanted him to run, to be safe and happy. She did not want him to die. Jaqen, please be safe.
The coppery tang of blood jerked her back to her current predicament. Out of nervousness, she had bitten her lip enough to cause it to start bleeding again. She tried to keep her breathing slow and steady. Thankfully, the gag had not been forced back into her mouth but now her voice was hoarse and throat painful from her screams and cries the hour prior.
"You ready, sweet girl?" Her abductor patted the top of her head like she was a child. "Now, you're going to keep quiet and nothing will happen to you."
The desire to scream and thrash against him, maybe even bite him grew, but she suppressed it. Fatigue had seeped into her muscles and mind. The adrenaline had run its course and now left her feeling weary. She kept her eyes locked on the door, not acknowledging his statement. She would do whatever she must to keep Jaqen safe.
About ten minutes later, the motel door opened. With the fading afternoon light behind him, Jaqen stepped into the room. His eyes zeroed in on the two figures in the room. Without looking away, he closed the door behind him. Arya's heart leapt at seeing Jaqen. He stood straight as a rod, hands in fists at his sides, shoulders tense. His hair looked slightly ruffled as if windblown. His white forelock was tucked behind his ear. His mouth was pinched and his cheekbones striking in the light. Those bronze eyes though…never before had she seen such depths of fury, sorrow, turmoil and pain in them. There was nothing more she wanted than to throw herself at him and comfort him, tell him everything would be alright…but the lie stuck in her throat and her arms remained tied to the bed post.
"Hello, brother."
Jaqen allowed his eyes to flicker over Arya briefly. Seeing her in such a state, enraged and provoked him to rush to her side. But he could not. Not yet. However much he wanted to beat his brother to a bloody pulp for laying even one finger against her and then wrapping her in his arms and never letting go…he had to wait. He had to play the game. There was a reason his brother brought Arya here. For her safety, he forced his wrath into the back of his mind before staring at his brother. The one he had spent almost two decades with through days of training, missions, failures, victories and solemnness. The questions that had haunted him for hours sought their answers. "Why, brother? Why this?"
His English brother gave a brief bark of laughter that sounded forced. "Simple, I wanted to speak to you and wanted reassurance you would come."
"She is no one. She means nothing to a man." The words burned his tongue as he uttered them, but he hoped to chip away at his brother's confidence. Forgive me, lovely girl.
"Oh…I don't quite believe that." The English assassin pulled something out of his pocket and let it dangle from his hand.
What hope Jaqen had for convincing his brother of his indifference vanished. In his hand hung Jaqen's iron coin at the end of a necklace. A seal of his commitment and loyalty. There was not supposed to be anything more important for a Faceless Man than his commitment to the Order and the Many Faced god. The iron coin was a representation of dedication proven and a certainty that its owner had no other persons or items to steal away one's piety from the House of Black and White. Yet he had given it to Arya. She wore a sign of his devotion to her…around her neck. If the situation was not so dire, he would have laughed at the irony. Now he desperately wished she had hidden it somewhere in her room like he intended her to do when he gave it to her.
"Let her go, brother. I am here."
The tattooed assassin tilted his head to the side. "Tell me. You truly care for her?"
"Yes."
"Ah, but it's more…" His smirk widened as he leaned forward slightly. "You don't just care for her…you love her."
Jaqen turned his focus to his lovely girl. Her messy hair, the blood dripping down from her lip and the hunched posture showing how long she had been forced to sit with her hands above her. Mein Liebling…I won't leave you. She was the one to show him a life outside of the House of Black and White, of laughter and love, of withdrawing your own heart and handing it over to another, of realizing without the other than your life has less meaning. His answer came without hesitation as bronze eyes held gray eyes. "Yes."
The following silence was thick enough you could stick a knife in the air and it would probably stick there. Arya held Jaqen's eyes, infused with open candor and unmasked adoration. She tried to reciprocate the feeling, to show she trusted him and she had not been broken.
"You are no longer Faceless…the Principle Master won't let you keep her. He will force you to kill her." The English assassin's tone lost its smugness and turned almost saddened for his brother's predicament.
"No." Jaqen's gaze turned white hot with fury as he glared at his brother. "I will not allow anything to happen to her."
"That choice may not be yours…does our sister know?"
"Yes."
The assassin nodded, running a hand over his short blonde hair. Without a word, he reached over and released the rope tying Arya to the bedpost. Her wrists remained tied together but her arms collapsed once released.
She winced at the sudden release and renewal of blood flow in her numb arms. A quiet hiss slipped out as she bit her lip again to try and keep quiet, forgetting her split lip. Before she could think about moving, the tattooed man placed a hand on her shoulder, still sitting above her. The message was clear. Stay put. Keeping her eyes on Jaqen, ignoring her abductor next to her, she tried to filter out the unpleasant tingling flooding her arms and hands.
"Come with me, brother. Let's leave this place…and make our own way."
Jaqen paused. This offer was something he wondered if his brother would give him, like he offered their sister. It was odd that the English assassin did not want to leave the Order alone. It would be simpler for him to hide from the Order alone. Why is he asking for companionship? He gave a brief sigh as he responded, knowing the reaction would be unpleasant. "You know we cannot. We owe the Order our lives."
"WE OWE THEM NOTHING!" The assassin yelled, his grip on Arya's shoulder painful now. "They have taken everything from us! The truth is we are puppets for the Principle Master, we do his bidding silently. True Facelessness…it's only an illusion."
"Politics may be the face of those who run the world but it is us, in the shadows, who choose who stands in the spotlight. We do the will of the Many-Faced god."
A harsh bark of laughter sounded as the tattooed man scoffed. "I see your lips move but it is the Principle Master's words coming out. He is not what you believe him to be. I have seen… This last mission…"
"What happened to you, brother?"
"This last mission… The things we had to do…" He trailed off as he shook his head, like the act could clear away the haunted memories. "I have seen the truth of the Order. Who they are. What they are. They are not Faceless. They are made of greed and ambition, just like all of humanity. Why waste our lives fulfilling their own goals and desires? What reward is there for us?" He leaned forward again, eyes intent. "Come with me. We were brothers in everything but blood and we can be once again. I'll even let you keep your pet. Love, death, pleasure, pain…we can be our own masters. Come with me."
"The Order will hunt us the rest of our days."
"Then we end them! Who are they to dictate our lives?"
"Not like this…they took us in. We gave our lives and servitude freely."
"AND WHAT HAVE THEY GIVEN US? WE WERE CHILDREN! They promised us freedom but all we have been given is chains binding us to them. Our lives, our choices, our freedom is no longer something we own. Blood and pain are all we have been given!"
"Brother…"
The tattooed assassin cut him off, his pleading transforming rapidly to sneering. "That is right though. You are the Principle Master's favorite. His last apprentice. All your time at the House, you have been showered with favor and rewards while the rest of us fought for any kind of slight recognition. We fought to make sure we were breathing the next day and you… you were above us all. Perhaps the Principle Master will let you keep your pet after all. She can stay in your room and pleasure you whenever you want a good fuck. Her screams are quite loud. But I'm sure you already know that. You will have to teach her to be quiet or gag her. Don't worry though, during her time with me, she is used to being tied up and gagged." He grabbed her hair and tilted her head up to glare into her upturned face. "Isn't that right, sweet girl?"
"Do not harm her." Jaqen growled, voice low and cold as ice. He stilled the tremor in his hands… hands ready to choke the life out of his brother for the pain he caused his lovely girl and his sister. This was no longer the brother he grew up with, something had changed in him. Why, brother? "This is between you and me."
"Is it though? I've grown fond of her…perhaps we can share her." With his other hand, the tattooed man wrapped it around Arya's throat. He eyed her, the panic on her face, before turning back to smirk at Jaqen.
"Let her go. NOW!" Jaqen hissed through his clenched teeth. He took a step forward, ready to intervene. No more of this. He had remained near the door, worried to move closer for fear of her safety. No more. This had to end.
In a flash, the English assassin released Arya's throat and had his pistol pointed directly at Jaqen's head. All three froze. The friction thick in the air. Waves of hostility rolled off the two men and crashed against each other in the middle of the room. A storm brewed, the power striking like lightening. A long second later, the pistol drifted over until it was pressed against Arya's temple. She stiffened against the cold metal, her head still pulled back.
"Would you beg for her life, brother? Would you beg to save your pet?"
It took everything for Jaqen to not rush over and kill his brother. She must live. Whatever happens, she deserved life. He promised to protect her. "Yes." He growled out.
"Love is weakness. At least the Order got that right." The English assassin scoffed.
"Maybe it was right of our sister to reject you then."
He snarled at Jaqen. "If I cannot have the one I love, why should you? Life is pain. Love is useless. All that matters is watching life leave the one you just gifted death to. That is truth. That is real. Life and death. That is all there is."
As Jaqen and the assassin talked, Arya's initial panic and fatigue ebbed until her brain was able to somewhat think rationally. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. What would Jaqen tell me to do in this situation? A revelation flashed in her mind's eye, leaving her gob-smacked and worried for the consequences if discovered. Trying to shift subtly and bring her right foot closer and her bound hands towards her boot, she desperately hoped her captor was to focused on his own anger and Jaqen. Needle was still strapped inside her boot. Practicing on her own and with Jaqen, she had gotten good at quickly pulling it out and being ready to defend herself. Could she use it now? Would that help or hinder? Was there a way to let Jaqen know? A piece of her mind was shocked by the fact that the tattooed man clearly did not see her as a threat to check her for weapons. His mistake. Hoping that Jaqen would notice, she began tapping on her boot silently. Her head was still tipped back, neck straining at the uncomfortable position. Her abductor's hand held her hair tightly at the base of her head. Her eyes smarted with tears but she blinked them away. There was no way to signal Jaqen before she made a move. There was no way for him to let her know if this was even a good idea. Something had to happen soon. The conversation was deteriorating and soon someone was going to end up dead. She only hoped it was the tattooed man.
The English assassin's smugness returned. "Were you going to tell your pet the truth… you know who paid to have her father killed? Or were you going to keep that secret from her?" He loosened his grip on her hair marginally and tipped her head back so she could see Jaqen.
All thoughts of escape halted in her mind. What? No, that can't be true. Deep down she had hoped the tattooed man was lying, that Jaqen would not keep this from her. The wince and look of pure regret and guilt on his face told her a different story. A fresh wave of pain and torment coursed through her. Their eyes locked, stormy steel meeting burning bronze. Her voice cracked but it reflected the pain within her. "Why?"
"I planned on speaking to you of this. I swear, Arya."
"When?"
"Schöne Mädchen…"
"Why wait? Tell her now, brother."
Jaqen glared at the English assassin. "Not like this. This…not like this."
"You might not get another chance."
"Please, Lukas…" Arya pleaded softly.
He hesitated, absorbing her hurt so evident on her face and voice. Rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin, he wondered if he would regret this. There were reasons he kept this from her for now. He planned on telling her when he could help and showing her the information gathered. If she desired, he would not just kill Baelish but also destroy his reputation. This was now a part of his brother's game… a way to hurt Jaqen by confessing to Arya his secret. Better to do it quick like ripping a Band-Aid off. He stared into her eyes, knowing the revelation was going to shake her world and her trust. "Petyr Baelish."
Her jaw dropped. All thoughts, all emotions were drowned by the name spoken. She hated the man but this…never would she have considered him that nefarious…that evil. A choking gasp tore out of her throat once her body remembered to breathe. All the years that conniving bastard spent in her family's home, comforting her mother, helping the family, being a friend. He tore her family apart. He carved the black hole into her life and had the balls to sit back and watch.
Fury is a strange emotion. It both fills and empties a person. It fills the person with undiluted rage and desire for revenge. It seeps into the blood, setting it afire until only the cold of revenge can sate it. Yet it empties the person of other rational emotions and thoughts. Leaving the person with only one thought, one purpose- to cause such wanton pain and destruction that the victim will never be the same. This type of fury consumed the soul if left unchecked and drove a person to madness. Nothing else could satisfy but vengeance. Nothing else could fill the pain but the blood of the one deserving.
Arya could feel it setting her blood afire. She was not a warrior, to come out with guns blazing to kill anyone who tried to stop her. No, she was a college student who knew some self-defense. That did not matter. She would avenge her father, if it took her last breath, it would be worth it. Petyr Baelish…that bastard…she would make sure he was sent to the deepest depths of all seven hells for what he did to her family. First though, she had to make it out of this motel alive.
"Would you like help killing him?"
Arya stiffened and glanced up at the man beside her. His whisper shot through her mind like a bullet. He looked down at her with a single eyebrow raised. There was no malice or amusement in his voice. It felt almost like a genuine concern and an offer to help alleviate her torment. If he helped her, it would surely get done. He was an assassin. He would know how to cover their tracks so no one would suspect him. Having been with him the past several hours, she guessed he would not shy away from helping her inflict pain to Baelish before killing him. Her mind could see it. The temptation…the death to the one who destroyed her childhood. It would be so easy to say yes. A part of her demanded to. Yet she also hated the man beside her. He had killed her father. He had pulled the trigger. Could she trust him? Did she want to trust him? She wanted him dead. But whose death did she desire more, the assassin's or Baelish's?
"Brother…" Jaqen softly said but was interrupted.
The handgun disappeared from her temple and the tattooed man turned her face so his dark eyes beheld hers. A strange sincerity floated in them, a rawness that unnerved her. "I can help you. Come with me, sweet girl. Together we can bring vengeance to all who have betrayed us."
"Stop this madness!"
The English assassin's gaze turned cruel, upper lip raised in a snarl, turning back to his brother. "Or what? She can choose…love or revenge. I can promise her revenge. What can you do? Or do you fear she will leave you and choose me?"
The sweet hints of revenge tantalized Arya, Jaqen could see it in her eyes. This was one of the reasons he delayed telling her. She was pure and precious. Blood did not need to stain her hands. He would gladly give the gift of death for her. Now her eyes gleamed at the thought of ending Baelish's life, of hearing him beg for mercy. It would be reckless of her now to try and fulfill her lust for his death. She would make a mistake, she would get caught. The offer his brother gave her was valid but his soul wept with the thought she may choose revenge over him. Would she? Which emotion, which desire was more powerful? Love or revenge? Which one soothed the turmoil and pain lingering in her heart? He had to end this conversation, he had to get her out of here. His brother was still masterfully playing his game, trying to draw a wedge between Jaqen and Arya. Forcing him to confess, chipping away her trust in him, to what end though? How would this end? Whose death would be payment for their time? His brother still glared, a malicious sneer twisting his lips at seeing Jaqen's unease. Purposefully Jaqen took a step forward, maintaining eye contact. With that movement, chaos erupted.
With the assassins distracted, Arya made her move. It was foolish but she could not sit here and listen anymore. The walls were closing in around her. She had to get out. In the blink of an eye, she withdrew Needle with her bound hands from her boot and stabbed it into the top of the tattooed man's foot next to her. Immediately she rolled to escape his wrath. His cry of pain bounced off the walls of the room and her mind. Before he could swing his pistol around and kill her, Jaqen tackled him onto the bed.
The pistol flew out of his brother's hand. It was not enough. "Arya, run!" Jaqen cried as he dodged the punch to his face. In his peripheral vision, he saw her slip into the corner of the room. Laufen, Arya, raus! He tried to wrap his hands around his brother's throat but to no avail. Too many years they had spent training together. Too many times they had sparred until they could almost anticipate the other's moves. The English assassin managed to throw Jaqen off him enough to quickly land a punch to his side. Pain radiated through his ribs, but the sensation was quickly blocked out as Jaqen retaliated. He reached for his own knife as his brother ripped the knife from his foot. The next few seconds were flashes of movements as they each tried to stab and slash at the other. There was no time for thinking, only instincts and reactions. Block. Slash. Pain. Blood. Slash. Kick. Another cry but of fury sounded out of the English assassin as he kicked Jaqen's knee, forcing him back and over the bed. They now stood half crouched on either side of the motel bed. Chest heaving. Beads of sweat glistened their foreheads. The wrath Jaqen had suppressed flooded his mind. Red clouded the edges of his sight. His brother would not leave here alive. He would pay for the pain he had caused. Is this what you wanted, brother? Blood seeped into Jaqen's jacket from the cut he received on his shoulder. His brother smiled, blood marring the white of his teeth making him look like a man possessed. Jaqen tightened the grip on his knife. He had to end this. There was no more time. He shifted, prepared to attack. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, his brother jerked as the sound of thunder filled the room.
Arya's hands were raised in front of her, pistol straight out like Jaqen taught her on their Valentine's Day date. Her feet planted to the green carpet, standing in the corner. Wisps of smoke tendrils danced around the end of the pistol. A sickly, sweet smell infused her senses. Her eyes remained glued to where her shot had disappeared. His black shirt masking the splash of red blood. I am a Stark. I am not helpless.
With the hesitation, Jaqen sprang his attack. He leapt over the bed, knife ready for the coveting of life blood. His brother tried to twist away but it was a split second too late. Jaqen drove his knife through his brother's throat. Blood splattered on his face as the two assassins fell onto the wall beside the bed. The wall shook with the impact. Recovering quickly, Jaqen jumped up to stand over his brother. The English assassin slid down the wall until he slumped on the ground. Those dark eyes stared at Jaqen, the corners of his lips turned up. A stream of blood eased out of his mouth. Why, brother? Why did it come to this?
A sharp intake of air caused Jaqen to whirl around. Arya had not moved, the pistol still pointed at her abductor like she feared he would rise and come for her. In three strides, Jaqen stood before her. Cautiously and wordlessly, he relieved her of the pistol.
"Arya, look at me."
His command shook her. She blinked, eyes focusing on him. Without warning, she threw herself against his chest, desperately needing his touch to ground her and to reassure her. His arms enveloped her without hesitation, the scent of leather and cinnamon filling her. He pressed her head to his chest as her body began to shake, murmuring soothingly in both German and English. No tears were shed. She had none left. The adrenaline, the stress, her fears all fought to escape her body simultaneously, making her body quiver with the onslaught of released energy.
Once her breathing began to slow and her body ceased its shaking, Jaqen tilted her face up to meet his. Her eyes were wide but strength remained there. In the midst of chaos and death, she had remained strong and unbroken. Meine Herzallerliebste. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you. She looked at him with such trust and devotion. He only wished he had earned it. Now, they needed to leave. It was no longer safe here. "Can you walk?"
She nodded.
"Come, let's go, lovely girl." He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Rapidly, he unbound her hands, having to push back the surge of anger that rose when saw the damage to her skin from her bonds. There was nothing he could do about that now. He guided her towards the door, a hand on her lower back. A quick glance caused him to freeze. His brother's head had tilted, glazed eyes staring where Jaqen and Arya had just been standing. In his last moments of life, he had watched Jaqen and Arya embrace. What did you see, brother? Did you see love as you have never know or experienced? Blood trickled out of the English assassin's mouth and from around the knife in his throat, eye glassy. Swiftly, for not wanting to force Arya to linger here longer than necessary, he strode over and checked for a lack of pulse. Only silence and warmth met his fingers. It was over. Jaqen knew he needed to clean up the evidence, dispose of his brother's body, cover their track but not with Arya waiting. He would come back. Whatever fury he felt at his brother, there were hints of sorrow too. Once Arya was safe, he would come back and mourn. Tearing his eyes away, he escorted Arya out and to his car in the parking lot. He could feel the droplets of blood on his face, his brother's blood. Carefully, he tried to wipe off what he could with his sleeve. They tore out of the parking lot, car zooming onto the highway and back towards the Twin Cities.
"You're hurt." Arya spoke up after several minutes. Blood stained his leather jacket, a slice showing where his injury lay on his shoulder.
"I'm fine. Just a scratch."
"It looks like more than a scratch."
"Are you injured?"
She shook her head. Her wrists hurt from being bound and her muscles ached but it all felt superficial after what just occurred. Never before had she witnessed someone killed in front of her. Even if she hated the person…it still left an unsettling feeling in her stomach. How easy it was for life to leave one's body. There was one though whose death she needed to witness. One more death to avenge her family. She reached over and grabbed Jaqen's hand, the strength and pressure against her palm bringing her comfort.
"It's over, Schöne Mädchen. He can't hurt you."
Was she truly safe though? Jaqen was not so sure. The rest of the drive was passed in silence. Their own thoughts whirling in their minds but hands clasped in-between. A tether to their separate realities.
A/N: I really struggled with writing this because I still wanted to keep the humanity in the English brother/Handsome Man and not make it seem like he was a sadistic psychopath. I hope his motivations for kidnapping Arya came through and show hints of his own personal struggle that has been occurring during this story.
Let me know what you think! If you are confused, feel free to leave a comment/message me and i'll try to explain better. Y'all are the best!
