A Hope For A New Future

by YourWorstKeptSecret

Arya has declared her intent to return home to Westeros and claimed back her identity. As Jaqen watches her go, deeming his lovely girl as No One, he does not know that with her, Arya takes a secret. A secret that she has chosen to keep from him. But soon this secret finds its way to him in the form of another's lips and a rage unlike any other boils within him.

A.N: This is laid out as snippets of time. So each section may seem to end or start abruptly. But this is by design. Otherwise, please enjoy.

"A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I am going home!"

Arya breathed out a shaky breath as the memory of that day continued to plague her. He had not only stepped into the point of Needle, but he had smiled at her in that all knowing way that made her knees weak at the same time as it made a shiver run down her spine. Pleasure and fear. Kith and kin to one another when it came to him and her.

She still didn't understand why he had let her go so easily. She had fully expected him to drive a blade through her back as she walked away from him, even though she knew he wouldn't do something so dishonourable. He was an assassin that was true, but he wasn't immoral in that way. So even though she didn't find a blade at her back, she had still expected to find one against her flesh in some form or another, within weeks of her leaving the House of Black and White. She hadn't wanted to leave, she truly hadn't. She had wanted to stay there, stay with him. But it was impossible, if she had stayed? They would have both lost their lives. Sooner rather than later.

The secret she held would have seen the light of day eventually, so no. It had been better to leave when he could still deny everything and she could pretend that she had simply had enough. She needed to go back home anyway. Her family needed her, now that she could fight to protect her home and family. But still, it didn't mean her heart wasn't any less sore to lose him. She knew it would probably hurt forever, he was firmly buried within it and his memory wouldn't go away anytime soon. So she supposed she would just have to learn to live with his ghost and more besides.

Shaking her head, she finished pinning her braided bun at the back of her head, her hands now mildly scented with ginger, clove and sandalwood. She barked out a sardonic laugh at this. Gods old and new! She had even taken to using his fucking scents. Clove oil for her hair, ginger and sandalwood for her skin. She supposed she really would do anything to keep him as close to her as possible when she couldn't have the man himself. As she felt the ship lurch and the muffled voice of the captain yelling that they had made landfall at Gray Harbour, she got to her feet and gathered her belongings. Picking up the coin he had given her all those many years ago, she turned it over and over in her hands, trying to decide what to do with it. In the end, with a morose sigh, she slipped it into the pocket covering her breast. Who in the hells was she kidding? She would never be able to bring herself to get rid of it. It was just another connection to the man that held her in a chokehold.

But she had a new path now, she couldn't bury herself within her past, lest she drown in the misery of it. No, she needed to look forward. Now, more than ever. With a calming breath to steady herself, she nodded and with a tweak of her heavy cloak, so that it covered her torso protectively, her hand pausing low on her form for but a moment. She raised her head high and walked off the Braavosi ship. Leaving the city and him behind her for the final time.

-X-

Sansa watched the gates like a hawk, Arya was arriving back home. She had sent a raven a few moons ago to let her know that she was coming back home. And then another arrived a week ago, letting her know that she was a week out from Winterfell. Today was the day and the scouts had called back twenty minutes past to announce that she was riding up the hill on a white mare. But that she seemed to be moving at a sedate pace, rather than the gallop that Sansa had been expecting. But then, she thought, Arya and her mare had probably been travelling all day, every day covering miles and miles of trails on the way to the keep. At this point both horse and rider were most likely exhausted.

As the gates finally creaked open, Sansa felt herself stand up on her tiptoes in anticipation of seeing her sister's familiar face, her heart racing in her chest. It had been so long since they last saw one another, she wondered how much her sister had changed. Sansa had changed immeasurably in the ensuing years that had passed them all by, so she wondered what those years had done to Arya. She soon got her answer, when the gates opened fully and her sister rode into the courtyard and Sansa felt her mouth fall open. She was beautiful. Clearly time had been good to her, as her whole form had seemed to have filled out to that of a woman's. Although how much, Sansa was unsure. But her face had definitely become that of a womans. Arya now looked the spit of their aunt Lyanna. Sansa felt the tears of happiness come before she could stop them. Watching her sister awkwardly dismount from her mare, she couldn't wait and as soon as Arya's feet touched the snow covered ground, Sansa was running to her to take her in her arms in a tight embrace. However something strange happened, Arya hastily turned to the side causing Sansa to hug her from the side, Arya's hands came up to squeeze her arms, her head pressing into Sansa's chest, in some semblance of returning the embrace. What on earth?

"Arya? What's wrong? Why won't you hug me properly?" Sansa asked immediately, stepping away from her little sister. She also didn't miss how Arya seemed to be keeping her cloak held around her tightly. What on earth?

"Sansa, can we go somewhere to speak privately? I will explain everything then. Too many eyes and ears are here at the moment. Please?" Arya replied, her lovely blue eyes pleading with her to acquiesce the request. Sansa didn't know what was wrong but the way she had sounded and the almost begging air that she spoke with, made it so that she wouldn't be able to refuse her.

"Yes. Of course. Come. We'll go to my chambers." Sansa replied with a frown, then spun on her heel and started to walk towards the entrance that led into the interior of the keep.

Soon enough, Sansa was standing to the side as she held her bedroom door open, motioning for Arya to enter. Once she did, Sansa followed her quickly, closing the heavy door behind them tightly. As soon as they were safely ensconced within her chambers, with no listening ears present, Sansa whirled on Arya.

"Now tell me sister! What is the meaning of this? And why did you react as you did in the courtyard? I know we have never really been affectionate with one another. But I imagined after so many years, an embrace as sister's would be welcomed." Sansa questioned, her fiery temper rising to the surface quickly. So quickly in fact that she had found herself unable to hold back the accusatory note in her voice. She watched Arya flinch briefly, before she sighed and nodded.

"And it was! I wanted desperately to squeeze you tight as well, Sansa. But I couldn't afford for you to do so in front of everybody. Because you would have felt what I am hiding and it's not something I wanted everyone to find out about right away. Not until I spoke with you privately first. It's going to cause problems for the family." Arya explained, bringing her hand up to touch her hair nervously. Patting it down as though it had come loose, even though it hadn't and Sansa felt her ire snap once again.

"What in the hells are you talking about!? Speak frankly!" She bit out, levelling her sister with a withering glare. One that Arya met just as fiercely before she made a sound akin to a growl of irritation.

But she didn't reply, rather she instead flung the sides of her thick, black cloak back over her shoulders. Sansa felt herself sway before she fell back against her bed, her eyes widening in disbelief. Well now. That explained it all. Because what her sister had just revealed, was a belly that was clearly swollen with child. She was about five moons or so along, if Sansa had to guess. Although her knowledge was a bit lacking in this department.

"Arya…you're…" She breathed, her head starting to feel light now, the more she stared at her sister's belly. "Who!? Who did this!? Did they force you!? Give me a name and I will ensure that he is killed!" She screeched, getting to her feet again and hurrying over to her sister, her hands falling to Arya's belly where she felt around as if she needed the physical touch to verify that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. To Arya's credit, she didn't move to stop her touches, rather she allowed her to do what she clearly needed to, to come to terms with what she had just been presented with. But as soon as her words registered in Arya's ears properly, she carefully but quickly pushed her away.

"No!" She yelled in something akin to panic. "No, Sister. My child's father would never force himself on any woman. Much less me. So no, I laid with him consensually. We were…we were in love with one another. And so we showed that. And well, now? Here we are." Arya explained and Sansa felt her eyes widening again, before her aghast gasp filled the space between them. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Love!? If they were so damned in love, then where the fuck was the father!? Why wasn't he with her sister!? She also didn't miss that her sister didn't appear to be wearing a marriage band.

"Then where is he, Arya!? Did he marry you!? Does he know of your condition!? You need to tell me everything, sister. And I mean everything. Gods! You're only ten and nine!" Sansa said, her tone wrought with worry and an undercurrent of panic.

"And I will. Can we please sit? I want you to understand everything. But could we get some tea and something to eat brought in? This will be a long story. It begins shortly after our father's death." Arya requested softly, taking a seat at the small table off to the side of the fire but underneath Sansa's bedroom window. Sansa, unable to say anything, but knowing she needed to hear everything, nodded and rang the bell by her bed to call for service.

"Cover yourself back up, little sister. Just until the service has been and gone. For now, how did your travels here fare?"

-X-

As Arya lay upon the birthing bed, high in the once broken and crumbling watchtower near the Godswood, she cursed out loud as another tear of agony ripped across her abdomen. Gods old and new, she had never felt pain like this, as she laboured to deliver her child. By her side stood Sansa, Melisandre and Daenerys, all three women helping her as she fought to bring her child into this world.

Between the four women they had fabricated a story that was as close to the truth as possible. Thus no one would know of her childs bastard status, not that this would have ever bothered her and it certainly wouldn't have bothered her child's father either, if he had known about them. Essos did not hold the same views on bastards as Westeros did. But the fact remained that Arya was a Westerosi lady, born into one of the most well-respected noble houses. She could not appear to anyone outside of the family and close friends, as one to birth outside of a marriage bed.

The only ones that even knew this was happening now, were the women with her, Jon, Bran, Brienne and the Hound. No one else did. Arya had sequestered herself in her rooms at Winterfell until Sansa had gotten the watchtower that had taken Bran's legs repaired and decorated. Once that was done, Arya had silently moved into it so that she could carry out the rest of her pregnancy in peace and away from prying eyes. The story to explain this was that she had wanted solitude. She had gotten used to privacy while in Braavos and had wished to continue it, so had moved out of the main keep.

This had also given the three women ample time to build and fabricate evidence, based on the facts given by Arya, to corroborate the next story that would be told. This one for when she would inevitably start showing up around the keep with an infant at her breast to resume her duties. This one would be how Arya had married a man that she had grown to love, while in Braavos. And because her 'husband' would be unable to join her on her return, as he had other duties to attend to ahead of he journey. They had wanted to keep things quiet in order to prevent the rumour mill from beginning to spin and loss of life from people speaking treason against House Stark. But that if the court of Winterfell needed proof, it could be provided forthwith to support the claim of Arya's marital status. It would also prevent some certain court members from trying to marry the youngest Stark off, for political gain. Can't marry off a woman that is 'already' married and a mother, after all.

As another searing pain cut across her belly, wracking her entire form, with one final heaving scream, Arya pushed with all of her might. With this she had felt an agonising feeling of stretching as if she was being torn in two, the pain blinding her for a few moments before the watchtower filled with the wails of a newborn freshly birthed. Arya, knowing that the worst was now over and beginning to weep in sheer happiness at hearing her babies cries, fell back against the mound of pillows that Sansa had propped her back up with. She was so deeply exhausted now, that she felt she could sleep for a month and wake ready to sleep for a month more. But as her sister's smiling face appeared above her, an infant swaddled in her arms, Arya knew she wouldn't find any rest for the moment. Her heart was racing too much and her emotions were fit to burst.

"Congratulations little sister, you are now the mother of a most beautiful daughter. Hair of vermillion with eyes as steel blue as yours. She's absolutely doll-like." Sansa spoke, her words choked with the pride that only a new aunt could bear. Then gently, so gently, she kneeled on the mattress and carefully lowered Arya's daughter into her arms.

Taking the babe from her sister, Arya looked down into the face of her little girl, reddened with the stress of being born and suddenly burst into sobs of happiness. Feeling as a deep, previously unknown kind of love, swelled within her heart. Gods old and new but she was beautiful! Her father's daughter through and through, there was no doubt, but also as the small mouth opened in a yawn, Arya saw her own features starting to push through as well. A perfect blend of him and her, their daughter was simply perfect.

"Oh Sansa, she's absolutely divine. Thank you for being here and helping to bring her into the world." Arya murmured through her tears, motioning for her sister to lean down so that they could hug. Sansa not hesitating climbed up onto the bed proper, to rest beside Arya and enjoy their first proper embrace as siblings. Both girls marvelling at the little person, now rooting around for her mothers breast. It was then that Daenerys stepped forward.

"Long, happy life and good health to this little beauty, Lady Stark. But if I may? I can show you how to latch her to your breast properly?" She asked gently and Arya nodded. After all, Dany had birthed herself in the last year, the result of her night with Jon before they found out about the family relation. So if anyone could show her how to properly feed her child, it would be the mother of dragons.

As Dany patiently taught her the proper way to latch the infant, Melisandre went to work on cleaning Arya up. And Arya was sure that she could see a serene, happy smile resting at the corners of the Sorceresses lips. Truly a joyous moment, one that all four would languish in for the time being. Because soon, reality would come crashing in and the lies would need to begin. But for now? They could all bask in the wondrous new arrival that they all had a hand in bringing forth safely and healthily.

-X-

As Jaqen replenished the pool of painless death, he heard footsteps walking towards him. By the scent of smoke, elderflower and oak moss, he could tell that it was the man that Arya had always referred to as the Severe Man.

"A man greets another in the hall of death. What brings a man to another, this day?" Jaqen asked without looking behind him, concentrating on his work.

His moroseness had yet to lift, since Arya left the house six moons past. Leaving him. But he supposed he couldn't really expect anything less from her. He had pushed her much too far and damaged her in ways he had never intended hurt her was to hurt himself, which is precisely why he had stepped into the point of her blade, when she had aimed it at his heart. He had sent the waif after her with the order to kill on sight.

So he had been prepared to have her take his life as she deserved. Though those orders to kill her had not come from him. They had come from the elders of the House. He had simply been forced to follow their will. But then Arya had killed the waif instead. But it was too late by the time they were face to face again, for him to explain to her what had really happened. It was part of the reason he had let her leave. It was also because of her killing the waif, that the order had been satisfied with letting her go as well. A death had been given to their God, regardless.

"A man brings news from Westeros. From the hold of Winterfell. It seems the youngest Lady was spotted with a newborn babe at her breast. Rumours, unverified as they are, state that the infant was birthed by the Lady herself…"

Jaqen's movements faltered minutely as his ears processed these words. Arya had a child!? But she had only been gone from him for six moons. Even if she had fallen with child directly after she had left? She wouldn't have birthed by this point, which could only mean…

"And a man provides this information to another for what purpose? Why should it concern him or this house?" Jaqen asked, keeping his tone carefully masked and neutral. But inside he was twisted up in more ways than one as his mind raced to put a timeline together. If Arya had a newborn now? Then she would have had to conceive no more than nine moons previous. But that would mean…

He felt his temper flare and snap then. She would have been pregnant when she had left. Gods! She had been stabbed while she was with child! But he didn't know! She hadn't told him! How could she not tell him!? Him!? The father! He bit back the urge to jump to his feet and storm to his chamber to gather his belongings and leave immediately. How dare she leave him without telling him of his child! Even if she hadn't told him before she left, she had had moons to send a raven to him to let him know. But she hadn't! She had deliberately chosen to keep him in the shadows about his impending fatherhood.

"A man's elders found it odd that a woman would birth, six moons after she had left this house. Given she had spent the last number of years in residence and service to this order. And the only other men a woman had interaction with, for any length of time, was The Elder and her mentor…"

"A man is not the father of a woman's child, if that is what another is insinuating. Women often wet nurse and child-mind for one another. There are ways to induce lactation in non-pregnant and childless women if it is needed. Just because a woman has a babe at her breast, does not mean it is her babe." Jaqen lied smoothly, even though his heart was seizing in his chest and his rage was rolling through him like a storm of the worst kind.

"Just so and fair points. In that case then, a man will not be opposed to going to Winterfell and finding out the parentage. And if it turns out to be a woman's, sending the infant to the many-faced God, yes?" The severe man spoke, his words shrouded in gleeful malice.

He had always disliked Jaqen. Because he had always been favoured over the Severe Man. Jealousy was a hell of a thing and it drove men and women alike to perform deeds most diabolical or sadistic.

But this was an idle thought, before his mind screeched to a halt. They wanted to kill the child!? Why? What purpose did they have!? And why send him!? But even though he asked these questions, he already knew the answers. They had already decided that Arya was the mother, even without stone cold evidence. And they knew already that he was most likely the father, if true. He was the only one that made sense in their minds. Arya had not been out on missions long enough to dally with another and fall pregnant. So the only way she could have gotten that way, was to have shared a bed with someone at the order. And they had correctly deduced that he was that man. Fuck!

What was he to do now!? If he agreed, he would have to carry out his orders and kill his own child. They knew this. They were trying to force him to either admit that he was the father, in which case they would kill him and Arya. Or, force him to kill his child, knowing he would fail, thus allowing them to kill him and Arya. No matter what path he chose, both roads led to the same destination. So, if that was the case? Why not spend what little time he would have left with Arya and their child, before the order inevitably infiltrated Winterfell proper and bestowed the gift. At least he and Arya could send their child somewhere, where they would be safe. That is, if between them both, they couldn't figure out a way to get out of this mess beforehand.

Idly, Jaqen knew that he shouldn't be surprised at this course of action. He and Arya had known what they were doing was against the rules. Any relationship between the faceless had to be sanctioned by the order of elders. And marriage would be a requisite as the chance of pregnancies would increase and that was a liability. Neither he nor Arya had wanted to marry. Not at that point back then. They were still finding each other and coming to terms with their new emotions for one another. They should have just gone to the council immediately and asked for leave to begin their romance. They should have just agreed to wed and they wouldn't have been in this situation to begin with. But they hadn't done that and now they were here. But he knew what he had to do now. There was no other choice.

"A man will go to Winterfell. It will be done." Jaqen replied coolly, before standing and leaving the hall of death.

As he headed towards the chambers, he felt as though he was indeed beginning a slow walk towards the gallows. But he would have to try and put a stop to this. Somehow. Some way. There had to be something they could do!

But once he saw Arya? By the gods old and new she was in for it! He could not let this betrayal slide. She had found his line (a miraculous feat in truth, given there wasn't much she could do to truly anger him) and then stepped right the fuck over it, with little thought to the consequences. So yes, there was going to be hells to pay! He was now an angry father and lover and that was a fearsome thing indeed.

-X-

As Arya walked the ramparts towards her old room at Winterfell, she mused on the turn of events in the last couple of weeks.

As if by some sick and twisted divine intervention, a kitchen maid had died on the birthing bed. An absolute tragedy as her babe, a daughter, had died with her. Arya had felt this news down to her very core, having newly birthed herself. And had fallen into a strange kind of mourning for the widowed woman and her child. She had noticed that Dany had been feeling much the same as her, although she had given Jon a son. So Arya could only deduce that this was something that all mothers felt, when something such as this befell another mother. It turned out, again rather grotesquely, that the kitchen maid had begun her labours around the same time as Arya had.

Thus, when Arya had started to appear around the keep with her own daughter at her breast, the people of Winterfell began to naturally assume that the kitchen maid's child hadn't in fact died. Rather they had survived somehow and Arya had chosen to take the child in. None of them had refuted it. They had simply allowed the story to be believed. And Arya had begun to feed her daughter both by bottle and by breast. This helped to push the narrative, as she could be seen as using a bottle with her child as well as having the babe tucked under her cloak. So naturally, people believed that while she was working on 'inducing' lactation, she was substituting with other milk in the meantime.

So all was well that ended well, but they had their backup just in case it should find its way out that the maids child had in fact died. Although it was a slim to none chance, considering the maid had been birthing alone, as labour had come on suddenly. And it had been The Hound that had found the bodies, still warm but rapidly cooling. But one could never be too careful. So they had kept their 'evidence' and story up their sleeves.

As she stepped into her darkened room, her sister looking after her daughter for the night, to allow Arya some sleep, she paused. She wasn't alone. Pretending that she hadn't noticed anything, Arya walked towards her desk and made a show of starting to remove her cape. But in reality, she was palming her dagger beneath her clothes. Hmm. So. Finally they had sent someone but not just anyone. As the faint scent of ginger, clove and sandalwood wafted to her nose, she smiled. Of course it would be him. He was one of their best after all. But as he approached her back, Arya waited for a breath before she spun and soon had her dagger held against his throat.

He glanced down at her his eyes showing his begrudging respect for her skill which had not waned since she had left him. But then he smirked and she felt the point of his stiletto shaped dagger, pressing against the major artery of her thigh. She may have gotten him, but he'd gotten her too. But as she gazed into his handsome face, a face she had missed so desperately, she watched as his eyes lost all other emotion. Except one. Rage. Pure and unadulterated. And Arya felt, for the first time, her heart seize in actual fear of him.

"Why are you here, Jaqen H'ghar? Has the order finally decided that I can no longer breathe?" Arya forced out, doing her level best to keep her tone even and not betray what she was now feeling inside.

"Yes. But that is not why a man is here before a devilish woman, now." Jaqen rumbled in response, his voice lowering dangerously, in a way that reminded her of a similar tone that he had used in the past. During the eve of their daughter's conception. Of course, then it was lowered in desire for her, not in a fury at her. The reactions, though, had somewhat similar effects and Arya wondered, not for the first time, whether he had truly damaged her brain with the amount of times he'd sent her sprawling in combat training.

"They why!?" She hissed out, increasing her pressure against his jugular, though not enough to cut him. Just enough for him to feel his blood pound through that spot.

He didn't respond right away, instead he dropped his head back, away from her dagger and within moments, he had disarmed her with his, that had been previously against her thigh. This found its way to her throat, and she found herself throwing her fist towards him instead, feeling the bite of his steel as it nicked her flesh. But he captured her wrist and then drove her back with force, until her back slammed into the stone wall of her room, her captured wrist now pinned above her head. Unbidden, another memory from their time together floated across her mind's eye. That evening he had been animalistic in his claiming of her and oh so domineering that it had made her pant and beg.

She had returned from a mission at one of the brothels, where she had taken on the persona of a girl from a Lyseni pleasure house. Where she had then seduced her mark and bestowed the gift upon him, when he was least expecting it. The mark had not gotten to do much more than grope her, as she had ground her hips into his. When his eyes rolled back, she had used that split second moment, to open his throat. But when she had returned and debriefed her mission provider, she had soon found herself dragged into Jaqen's chambers and slammed up against the wall. He had taken her deliciously savagely that night, his jealousy overtaking him in a very rare moment of weakness. It didn't matter that she had assured him that the mark hadn't gotten very far with her at all before she sent him to the Many-Faced God. All Jaqen had cared about was covering her with himself, inside and out.

"A woman should know why a man is here! For she left their house, forgetting to inform a man of something very pivotal indeed. Didn't she? Or is a man to believe a woman's, undoubtedly coming, denial that she has not recently birthed his child!?" He seethed down at her, his blade pressing against her skin harder.

However, she noticed aside from causing a very shallow cut? He was not actually pressing hard enough to properly harm her. He was filled with anger at her, not hatred. And she could understand and was unable to hold it against him. She had kept their child from him, something that normally she would have never done. But given the situation at that time? She'd felt there was no choice.

"A woman does not deny a man's words. A man did indeed become a father to an infant girl, two weeks passed." Arya admitted, looking away from him. For once, letting him see her shame. And it seemed, this helped him settle down. If only a little. But a little was better than nothing and at the moment? She would take what she could get. She wasn't trying to break free from him currently, because she knew this was all part of his ire. A side of him that she rarely, if ever saw.

"And why would a woman hide this thing from a man!? Even if she did not tell him when she left him, why then did she not send a raven to him after returning to her home, informing him of the same!?" He demanded, shoving her against the wall again, although his force was gentler, this time? It was too much in Arya's mind. She would accept it happening once in anger, but anything after that and it was a deliberate choice. At least to her mind. So allowing her eyes to light with the oncoming change, she found her voice once more.

"A man should find his sense!?" Arya yelled, her own fury rising now, as she brought her free hand up and smacked the dagger from his hand.

Then getting her knee between them, she shoved him back enough, to deliver a swift kick that knocked him back from her again but by a few feet this time. He had every right to be angered, she would never take that right from him. But he did not have the right to be so heavy handed with her. She wouldn't have it! But she wasn't done and as she started to stalk towards him, noticing as he barely prevented himself from stepping back a pace or two, she continued to seethe.

"A man already knows the answers he seeks! He is as much a part of the House as a woman was! He knows their rules and laws, just like she does! They were unsanctioned! To tell a man that his seed had taken root, in that scenario?" A shove to his chest came next, although much to her annoyance, he barely moved an inch. But the shove still had somewhat of an effect, as he glanced down at her hands and frowned deeply in warning. But undeterred, she continued on. Shoving him all the while.

"It would have been a death sentence for a man! As much as it would have been for a woman and their unborn! A woman did what she had to, to keep all three safe and above the clay! A decision that killed her soul, every step of the way! But her love for a man and his unborn, as well as her fear for their lives, outweighed all else!"

"A man may understand a woman's initial reasoning! But once she was safe? A raven, woman! A raven could have still been sent to a man!" He replied, capturing her hands as she moved to shove him again.

Then using her moment of distraction, he whirled her around, crossing her arms over her chest and holding them there. He did all of this, while pressing himself against her back. The move effectively limited her movements without hurting her in any way. And as mad as she was with him and his earlier treatment? She couldn't help but release a shaky sigh as unbidden her body melted into his, much in the same way as it had done many times before. Usually after they had consummated their love on any given night, or indeed as they were beginning to.

"Yes. It could have been, if not for the fact that all ravens sent to the House, are read by the stewards before they are delivered to the men they are meant for. Again a woman tells a man to find his sense." She replied, all aggression now gone from her voice, leaving behind only the softness that she normally spoke to him with. She heard him breathe out an annoyed sigh, although it was now very half-hearted. His body, she noticed because she was always so hyper aware of him, had begun to melt into her as well. The hold of restraint, now becoming something akin to an embrace of romance.

"If a man is to find his, then a woman needs to find hers also. All her letter needed to say was to request a man's presence at Winterfell forthwith. That there was an emergency. He would have been on the next ship leaving port for Westeros, with no hesitation within him. He will always answer a woman's call without question. She knows this better than anyone else." He replied, his words inflected now, with love tinged with sadness and consideration. His hands fell from her wrists then where he had held them, to slip down and rest around her waist, where he tightened his hold. His head moving so that his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

"A woman meant no malice, in keeping a man's child from him, nor was she thinking clearly beyond keeping the secret. She was only trying to find a way to protect them all. Now. Does a man wish to keep trying to kill a woman? Or would he rather spend his time meeting and holding his infant girl instead?" Arya responded, letting one hand fall to rest over his as the other reached up behind, to cup his cheek as best she could in their current position.

"A man could never kill his lovely girl. A woman knows better. She drew upon him first. Not the other way around. This aside, he is justly angry with a woman, because her choices have robbed him of being present during a woman's pregnancy and the ensuing birth of their infant girl. A woman will always have those memories now, a man will never have them for his own reminisce. Whether a woman likes it or not, this to a man, was a grave betrayal of his trust. A lovely girl has deeply wounded a man's heart. And it will take him time to cool his anger toward her properly." He murmured against her ear, his tone serious, letting her know that he wasn't joking and that his words were the truth and she nodded then.

"A woman understands and will not refute a man's ire. As he says, it is justly deserved. But a woman will not accept any further aggression from a man on this matter or any other. He is free to voice his emotions, his pain and his ire to a woman at any time, it is not only proper but expected. However, he will not in a manner disrespectful. A man and woman both are grown, they should be able to communicate their emotions better than this." She compromised, pulling away from him so that she could turn and face him again. She watched as he closed his eyes for a moment as he expelled a calming breath and he nodded, before meeting her eyes once more.

"A man will agree if a woman also agrees to be mindful of her aggression towards him. Now, lovely girl. Take a man to his offspring, they have been without him for much too long. He is their sire. His place is by their side. Not far and away across the narrow sea." He requested and Arya smiled but didn't say anything more.

Instead she picked up his dagger from the floor and handed it back to him. She watched as he sheathed it once more at his side. Then she picked up her own and followed his lead. Once they were put together again, she took his hand in hers gently and led him from her room. Oh Gods old and new, Sansa was about to screech the stone work to the ground, when they showed up at her chamber doors. Jaqen may not survive the night, when met with the wrath of her older sister.

-X-

Looking down at the face of his daughter, as she smiled in the way only little babes could, he once again felt his heart swell with a love stronger than anything he currently knew of. His daughter. He still couldn't believe the blessing that he had received, when she had been granted to him.

He had been a man that, as soon as he had taken his oaths and joined the faceless, had always assumed he would never know the joy of looking down into an infant's face and seeing your own within their features. But here he was, not only knowing what it was like, but basking in it as well. Holding his daughter close to his chest, he carefully stepped into the natural hot springs of the Godswood, not too far from where Arya had spent the remainder of her pregnancy before birthing. Settling himself on a rock that had naturally been worn smooth into the form of a seat, he allowed his back to relax against the edge of the pool.

He would not submerge his daughter into the waters, they were much too warm for her little body. But he did cup water in his free hand, carefully and slowly allowing it to run from his hand over her small form. The time it took to raise his hand from the water and then run it over his daughter, plenty sufficient to cool it enough, with the biting air surrounding the pool. She kicked her little feet against him, her small, happy babyish gurgles, lightening his heart and bringing a smile to his face. Capturing her tiny feet, he brought them up to his lips where he blew ticklish air against their soles playfully. His daughter babbled excitedly again as she squirmed in his arms, her small mouth finding the skin of his chest where she gummed the flesh, making him laugh.

"Ah. No, no my silly little love, A man is not your mother, he cannot provide what you so clearly seek. She will be here soon, however. Just hold on a little longer." He spoke down at her, watching as her steel coloured eyes, so very like her mothers, gazed up at him, still slightly unfocused given her young age. But no less beautiful.

Bringing her up a little further, he lowered his head and placed an affectionate and lingering kiss to her forehead. Her small hand came up then and captured some of his vermillion hair, exactly like her own, in her fist. She tugged happily, causing him to wince just a little, before he chuckled and gently untangled her hand, kissing her fingers.

"No, little one. Lets not do that to a sires hair. It will hurt him." He said and saw something almost like understanding cross his daughters face, before she gripped his hair again. But this time, surprisingly, she did not tug. Simply held.

He knew it was ridiculous to think she understood him, she was much too young for that yet. But maybe something in her instincts gave her an idea that what she had done wasn't necessarily correct. It was amazing to him, to watch her young mind at work, as she tried to figure everything out around her with her mouth, hands, sight and hearing. He was utterly smitten and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she would always have him wrapped around her dainty little fingers. She would be a daddy's girl, through and through. This he knew as he knew his own name. His precious girl, daughter of no one and a dire wolf of the North. She would grow to be strong, fierce and with an intelligence so keenly sharp, that she would be a force to be reckoned with. Just like her mother. Just like him. She would be the best of them both and he would protect and love her until his final breath.

"A man does believe he may love his sweet girl, quite a bit more than he loves her mother." He said jokingly, more to himself than to his child. But the words were met with a tinkling laugh that he knew all too well.

"A woman would expect nothing less. In fact, she would be quite annoyed, otherwise."

Turning his head, he found Arya standing at the edge of the spring. He hadn't even heard her approach. Smiling in pride at his lovely girl and how well she had learned from his training of her, he found his words.

"A man is relieved to hear such. He was becoming quite fearful of offending a woman, should he admit this thing to her." He joked and Arya chuckled again, as she began to undress unabashedly.

But then, why would she show any maiden modesty with him? After all, there was only one way that their daughter could have come into existence. He knew every single part of his lovely girl, from the hair on her head, all the way down to her delicate toes. All of her secrets were now his and his hers. There was nothing to hide from one another any longer. All had long since been revealed and all were still loved just as fiercely as before they were uncovered. As the last piece of her clothing fell to the ground, Jaqen stood in a fluid motion and held his free hand out for Arya to take. Once she accepted it, he helped her into the pool. Once they were all settled once more, Arya leaning against his side with a sigh of contentment, he gently gave over their daughter.

"A man believes their child is growing hungry. She attempted to latch onto a man not too long ago. It was rather a disappointing affair for an infant." He teased, making Arya laugh as she took their daughter into her arms, adjusting her just right and within moments, the babe was suckling happily.

"A source of shame for a man, I am sure." Arya teased back. He gave her a look of faux offence at this.

"The audacity of a woman knows no bounds! A man was indeed not ashamed, simply hurt that he could not give his offspring what she needed at that moment. It is quite a painful experience to be helpless for your child, a man will have a woman know." He quipped and Arya gave him an exaggerated bow of her head in apology.

"Oh dear me! Do forgive a woman for her grave misjudgment of a man's feelings. Consider her properly chastised. However, if a man wishes to feed his child, there are ways in which he may. We can start giving bottles as well." She said, resting her head on his shoulder again and snuggling into him.

The only sounds that could be heard, as a comfortable silence fell between them, was the gentle lapping of the lightly bubbling water. The whistling of the breeze through the trees, and the contented suckles of their daughter as she drew what she needed from her mother. Jaqen found that he could very much get used to this new kind of intimacy between himself, Arya and their daughter. He felt happier than he had in a very long time and most at peace with himself and the world around him. Allowing his head to fall down against Arya's he gently rubbed his cheek against her hair, before he spoke.

"If a woman is content with that, as a man knows having their babe at their breast is truly a special thing for a woman, then a man would most like the opportunity." He answered honestly, turning his head to place a soft kiss on Arya's temple. Before returning to his earlier position, feeling his back melting against the smooth stone that they rested against. He found himself turning his body into hers, his arm coming up to rest on the ground behind Arya's back, his fingers brushing over her skin in an absent touch of appreciation.

"Are all Essoian men so committed to the caring of their children? In my experience, Westerosi men fall firmly into the belief that all things child related fall solely to the women. And they would rather be forty leagues away from child rearing in every way. Love to make them, hate to maintain them." Arya questioned, curiously and he noticed how she dropped the third person speech.

So he followed her. His eye twitching a little at the thought of how Westorosi men approached the idea of their children and wives. It was an unfathomable notion to him.

"I cannot speak for all Essoians, lovely girl. But I can speak for all Lorathi men. We are a nation built on equality across all people. Thus men are as much a part of raising their children as women are, this we are taught as young children." He answered, shifting so that he could pepper light, loving kisses along the column of her throat. He smirked when he saw her shiver in something akin to delight.

Obviously he would not attempt to take things further than this. They had their daughter with them after all. But that didn't mean that he couldn't tease her with the thought of him doing more besides. He had been in Winterfell for three weeks now, but they had yet to join together again. Mostly this was because they were both tired from looking after their daughter in the night. But also because he was still quite irritated with Arya and her hiding the truth from him. He was building his trust in her again and that impacted his drive to be with her as one. But she had been working hard to gain it back and putting in quite a lot of effort to make him feel secure with her once more. Effort he had picked up on and appreciated. Recognising it for what it was, sincerity in her apologies and proving that she wanted to fix the trust she had broken with him. This all went towards helping him find his physical desire for her again.

"I could not imagine having nothing to do with the raising and development of any child of mine. I made our daughter just as much as you did, Arya. Thus it is only proper that I share the weight with you, when it comes to looking after her. And I do so gladly and with a full heart." He elaborated further, allowing his words to be spoken against her neck, so that his lips and breath brushed over her skin in a ghosty caress.

"You know, she still doesn't have a name. I knew you would come to me eventually. How could you not? Either to bestow the gift, or to simply find me again. So I waited to name her. I wanted to do it together. I was thinking of naming her after both of our mothers, but then I realised that I did not know what your mother was named." She replied softly, changing the topic and moving away from him a bit. Clearly he was affecting her in the way he had intended. If the alluring flush that rose on her skin was anything to go by. But soon their eyes had locked, hers holding a question. So he answered.

"As is the way when you are no one. There is nothing to know. But we are not no one at this moment, lovely girl and a man enjoys the thought of gracing our daughter with the legacies of our mothers. A man's mother was called Eleria."

"That's beautiful! Is it Lorathi in origin?" Arya gasped, smiling at the thought of his mothers name. Jaqen felt his heart skip for a moment, before he returned the expression.

"No, it is actually Lyseni in origin. My mother was one of the last remaining Rogare's of Lys. Or rather, should I say the last legitimate Rogare. She was saved from execution by my father, a Lorathi noble and they were wed that following spring. A year later, in mid-autumn I was born." He explained, realising fully, that he had just given her the truth of him and his blood. But they have a daughter now. They were in love. Things had changed.

"Gods old and new! So you're nobility!? Not that I care one whit where your origins lie, it matters not to me. But I would have never guessed! You hide it so well. So many high-borns have a certain air about them that clings to them like shadow, no matter how nice they are." She said in disbelief, her eyes showing her genuine surprise at his revelation and also the truth of her words.

"A man knows a woman cares little about his blood. She only cares for him and him alone…" He began but she cut him off with a cheeky smile.

"And your daughter…"

"And my daughter." He agreed with a laugh. "But yes a man is indeed of the Noble houses of Lorath. And a legitimate air to the Rogare name in Lys. But he left his titles and fortunes behind him, when he left Lorath to come to Braavos. It was there, in an attempt to hide his true identity, that he was found by the faceless men." He finished explaining, pulling her back into him, his hand reaching over to stroke down his daughter's small cheek.

"Why did you leave?" She asked next and he shook his head.

"That is a story for another time, the air grows colder. A man, woman and their child should start heading back to the keep." He suggested instead, watching as his daughter unlatched from Arya's breast with a cute yawn, clearly done with her meal.

He watched as Arya nodded, and turned their daughter so that she could wind her after her feeding. "You're right. It is starting to get too cold for her. But later you'll tell me, won't you?" She asked, looking at him in a manner that would almost appear pleading if it was on any other face.

"A man has said." He responded, before he stood and stepped out of the spring. As he began to dry himself off, he spoke again. "So, lovely girl. Now that you know of a man's mother's name. How does that fit in your idea of honouring our child with our mothers' names?"

"Hmm. Eleria Catelyn? I was considering Catelyn Eleria but the other way sounds much more fluid and pretty, I think. What say you?" She answered, standing now herself. Once he was finished dressing, she handed him their daughter and he took her to begin dressing and swaddling her once more. As he did this, he replied.

"A man agrees that both ways are beautiful. But he finds himself leaning towards the first, for the same reason as a woman. It rolls better."

Glancing at Arya, he watched as she began to dry herself off as well and begin to dress. She was smiling again and he found that he had missed it dearly. To see her smile happily, as though all of her cares were gone for a moment, was a special thing. One that he swore he would never take for granted again.

"Then there we have it." She replied, stepping towards them, to rub her thumb along their daughter's head gently. "A special name for a special little girl. You will be a great woman one day, little Eleria Catelyn. One that will fill your parents hearts with love and pride unending."

This said, they both smiled before beginning the relatively short walk back to the keep. Jaqen carried Eleria close to his chest, while Arya held the back of his cloak as she strode by his side.

-X-

The elder looked at the letter in his hands and nodded. He knew the contents held within were lies. But as far as anyone else would now be concerned, they were truth. Plain and simple. He had known Jaqen from when he was a boy fleeing Lorath for safety. The only reason the man was even part of the order, was because he needed to earn his keep as soon as he was old enough to do so.

There had been many ways he could have done this of course, but he had asked to be trained in the way of the faceless. He wanted to be a faceless man. If anything, it would help him carry out his fathers wishes and hide his true identity. He had remained, if not happy at least settled within the order, up until Arya Stark had joined their ranks. The elder suspected that Jaqen had recruited her because he had seen much of the same woes and worries as he himself had had to deal with as a boy. A royal on the run who needed to hide who they were. Because after all, Westeros' monarchy was calling for the death of all Starks. Much like certain Lorathi nobles were looking to spill his blood too. The fact that the girl also had a death list, was most likely a lure of some description as well for the young man. But mostly, the similarities between them is what had pulled him in.

When she had arrived, The Elder had noticed a marked difference in Jaqen. One that had lightened his heart and filled him with hope that the boy may make a life for himself yet. So many of their order came and went, finding love, marriage and children over the years. But never Jaqen. He had always staunchly refused all of these things. Denied himself these little human luxuries. Why? The Elder never did know or could find out. Jaqen's reasons were his own and they were held close to his chest. But with Arya that had all changed. Not right away mind you as she was still so young when she had arrived at their doors. But over time, he had watched Jaqen's expression change from mentor to something else, each time his eyes found the young woman's form. An expression that was often mirrored on Arya's face, when her eyes inevitably found Jaqen.

The Elder had known the moment their relationship had changed and moved to that of lovers. The way they interacted with one another, as subtle and non-descript as it was to most others, was glaringly clear to him. He was old. Very old. And he had seen these subtleties in many before Jaqen and Arya, so he'd known what they meant. But he had kept his knowledge to himself, not even letting them know that he knew. His order to kill Arya had not been because he wanted the woman's life. Oh no. It was because he wanted the Waif's life. He had found out that she was plotting with the Severe Man, to poison Arya secretly in an unsanctioned hit.

When he had investigated the matter further, he had found that it was down to jealousy pure and simple. The waif wanted to be Arya and receive all of the attention that the man lavished the young wolf with. She wanted to be the one that stood at his side and slept in his chambers, when they thought no one was watching or listening. But Jaqen had always treated the waif with something akin to cool detachment. It wasn't that he disliked her per se, but that he couldn't trust her. Not that the brotherhood tended to place deep trust in one another anyway. It would be a cautious trust at best. Similar to 'I trust you at my back for the moment. But I am watching and I will be ready if you try anything.' But with the waif? Jaqen didn't even have that kind of 'trust' in her at all.

As for the Severe Man. He was jealous too. Jealous of Jaqen for all of his accomplishments and for rising within the order to become one of their best and brightest. The Severe Man also hated that Jaqen had his, The Elders, ear and trust. But what did the severe man expect? The Elder had raised Jaqen for the most part. He looked at him like his own. Of course he would trust one of his own and listen to their council, attaching more weight to their opinion that to anyone else's. Jaqen had never tried to betray him or hide anything from him. Well, accept Arya. But he understood the reasons behind that. They had strict rules when it came to inter-order romantic relations. Rules that neither Jaqen nor Arya were ready to follow, given their newness and uncertainty with one another at that time.

But clearly, they were probably more than ready now. Given what their labours had borne just a month hence. Or rather, what Arya's labours had borne if he was to be specific. And although Jaqen was lying now in his words, explaining how Arya was simply raising the child of a kitchen maid, who had died on the birthing bed at the Keep? He was willing to allow this to slide. He knew that babe was Jaqen and Arya's blood. But the man deserved to finally find some peace and happiness and The Elder was not about to rip that from the ward that he viewed as a son. No. This secret was one he would keep and he would send Jaqen a coded letter in return to let him know that he had the truth. But that he was happy for him and that if the man wished, he would release him from his pledge to their House. Or, if he wished to remain? He could become something akin to an independent contractor for their order. Either or. It would be left for Jaqen to decide.

Nodding and with a grumble as his old bones protested, he stood from his desk and rang a bell by it to call the Severe Man to him. Now to flood the house with the greatest lie that would ever be told within these walls. He felt somewhat giddy about it in truth. This is what he had missed the sowing of falsehoods, to control the rhetoric of the people. It reminded him of his time in the field when he was once an active agent of death himself. In many ways he still was, but he could not deny that his head position did not hold nearly as much of the exhilaration as his Glory Days had. But still. He was serving their God in this manner, just as much as dealing the killing blows did, it was just a different way. Within moments of the bell being rung, his door opened and the Severe Man entered and bowed his head in respect.

"An Elder called for a man?" He queried and the Elder nodded.

"Indeed. Call off the investigation into the Stark girl and the babe. The answers have been found. The babe is not hers by blood. She had simply adopted them from one of her family's kitchen maids. The birth mother, unfortunately, died upon the birthing bed while in employ at Winterfell Keep. Believed to be caused by an internal rupture." He explained smoothly, with no inflection in his voice. Just a tone that showed he was simply stating facts.

"May a man ask how an Elder has come upon this knowledge?" He asked, his dark eyes flashing in what appeared to be frustration when they fell to the letter lying open on the desk.

The elder was well aware that the Severe Man had the stewards proof-read all notices sent to members of the order and report the contents back to him, before they were released to the addressees. This was done so that the man always knew what was going on within the order at all times. Not as a way to maintain order with the House, but so that he could leverage any incriminating knowledge over the ones involved. The man thought this would eventually lead him to wielding power within the order. But he couldn't be more wrong. Jaqen had unearthed this knowledge long, long ago and had since brought it to The Elder's attention. It was a long game. The Elder wanted the Severe Man gone far and away from their halls, never to return. But the problem was that he was a Legacy member. And they weren't so easy to dismiss. Nothing short of absolute treason, would allow for death to take Legacies, or to have them booted from the House for good. But sooner or later, the Severe Man would slip up enough and grow much too bold for his station. And when that day came? The Elder would bestow the gift with his own hands. He would see to it.

"A raven arrived to an Elder. Sent by a man's brother in death." The Elder finally responded, turning to take a seat back behind his desk, and made a show of holding up Jaqen's letter. Before he slipped it into his drawer and locked it down tight with the key that he kept on a chain around his neck. The only key.

A motion that he could see infuriated the Severe Man. Once the Elder had put that letter into that specific drawer? He knew he would never have his eyes graced with its contents. Because not only was there one key, the drawer itself was trapped, to prevent any forcing of it or lock picking. Those traps changed daily and were prepared and set by the Elder himself. Well…unless he was busy one day, in which case, Jaqen did it for him. This knowledge was something that undoubtedly drove The Severe Man mad with fury. Well that and how the letter had gotten to the Elder directly. An explanation the Elder would never provide. Besides, it was only Jaqen who knew the secret to sending him private missives, unread by another's eyes before it reached his hands.

"Forgive a man, Elder! But his brother in death could be lying! It would serve him well to do so! A man still believes that his brother in death sired on the Stark girl! He requests that an Elder allow him to validate a man's claims for himself! Just to be completely sure." The Severe Man raged, something that forced the Elder to his feet once more. His booming voice echoing through the large, stone-walled room. He felt a flash of enjoyment when he saw the Severe Man flinch. Rarely did the Elder ever have to raise his voice. So when he was forced too? Well only a fool would continue to push him.

"A man will do no such thing! Valar Dohaeris! See that a man remembers this thing. A man will follow the order of his Elder and cease all investigation into the matter. An elder knows when a man's brother in death is lying. An elder raised him, or has a man forgotten!?"

However, it seemed that the Severe Man was feeling particularly brave (or stupid) this day, for he tried to fight back.

"But Elder…" He tried to say but the Elder cut him off, his voice raising once more. Although now it held an edge that gave it almost a growl-like quality.

"Shall an elder force Tears of Lys down a man's throat!? Because clearly he has forgotten the price for grave insubordination and treason. Both of which a man will be committing, should he disregard an Elder's orders or question him further!"

"Forgive a man, Elder. He will see that all investigation ceases. A man will not raise the subject again." The Severe Man quickly apologised, bowing his head low as he spoke. "May a man now have leave to return to his duties in the Hall of Death?"

"He may. But be sure that a man remembers the words of his Elder. Even a Legacy can not escape the charges that will befall a man, should he have a sudden onset of amnesia." The Elder warned and watched as the man nodded in defeat and then turned and left the room.

Once he was gone and the door closed tight behind him? The elder moved to his desk and began to pen his response to Jaqen.

-X-

Arya felt as her heart raced what felt like a million leagues per second, as Sansa laced up her gown. Her ivory and gold gown. It had been three months since Jaqen had come to Winterfell and Eleria had been growing like a weed. But her daughter wasn't the only thing that had grown in that time. Arya and Jaqen's relationship had as well. Going from strength to strength as the moons passed. Until eventually, he had asked her the one question that she had not known she had wanted to hear from him. 'Will a woman honour a man and become his wife once and for all?' She had accepted without a moment of hesitation.

Of course, they had to frame the news as them simply renewing their vows, before the Gods of Arya's family and the family themselves. Because, after all, as far as the court of Winterfell was concerned? Arya had already long since wed her Lorathi noble, but had done so in the Braavosi way. That story, plucked from the original fabrication, the only way that Jaqen could remain in her chambers with her and Eleria at night and not have it turn into a massive scandal. It was also the only way that it could be explained as to why he had taken to helping raise Eleria with gusto, without questions arising unnecessarily. A joint decision. To adopt a child of unfortunate circumstance, to see to it that she would have a life worth living, rather than dying with her poor birth mother. The idea of a 'renewal' would also waylay any questions about the date in which the marriage would be registered.

"Are you ready, my sister? You look truly beautiful today. And I am overjoyed for you."

"I'm ready, Sansa." Arya replied, turning and throwing her arms around her sister in a tight, loving embrace. Something that had shocked Sansa but that she had gladly and readily accepted as she returned the embrace.

"I am nervous, but I am ready." Arya added once they had parted.

"All normal, sister. I assure you. But don't worry too much. It is right for you both. You're perfect for one another. Besides, it's nice to have another handsome man stalking our halls." She joked and Arya couldn't help but laugh at this, as she nudged her sister playfully.

"Oh hush, you! You're so silly. But you are right, he is a very handsome man. He looks even more so with his clothes upon the floor."

"Speaking of clothes on the floor!" Sansa said with a cheeky grin. "Dany and I will take turns tonight, looking after Eleria. You and Jaqen will go to the watchtower, where you both can have a fabulous wedding night without distractions." She said, her eyes giving the impression of a cat who had found its way into the cream barrel.

"Oh Gods! What have you done, sister!?" Arya squeaked in concern, although she couldn't find the heart to not find some amusement in her sister's words. Sansa didn't reply for a moment, instead choosing to loop their arms and begin leading Arya out of her rooms and through the halls of Winterfell.

They were heading to the Godswood, where the clearing of the weirwood tree and pond had been set up for the wedding celebrations. It would be here, in the subtle warmth of spring, that Arya and Jaqen would exchange their vows, and then the feast and dancing would begin. Sansa would be the one to give her away today. It was how Arya had wanted it. She hated the idea of a brother or father giving away their daughter or sister. It was just too…archaic for her tastes and she didn't like the implication. But her sister on the other hand? It gave the action an air of something more positive. As she was readying to prompt her sister again, Sansa sighed happily and explained herself, leaning into Arya's side.

"With the help of Melisandre, Dany and I have already prepared the room and provided a few nice surprises for you both. Enjoy the marriage bed, sister. At least now if you conceive once more, you can simply take the time to enjoy it this time around, without worrying about consequence."

-X-

As they fell to the feather bed, warmed by the roaring fire within the hearth a man's breath hitched as a woman pleaded.

'Please…'

A man knew what a woman wanted. Had known her unspoken wants and needs like his own. At last a man and a woman were one. A man's mind whispered back to him, the words he had spoken that morning. In a sun-filled grassy clearing as a steadily warming breeze blew through to play with their hair. A woman had been a vision in ivory and gold, a most becoming contrast to a man's vermillion and silver.

Father, Smith, Warrior…

Delicately and with reverence, a man slowly removed a woman's gown not wanting to crease or ruin it's beauty in a hasty removal. As he slid down a woman's body, his feet soon touching the stone of the floor, he draped the gown over his arms to place it neatly and carefully across the back of a chair inside the room. What that gown now represented was something that he would never betray. Something pure, good and so desperately longed for. A man then carefully removed his own clothes, laying them on another chair beside the one the gown was draped over. Then he quickly made his way to the canopied bed once more, and slipped up from the bottom of it to lay his body over a woman's. Her gasp of relief, one that drove his desire higher than it already was.

Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…

The meeting of lips, pulled another gasp from a woman and a soft groan from a man, as the woman's hands found leave to dance across the man's back. Gods old and new, this moment felt like the first between them all over again. But then a man supposed, in a way it was. They were wed and this was the consummation, the final piece that would seal their exchanged vows. So yes, a man thought with a smile as another surge of desire ripped through him as a woman's legs came up to lock around his waist, this was their first night together. Their first as man and wife. A special moment that should be treated with the appropriate amount of reverence as it justly deserved.

'Please, husband…'

The plea from earlier came again, as a woman's nails sank into a man's back, her other finding entanglement within his hair. Hair that a woman loved so much already but had been even more adoring when she realised an infant girl had inherited it too. A man knew he could not resist the pleas of a woman and so, although he had wanted to ravish her form in every way ahead of their first joining? A man knew he had the whole night and next morning to worship a woman in the ways she so deserved. So in this instance, he would give her what she so dearly begged for.

I am hers and she is mine…

A man's hips surged forward then, piercing a woman's body in a way only a husband truly could. A woman's cry of bliss as she felt him seat within her, was almost enough to break a man's mind. But he persisted. Gods but the feeling was quite unlike anything he had known before. A deep feeling of completeness and unending love that only a woman could pull out of him. Gods but he would put a son in her this night, he would see to it. For a woman had already given him a daughter, a beauty of vermillion-silver hair and storm-grey eyes. A daughter that a man already fell to his knees for in all ways. So now a man would have a son, so that they would have one of each.

As he drove slowly and deeply within his wife, he kept this thought at the forefront. A son. A son that would be chestnut of hair and pale blue in eye, the opposite of his sister in every way. But still a balanced blend of a man and a woman. In their children would be the personification of Fire and Light, Shadow and Ice. A perfect representation of the two sides of a coin that a man and his wife were. For she was fire and light, while he was shadow and ice. Death and Life. A dangerous combination separately already, but an unstoppable and lethal force when tied together as one.

From this day, until the end of my days…

When their ends inevitably came, both man and woman coalesced as one, their cries of passion being drowned out by a loud and powerful boom of thunder outside the window of their marriage rooms. And as a woman shuddered and shook around him, she spoke, her hands gripping his face gently so that their eyes met, even as his seed continued to flood her.

"My assassin."

A kiss to his lips…

"My Lorathi love."

A caress of his hair…

"My Jaqen H'ghar."

A hand dancing down his front to rest over his heart…

"My husband, once and for all."

Arms slipped around his neck, his head being pulled down into a deep and passionate kiss.

"A woman was Arya Stark but is now Arya H'ghar and she will love you in this world and the next." She spoke with finality after she broke their impassioned locking of mouths.

His entire body shuddered at this admission and he felt as his masculinity rapidly grew in desire once more, surprising not only him but her as well. But as he kissed her ferociously once more, he would not question his ability to love her body again so quickly. For with her admission something else most exceptional happened, as his hips drew back to slam into her once more. He felt his facelessness fall away completely, washing away with the downpour that had started outside, as the acceptance of his true self came forth in a screaming return.

Yes. He was Jaqen H'ghar. Husband to Arya H'ghar and father to Eleria Catelyn H'ghar. And as Arya called out for him to drive into her harder, another errant thought crossed his mind. How had Arya leaving him to return home, become him being the one to do so instead? But then…he supposed…anywhere his lovely girl was, would be home for him.

-X-