A/N: Hi! Two chapters in one month hasn't happened in a long time, but, I have "free" time for now before I start a new job on Monday and I'm spending it procrastinating on the things I should be doing, which is good news for you all. So here you go. The good ole pirate/siren AU, with some mixed lore that already exists and then some of my own. Hope you like it.
Thank you to s m Neal and GrowlingPeanut for reviewing ch. 11. I mention it routinely in the cross-over trilogy I'm writing but not here, so GrowlingPeanut is my older sister for anyone who's noticed how weird and inside-joke filled her reviews are. There's a reason for that.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Rating: T for brief strong language and suggestive content.
"Have you ever heard the tale of the sirens of Lorath?"
The boy shook his head, eyes wide and mop abandoned.
"Well then take a seat and listen close..."
Gendry Waters, first mate of the Wolfswood, looked out across the ocean, his gaze distant as he began his story.
"The legends tell of an island to the east, at the heart of the Shivering Sea. They call it Lorath and its people the Lorathi sirens. The island is said to be dark and bitter, with craggy cliffs and waters so cold they'll freeze a man to death before he can crawl to its pebbled shores."
Gendry grabbed the boy's shoulder in mockery of a last dying grasp and he jumped at the touch, eyes nearly bulging from his head. With an embarrassed and apologetic smile, Gendry patted his shoulder reassuringly and then continued, looking back toward the gentle waves.
"But it's the people of Lorath that men tell tales of. It's said to be inhabited by the most beautiful women in all the world. Some say that they appear with a woman's head and torso, but the tail of a fish, others that they're all woman, and others still that they are creatures beyond the realm of humanity, with feathery wings at their backs like the angels of the Seven Heavens. They take the form of whatever it is that your heart desires and they sit on the rocky beaches of the island, singing their songs and drawing men into the icy waters. Not a soul who's succumbed to them has left their shores, and they say it's because no man who's heard the song of a Lorathi siren has lived to tell the tale..."
"Then how might you be telling it right now, hm?"
Gendry looked up to see his captain leaning against the ship's rail, her chin in one hand and her eyebrows high on her forehead. When he floundered for an answer she sighed and looked to the young boy.
"The Lorathi sirens don't exist, boy. They're just a tale that people tell so men aren't foolish enough to go mad and jump ship for a woman's touch after all the months at sea. Don't you have a deck to swab?"
He grabbed his mop and scurried away at his captain's command and Gendry stood with a heavy sigh.
"Was that necessary?"
"Was telling that foolish tale to a child?" Arya countered.
He approached her side and shrugged his shoulders. "Have to keep myself from...what was it you said? 'Going mad for a woman's touch'?"
She rolled her eyes and he smirked, snaking an arm around her waist.
"You could always offer to keep me sane, Captain..."
The moment his fingers curled around her hip she had her dagger beneath his chin and she gave him a flat stare. "Touch me again and I'll kill you, then cut your cock off to make an example of you. Lommy's eager to be First Mate, so you aren't irreplaceable. Go on. Try me."
He put his hands up and backed up sheepishly. "Aye aye, Cap'n." When he was a safe distance away he winked. "Saving yourself for a Lorathi siren, is that it?"
He ran off laughing as Arya's dagger buried itself in the mast beside his head and she sighed as she went to retrieve it. Standing alone on the quarterdeck, she looked out across the ocean, and far to the east, just before the horizon, a storm began to brew.
Arya was woken by a pounding at the door of her cabin and then a resounding crash of thunder. She scrambled to her feet and hurriedly threw on a loose white tunic over her leather pants, throwing open the door to see Gendry outside, already soaked to the skin.
"It looks like a bad one, Captain," he yelled over the sound of the wind. "We need you at the helm!"
Cursing herself for failing to notice the darkening sky and sleeping through the beginning of the storm, she followed him onto the deck, bellowing toward the crews' cabin. "All hand hoy! Batten down the hatches and get ready to ride this out!"
The worst of the storm had come quickly and without warning, sending them careening through the crashing waves. The night was brightened by a sudden flash of lightning and the men cried in dismay as it splintered the main mast and set the sails ablaze.
"Gods damn it!" Arya yelled. The ship's cook looked toward the spreading flames with an expression of horror and his eyes were wide when he turned toward the two officers.
"We're all gonna feed the fishes aren't we, Captain?"
"Don't be daft, Hot Pie," Gendry shouted, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him from his panic. "Bring in the sails before it can spread any farther. We'll make it out of this yet."
He obeyed the command and Gendry followed, leaving Arya alone once more. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, trying desperately to fight against the tossing of the waves. Another crack of lighting lit the sky and struck the main deck. Arya barely had time to turn and assess the damage before the mast crumbled beneath the flames and struck her. The last sound she heard was the dying screams of her men, and then, softly, through the rain and the crackling of the fire, a voice rose in song.
As Arya regained consciousness, she was aware first of the chill that seemed to have sunk through to her bones, and then of a sharp burning sensation in her chest. Rolling onto her stomach she raised herself on her hands and coughed smoke and water from her lungs, gasping for breath once they were clear and looking about wildly.
She was on land, that much was clear, but other than that, she knew little, and she was scrambling to her feet when she saw him.
Across the beach, sitting quietly on a rock, was a man. His straight hair fell to his shoulders, white as snow on one side, red as blood on the other. His eyes were a deep blue the color of the ocean she knew so well and regarded her from within a face that was sharp and handsome. He wore a pair of pants made from ragged burlap, cut at the knees, but his chest was bare, smooth, pale, and lithe as was the rest of him. If he was a pirate, he looked like no pirate she had ever seen.
"Who—" She coughed again and he was at her side in an instant, supporting her as she wavered dangerously on her feet. Her eyes met his and for a moment, she remembered the storm...and the song.
"Where am I?"
"The island of Lorath," he replied. There was a foreign lilt to his voice the likes of which she had never heard, and despite her attempts to forget the stories Gendry had once told, her first instinct was to describe it as strangely...melodic.
"Your ship was destroyed in the storm," he continued. "I pulled you from the wreckage and brought you here."
Realization hit her at his words and she felt suddenly ill. "Were...were there any other survivors?"
He shook his head and she fell to her knees, retching helplessly as her eyes filled with tears. She thought of Lommy, complaining between every meal that he lost over the rail, and Hot Pie, who ate too much of his own cooking but was always willing to lend an ear over a steaming pot of stew. And Gendry...brash and foolish Gendry, who despite it all, had been her closest friend.
Now, they were all dead, each and every one buried at sea.
She struggled to regain her composure and looked back toward the man at her side. "Who are you?" She hesitated for a moment. "What are you?"
He looked at her for a long moment before responding. "My name is Jaqen H'ghar. And I am whatever you want me to be."
He led her from the pebbled beach, lending his shoulders as she hobbled along beside him. He had pulled her from beneath the broken mast and with every step she took she became more aware of the injuries she had sustained.
She was barely conscious as he ushered her into a modest shack, built from wood long since bleached by the sun and the waves that crashed against it. She slipped into a feverish slumber when he set her upon his humble cot and he settled at her side. His nimble fingers worked to free her from her clothing and when she was bare before him he began examining her wounds, humming absently as he did.
Deep in slumber, she heard his voice, and it soothed the fever that raged within her as her cuts disappeared beneath the touch of his fingers. When her breathing had turned slow and even he wiped the sweat from her brow and then pressed his lips softly to her own.
For now, he would let her rest. When she woke, he could claim her at long last. Until then, he would wait.
The first thing that Arya noticed as she woke was the soothing sound of the waves as they broke against the walls of the shack, and then the familiar salty tang of the air. It was only as she stretched her aching limbs that she felt the weight of the arm around her waist, and the warmth of the body that lie next to hers.
His eyes were open when she met his gaze and fixed intently on her face. She realized with confusion, and then indignation, that she was nude, and when her eyes wandered below his face, she saw that he was too.
She scoffed, sitting up and freeing herself from his grip. "You've already lured me to your side and now I suppose you bed me and then kill me in my sleep, is that it?"
Jaqen cocked an eyebrow and raised his hand to stroke the soft skin beneath her breasts. "If I wanted to kill you while you slept, we would not be having this conversation. But we can make love, if that's what you wish."
"What I wish?" She shook her head and rose to her feet. "I don't know you, and in case you forgot, the storm you pulled me from just destroyed everything and everyone I ever cared about. So, apologies, but no. Fucking you is the last thing I want to do right now."
Jaqen's expression was one of utter surprise and she frowned down at him as she yanked on her clothes. "Why are you looking at me like that? I can't be the first woman to have refused you."
He sat up slowly, curiously watching her as she laced her tunic. As a matter of fact, she was. Nearly. The others of his kind had only been resisted on one or two occasions and many in Arya's position had succumbed the very moment they touched the island's shores, sealing their fate with breathy moans and desperate touches. It was their way, and that was as it was meant to be.
Unless...
Avoiding his searching gaze, Arya walked from the shack, returning to the coast with a purposeful stride. After a moment, Jaqen followed.
The first time he had seen her, he had known immediately that she would be his, as most sirens did. He had watched her for many years, crafting a song that would draw her at last to his side and become the thing she loved most dearly. But, the storm had come before he had finished and despite the others' warnings, he had taken to the seas to save her.
She was the first to be brought to Lorath, rather than being lured to its rocky shores. Perhaps that, and the unfinished song, were the reasons she could resist him. But, unfinished or no, she had still heard his call and so his fate had been decided.
She was standing with her toes in the surf and a hand across her brow when he reached her side and she cast him no more than a cursory glance.
"What do you intend to do?" he asked.
"Stand in this spot until I see a ship. Then, I'll build a fire and when they see the smoke they'll come for me."
"So you will return to the sea?"
Arya nodded, and with her gaze toward the ocean, she could not see the fear and sorrow in his eyes. "Aye. It's the only life I know."
"What are you doing?"
Arya jumped at the sound of his voice and then sighed heavily. He was always lurking somewhere nearby and the way he watched her was disquieting.
"I'm trying to make something that can pass as a sword from this driftwood," she huffed, continuing her carving.
"A sword? Why?"
"So I can drive it through your heart." She turned to look at him, but his expression was one of unamusement, not fear, and she sighed again. "Because I've been on this island for over a week now and I'm growing bored," she answered honestly. "I haven't seen so much as a single glimpse of a sail."
Jaqen was silent for a moment, picking absently at a stray thread on his burlap trousers. She was glad he had finally begun to wear them again. She had been walking the wide perimeter of the island just to distract herself from his naked body, and her feet were aching.
"Would you teach me?" he asked eventually.
"Teach you what?"
"To fight. You are a skilled swordsman."
Arya frowned and paused momentarily in her work. "How do you..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Nevermind. I'm not sure I want to know."
Despite her words, he answered her. "I know much about you, lovely girl. I have watched you for a long time, waiting until you would come to me."
"But I didn't come to you," she countered, examining the crudely carved spear in her hands. "You brought me."
He sighed heavily, a frown on his handsome features. "Yes. You are a constant reminder of that."
She cocked an eyebrow but he refused to respond, crossing his arms over his chest and staring moodily toward the ocean. She laughed quietly at the sight and then snapped the wooden rod in half over her knee, handing him one piece and taking the other.
"Come on. Let's see what you're capable of."
They spent the better part of a month on Lorath's stony beaches, the hollow thump of wood punctuating their footfalls as they danced through the swirling surf. Jaqen learned much in that time and he was easily able to block her strikes, the bruises he had sustained long since faded.
"You should join my new crew," Arya said appreciatively as he managed to land a strike across her ribs. "I'll need able fighters."
Her companion smiled at the compliment, then grew serious again and shook his head. "I cannot leave the island."
Arya frowned, smacking him soundly on the hip and trying to hide her disappointment. "Why not?"
Jaqen shrugged and blocked her next blow with ease. "It is our way."
"Then your ways are foolish."
He laughed softly at that. "Perhaps. But the others of my kind are happy here."
"The others..." Arya's brow furrowed and she hissed when his weapon struck her shoulder. "Where are they? I've been here for over a month and you're the only one I've seen."
"They live inland," he replied vaguely. "They no longer need to stay on the shore."
Arya began to question him, but when something fluttered at the edge of her vision she whirled about. As she turned, she lost her footing on the wet stones and went careening toward her companion. He caught her easily but was knocked flat by the force of her fall, landing heavily on his back as she fell on top of him.
Though his head hit the stones with an audible crack and his vision was swimming, he saw her gaze turn to his and for a long moment, she held his stare. There was something in her eyes that looked like hesitation and his eyelids fluttered shut when her warm breath ghosted over his lips. Though she did not kiss him, she remained where she was, tangled in his arms.
At the horizon, a ship changed its course, and with her attention turned, it sailed away unnoticed.
"I'm sorry," Arya apologized as she tore a strip of cloth from her tunic and then wrung out a wet rag. "I thought I..." she trailed off, suddenly remembering the cause of her fall. "Saw something." For a moment, she felt the urge to run back to the beach. If she lit a fire she might yet be rescued. But one look at the foggy gaze of her companion changed her mind and she refocused her attention, dabbing at his bleeding head. Someday, another ship would come.
"Nothing that won't heal," Jaqen replied, though his wince suggested that it was worse than he let on. Although it stung, he enjoyed the light touch of her fingertips. He had kept a respectful distance since her initial rejection of his advances but he desperately longed to feel her skin against his own. He had lived his life only to serve her desires, but the storm had altered their course and now it was him that needed her, with an intensity that frightened him. He wondered if this was how the humans felt when they were lured to the Lorathi shores and then thought bitterly that at least they could ease the ache.
He spoke suddenly, startling her. "Tell me about your ship."
Arya raised her eyebrows, tying the linen and gauging his reaction to see if she had bound it too tightly. "What about her?"
"Everything." His eyes met hers and she broke away, moving to the window.
Eventually, she sighed. "I first set foot on her decks when I was just a child. My family was dead and I was trying to find a better life at sea. She was the Night's Watch then, and Yoren was her captain. He took me in, dressed me as a boy so the crew would keep their hands off of me and handed me a mop. I spent two years swabbing the decks without complaint and Yoren was impressed. He began to teach me how to work the sails, and steer the ship. His First Mate, Jory, gave me my first sword and taught me how to use it. When I turned thirteen it became impossible to pretend I was a boy and I was forced to use that sword on one of the men when he came to my bunk. He went to the captain, bleeding and crying that I had attacked him, but Yoren knew the truth. He walked the plank and our captain promised worse for anyone else who tried to harm me."
"He sounds like a kind man."
"He was," Arya said, her soft smile widening into a grin. "For a pirate. But he was cruel when he needed to be, and he wasn't afraid to punish the men who disobeyed him. It wasn't long after that when Jory was killed. Another ship passed through our waters and opened fire. We beat them back, but lost Jory and a few of the others. When Yoren asked me to take his place as First Mate, I accepted, and I stayed at Yoren's side for another two years.
"Eventually, he grew ill, and there was nothing that we could do to make it better. Gods know we tried, but..." She sighed. "He died slowly, and painfully. Sometimes I wonder if I should have given him the gift of mercy, after all he did for me, and plunged my dagger through his heart. But...I couldn't. And so I watched him waste away. On his deathbed, he asked me to take the ship, and so I did."
"How did the men feel about that?"
Arya laughed. "They didn't particularly like it. The ones who refused to follow my command were thrown overboard with iron chains around their legs, and the others I allowed to stay. When we reached the next port I carved her new name into the bow and had the head of a wolf fashioned for her mast. It was there that I took on new men, my First Mate Gendry among them. He was stubborn as a bull and hot headed, but an able fighter and a good commander."
She grew quiet for a long moment. "I hope they all find peace in the waters."
Jaqen nodded solemnly, taking in the expression of grief and regret on her features.
"Do you miss it?" he asked softly.
"Yes." The wind blew her hair from her face and she inhaled the salty tang of the air. "It calls to me. You say that you cannot leave your island, and I tell you that I cannot stay." She turned to meet his gaze, eyes full of determination and longing. "The sea is in my blood, Jaqen, and it's where I truly belong."
Each night seemed to last a lifetime and Arya lost further track of time with each second that she spent tucked away from the rest of the world. She passed her days exploring the coast, one eye always on the ocean, lest a ship appear to return her to the sea. Her nights were spent with Jaqen, telling him tales of her adventures and listening to his voice when he thought her asleep.
Though he looked enough like other men, she knew that he was something more than human. She wished that she could tell Gendry that he had been right. She had been pulled from the sea to the shores of Lorath, and the creature she found there hummed a tune that she somehow knew, deep within her soul. It was hauntingly familiar and each night, it shifted. He would change a single note, or a simple phrase, and she would feel a sudden ache in her chest at the sound of it. The feeling always faded and he would stop with a heavy sigh, a strange and profound sorrow in his eyes.
Once he had healed, he rejoined her on her sojourns to the craggy beach. One afternoon, as she absently tied bushels of wood together with lengths of dried kelp, he stood waist deep in the waves, his gaze intently searching the clear waters. When he suddenly lunged forward with a triumphant cry Arya looked up in alarm. He looked back at her, a wide smile on his face and a wriggling fish in his hands. She couldn't help but laugh at the sight and she abandoned her work to wade to his side.
"How did you do that?"
He shrugged. "I could teach you, if you like." He placed the fish almost reverently on the shore, far enough from the waves that it could not return.
Arya nodded, laughing again. "I'd like that very much."
His gaze was sharp as he met her eyes and he nodded. "Very well. Come."
They spent several hours in the waves as Jaqen tried in vain to teach Arya to fish and he had nearly given up when she gave a loud gasp and raised her hands to reveal her catch. It was small, but it was a start, and as they cleaned and cooked it for their meal she ate it with pride.
"Try some," she said with a smile, extending a hand.
Jaqen shook his head. "You caught it. It's yours to eat."
"But you're sharing yours."
He smiled. "Yes, but mine was far bigger."
She pursed her lips at the jab and pushed again. "I mean it, try some. It's the best fish I've ever eaten."
He eyed her in silence for a moment before complying, leaning forward so she could place the small chunk of meat in his mouth. When his lips closed around her fingers she did not pull away and he kissed their tips lightly before leaning back. Her eyes were dark when they met his and she stared at him for a long moment, before breaking from her trance and returning to her meal.
"It's good, isn't it?" she asked, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded silently, his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen his reflection in the waters, and the way that his body had begun to weaken and grow feeble. Arya had not noticed the change, but he could feel it taking its hold each time she searched the horizon. For the moment, his heart beat strong again and something akin to hope rose in his chest. Perhaps there was still time. Each night he sang softly over her sleeping form and he could sense that his song was nearing its completion. If he could finish it before she took to the seas, then she would be his. And if not...he would live with her choice, while he could.
Arya absently watched Jaqen poke at the crude fireplace, her gaze wandering from his bare shoulders down the length of his spine. When he glanced her way and caught her staring she flushed and cleared her throat. "You know all about me," she said, deflecting his satisfied smirk. "But I know very little about you. Tell me about yourself. About your people."
He raised his eyebrows. "Haven't you heard all the stories already?"
She frowned slightly. "I've heard tales of murderous fish people, but...so far, you haven't tried to kill me or grown a tail."
He chuckled softly and prodded about for a bit longer before moving to sit down across from her.
"There is legend among us, about a man who lived some centuries ago. More than anything else in the world, he wanted a wife. A woman who would live at his side and fulfill his every desire. But, no such woman existed. So, he came here, to Lorath, and every day he knelt at the shore and prayed to the gods to give him such a creature. After many years, when he had nearly given up hope, the waves before him began to shift and change, shaping the form of a beautiful woman who walked from the ocean and became his wife. The child born from their union was the first siren."
Although she knew what he was, it was the first time he had admitted it in words, and she suppressed a shiver.
"We've lived on Lorath ever since. We watch the seas and those who live upon it. When we choose someone with which we wish to share our lives, we learn about them, watching, listening, and then becoming everything that they desire most and bringing them to our shores with our songs."
Arya was quiet for a moment. She picked absently at the edge of the cot, a strange flutter spreading from the pit of her stomach. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"You chose me?"
Jaqen nodded.
"Why?"
He sighed and raised a hand as though he meant to place it over hers, before dropping it back to his lap. "You are brave, and cunning. You are kind to those who deserve your kindness, and ruthless to those who do not. You are beautiful. And I saw the passion with which you loved your ship, and your men, and the sea." He held her gaze, though his voice wavered slightly. "I had hoped that one day I could make you feel the same for me."
Arya stayed silent, unsure of what to say. She thought that perhaps...she could, in time. But she couldn't admit that. Couldn't promise it. Not when her heart still yearned for the world beyond.
"You should sleep, lovely girl," Jaqen said gently, saving her from the need to reply.
She nodded, turning her back to him and curling up on the cot. With the sound of the waves to soothe her, she fell asleep. Most nights, she dreamt of the sea, and of her ship, and of the life that seemed to fade further from her memory with each passing day. But that night, she dreamt of a different life. A life with him.
When Arya woke Jaqen was busy packing a bundle of food and she sat up with a frown, stretching her arms over her head.
"Where are you going?"
"Inland," he replied. He turned to look at her and she felt herself warm beneath his appreciative gaze. "I must speak with the others."
"Should I accompany you?"
Jaqen shook his head. "This is something I must do alone. You stay here. I will be back by nightfall."
She nodded and watched him go, waiting until he had disappeared into the thick fog before making her way to the beach. She walked slowly, absently kicking the pebbles beneath her as she went. When she had first arrived it hurt for her to walk upon them with bare feet, but now, she felt nothing. The storm had been months ago now, how many she didn't know, and with each day that passed she grew more and more unsure.
Though she wished to return to her life on the seas, her ship was gone, as was her crew. She would have to start her life anew and that frightened her. Or…she could stay on the island. It wasn't anything like the life she had created for herself, but the rocky shores and the little shack at the water's edge were beginning to feel welcome and familiar.
And then there was Jaqen...
Despite her better judgement, she was beginning to fall in love with him. Lured to the island or not, he had taken a physical form to reflect her desires, and desire him she did.
Sometimes, as he slept across the room, she allowed herself to think of how his hands would caress her body, how his lips would taste, how he would feel inside of her. But before she could cross the room and wake him, Gendry's words would return to her, and she would stop. Not a soul who's succumbed to them has left their shores.
She enjoyed the rapture with which he listened to her stories and she flushed beneath his longing stares, but she could not allow herself to truly love him. Not when she still belonged to the sea.
Sighing, she shook her head to clear her thoughts and walked to the raft that she had been carefully crafting. It wouldn't get her far, but it was finally sturdy enough to hold her weight and let her drift out to sea. With Jaqen gone for the day she had nothing to tie her to the island and so she pushed her raft into the surf and sat upon it, idly running her hands through the water.
The Shivering Sea was cold and as clear as crystal and she watched crabs skitter through the waving clumps of seaweed that brushed against her fingers. She settled comfortably in the center of the raft and kept an eye out for passing fish to keep her mind occupied. Since Jaqen had first taught her to fish with her hands she had gotten better and by the time the sun had begun to set and she rowed back to the shore she had a plentiful bounty that would keep them fed for the better part of a week.
She dragged her raft back up the beach and gathered her catch in her arms, walking back toward the shack. When she arrived it was still empty and she frowned, setting down the fish before walking back out and squinting into the distance. She was about to turn away when she caught sight of a figure at the edge of the cliffs, face down on the ground and unmoving.
Her heart leapt to her throat and she began to run toward him, calling out his name. His skin was cold to the touch when she reached his side and she turned him onto his back, gasping at the sight of his hollow cheeks and pallid flesh.
"Jaqen, wake up."
She shook him gently and a light moan issued from his lips, but he did not move, lying limply in her arms. Sliding her hands beneath his back and under his knees, she lifted him with little effort. He was far too light and his head lolled loosely to rest against her neck as she hurried toward their shack.
His eyelids fluttered weakly when she placed him on the cot and he whispered hoarsely. "You left me." There was no accusation in his gaze, only grief and pain.
"I only went out to fish," she replied helplessly. "I don't understand. What happened?"
He opened his mouth to respond but before he could his eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped back into unconsciousness, his frail body trembling.
She stared at him, confused and frightened. When he had left that morning, he had looked perfectly fine. The man before her now was nearly unrecognizable and she did not know what she could do to help him. After heating some water and gently dabbing a warm cloth over his skin she settled by his side, wrapping her arms around him and praying to the gods that he would live through the night.
Jaqen teetered between life and death for three days, and on the fourth, his fever finally broke and the color began to return to his skin. Arya watched over him in her every waking moment, and by the time he regained consciousness and opened his eyes to look at her, she knew what she had to ask.
"Jaqen," she said softly. "What happens if I return to the sea?"
A long silence stretched between them, broken by a soft sigh. "If you leave the shores of Lorath, I will grow thin and pale, no matter what I do, wasting away until the waters takes me." He met her gaze, and there was no fear in his eyes, only resignation. "Though it was unfinished, you heard my song through the storm. If you leave me, it will mean my death. That is our curse."
"But if I stay," she answered. "Does it not mean my own? I have heard the tales of your kind. Those who succumb to you never return from the seas beyond your island. Have I doomed myself already?"
Jaqen frowned slightly and then struggled to his feet, accepting her offered shoulder and leaning against it wearily. "Come with me. There is something I should show you."
With his arm around her, he led her slowly from the shore, toward the mainland. As they walked, the stony crags began to disappear, replaced by rolling hills and verdant fields. They were far from the ocean when he stopped at last, looking down at a village that stretched wide and long across a low valley.
"What is this?" Arya asked in confusion. "I don't understand."
"Look," he said simply.
She obeyed, returning her gaze to the homes below. Between them people wandered slowly, exchanging smiles and tender glances. There was a haunting melody that rose from the town, a song made from a thousand different voices, and Arya looked closer.
Beside a stone well sat a dark-haired man, and in his lap lay another, fairer, with brown hair that brushed his shoulders and green eyes the color of the kelp that swayed beneath the ocean.
At the edge of a small stream, a large scarred man sat watching a woman bathe, her long auburn hair plastered to her pale skin as her blue eyes danced with laughter.
In the streets a tall, homely woman walked hand in hand with a handsome blonde man, his green eyes regarding her with affection.
Arya realized with a start that she knew half of them from her time at sea. One was Renly Baratheon, a man of royal blood who had renounced his throne for a life on the high seas. The other man was Sandor Clegane, a captain known for the blood red flag that sailed from his mast. And the woman was Brienne of Tarth, the first female pirate to sail from Westeros, in whose footsteps a young Arya Stark had followed. Each of them had met their end by the Lorathi shores, and the men they left behind spoke in hushed whispers of the sirens' songs that had lured them to their deaths.
"They..." Arya shook her head. "I don't understand."
"We are not the murderous monsters your kind believes us to be," Jaqen said gently. "It is true that few leave the island, and that those who do have died. But, that has been their decision. We choose them, call them to our shores, and then give them a choice. Stay, and live with us, or leave, and let us die."
"That's hardly a choice," Arya said indignantly. "You draw us here, become whatever it is we desire and then tell us that to leave is to kill you. You're forcing our hands!"
Jaqen shrugged. "Do they look unhappy?"
She looked back to the scene before her. "No."
"And would you be?"
Her gaze met his, searching and hopeful, and she sighed. "I do not know. I have spent my life at sea. It's all I know."
"Thus," he replied. "You have a choice. You can return to your life on the ocean, or begin a new life here. I will not force you to stay against your will, but if you leave, and you survive, you might find that the world beyond has changed."
In the weeks that followed, Arya kept her distance, angry at Jaqen for the choice that he was forcing her to make. She almost wished that the storm had taken her, or that Jaqen had finished his song and sent her diving from the decks to the Lorathi shores. At least then, the choice would have been made for her and she would not have been torn between two worlds.
The siren did not recover completely, but neither did he worsen. He let her have her space, but occasionally, in the warmth of their shack, he would brush a hand across her cheek or run his fingers through her hair. When he did, she saw the color briefly return to his cheeks, but as he pulled away, it faded again, turning sallow and cold.
She had been there for nearly half a year and the horizon had given her no hope. No ships would brave the Shivering Sea for fear of the island's inhabitants.
On occasion she would hear ghostly music through the fog as others called to those they had chosen, their songs entrancing, but not made for her ears.
One night, she dreamt again of Jaqen. Though her waking mind fought against the feelings that welled in her chest, her subconscious welcomed them. At long last she felt his hands against her skin, his body warm and soft beneath hers, the touch of his lips on her throat. As he watched her writhe in the throes of her slumber he hummed a tune and she heard it resonate within her mind, urging her onward until at last she gave herself to him.
It was finally finished, he could feel it, but he was afraid. He had grown to love her as he had never imagined he could and he thought that she felt the same, though she was too stubborn and frightened to admit it. If he was wrong, and if still she returned to the sea, then he was lost. But, if he had seen the truth in her longing stares...
With a pounding heart, his lips parted, and he called her from her dream with the notes of his song.
She woke with a start to find herself alone. The shack was empty and the night was still and silent, but for the melody that beckoned her. Not even the wind dared to blow as Jaqen stood at the water's edge.
Arya walked from the shack with careful footsteps, following the music that carried from the stony shores. It sounded like the clashing of steel, the banter of the Wolfswood's crew, the creaking of her boards beneath their boots, the crashing of waves and the fluttering of sails. It was the feel of the wind in her hair and the sun on her face and the smell of the salty sea.
And it was him.
She walked resolutely to his side and when he turned his face to hers she cradled it in her palms. His lips were soft and warm against her own and she placed his hands on her bare skin.
"I have made my choice," she whispered softly. "I am yours."
On the rocky and unforgiving shore, she succumbed to him, and far to the west, her name was turned to legend.
Arya Stark, captain of the ill-fated Wolfswood, had met her end in the icy waters beyond the island of Lorath. Her body was never found and they say that she survived the storm, only to be lured away. She had been powerless to resist and so she had fallen, yet another victim of a siren's song.