A/N: Hey, good morning. Happy Monday. Although today is posting day and we have a new chapter, I have other news related to this story as well. For the past week or so I've been going through every chapter of this and Ice and Fire to make sure that my timing is all correct (it really wasn't, but is now), and as I've been fixing the timeline, I've also been doing just general editing. So, if you're feeling like it's time for a re-read, now's the time to do it. I haven't changed any major details, but there are a lot of things I added to kinda just tie up loose ends and make sure I didn't mention something and then just never bring it back in. So yeah. That being said, it's not imperative that you read the new edits, I would just say it's a good bet in case I mention things going forward that build off of any of the added details. Anyway, that's all for now, so just read and hopefully enjoy. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin except for Valgeir, who is very briefly mentioned, and Solara, who has a quick appearance.

Rating: M for violence and suggestive content.

Though it wasn't teeming with thieves and assassins as Riften was, Windhelm was a city with its fair share of secrets and in the time that Jaqen H'ghar had been there, he had learnt them all. The alchemist, Nurelion, had discovered the resting place of the fabled White Phial. Viola Giordano's stolen ring was safe and sound—on the shelf of Revyn Sadri's used wares shop.

He had reported to the guards the identity of the killer known as the Butcher, and in Arya's absence, had kept a close watch on Sansa Stark, for she was pregnant, he knew, and the way she gently caressed her belly was proof enough that the child was not that of her abusive husband. He knew, of course, that Sandor Clegane was very much alive, but Robb Stark had asked him to protect his sister that night in the dungeons, and telling her of her lover's survival would only put her in greater danger.

These were not the only secrets that he kept for himself, and when the soldiers returned from the capture of Fort Neugrad, he was unprepared to find that one of them had been revealed.

The leader of the prisoners carried Arya through the gates in his arms, and, barking orders at the men that followed him, took her to the temple of Talos. Jaqen found her feverish and delirious amongst those wounded at Whiterun, and, donning the robes of a priest, stayed at her side.

A letter arrived from Solara as he waited for his lovely girl to wake, and slipping from the temple, he became a beggar, and the body of an itinerant lumberjack surfaced the next morning. Though hesitant to leave her side, he completed the contract, for perhaps if Sithis was given a life, he would spare the one that lingered on his doorstep.

It was as he was returning to the temple that he found a figure hovering above Arya's unconscious form, sharpened teeth bared in a ghastly grin. In an instant, his hands found the twin blades at his hips and with silent footsteps he advanced on the man, opening his throat from end to end. It was the body of the soldier known as Biter that sank to the bottom of the White River and after his attempt on her life, Jaqen did not leave her side again.

At the end of three days, Arya's fever broke, and when her grey eyes finally fluttered open, they met his with confusion. He was still dressed in the robes of a priest, but it was his own eyes that held her gaze.

"Jaqen?"

When he nodded silently and took her hand in his, she relaxed slightly, though still looked wary. "Where am I? What happened to me?"

"A girl was nearly killed at the fort, by one of her own men, they said. The Nord Valgeir managed to keep a girl alive long enough to get her here, to the Temple of Talos. A man has been at her side ever since."

Her expression shifted as he spoke and she sat up to look around at the other wounded soldiers. "Is Lommy here? Did they save Lommy too?"

"They say he was the one who tried to kill a girl," Jaqen replied. "He is dead."

Sinking back down, Arya shook her head weakly. "It wasn't him. He tried to stop them, but they killed him." After a moment, she looked back up at Jaqen, her eyes wet with tears. "I almost died, Jaqen. I could see Hircine coming towards me, calling to me. I thought that I would have to join him, but…I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to die."

At Hircine's name, his heart clenched painfully. Certainly, she would go to the Huntsman's hunting grounds at her death, for she was one of his children, and there, she would be with her first love again. Though he had been taken too early from her in life, they could be together once more in death, and it would be so, for he knew that she could never give up her gift for an afterlife in Sovngarde, nor could he ask her to. Arya Stark was the woman he had fallen in love with, and the woman before him would be Arya Stark no longer without the cursed blood that flowed in her veins.

Able to decipher his thoughts to some extent, Arya squeezed his hand gently, and when he saw the guilt in her eyes, he kissed her gently. When she pulled away, she spoke quietly.

"I chose you, Jaqen."

He nodded. "A man understands." And yet, he did not wish to have her only in life, for the gods were often unfair in such matters as living, and she lived a perilous life indeed.

Under the care of the temple's healers, Arya recovered quickly, and though he could still see the pain in her eyes, she insisted on returning to life as usual. Though she insisted that he was being foolish, he treated her gently when she invited him into her bed once more, and since her identity had been revealed in part, she allowed him to stay, and when she woke she remained as Arya Stark, for Arry Snow was no more.

He saw little of her as she returned to her duties and though he tried to busy himself about Windhelm, he was haunted by the image of Hircine, calling to his lovely girl as she lay dying. When he could bear the nightmares no longer, he left her, and she allowed it, but only after making him promise that he would return to her.

With his vow made, he traveled to his former home in Winterhold, and under the guise of a curious and eager apprentice, found himself wandering through the many shelves of the Arcanaeum. He lifted a tome written by Sage Svari, former Skald of the Companions, and within, he found a passage that confirmed his fears.

I do not think I should need to remind anyone, Svari wrote, especially any Nord, of the evil of the Daedric Princes—even of one who claims the joy of hunting as his realm. There may be some drawn to the wild power of werewolves, but you'd better remember that you'll never see the halls of Sovngarde when Hircine claims your soul. Lycanthropes spend eternity in Hircine's Hunting Grounds, slaves to his unending thirst for blood and the chase, instead of drinking mead and brawling with the heroes of legend.

Jaqen had learnt in his lifetime, however, that even gods, or princes, could be manipulated, and it was oft written that bargains were made with the Daedra in exchange for their favor or some element of their power. Though he knew not what it could cost, he supposed that there was something he could trade for the soul of his lover, if only Hircine would give his price.

The Book of Daedra described in great deal the powers and realms of each of the thirteen princes, and though Jaqen learned nothing new of the Huntsman, a previous page caught his eye as he went to close the tome.

Hermaeus Mora, whose sphere is scrying of the tides of Fate, of the past and future as read in the stars and heavens, and in whose dominion are the treasures of knowledge and memory.

If anyone knew of a way to free Arya from her dark obligation to Hircine, it would be Hermaeus Mora, the most powerful and dangerous of the Daedra by far. The College's own Augur of Dunlain had once attempted to hasten his acquisition of magickal knowledge and power through dealings with the Prince of Fate and in doing so had lost his mortality. The son that he had left behind grew to great power by his own mind, and though he knew far more than most the dangers of bargaining with Daedra, the man that he had become was willing to pay any price for the soul of the woman that he loved.

Jaqen was on his way north to the outpost of a rumored Hermaeus Mora worshipper when Solara came to him. He found her seated atop a nearby rock when he woke from a fitful slumber, and the fact that she had managed to join him unnoticed was testament enough to his distracted state of mind.

"Jaqen," she said evenly by way of greeting.

"Listener," he replied, wary, but respectful.

After a long moment, she spoke again. "How is she?"

"Alive."

Solara nodded, visibly relieved, and then sighed. "I need you, Jaqen. We have a contract that could prove to be of great importance, and you're the only one I can trust with it."

"Who is a man to kill?"

"I don't know, exactly," the listener responded honestly. "The contract comes from a wizard by the name of Neloth, on the isle of Solstheim, and though he wishes someone dead, the Night Mother could not tell me who. There is some strange interference coming from the island, and though you are there to kill for the Dread Father, you must also find the source of it before you return."

"Yes, Listener."

She eyed him for a moment before speaking again. "I do not know when you will be able to come back to Skyrim. It could be many moons. Once, I would have sent you without question, but you are not the same man I met so many years ago. I understand what I am asking of you, and you must understand that you have no choice in the matter."

Curtly, Jaqen nodded. "A man understands perfectly, Listener. The contract will be completed, and when it has been finished, a man will return."

The quickest way to Solstheim was by ship from the Windhelm docks, and so Jaqen delayed his travels for one last night at Arya's side. She was bathing when he slipped into her chambers, and when she heard the rustling of his clothing, she moved forward to allow him room. Leaning back against his chest when he settled behind her, she sighed and closed her eyes.

Absently, he traced patterns with the droplets of water on her bent legs and when she turned her head to kiss his shoulder, he spoke.

"A man must go. Sithis calls for a soul on the isle of Solstheim."

"Solstheim?" Arya murmured. "That's quite the journey."

Jaqen nodded in agreement and kissed the top of her head. "It may be many moons before a man can return to his lovely girl."

Arya turned to face him, ignoring the water that sloshed over onto the floor. "So be it. I will be waiting for you." She leaned forward to kiss him, and settled on his lap, earning a soft moan. "Just promise that you'll come back to me. Always come back to me."

With his hands on her hips and her lips at his throat, he nodded. "A man will always return to you." Her mouth met his and he whispered against her lips. "Always."

Solstheim was a harsh and inhospitable place. To the south, it was dry, and the ash from Red Mountain blew about in the air, making it hard to see and harder to breathe. To the north, it was cold, cold enough to kill a man if he wasn't prepared for it, and far colder than even the northernmost regions of Skyrim.

From the ash, monsters rose and terrorized any who came near, though their source was unknown. They were only one of many mysteries on Solstheim, for much of the city was pulled beneath a strange trance, endlessly building a stone that reached for the sky, but that had no known purpose. The island felt evil, and Jaqen could sense it the moment he set foot on the Raven Rock docks.

The citizens under the island's strange spell stared about with empty eyes, and those who had been spared returned their gazes with fear. With the help of the bartender at The Retching Netch, he learned the location of the wizard who had given the contract, and after downing a bottle of sujamma, he continued on his way.

The strange creatures born from the ash rose along his path, but their glowing eyes dimmed as his daggers flew from his hips and they scattered to the wind, joining the clouds of ash that hung low in the sky.

Neloth was a Master Wizard of House Telvanni, and had holed himself up with his servants in the settlement of Tel Mithryn to the southeast. When Jaqen arrived at the massive hollowed-out fungus that he called his home, he was granted access, though the Dunmer regarded him with utmost suspicion.

"Who are you?" he grunted, his arms crossed over his chest and his red eyes narrowed.

"Jaqen H'ghar," he replied. "A man comes here by the will of Sithis and your call for the Dread Lord's justice."

The wizard relaxed slightly at that, but only slightly. "Ah. The Dark Brotherhood then. Good. I have a matter that needs taking care of and I simply don't have the time to deal with it myself. There are too many strange things going on about Solstheim to waste my time on a triviality such as murder."

Jaqen cocked an eyebrow at that but allowed him to continue.

"The other day, my steward was killed by those creatures that the locals have taken to calling 'ash spawn', and so I decided to look into where they were coming from and how, and my apprentice discovered that the grave of his predecessor is empty. It seems that my former apprentice Ildari is at the heart of those monsters, and has been kept from the brink of death by the very same magic that she has used to create them." He raised a strange stone in his hand, and it slowly pulsed in his palm, as though it were beating. "I need her killed, and you will be the one to do it."

Jaqen nodded.

"Good," Neloth said brusquely, turning away and moving to one of the many cluttered tables about the room. "I performed a ritual on the heart stone that she left behind for me to find, and it revealed her location to me. She is in Highpoint Tower, to the northwest of here. Go, and rip that thrice-damned heart stone from her chest."

Frowning, but not resisting, Jaqen nodded once more, and was about to take his leave when something caught his eye. A thick, black tome lay almost absently on the edge of an enchanter's table, and something about it called to Jaqen.

"What is this?" He asked, running a hand across its cover. An intricate figure was carved into its cover, and he felt a strange pull in his insides as his fingertips danced along it.

"Oh, that," Neloth replied distractedly. "A black book. I believe it may be connected to what's happening here in Solstheim, but I have yet to find someone brave enough to venture inside of it."

"Inside of it?" Jaqen echoed.

The wizard hummed in affirmation and then after a moment, he spoke again. "Yes. It is said that the black books are doorways to Apocrypha, the realm of the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora."

The leather spine cracked wearily as he lifted the edge of the cover, and it was as a thin, faint wisp of black smoke curled from its pages that Jaqen realized what it was that he must do.