Where am I? Arya thought, as her eyes opened into darkness, as a chill blew across her body. Glancing down, she found herself standing in snow, the night slip that Jaqen had bought her, the only thing covering her.

But that wasn't right. They were in the Summer Isles and she had fallen asleep resting on Jaqen after they had made long and sweet love. She didn't recognise the forest that she was in, although it looked similar to the Godswood in Winterfell. Hearing a snap of a fallen twig behind her, she whirled around and came face to face with an absolutely stunning woman. Petite, with an hourglass figure and clothed in a gorgeous emerald and gold court gown. Arya didn't recognise her, but what she did notice, aside from the woman's ethereal beauty was her waist length hair. Hair that was…vermillion with white streaking running through it.

Quickly looking at the woman's eyes, Arya felt her mouth fall open. Those pale blue eyes? She had, just a few hours previously, looked into the same ones and whispered her promises of love as she crested in passion.

"You're of Jaqen's blood, aren't you? You carry his hair and his eyes." Arya breathed in shock. Her eyes widening in amazement, when the woman gave a small half-smile, that also reminded her of Jaqen. Gods old and new, what was happening here?

"An older woman must correct a younger woman. A young man carries an older woman's hair and eyes, 'tis not the other way around, sweet girl." She replied in amusement, her voice so richly accented with Lorathi intoning that Arya was almost mesmerised by the sound.

The woman's voice was so bell-like with an undertone that seemed to make every word seem sensual. So…exactly like Jaqen, then? Well, minus the bell. No his was more like the deepness of softly beaten war drums. The kind that activated the primality within her. Seven Hells! What was this!?

"Although, an older woman is surprised that a young man gave a young woman his true name. So long now, a young man has hidden it at the behest of his bastard sire. A sentiment driven in further when a sire dragged his offspring to live with the faceless." The woman added with venom, almost spitting with her words. "An older woman's offspring was forced to become no one and lose his identity before he even knew what it was! As well as his knowledge of an older woman. Led to believe the one with yellow hair had birthed him! An older woman curses a young man's sire's manhood to rot from his body, while blessing their offspring with virility and long life."

Offspring!? Fucking offspring!? This was Jaqen's mother!? Arya felt her head spin then, the dizziness from her surprise unsteadying her, as she stumbled back. But before she could the woman had shot over to her and quickly caught her about her shoulders, her touch soft and considerate as she steadied Arya on her feet, again.

"Careful, sweet girl. She may be in the dream realm, but she can still become hurt and an older woman would never forgive herself, if she harmed her offspring's chosen lady. Even if it was accidental and minor." She cautioned softly, reaching up and brushing Arya's hair out of her eyes.

Arya felt her mouth fall open again. That had felt…quite nice actually. It had reminded her so much of her own mother, Gods keep her well and good. So although it pinched her heart, it gave her a sense of warm peace that she truly treasured. How could Jaqen not remember his true mother? Had she passed when he was still an infant and his father had remarried? What was the story here? And Jaqen needed to know! But Arya didn't know what to tell him when she woke, she needed answers.

"How come Jaqen doesn't remember you? I assume you passed when he was an infant? Would that be correct or…?" Arya asked carefully, mindful of her words and tone given the topic was sensitive.

"An older woman is not dead, sweet girl. She is still very much alive. But she is locked in one of Lorath's many, many towers. Kept fed and well mind you, but still a prisoner. A young woman's lover's sire, long since trapped an older woman in her prison." She answered with a sigh, her eyes becoming heavy with moroseness as she spoke. And Arya felt her heart clench once again.

"But you look so young, still? If you're still alive…" Arya began, her brow raising in confusion as she gave the woman before her an appraising look up and down. Clearly trying to piece together the timeline. Jaqen wasn't that old. Twenty-five summers, almost twenty-six. But yet this woman looked to be barely out of her thirties.

"Oh, a young woman is too endearing. An older woman was fifteen summers when bound to her offspring's sire, sixteen when she birthed her offspring. So an older woman is only forty-one summers old now." She answered with a chuckle, taking and patting Arya's hand, before dropping it again.

"But two women do not have much more time. Dawn approaches and a young man will soon stir and undoubtedly rouse a young woman also. An older woman came to a younger to tell her this. Bring an older woman's offspring to Lorath." She said gravely, taking Arya's hands again and squeezing softly but firmly. And Arya felt as though she didn't like the sound of these words, or what they were about to be followed up with.

"The land is destabilising greatly and she fears it will be destroyed. Lorath needs its Prince of The Streets to return. With his return, the Princes of the Harvest and Fisher shall return also. A young man has been without his true home and family for much too long." She explained rapid-fire as she glanced at something off in the distance, almost as if she was hearing something that Arya could not.

"Prince of the…what!? I don't understand." But even as she spoke, she watched as the form of Jaqen's mother began to fade. Her parting look, one of sorrow at having to leave their meeting so soon. But Arya needed something to take back to Jaqen. Anything.

"At least tell me your name!? And a way to prove to Jaqen that I speak the truth when I tell him about this!" She begged and watched as the woman thought for a moment and nodded. Then quickly answered her questions.

"A woman's name is Allandra, sweet girl. Previously of Hold Castille, now Hold H'ghar. As for something to say, so that a man may believe a woman. Simply say 'A man with a vault of gold is poor in the face of a man with a pure heart.' Say this and he will know. Farewell, sweet girl. A woman and a girl will meet again soon." And with those parting words, Allandra, Jaqen's mother, faded into nothingness. Arya tried to call back out to her but it was too late as she too began to feel as she was pulled from the land of dreams and forced back into the present.

Arya surged up in bed with a yell of 'wait', stirring Jaqen who immediately went on high alert, his eyes flicking around their room quickly and surely. When he found nothing, he turned to her and his expression became one of alarm. She was sweating and panting, and she could feel that her eyes were wide in disbelief. Glancing about her in mild confusion for a moment, wondering why she was on her side of the bed, she finally came to a conclusion. Even though she'd fallen asleep on him, she must have slipped off him again in the night.

"Lovely girl? Are you…" He began to ask, pulling Arya's hazy mind out of her lingering sleeping state. But before he could finish inquiring about her health, she cut him off.

"I just met your mother!" She spilled almost unintelligibly. Looking over at him she found a soured expression on his face now, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"Lovely girl…" He growled lightly in clear warning. "To jest in this way is inappropriate. A man has told you, he offered his life-giver to the many-faced God, many moons ago." He reiterated from the story he had told her, regarding his family background. But Arya simply shook her head, causing Jaqen to scowl deeply at this. Pushing past his bristling temper, she spoke.

"She wasn't really your mother! The one I just met in my dream is! She looks just like you, Jaqen! Speaks like you. And even has your mannerisms! I don't know why you cannot remember her, we ran out of time before she could tell me, but it was her! Jaqen you have to believe me!" She begged him, grabbing his hands and bringing them to her chest, so that he could feel the beat of her heart. Even though it was racing, it wasn't skipping like it would if she was lying to him. He had to believe her, he just had to.

"Arya, I am becoming quite annoyed now. To suggest that the one I knew to be my mother wasn't is…" He snapped, although not unkindly, as he shook her grip on his hands free, but she cut him off again.

"A man with a vault of gold is poor in the face of a man with a pure heart!" She practically yelled. "That's what she told me to tell you in case you didn't believe me. Please, my Lorathi love. I would not lie about something like this!" She pleaded as she looked up to see whether he was taking her seriously or not.

But she already knew the answer when Jaqen's mouth fell open and his eyes widened. Then getting up, he walked over to his bag and started to sift through its contents. Then from a hidden seam that she did not know was sewed into it, he pulled out a cloak fastener, which he then slowly brought back over to their bed. Once he was back inside the covers, he laid down on his side, propping his head up on his hand, before he passed the fastener over to her.

"A man believes you, lovely girl. How could he not when she says the words engraved on a cloak fastener that she didn't even know existed. Nor that she could read even if she did." He responded softly, pulling her head down to him and brushing his lips over her hair sweetly.

Arya looked down at the large and heavy metal fastener and gazed at it. I was a beautiful rose gold colour and depicted an image of four men. One stood a little higher than the other three, but was clasping hands with them, a bounty of food between them. Around the outside of the circular fastener, there were words written in a language that Arya did not understand. Seeing this, Jaqen clarified.

"It is the ancient language of Lorath. It reads 'Pure of heart is the one that protects the men of the streets.' But if you turn it over…" He said, taking her hands and guiding them to turn the fastener to its back side, she saw more of the same language as on the front.

"These lines, though, read 'A man with a vault of gold is poor in the face of a man with a pure heart'. The very phrase that you have just spoken to a man, although you previously had no knowledge of it, due to him never saying it to you before. Because it is an old saying only common in Lorath. A man was told by his sire that this was gifted to a man on his birth, by a female family member who died shortly after he joined this world." He explained, before he sat up and rested his arms on his bent knees, his hand coming up to run through his hair and pause within his locks.

His eyes were moving from side to side slowly as he began to process what she was telling him and what it meant for his life. Both past, present and future. She couldn't imagine what it was like to suddenly find, after almost twenty-six years of life, that your whole world had been a lie. That the woman you had always thought to be your mother had been nothing more than a step-parent. And that your father had been more than happy to nurture that lie and let you keep believing it. Which meant, most likely, his two siblings were his half-siblings.

So who had been Astor's true wife? Was it Allandra or was it Milena? And how did he end up married to both women at seemingly the same time? So many questions but very little answers. She could only imagine how badly Jaqen's mind was spinning right now. Reaching over, she hugged him from behind, trying to provide what little comfort to him that she could at the moment. His hand fell from his hair then, to come to rest over hers on his chest, where he sighed and allowed his head to fall back against her, seeking more of her comfort. As she peppered his temple with soft kisses, he sighed again and spoke.

"So, now that a woman knows of a man's belief in her words. He thinks it is time for her to explain everything that happened in her dream. A man needs to know."

Arya nodded against him then before taking a shaky breath, and began to recount her dream in as much detail as she possibly could.

-X-

Allandra came awake with a gasping breath. Gods, but it had been so long since she had been able to do that, that she was now unused to it. It had taken more out of her than she had expected.

She could only reach those of her blood in this way but had never been able to reach Jaqen. It seemed that Astor had found some way to block her connection to her son. So she had been most surprised when she had decided to give her projection one last futile attempt, and she had made a connection. But when she had entered the dream realm and found a woman instead of her son? Well, she had been most startled and confused. She had never seen the woman before, so knew she wasn't one of her blood. But then the young woman turned, observed her and asked if she was related to Jaqen. It was then that everything became clear.

She could reach this girl, because she had Jaqen's blood. But the lack of familial resemblance could only mean one thing. She had allowed her eyes to slip over the form of the young woman, her eyes settling for a moment on the woman's lower belly and it was then that she had just known. But not drawing the attention to where her gaze had fallen, she had responded to the woman. Clearly, if this woman knew Jaqen so well that she would become one with him enough, that she would end up able to connect with her by proxy? It was a safe assumption that they were committed lovers. So she could trust the girl, even though she didn't know her. But there was just something about her that called to Allandra. Something that screamed this girl was one that could be trusted.

The woman, although Allandra did not know her name yet, was quite fetching if a little dainty, she mused as she got up from her canopied bed and made her way over to the arched window of her tower room. But although the young woman was dainty, Allandra had not missed the aura of lethality that she exuded and she found herself rather proud of her son for catching such a worthy woman.

Gazing down upon the mazed streets of Lorath, she watched as the men and women of the streets moved around, lethargic and downtrodden. She had never seen the people of her home look so very broken. Corruption ran rampant within the council of magistrates. Too many indulging in their senses of self. Disgusting. Lorath, at its core, was a place of complete self-negation where all were equal to one another. Men and women. Rich and poor. The fisher and the banker. The hunter and the priest. None were greater than another. This was the way of Lorath. This is what the city was built upon. But now? She weeped, heartsick, for her people and her city.

The Princes of the Harvest, Fisher and Streets all needed to return. It was time for them to take back control of their city and tear the council of magistrates asunder. They had failed in their sworn oaths and duties. They had lost sight of what was best for the people and city that they served. Too many were searching to fatten their own pockets and hoard the good food and drink. The people were starving. The noble houses, still true to the city's ways, were doing their best to provide, but their own provisions were dwindling, so they could not keep it up without starving themselves and their families also. For this sharing of provisions only worked when all houses provided towards the effort. No man, woman or child was to go hungry or thirsty. But when only a handful tried? Starvation for all was imminent. It was a sorry, sorry state of affairs all around.

But it was the future that that bastard Astor had brought about. Starting with toppling the Hold of Castille. Her family. The family that were the monarchy that ruled the streets and took responsibility for every last man, woman and child. When they toppled, the strongest by far, the other Holds of Brewersmik and Marsden had followed shortly thereafter. The rulers of the Sea and Agriculture respectively. Without the Prince or Princess of the streets? Nothing else worked. It crumbled like the brutal waters of the Shivering Sea that crashed over stone to erode it to dust. Then he left, when he realised he had been marked for death, his ruse uncovered. Ran to lands far and away, taking her infant son with him and ensuring she could never escape this tower under her own power. Because he knew, more than anyone, that if she escaped? He would soon find her blade at his throat and she would show him no mercy.

That was why they all needed for Jaqen to return. This was his birthright. He was born to become her successor. They needed him. She needed him to show the people that the Hold of Castille had not been completely laid to waste, simply imprisoned and unable to escape to help their people. And with him the other Princes would come out of the shadows, where everyone would then turn their seething eyes towards the council. Lorath was at breaking point. They needed Jaqen. They needed all of their Princes. And when Jaqen arrived? He would arrive ready, with a Princess and an heir already in tow. Although she was sure neither her son or his chosen one knew of her condition. Allandra had felt, with how tenuous the connection had been to the young woman, that the babe had barely been conceived. So there would be some time yet, before their little, hopeful presence would be made known to their parents.

-X-

Jaqen watched as Arya ran to the bow of the ship and practically threw herself over the edge to once again empty the contents of her stomach. This had been happening for a few days now. They had stayed in Walano for a couple of days after Arya's dream meeting with his mother. Allandra Castille she was called. Before they, along with Syrio, set out for Lorath. He wasn't sure what was going to happen when they reached the mazed streets of his birth but he was cautiously intrigued all the same. He would also be lying if he said he didn't have a bubble of excitement in his belly for the chance to meet his mother. His true mother. Hmm. It seemed the story of his unusual hair colour was somewhat true, if his mother had been able to project herself into Arya's dream state. A feat that a lot of seers were capable of. Although he wondered how she had found his loves dreams and not his own. But he was sure that when they found her, they would learn the hows and whys of this question.

He glanced to the side when Syrio came to a stop beside him. His face was grave, as his eyes never left Arya's heaving form.

"You best marry her very, very soon, boy. Lest you become the father of a bastard." He had said, his tone clear with his distaste of the words he had been forced to speak. Jaqen felt his ire whip up from his depths, Gods but this man got under his skin in ways none had before. Except maybe his Lady-Wolf.

"Speak sense, instructor. A man's love has been taking the draught of non-conception. She is simply ill." He snapped, turning to fully face Syrio and level him with a glare.

"That draught is only useful when it is taken before a woman's womb has become inhabited. Unless she began the course on the first day of her blood? The likelihood is such that it was already too late. Tell me, faceless one? Has she had her blood at all, in the time you have been travelling?" Syrio challenged, gently but firmly cuffing Jaqen around the back of his head, in his annoyance.

Jaqen's eyes had widened in surprise at this, shocked at the other man's boldness. Had that..had that felt like it would if a man's father were to strike him for a moment of unbelievable idiocy. Had his tone carried that sound!? He didn't know and he didn't have a good point of reference, but it felt as he imagined it would. Careful so as to still show affection but firm enough to bring clarity to a situation.

As Syrio's words penetrated his mind, Jaqen felt awash in ice, as if he had been thrown into the Shivering Sea. No. It couldn't be. It shouldn't be. But as he thought about it more, he realised that he had yet to see the bed stained with Arya's blood. Even though she had stated when they first arrived in Walano that she could feel the stirrings of her moons beginning? They had never come, not properly anyway. So then, was what she had felt, the stirrings of something much more sinister? He had heard that women could sometimes feel as a man's seed burrowed within their wombs. And often the feeling was misconstrued as the warning of their cycle being imminent. He had also remembered that one day, not too long after that feeling, Arya had gone to begin using her feminine hygiene items. But she had only used them for a day or two, before she didn't need them again. She had found this odd, she'd explained to him, as usually her blood was heavier and lasted longer. But they had both put it down to her use of the anti-conception draught. They had been warned that she may see odd changes in her cycle, before the solution built up in her veins properly.

"Fuck." Jaqen found himself cursing, finding a remarkable lack of words to adequately describe his feelings on this grave realisation.

"Yes…that's why you're both here now." Syrio quipped dryly, causing Jaqen's eyes to cut to the instructor in a withering glare. But before he could retort, Syrio spoke again.

"However, now we know why your mother was able to connect with Arya in the dream world. Seers usually need a physical connection of some sort in order to dreamwalk with another. Blood, I have heard, is quite a potent link. And an infant's blood, even more so. Allandra wasn't connecting to Arya, specifically. She was connecting to the blood of her grandchild within her. So I guess, Lorathi, that's just further proof of the maternal connection that she claims over you."

His words were spoken gruffly, but not unkindly. If anything the man seemed to inflect a certain amount of sympathy and consideration of him to his words. As much as Jaqen found this curious, he was starting to wonder if the man had warmed up to him somewhat. Before they had left Walano, he and Arya had decided to explore the city a little bit before they decided to leave for Lorath. They had brought Syrio along with them and Jaqen had known that the Braavosi had been watching him with an eagle eye and how he interacted with Arya. And given Jaqen treated her as though she was his Queen and his Queen alone? He figured that may have waylaid some of the Braavosi's initial concerns. It was also clear to anyone with eyes, who spent enough time with him and Arya, that although the words had yet to be spoken between them? They were hopelessly head over heels for one another.

"Then why has she not linked with me, Syrio? If all she needs is the blood connection to those of her own? Then why did she link to my unborn and not me?" Jaqen queried next, his eyes on Arya now, as his thoughts raced.

Huh. Funny how that word 'unborn' had come so naturally to his lips, when it should be expected to be one stuttered out in panic, given the situation they were in. But strangely, he was not panicked and he wondered if there was something broken in him? They were neck deep in danger and running for their lives. So this child should be a disaster for them. But all he felt now was calm acceptance and a bubbling of something just below his surface that made his heart swell in his chest oddly at the thought. And in his gut a feeling of sheer devotion, directed towards Arya, that she would honour him in this way. Of course, she may feel differently. She still didn't know what was happening to her. At least, she may not. But he found it hard to consider, realistically, that she may not have even a small inkling as to her current condition.

Even if she hadn't been aware of how children came into this world? She was a woman and something in feminine instincts always knew when they were carrying. They may not always be able to pin the reason for their feelings down? But they always knew when something like this changed within them. Or at least, so he had heard, when he had listened to the floating mix of conversations, when he walked the streets of Braavos for one reason or another. He had heard women say things like 'Well you see, I just knew. Even before I missed my blood. My body didn't feel like it belonged to just myself anymore.' Or words to that effect. And these variances of words had fallen from the lips of multiple women over the years that he had spent in Braavos.

"That I can not answer, son." Syrio sighed in resignation, a hint of affection inflected on the term of endearment that up until now, the man had never used with him. "Maybe your father did something to prevent her from connecting with you. He would have known of your mothers abilities most likely. Given he was able to twist the story of your hair colouration, to make it seem like it ran in his family, rather than your mothers. And if he was trying to keep her existence a secret from you, as we now know he was, then he would want to make sure she couldn't visit with you in sleep."

Jaqen didn't respond verbally to these words, simply nodded that he understood and that he felt as though this was a logical assumption. But then he left Syrio's side and walked over to Arya, who was now holding one hand to her forehead and the other on her lower stomach. He did not miss how she was softly running her thumb back and forth on the area her hand rested over, in a movement clearly wrought with contemplation. Slipping his hand onto her lower back, he pulled her into his embrace. She came easily and clung to him like she would disappear if she didn't. She knew. She had to know. But he would still need to tell her and it was his place to do so. No one else should tell her this. It wouldn't be right. He had done this to her, so he should be the one to give her the news of her present condition.

"I'm sorry it seems a man has made his lady wolf a mother before they were ready. He should have kept his hands to himself more and not given into his temptations. Now he has cursed a woman with something that will alter her life forever." He whispered against her hair, as he squeezed her just a little tighter than normal. She had responded in kind, until his last words fully registered in her mind. Then her grip had become lax.

"Cursed!? What are you talking about Jaqen!? This is not a curse! Is it terrible timing? The worst, actually. But a curse? No, it would never be that!" She said against his chest, her tone showing her annoyance clearly. But she didn't pull away from him.

"But a woman is angry, yes? If so she has every right to be. A man is not a boy, he should know better." He replied with a sigh, shifting so that his chin was resting on her head gently.

"Angry? Wait…do you think I am angry with you for this?" She asked in disbelief, pulling away from him then, so that she could look at him. Looking into her steel-grey gaze, he found anything but anger in there. He could see irritation and concern. But not anger. The irritation he thought, was probably coming from what he had said so far.

"A man assumes so, this could have been avoided." He replied an inflection of a question, laced into his words as his brow raised.

"Well a man is a fucking idiot, is what he is!" Arya snapped, giving him a small shove, although there was no malice in the action. None at all. She was just frustrated with him and how he was looking at things. Something that was curious to him. He had thought she would be angry. Maybe even yell at him. But it seemed she was doing none of that.

"And while we're at it!" She added almost as an afterthought, before she elaborated further. "Did you force yourself upon me, Jaqen? Did you tie me down and against my wishes, fuck me anyway? No. You didn't! I knew what could happen if we didn't contain ourselves. But still I accepted you, enthusiastically, each and every time. I even claimed you more than once myself! This is not just on you!" She raged, her eyes lighting with the fire that he loved so much. It was one of the draws he had to her, that wolfen spirit that so strongly flowed through her family line, was beautiful to him.

"But still, a child Arya! We made a child, when we're barely holding onto our own lives as it is!" He snapped, because even though he appreciated her fire? He felt that she wasn't necessarily seeing the full extent of the seriousness of this.

"That still does not make our child a fucking curse! If anything, they are a blessing! Look at what we have found because of them?! Your mother, Jaqen! Your real mother!" She bit back, shoving him again. This time with a bit more aggression, although not much. But before he could retort, she continued to speak. Softer now, her eyes showing happiness. Happiness for him.

"You now have the opportunity to meet with the other side of your true family. Properly find out the full extent of your lineage. And all because you and I decided that we wouldn't keep our hands off each other."

He sighed then because he knew he could not refute her, her words were truth. Without this mishap, his mother would have never been able to reach him. But still he was wary. He did not know what all of this meant or what they were walking into, by travelling to Lorath. His father was also still looking for them and undoubtedly, there were already faceless men in the mazed city, hunting for their prey, just in case they had hidden there. And here they were, just walking in like nothing was amiss. But he knew he couldn't refuse to go. He had a right to know of his history. His true history. And which woman had truly birthed him. He could only hope that she would prove to be a better woman than his step-mother.

"How has a woman come to this conclusion? That a man's child has brought his mother to him?" He asked curiously. Syrio had said something similar just moments ago at a volume that Arya would have been unable to hear. So he could only assume that she had come to the conclusion herself.

Of course he had also been familiar with how sorcerers and seers connected to their targets. But for some reason, he simply hadn't thought of it himself. Which was unusual, not much escaped his ruminations or his notice. But apparently this piece of knowledge had stayed buried.

"Not that hard to figure out honestly, when you put all the facts together. I met a priestess of the God of Light when I returned to Winterfell. She was a sorceress. In the time leading up to the battle with the Night King, I spent a lot of moments with her." Arya explained with a sigh, as she ran her hands through her unbound hair. She seemed to need a moment to gather her thoughts, as she turned to cast her gaze out over the sea.

Jaqen, giving her that time, came to her back and slipped his arms around her from behind. He had planned to wrap them around her waist, but instead his hands found their way to her lower abdomen instead. He found himself stroking the area with lazy affection as he thought of what was now growing beneath his fingers. Arya was right, he knew she was. Although the timing was the worst it could possibly be? This was still a blessing. Not a curse and he felt guilty for referring to it as such. But Syrio had a point. Esso's wasn't as particular about bastards as Westeros was. But Arya would eventually have to return to Winterfell. And if she returned still pregnant, or indeed with an infant at her breast while unmarried? The fallout would be disastrous to her and their family. He would have to wed her and he would have to do it soon. They would need to talk about this further but for the moment, they would need to sit with this knowledge and come to terms with it together. He was brought from his thoughts, as Arya's hands found his to rest over them and she finished her explanation.

"She explained how seers usually worked and connected. Because it's similar to her own methods. That information, mixed with the knowledge of the supposed myth surrounding your hair colour, I put two and two together." She said softly, pausing as a deckhand passed them by. "But I didn't get confirmation of my suspicions, until I started being unable to keep anything in my stomach in the mornings. From there it wasn't difficult to understand the full picture."

They fell to silence then, comfortable as it was and Jaqen couldn't help but pull her closer to him protectively. He didn't just have Arya to look after now, he had their child. He didn't know what they were going to face in the coming months, but he knew that no matter what? His father would have to kill him before the man could even dream of getting to Arya and their child. Yes. Only death would end Jaqen's watch of his family, his defence of them. Astor didn't stand a chance in the hells, Jaqen would put him down long before he could even get a hit in. Well…not him per se. But his would be the mouth that spoke a name and an elder would do the rest. Now that Arya was pregnant? Astor needed to go. Immediately. Kissing Arya's hair, he murmured he had something to do before he slipped away from her.

As he passed Syrio he spoke. "Stay by her side, water instructor. Should anything happen, this ship will run red with your blood. A man has a matter to take care of."

Syrio didn't say anything, he simply bowed his head in acknowledgement, before making his way over to Arya, who was now resting her wrists on the edge of the ship. Her eyes never leaving the sea that stretched before her for miles, it seemed that although it was frigid, the air felt good to her.

-X-