Hello again, lovely readers!

I was so happy with the reactions to the last update! Now, before you all think I am evil (I am, but only sometimes) let me say that I am happy because of how many reviews I got! If I had known that I would have to kill Gendry to get so many reviews I would have killed him earlier! XDDD KIDDING!

Btw sorry for the delay, lots of shit went down in life.

Sooooo yeah, most of you weren't happy with that death. It was one of the things that I had clear as soon as I started writing the story. "Gendry is going to die". But trust me, my beloved readers, and just keep reading ^.^

Also, warning, because I already went through a phase of half of you being angry with me because you are Gendrya fans and Jaqen/Arya was happening, and the other half were angry because you are Jaqen/Arya fans and Gendrya was happening. So before anyone else gets angry with me for whatever reason (though believe me, I know perfectly fine what reasons those will be) let me tell you: this is a Gendrya story with three main characters. Arya, Gendry, and Jaqen. All three of them will have/had important moments and scenes and things they had to do, and both ships had to happen, but it is still a Gendrya story with important Jaqen moments. Just to avoid misunderstandings and tomatoes flying at my head from both kinds of shippers.

Also, because even though I'm mostly a Gendrya fan but I love Jaqen/Arya, I will write a Jaqen/Arya story. I already have the main idea, I need to start developing the whole plot.

Anyways, please keep reading, keep enjoying, and please don't be angry and me for the evil things I write. I carefully plan all of them, so have faith in me :D

Enjoy!

"Arya."

Arya didn't respond. Sandor had been calling her name a couple of times already, but she hadn't even batted an eye. There was no sign that she had even heard him. Her eyes were fixed on Gendry's face. He looked very peaceful, as if he was in a deep sleep, immersed in a world of dreams. But he wasn't dreaming. His eyes would never open again. His sleep would be eternal.

It took Sandor a lot of effort to pull her away from Gendry's body after he reached her in the battlefield in the Red Mountains. The battle was over and won when Gendry and Arya had emerged from the caves, but Black Walder had managed to steal the complete victory from them. Arya had screamed and lashed out at Sandor like a wild animal when he put his arms around her and lifted her from the ground. She wrestled and punched him and scratched him so fiercely that he had let her go for just a second, but he had managed to catch her again and take her away from the horrible sight that was her husband's fallen body. Arya hadn't stopped fighting for a single second, and Sandor had deep and long scratches that had bled a lot. He had even needed to sew a few of them shut because of how deep and long they were. His hands and part of his arms made him look like he had been attacked by a wild wolf. While he took Arya away from there, Jaqen had run to Gendry's side to see if there was any chance of saving him, but Gendry was already dead. There was nothing that could be done for him.

The soldiers had made camp, and they took Gendry to one of the tents. When a lord died away from home his body was usually either taken to his castle, where he was given proper burial, or it was burned and his ashes were taken to the castle. Arya was the one that had to make the decision of what to do, but she hadn't said a word. After she calmed down she had installed herself in the same tent where they had taken Gendry's body, and she hadn't moved from his side. She refused to leave him. The day ended, and night came and passed, and after it came another day. The night would come in a few hours, and she still refused to move from his side. She didn't sleep, she didn't eat… She didn't even cry. She was just there, sitting by his side, holding his hand in hers and looking at him. It was as if she believed that he would wake up at any moment, but he was not going to wake up…

"Arya, please," Sandor insisted. He had come into the tent with a bowl full of food. She hadn't eaten anything, and he worried for her. He worried that, in her grief, she would forget to live and eventually fade away. He was afraid that they would lose her too. The olds gods and the new and all the other god everyone else in Westeros and Essos and even Sothoryos knew that Arya Stark was one of the strongest people that the world had seen in a long time. She had endured in her childhood what few people could endure, she had survived when she was merely a child what not even the strongest and fiercest warriors could survive. She had bent many times, but she had never broken. But Sandor feared that maybe this time it was just too much. How many times could someone bend before they snapped and never got back up again?

"Arya, you need to eat," he insisted. He needed her to eat something, even if it was just one bite! Just enough to keep her alive. Sandor had grown to love Arya like a little sister, the little sister that he had once had and lost to his brother's viciousness and anger. Arya was his Little Bird's sister, he couldn't let her die! Besides, she was with child. Sandor might be a man, and a brute one at that, but he wasn't stupid and he knew that Arya needed to keep herself healthy to avoid complications. Seven hells, even those Frey bastards had been feeding her for the sake of the babe! "Just a little bit."

"I don't want it," Arya spoke at last. Her voice was low and harsh, barely audible. It was a broken sound, like that of a small and dying animal. "Go away."

It was all she wanted, for them all to go away. She wanted everyone, the whole world to disappear. Sandor wanted to insist some more, but he knew that it was in vain. He just stood there for a couple more seconds, staring at Arya with the tiny hope that maybe she would change her mind, but she didn't. She completely ignored him and didn't take her eyes off Gendry's dead body in front of her.

Sandor sighed, feeling defeated. He turned to leave, but before he exited the tent he shot Arya one last look full of pity, and then he looked at Gendry lifeless body. In the dim light he might look like he was indeed sleeping, but once you got near enough the was no dout: Death was in that tent.

You took her with you when you left, Sandor thought, wishing he could say those words to Gendry's spirit, if just a thing existed and was present in that tent.

He left the tent and walked a few steps away from it, only to stop in his tracks when Jaqen H'ghar approached him. The Faceless Man had dark circles underneath his eyes; ever since they had found Arya and Gendry had died he hadn't been able to sleep, not even a second. He was always awake, worrying about Arya and watching over her, even though she had ignored him just like she had ignored everyone else. In those years Arya had missed Jaqen very much, and had she realized that he was there with her in the past, before any of this happened, she would have been ecstatic. But, as things were, she couldn't even feel the joy of being reunited with her dearest friend whom she had thought she would never see again.

"How is she?" Jaqen asked Sandor as soon as he saw him. Sandor sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Same as yesterday," he told the man the truth, and he could see the worry growing in the Faceless Man's grayish blue eyes. Sandor had never liked the man much in the past, he hadn't even trusted him, but right now he couldn't help but feel extremely surprised. He has heard countless stories about the Faceless Men, about people whose souls were so hard and cold that they weren't even human. Many said that they weren't even real people, that they were Death itself, disguised in the form of many men with many faces, mysterious as only Death could be. But how could Sandor actually believe in all those stories when he was seeing so much emotion in the eyes of the man currently standing before him? There was pain in those eyes, pain that the man felt because he was unable to protect the girl that he cared about so much. He had saved her, yes, but he hadn't been able to shield her from all harm and in the end she got hurt. Sandor showed Jaqen the bowl full of untouched food and saw the worry growing in the man's eyes. "She won't even take a bite. She is just there, sitting next to him, watching... What is she waiting for, he isn't going to wake up!"

Sandor felt so frustrated that he wanted to kick something, or maybe punch someone. Truth was that he understood perfectly fine the grief that Arya was feeling. Hadn't he felt it too when they told him that Sansa was dead? She wasn't, but for many months he believed that the flames that killed his brother had consumed her too and taken her away from him forever. He could still remember the pain, a pain a strong that made him blind and feel as if even single bone in his body was breaking, even single muscle was tearing. It was a pain that tore him apart. He had felt it again, when he went in search of his son but couldn't find him. After those two experiences yes, he understood Arya and what she was feeling, but it didn't stop him from worrying. In fact, it made him worry even more, because he knew how badly you could break, how low you could fall, how hard it was to put yourself back together. It was almost impossible, he would dare say, unless a miracle happened.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I give up. I don't know what to do to make her listen, to make her see, make her realize that she is not alone! Fucking hells, she is with child, she needs to take care of herself! She will lose the babe if she goes on like this, I know it, I know! And what then? Then she will feel even worse!"

"Calm down, Clegane," Jaqen told him. "She is grieving, not deaf. Hearing you talk like that won't help her."

"I just don't know what to do," Sandor admitted. He felt helpless, an emotion which he wasn't accustomed to feel, even though he had found himself in many helpless situations before. He always found a way to deal with them, but he honestly didn't know what to do now. How could he make Arya react? How could you fix one of the strongest and most stubborn women in the world after she had been broken?

Arya was broken. Jaqen knew it just as well as Sandor.

"She has suffered too much," the Faceless Man murmured, not looking at Sandor anymore but at the tent where Arya was. "She suffered the loss of her father, and then I am witness of the things she had to do to survive. She was always strong. But the separation from her siblings, the death of her mother and brother, her need to flee the country, the war… It gets to a point where it is just too much. She has been locked up in a cave, chained to the wall all alone in complete darkness with no other company than her enemies, fearing for her son's life. She is stronger than iron and steel, she survived everything and she will survive her husband's death too."

"I don't think she will, not if she continues like this," Sandor disagreed.

"She will," Jaqen insisted, and the confidence in his voice made Sandor hesitate and think that maybe the Faceless Man was right. "I know her, I know that she just needs time. She will get better, she will survive this and continue to be strong. That is what she does best, survive and endure, it is in her bones."

Sandor nodded slightly. The Faceless Man was right, Arya was incredibly strong, she could move on, she could get better. However, the expression in Jaqen H'ghar's eyes darkened then.

"But she will never be the same."

No one was ever the same after losing someone they loved. Arya wasn't the exception. Every single death that she had suffered had changed her, little by little, until she became she person she now was. Gendry's death would only change her more.

"During the war she built up walls," Jaqen continued saying, and Sandor continued listening. The camp around them was very noisy, but somehow Jaqen's voice carried itself above all the noise with such clarity that it seemed to mute everything else. "Strong, thick walls to protect herself, like a stronghold. She kept those walls up after the war, afraid to fall victim of an attack if she ever dared to bring them down. Gendry managed to bring them down."

"So that is why she is suffering so much?" Sandor asked. "Because she didn't have her walls up to protect herself?"

"No, she would have suffered the same. She feels very strongly. What I mean is that she will build her walls up again, but she will make them taller and thicker. No one will be able to bring them down ever again. I don't want that for her, not after everything she went through to be able to be happy again. She doesn't deserve this fate."

It was then that Sandor noticed something. He had always been irritated by the man's manner of speech. It used to always be "a man this, a man that", "a girl this, a girl that", "a boy this, a boy that". Jaqen H'ghar didn't speak like that anymore. Gradually over the past month he had grown out of his custom to refer to himself and everyone else in the third person. Sandor couldn't help but wonder about it.

"I thought Faceless Men didn't refer to yourselves in the first person. That none of you were "I", but No One," it wasn't a question, it was a statement, but Jaqen caught the meaning behind it nonetheless.

"I am not No One anymore," he said.

"Because of her," again, it wasn't a question.

Jaqen didn't respond immediately. He simply stared at Sandor for a few seconds in silence before he slowly nodded. "Thanks to her," he corrected. It was just a word, but the meaning changed completely. Sandor narrowed his eyes. Would the assassin ever cease to be a mystery?

"You should go talk to her," he said then. "She might listen to you more than she listens to any of us. We need to get her out of there… before he starts rotting."

Jaqen nodded and left, heading towards the tent that Arya wouldn't leave. He hadn't had a chance to speak to her yet; the only time that he had been able to see her was after she and Gendry emerged from the caves and Gendry was killed. Since then he had just been able to see her from afar, and after she went into the tent he hadn't even gotten a glimpse from her.

He entered the tent quietly, trying not to startle Arya with his sudden presence, but it was as if she never even noticed him. She had her back turned to the entrance of the tent, so Jaqen couldn't see her face. All he could see was how she was sitting on a small wood stool next to the table over which Gendry's body was laid. Jaqen had seen many dead people. Hundreds, thousands! He had killed countless people during his many years of service to the Red god, he had seen people die in battlefields and in the streets and in their homes and he had never been bothered by it. But seeing Gendry was very different. When he saw Gendry's lifeless body lying there he felt pity, and sadness and anger. They had both fought hard for the same cause, and it wasn't fair that Gendry had to die in the end.

What really made Jaqen feel something that seemed like a hole in his chest was seeing Arya. He slowly approached her and sat on the stool next to her, the one where Sandor had sat before during his failed attempt to make her eat. He could finally see her face, and the hole in his chest grew larger. He was unaccustomed to having feelings, and he found that new sensation extremely bizarre. He had always been able to feel sympathy, it was what made him become friends with Arya in the first place so many years ago during the war, but any feeling other than that had been unknown to him before. After he met Arya and time passed he started feeling other things. He became able to feel worry, and thus he went to find her and accompanied her on her quest to kill Walder Frey at the Twins. He had been able to feel attraction, and even lust, and thus he had kissed her. He had been able to feel love, and thus he had let her go, he had stayed near her to protect her while in disguise, and he had gone to war for her alongside her husband. And feeling love had unlocked all the other aspects of his humanity that had been cast away the moment he became No One many years ago.

Those feelings had been locked away for so long that now that they were all coming back to him he felt like he was being punched in the face by a gigantic rock fist. What he was feeling at the moment was a sense of helplessness that he had no idea how to deal with, just like what had happened to Sandor. He hated seeing Arya like that. Things shouldn't have happened like that. They should be celebrating the fact that they had won, that the Freys were gone and Arya and Robb were safe. They shouldn't be grieving a death. Jaqen didn't know what to do. He was used to always having the answer, to being invincible. But he was just human, and humans weren't invincible and all-powerful, even if he had once believed that he was.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he should say, or what he must say. There was a difference; one was what Arya wanted to hear, and the other what she needed to hear. She wanted to hear that everything would be fine, that Gendry would come back to her. What she needed to hear was that he was gone forever and she must accept it and let go.

For some reason he couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't tell Arya that she had lost Gendry forever and cause her more misery. His gaze fell on Arya's hand tightly holding on to Gendry's hand. Gendry's skin had turned pale and cold, but the expression on his face was peaceful. It looked almost as if he was sleeping. One could even say that he was having a pleasant dream.

"It is my fault," Arya suddenly murmured, and Jaqen's eyes quickly found hers, even though she wasn't looking at him. "He would be alive if it wasn't for me."

"He was happy when he died," Jaqen said. "All he wanted was to get you back safe and sound, he wanted nothing more. He died with his wish granted."

"He shouldn't have been there to save me," Arya murmured more angrily than before. She didn't look weak, she looked furious, and by looking at her Jaqen knew that he was right. Arya would build her walls up and never let them down again. She finally tore her gaze away from Gendry and stared at Jaqen with anger in her eyes. That anger wasn't directed towards him, but towards herself. "This is all because of me. I should have never gone back when I left Winterfell. I should have never married him! He never wanted to be a lord, he just accepted the title because of me, because he didn't want me to be with a bastard blacksmith. If I hadn't gone back to him he would have remained a stupid bastard, a nobody, and he would be alive because no one would have gone after him!"

"That isn't true, Arya, you can't know what would have happened," Jaqen said. "It is not your fault, none of it is."

"Don't lie to me, it won't make me feel better!" Arya hissed. A single tear streamed down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away with her sleeve. Even now she was stubborn like that, not wanting anyone to see her crying. "Maybe if I had tried to escape earlier…"

"Half the Frey army was hidden in the mountains, you would have never gotten away," Jaqen assured her. He was impressed that she had managed to defeat the two men that had been keeping watch over her inside the caves, but she couldn't have defeated an entire army. Even if she had managed to sneak past them she wouldn't have made it far from the Red Mountains before being recaptured. "Gendry would have come looking for you and died in vain if you were dead."

"Then I am right. He would have been better off if I had left and never come back," Arya said, her voice softening again, though it was still tainted with endless bitterness and pain. She looked at Gendry for a brief moment in silence before returning her sad gray gaze to Jaqen. "That day when we boarded the ship to Braavos… You let me go, and I jumped. I never should have jumped overboard to join Gendry in the water, you shouldn't have let me go."

"It was what you wanted," Jaqen murmuring. He remembered that day perfectly, as if it had happened just yesterday. He remembered each and every word he spoke to Arya. He made her realize that she was in love with Gendry. He had realized something that day as well. He had realized that the attraction that he felt towards the lovely girl with the fire in her soul and the storm in her eyes was turning into something deeper and more intense, something that he didn't fully understand at that moment and definitely didn't now how to handle yet. He realized that he felt inappropriate; that he could never give to Arya what Gendry could give to her, peace. And so he had let her go, but he had never been strong enough to stay away.

"I wanted to go with you too," Arya admitted. She shrugged slightly. "I just… wanted him… more."

Jaqen nodded, understanding. There was silence yet again, and both of them looked at Gendry. Arya put her other hand on Gendry's chest. She looked like she would want nothing more than to lean forward and kiss him. There were stories in Westeros and also in Essos of princesses who fell victim of death-like sleep only to be awakened by their lover's kiss. Arya had always hated songs and stories, unlike her sister and many other girls, but she couldn't think of what she wouldn't give to make that one story be real.

"I could have loved you," she confessed then, so softly that her voice was almost audible. But Jaqen heard her and, even though she wasn't looking at him, she knew she was talking to him. "I think I already did, in some way. Maybe I always did, but not enough," she looked like she regretted that.

"The lovely girl must not regret the past, nor regret the life she has led," Jaqen told her, slipping back into her former and peculiar manner of speech. Maybe Arya could take some comfort in seeing that some things never changed, not completely, even if they were just small things. "Lovely Arya. Brave Arya. A girl chose the life she wanted for herself, and she made the right choice. She must never think otherwise."

"How can this be the right choice?" Arya wondered, staring at her husband's corpse with wide eyes full of horror. "How can any of this be right?!"

The answer was simple. "You have Robb," Jaqen reminded her, and for a moment Arya froze. It was as if, in her grief, she had been so blinded that she had forgotten her son. "You have another babe on the way. Gendry left you with two blessings. You have to be strong for them, Arya, you must."

"You are right," Arya agreed. There were tears in her eyes that she still refused to shed. Little by little the despair disappeared from her expression, and was replaced by a cold and hard mask. That was proof that Jaqen had been right all along. Arya would pull herself back together, she would move on. But she would change. What would happen to the brave and lovely girl that wanted to have daring adventures and who could laugh and run and jump all around the place an never grow tired? Her pack had been broken yet again, and she hated being a lone wolf. "You are right, I have to be strong… I will be, I promise."

"He has to be taken back home, to Storm's End. His body has to be put to rest."

"Yes, he does… Oh Jaqen," Arya cried softly, devastated, "how am I supposed to say goodbye?"

"I don't know," he replied with complete honesty. He had never said goodbye before… Not forever, at least. Whenever he had bid her farewell he had always come back to her.

"I don't think I can ever do it," she murmured, slightly shaking her head. "I am not ready. Not yet, it is too soon."

She winced in pain suddenly, and took her hand to her belly. Startled, Jaqen quickly stood up from the stool and knelt by her side, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Arya!"

"It's nothing," she said, though her expression was twisted in a painful grimace. Jaqen's eyes found her hand placed on he belly, which wasn't round yet, but would soon start to swell.

"You should rest, the baby-"

"I'm fine," Arya insisted. There was still discomfort present in her expression and in her voice, but the sharp pain that had so suddenly attacked her didn't make another appearance.

"Go to sleep, lovely girl. We have a long journey ahead."

"I will sleep here tonight," Arya said, not moving from where she was. In fact, she moved closer to the table on which Gendry's body was. "Please."

Jaqen didn't protest. He understood that Arya needed some more time to get adjusted to the idea of what she had lost so cruelly after it was just returned to her, and she needed to at least try to say goodbye, even if she had admitted that didn't consider herself capable of doing it.

Jaqen abandoned the tent, having managed at least make Arya realize that they couldn't stay there, that they needed to leave and return to Storm's End, where the sellswords had once and for all been finally defeated and purged from those lands. The short war was over, there could finally be peace.

However, after he exited the tent he realized there was one more thing he had to do, one thing that he hadn't thought he would do, but that he now considered necessary to do. Without hesitating, he walked towards the tent that was his destination.

"Bring him back."

Melissandre had protested when Gendry had given the order to take her along with the army to Dorne. She insisted that her debt was paid, but if she didn't go with the army to Dorne then she would be taken to King's Landing, straight to the black cells beneath the Red Keep. That was a place that no person ever wanted to visit, nor return to.

If the Red Woman was surprised to see the Faceless Man irrupting into her tent with such a demand, she didn't show it.

"No," she simply responded.

"A man wasn't asking," Jaquen said in a menacing tone, sliping back once again into his usual speech. He switched from the Common Tongue to Valyrian, like he almost always did when he was talking to the woman.

"I know you weren't," Melissandre said calmly. "Still, the answer is still no."

There were lit candles all around the tent, and flames burned in torched that illuminated the room. Melissandre calmly paced around the inside of the tent, keeping her eyes on the dancing flames, as if she was reading a meesage from R'hllor in them.

"I know what you are thinking," she said all of a sudden. "I had nothing to do with lord Baratheon's death."

"You had his blood. You could have done blood magic with it, just like you did in the past," Jaqen hissed.

"I am not strong enough to do that yet. The lord of Light is slowly giving me back the powers that were taken from me years ago while in the darkness of the black cells. Those powers were a blessing granted by the lord of Light, and what he grants he can take away."

"A man doesn't have enough time to wait for you to get your powers back."

"Then there is no reason for you to stay here," Melissandre said coldly, clearly expecting Jaqen to turn around and leave.

He didn't.

"A man doesn't take kindly to being lied to."

At last Melissandre looked away from the flames. "Lying? No one is lying here."

"A man disagrees," Jaqen said while approaching her. "You aren't as strong as before, too. But what a man is asking of you is not impossible."

"It is… if you want it done without a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice?" Jaqen frowned. "This has never required sacrifices. What are you talking about?"

"As I already said, R'hllor has yet to grant me some powers. Even when I was his loyal follower and servant every second of every day he still refused to make me handle some of his powers as expertly as I would have liked," Melissandre said. The flames cast shadows on her and all around her, creating sinister shapes in movement that seemed to have been released from the depths of the seven hells. "But I am not completely useless, and you need me. I know a way to get what you want before it is too late."

"A way that requires a sacrifice…" Jaqen murmured coldly. His eyes were narrowed and his expression darkened, not precisely because of the shadows that surrounded them. His expression was dangerous enough to make seasoned soldier wet fearful. He already had an idea of what Melissandre was trying to tell him, and it didn't please him, not at all. "This isn't the magic of R'hllor. It is dark magic."

"Darker than the magic of the Faceless Men?" Melissandre inquired, and Jaqen didn't respond. The woman grinned slightly, almost unnoticeably. But Jaqen noticed…

"It is forbidden."

"By the Targaryen queen," Melissandre nodded, fully aware of the law that Daenerys had imposed over all people capable of practicing magic in Westeros. "She made a deal once, the wrong kind of deal, without having full knowledge of the consequences or the price."

Jaqen knew what had happened with Daenerys Targaryen when her husband, Khal Drogo, was dying. She made a deal with a maegi that betrayed her. She bought her husband's life, an empty life, in exchange for the life of her son Rhaego…

"You will not harm Robb in any way," he warner her. He didn't need to raise his voice to sound deadly and threatening.

Melissandre shook her head. "Not Robb… The creature that grows inside her," she corrected, making Jaqen freeze. He thought about what had happened just mere minutes before back in the tent with Arya, when she had so suddenly been in pain. The source was her womb. Was her child in any kind of danger? Has Melissandre already done something to them? "That is the sacrifice I will require. Otherwise it can not be done."

"No," it was Jaqen turn to deny her her request.

"Are you sure? Think about it. Sacrificing that child will not only bring back Gendry, it will save Arya as well. I have been able to see some things in the flames. The fire has told me much, Jaqen H'ghar, about how Arya Stark touched by death after her first child was born. She won't survive a second childbirth, of that I am almost sure."

Jaqen wanted to wrap his hands around the woman's neck and strangle her for daring to let such foul lies slip through her lips, but he couldn't hide his own fears. He had been in Storm's End when Robb was born. He had heard Arya scream, and then for days he had heard maesters and servants talking about nothing more than about the struggle that Arya was having to survive. She had stopped breathing when the all abandoned her chambers, allowing him a moment of distraction to enter her chambers and help her. Faceless Man took life away, they didn't give it, but some lives could be spared while Death hadn't yet fully claimed its victim. With a prayer, an ancient spell known to very few people in the world, Jaqen had barely managed to restore Arya's health. Had he waited a second longer she would have been lost forever.

Could Melissandre be right? Maybe she was. Maybe Arya would finally succumb while bringing her second child into this world. Jaqen was terrified that would happen. If he accepted Melissandre's offer then the danger would be gone, and Arya would be safe. She would have Gendry back, and they would both be reunited with Robb and be a happy family again. Wasn't that what he had come looking for? Wasn't that the answer to all of their problems? With one sacrifice everything would be solved…

"There must be another way," he insisted, though he couldn't bring himself to discard the idea of accepting the sacrifice, not could he bring himself either to accept it.

Melissandre seemed amused.

"This is the only one that will guarantee the safety of both of them. But yes, there is another way. You are No One. You can shed one identity and take over another as easily as one dresses and undresses every day. I have seen it with my own eyes, and I have seen it in the fires while at camp, what feelings you harbor in your dark heart for that girl. She is all alone, grieving a dead man that will start rotting soon, and you want nothing more than to take her pain away. Cast away Jaqen H'ghar's face, and become Gendry Baratheon. Bring back the love of her life and have her for yourself all at once. Isn't that a tempting option?"

It was tempting, yes. Jaqen imagined what would happen if he chose the second option and adopted Gendry's face and identity as his own. He had already done it once, many years ago. He closed his eyes and imagined it. He imagined Arya as his own wife, her children as his own. It was very tempting indeed, and the selfish, human side of him that had reawakened along with his feelings because of the influence that Arya Stark had had on his life urged him to say yes to the point that resisting was almost painful.

Could he do it? Could he live a lie like that? To be a Faceless Man was to live a lie, to be surrounded by a fake reality the entire time. That he could handle. What he wasn't so sure he could handle was pulling Arya into the lie. She didn't deserve to live a lie.

But maybe living a lie was better than sacrificing her own unborn child in exchange for Gendry's life. Or was it really? He remembered the pain Arya had been in just before. Was it a sign that there was something wrong with the baby, that there would be complications? Could Arya indeed die if Jaqen didn't agree to get rid of that babe in exchange for the father?

He could have screamed. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands while he thought and tried to decide. He put both options in a balance in his mind, and he didn't know which one was worse, but he was running out of time, he had to choose or it would be too late. He tried to think of other options. Were there any? Yes, there were, but none of them came without a price. No matter what choice he made, sacrifices of all kinds had to be made.

Many minutes passed, but it felt like hours or maybe even days of eternal darkness. Finally Melissandre broke the silence that had fallen upon them.

"Well?" she inquired. "Have you made your choice?"

Jaqen removed his hands from his face and he opened his eyes to look at the woman. Slowly, he nodded. Yes, he had made his choice.