Tales From The House Of Black And White

As the body drops to the ground, from a blow not struck by her, Arya scans the surrounding woods of the clearing she and her small daughter were in. She finds nothing, or rather, she sees no one and that worries her. It worries her greatly. Looking at the third of the fallen men that she did not take the life of, she quickly took stock and felt her breath catch in her chest as her heart rate picked up in no small amount of panic. A dart. There was a dart protruding from the back of the man’s neck, and she could already see the purpling of the skin around the piercing site. She recognised that dart. She recognised that killing style. Her head snapped up again, her eyes scanning the treeline more closely, but regardless of how hard she tried, she could not see anyone amongst the great pines and thick brush. But of course she wouldn’t, it was futile, like looking for a ghost in mist. As her mind raced and filled with blue eyes and full lips at her nape, she almost descended into full panic until a small voice drew her attention. “Momma? Why are you staring at the trees? We need to leave, I don’t like it here any more. These men are still scary, now.” “Don’t be scared, little wolf. It’s ok. Momma’s got you. She just needs to make sure that we’re safe now. That’s all.” She responded, smiling down into the pretty face of her five-year-old daughter, before pulling her into her stomach and hugging her close. Adriana was such a slight little thing, but already Arya knew that she would grow to be very beautiful. She had been blessed with her eyes and nose, but her father's hair and mouth. Hair that, although gorgeous, Arya hated at the moment. Because it left no doubt as to who the little girl’s father was. Running her fingers through Adriana’s ruby and white hair, Arya barely held back her flinch. She had tried so very hard to hide Adi from him. Not because she didn't want him to know his child or be a part of her life, but because she did not want her child raised within the order. So when she found out that she was pregnant? Rather than tell anyone, not even him, she had instead run. And for the past five years, they had lived solely as mother and daughter, hidden from everyone. But most importantly, hidden from No One. But it seemed their time had finally run out. Because that dart and that death meant only one thing, he had found them. He was here. And he had seen Adi and her beautifully bitter-sweet hair, then estimated her age. After that, it wouldn’t have been very hard for him to count the years and land on Arya’s most damning truth. He knew Adi was his, and given how fast and how deeply that dart had embedded in the man's neck? He was furious. But she supposed he had every right to be. He had been sent after her, most likely because she had left the order without leave and was now a liability. So who better to send after her than the very man who had been her teacher and master? But that hadn’t been all he’d been to her. He’d become her lover, too. As soon as she had reached twenty springs, she had made it a point to pursue him. He had resisted her at first, but eventually he had relented, and together they had built a rather lovely relationship. He had been her first, and she’d planned for him to be her last as well. But then she had fallen pregnant with Adi, and everything had changed. She had looked up in the library of the temple, what tended to happen in these situations, after all, they couldn’t be the first to find love in the temple of death. And to her relief, they hadn’t been. It seemed to happen often enough that there had been outlines for how that was to be handled. For the most part, the two parties could do as they wished, provided it did not interfere with temple business or with contracts. A couple was also not allowed to go on a contract with one another, as it would be too much of a liability should one become compromised. As she had read everything, she was finding out it seemed logical enough, and the rules put in place were based on common sense and overall safety of the agents and the order. But then she’d stumbled upon the part regarding pregnancy. This section had dictated that any child born of two agents of death was to be raised within the temple and trained as one of the faceless from birth. This, Arya could understand, would be a draw for the order as it gave them a chance to have a child raised as No One from birth. So the perfect assassin, really. But she had known in her heart that she would not want any child of hers raised within the temple. She didn’t want them raised as a killer, before they could even understand the most basic concept of living, never mind taking a life. She had agonised over her decision for hours while he had been away on a contract. She knew that if she had told him, his loyalty would demand that he inform the elders. And they would then declare that the legacy rule would apply, and she would be unable to resist or protest their decision. So she had chosen not to tell him, as much as it had killed her to do. But she also knew that she couldn’t hide her condition for long. They shared the same room and bed, even if by some miracle he didn’t notice her swollen stomach when it eventually popped, he would for sure notice that her cycle hadn’t started, given he kept a close eye on it. She had found that odd initially until he had explained that it made sense for him to understand her cycle and its duration. So that if they eventually decided to have children, they’d be able to figure out the best time to try. But it could also alert him to specific medical issues, so that he could seek help for her if needed. It made sense, even if it was weird to her, given she was used to boys and men cringing at the thought of a woman’s blood. But maybe it was the Lorathi way, she didn’t know, and she hadn’t asked. So he would have definitely noticed that. Thus, she had chosen to run and not look back. She had hoped that they would never find her, but she should have known how stupid that idea was. They were the faceless; she was a faceless; they were all exceptional trackers and killers. But he, he was the best of the best she had soon come to find after taking up residence in the temple. And although the elders had known that they had been in a relationship, they knew he would still do what needed to be done. He wasn’t the best for no reason, and she had known that he could turn his emotions off as easily as he could snuff a candle out. Which meant, if needed, he could switch his feelings for her off just as quickly and do his job. “Come on, my little darling, let's get home and try to forget all of this nastiness.” Arya said, coming out of her thoughts and looking away from the treeline. Then, picking her daughter up, she began to head towards the town that they lived in. She didn’t worry that he would most likely follow them. If he was already on her tail? Then he would have found their home sooner or later. So the result would remain the same regardless. There was no point in hiding now. So she would go home, feed her daughter and put her to bed. Then she would wait. He would show himself. Eventually. -x- Her eyes snapped open, her vision greeted her with the bright and beautiful full moon, as it shone through her bedroom window. She wasn’t alone any longer; she could sense it before she even turned around. She had wondered, when she had fallen asleep earlier, whether he would show himself in the middle of the night. After all, it was how he would keep her off balance when he was training her. He would make his way into her room late at night and pull her from bed to play the game of no one. And she knew it was him now, the scent of ginger, clove and sandalwood was unmistakable. She felt her lower body spasming in want. Gods, how she loved the smell of him. The spiciness was a perfect complement to his masculinity and something that made her head swim when he would slip between her thighs at night. Or tease her in the day, by getting into her space and dragging a slow path up the column of her throat with his lips as he spoke words of desire in his rich, Lorathi accent. Gods, how she loved him. But there would be no slipping between her thighs tonight, unless it was to give her the kiss of the long farewell. Slowly turning so that she could face out into her room, she didn’t jump when she found his figure lounging on the chair of her vanity. The moonlight shone just right to display one half of his face in light. His achingly handsome face was always at its most beautiful in moonlight. But tonight his expression was not one of love or the desire she was so used to seeing. It was, instead, one of anger. Anger that ran hot and true within him. Anger that he had every right to. She had taken something important from him. Something significant indeed. “Jaqen, I…” “A woman will not speak unless a man asks it of her.” He cut her off quickly, his tone hard and his words biting. Arya felt herself flinch, unable to hold it back, as her mouth snapped shut, her teeth clicking together in submission. His anger was a terrifying thing, which is why he worked hard to keep himself so controlled all of the time. “A man was wounded enough when he returned to his home and found a woman gone, with nary a note to explain where she was. He was sick with worry for days!” He snapped, slowly getting to his feet and making his way over to her bed carefully. As he slowly stalked towards her, Arya took a calm and steadying breath as she pulled herself up in bed. Watching his form as he moved, she could tell how tight and restrained his movements were. He was boiling over at this point, and it worried her. Her eyes flicked to the dagger at his side. The dagger that she had gifted him that day. A dagger that held an etched promise upon its blade. A promise that she had broken. “Then when he realised that she had willingly run from him, he fell into a melancholy quite unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. But a man had to report the loss to the elders and a woman was marked a rogue.” He explained, now standing right beside her bed, forcing her to look up at him. She almost spoke to apologise, but his warning look let her know that his demand was still in force, and so she swallowed her words. “The order could not find a woman for years. She had hidden so exceptionally well, showing all of them just how much of a loss she was. Because her talents far surpassed those of the best and brightest. But then half a moon cycle ago, a woman’s name was given to another. She had been found and immediately marked for death. A man had to work hard to convince the elders to assign him her contract instead. A man had to lie to the oldest and most masterful ones of the order.” He continued, his knee now dropping down onto her mattress, and she found her eyes darting to it, wondering just what he was about to do. “Because although a man was still hurt, angry and feeling betrayed by the one he loved most? He did not wish for a woman to die and so he set out to protect her, rather than send her to meet the Red God. But then he finally catches up with her and what does he find…” He practically growled, and the next thing she knew, his hand was around her throat, where he pushed her back into a lying position roughly, before he slipped over her. Arya’s hand flew to his wrist in a moment of panic before she realised that he was not holding tightly at all, and rather than having his hand wrapped around her throat, he instead had it placed at the base. He was not trying to throttle her, just incapacitate her temporarily. “Jaqen! I can explain. Just please let me…” But this time her words were cut off when he applied pressure to her lower throat. It did not hurt, and it would not leave any marks; it simply made her breathing shallower. “A woman can explain why she ran from a man and then hid his offspring from him!? A young girl is quite lovely and quite obviously of a man’s and a woman’s blood! And yet a woman chose to hide her!? Why!?” He snarled down at her, and for once, she actually felt afraid of him. She had never once felt afraid of Jaqen, even when he worked her to the bone in training. She hadn’t once felt anything remotely close to fear. So this was a first for her, and she didn’t know how to respond. For once, she didn’t know what to say. But it seemed he grew impatient, as his hand pressed down just a little harder, but still not enough to cause her actual damage. Even now, angry as he was, he still kept his touch of her controlled and overall gentle, even under the circumstances. “A man has asked a question of a woman! So answer your husband, Arya H’ghar!” He ordered in a tone as icy as the claws of death, but then he was death personified, so she supposed it was fitting. Arya felt the tears prick her eyes then, as the situation finally got to her. She could see his pain and his misery within his beautiful eyes. She could see, clear as day, the depth of the betrayal that he felt. Betrayal that she had caused. She could also see the mourning of the years he had lost with his daughter because of her mother's choice. But what really broke her and brought her tears forth from her eyes was that she hadn’t been the first to start crying. As she watched the tears slip down his face, her heart shattered in her chest. She had broken him. She had truly wounded his soul. “Did a woman forget her vow to a man?” He asked in a whisper that was wrought with sadness and despair. She felt as his hand slipped from her throat to rest softly over her heart for a moment. Before he fell back slightly, his weight settled across her hips. However, she noticed how he was careful to keep most of it off her. “Or did it mean nothing to her? Even though she knew it meant everything to him?” He added, getting off her completely now and allowing himself to fall back to her side. His back was now leaning on the wall that her bed was against, his arms resting on his bent knees, while his hand wiped at his eyes carefully. “No! That’s not true, Jaqen! That would never be true! Of course I didn’t forget it and it meant everything to me as well. Just please, give me a chance to explain myself.” She pleaded with him as she reached out to place her hands on either side of his face, turning him to look at her. “I promise you, my Lorathi love, this is not what it seems. It could never be like that! Not with you.” “Then what was it, wife!? Why did you steal away into the night, while pregnant with our child!?” He almost yelled, his frustration at this whole mess clear, given he had momentarily slipped out of his third-person speaking style. His eyes quickly found hers, and they still showed anger. That wouldn’t subside for a while, even if they managed to find a way out of this sorry mess. “Because I did not want her raised in the temple as a killer! I wanted a different life for her, Jaqen!” She snapped back her own growing anger, taking a front seat. She had cowed before him enough for one night, only because she knew she’d done something terrible, and she would have been mad to think he would have taken something like this in stride. But enough was enough, she may have done an awful thing, she wouldn’t argue that. However, she was still his wife and thus he would have to start speaking to her as befitting her station in his life, now. “Then all you had to do was tell a man this thing! If you didn’t want her raised there, then a man would have made sure that their child was raised elsewhere with him and a woman!” He fired back with a glare, knocking her hands from his face before pulling his dagger free from his belt loop and tossing it to the side, shortly followed by his dark, fur-lined cloak. She heard as both items hit the floor of her bedroom. He was now only left in his deep red, long-sleeved tunic and his tight black pants. At least, she thought absently, he had removed his muddy boots at some point before he had gotten onto her bed. But not becoming distracted, even though her eyes were already tracing the outline of his muscular arms and thinking about them caging her below him, she spoke. “But the order doesn’t allow that! I went to the archives. I read the books. A child born between two members of the order is to be raised within the order, with their ideals and training from birth! There was no way that they would have allowed her to be raised elsewhere.” She explained to him, her tone showing how dejected she was at this. But when his eyes met hers again, she found something there. It was a look she was familiar with when he had trained her. Disappointment. It hurt more now than it ever did then. But back then, she wasn't in love with him. Hadn’t been married to him. So to see him look at her like this now? It tore at her heart and caused a small sob of hurt to bubble up in her throat, but she swallowed it back. No. She couldn’t break down now. She wouldn’t be one of those women who manipulated her husband to gentleness with tears. It was a cheap shot, and she didn’t like the idea of it at all. “A woman read an outdated volume! That has not been a rule for many, many years now. Something a woman would have known if she had but only spoke to her husband and shared her fears for their offspring with him!” He replied, his aggression and his anger starting to bleed from him now, leaving only morbid understanding and pain in its wake. He could understand why that would have scared her, she realised, but it still didn’t change how she’d handled it. If there had been anyone to share her fear with, it would have been him. And she knew, like she knew herself, that she should have never kept his daughter from him. He could handle her leaving him, although it would tear him asunder, but losing his daughter for five summers of her life? That was something he had been unable to bear, and she didn’t blame him. Their daughter was a beautiful soul, kind, goofy and sweet. She had all of Jaqen’s best traits, as well as all of Arya’s. And her wit, although still childish at the moment, was a perfect blend of hers and Jaqen’s. But he had missed all of this growth. He had missed watching as Arya’s belly had swelled as their child had grown. He had missed Adriana’s birth, missed her first steps and first words. Missed all of the little beautiful and sweet infantile things that could only be experienced by looking after a newborn. Feeling as the crushing weight of her actions and their gravity pushed down onto her, Arya was unable to hold back her tears then. Even though she had just sworn she wouldn’t break down. She couldn’t help it in the face of Jaqen’s hurt and pain. He was her weakness; if he hurt, then she did too. It was just as it was between them. One did not hurt without the other also hurting, like a strange symbiosis that they couldn’t explain. They just accepted it for what it was. “Please believe me Jaqen, I am so sorry for what I did to you. I know it doesn’t help anything and what’s done is done, but I allowed myself to panic too much. I let my fear of the unknown and the new future I was faced with then, to rule me. I wasn’t thinking. Not clearly. And should have known better than to make decisions in that state of mind. After all, it was one of the first lessons you ever taught me.” She tried to explain, although she wasn’t sure if she was articulate enough, given that she was speaking through tears. She heard him sigh deeply beside her then, one of resignation, but he didn’t speak, and that worried her. But as her mind spiralled, she sucked in a breath when he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. In his eyes, she could still see the raging inferno within him, but it was slowly subsiding and was also beginning to be overtaken by something else. His desire was returning, although tempered for the moment. She supposed this was to be expected; the last time he had taken her was the night before his contract had begun. The night that they had conceived Adriana. “What is a man’s daughter's name, wife?” He asked, his tone softer now, as his thumb swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Ad–Adriana Milena Catelyn H’ghar. Th–that’s what I named her.” She answered, her breath hitching as she tried to calm her sobs once again. But still she managed to speak clearly enough. She watched his eyes soften more then, as they lit a little at the name she had given their daughter. “You shared a man’s mothers name with his daughter?” He asked gently, and Arya nodded. “Yes. I wanted her to have both of our mother’s names as well as her own. I know how much your mother meant to you, Jaqen. Even though you were trained as I was, to become no one. I know you could never forget her, no matter how hard you tried. You loved her too much. So I felt it was only fitting that your mothers legacy carry on through your daughter. Just like my mothers does.” She answered truthfully, and soon she found herself on her back again, Jaqen above her. But this time it was different to the last. Very different, and as his hands slipped up her thighs over her blankets, to travel to the apex between them, she couldn’t help but shift her legs below him, so that he was now somewhat nestled between them. Their clothing and her blankets were the only things separating them from one another. “Understand this, wife. A man does not forgive you. That will take a very long time. But what’s done is done. What matters is what a man and his wife do now. And right now as angry and hurt as he is, a man still adores his wife and finds himself wanting her regardless of what has happened.” He said his tone hinting at seduction as his mouth found its way to her neck, where he began to drag his lips over the column of her throat, making her shiver delightfully. “Then take what’s yours to claim. Come morning you will have to give the Red God his due soul. My soul. Just promise me two things, don’t make it grotesque and take our daughter home with you. She will know who you are. I never hid who her father was from her. But raise her outside of the temple. Don’t allow them to have her. This is all I ask. I don’t want your forgiveness because what I have done is unforgivable. So I just have these two simple requests as a wife's final ask of her husband.” She replied with resoluteness. He would have no choice but to end her life. She knew the consequences of running and what would happen if her past caught up to her. She just hadn’t expected it to be him who would be the harbinger of death. But as she thought of it, she was glad it was. If anyone should take her life? She would rather it be him. The one who loved her. It somehow made her fate easier to accept if the one to deliver it to her was one of her made family. But his chuckle surprised her. “A man will not be taking your life, lovely wife. Did you not hear him earlier when he said he came here as protection not as death. Besides, a death has already been paid. The mercenary from the clearing earlier? A woman knows his death was brought by a man’s hand. Thus their life has paid for yours.” He replied, his hand had now found its way beneath the blankets and her slip, to begin toying with her, and she sighed as the stirrings of pleasure began to build within her. “But the order will…” She spoke in protest, but he cut her off gently. “Will follow a man’s path and learn the truth as he has. A life has already been given and a child has been revealed. They will be satisfied and will understand a woman’s decision and the reasons why she made it. They will expect a man, woman and child to return to Braavos. A child’s birth and parentage need to be recorded within the annals of the order. Then a choice will be offered. Stay and raise the child within the temple according to the order edicts. Or become independents, who choose when and where they work for the order. With no requirement that their child be ever inducted.” He explained, pulling away from her briefly, much to Arya’s disappointment. But this was quickly dashed when she watched him divest himself of his clothes. Without thinking, she pulled off her night slip and let it fall to the floor at the side of the bed to join his clothes already there. She then held the blankets aloft in invitation, one he quickly accepted. As soon as they were settled, he let her know that their conversation was over for the moment as his lips found hers in a searing kiss that held all of his pent-up emotion. Emotion that had built over the last five years. By Braavosi law, he would have had every right to dissolve their marriage after two years of her abandonment of him. But given he still referred to her as ‘wife’ rather than once-wife, she could only assume that he had not done so. Something she was curious about but did not question as she sighed in bliss, to feel his lips on hers again. It did not take them long to sink into the moment, and she felt a strong sense of anticipation when she found herself below him again and could feel the evidence of arousal against her. His size had scared her at one point, when she had still been untried, as he had felt so large and thick against her. But now? Now she held only anticipation for him and his maleness. He was neither too large nor too small, and his girth was impressive but not monstrous. In short, he was perfectly designed for her, as if he had been built to fit her and no one else. She released a gasping but soft moan as he finally slid within her. God’s how long had she missed him like this? Years at any rate, and her need for him had been greater than she had thought, as evidenced by how easily he’d been able to slip within her walls, even though he hadn’t done too much to prepare her. But then, he had probably felt how slick she had started to become within moments of his first touch of her womanhood. He’d known then that he would not need to put much effort into preparing her body for him. Not this time. She felt a deep shudder run through her, as he released a pleasured sigh above her, to feel himself encased within her again. “A man thinks he will try for a son this time, lovely wife.” He spoke seductively, his grin turning wolfish before he kissed her again, this time in a much more bruising and insistent fashion, and then he was moving and she was moaning into his mouth. Together they moved their pace, although insistent, was no less slow, deep and filled with emotion that neither could voice verbally but that their bodies could scream with ease. She kept her eyes open and locked with his, as they rolled, ground and undulated with one another. The moonlight streaming down upon them lit him with an ethereal glow that almost brought her to tears of abstract joy, and enraptured, she called his name in bliss, her eyes never once leaving his. She wanted to see him in his pleasure as he worked also to give hers as well. She wanted to burn this reunion into her memory, to remember that no matter what happened or what was done, he would always come back to her. He would always love her, as she would always love and find her way back to him. Her vow, which she had etched into the sides of a dagger, then presented him with it as a wedding gift, was still true. She still meant it. ‘Valar Morghulis. Valar Dohaeris. All men must die. All men must serve.’ Was etched into one side and then on the other; ‘But a woman is not a man. And she will serve and die for only one. Jaqen H’ghar.’ When she had presented it to him and he had read the inscriptions, he had pulled her into him so tightly and kissed her so fiercely that she had thought that she would die from how much his passion had stolen her breath. He had never really been one to carry a blade of any kind, although he was dangerously adept with all types of blades. So gifting him with this, she had expected him to keep it as a decorative but sentimental piece. After all, he had always preferred the use of poison to bestow the gift. He had found it much more elegant and efficient than the up close and personal manner of a blade that she so preferred. With poison, he could keep his distance and then steal away unnoticed into a crowd as his target fell to the ground, the poison he preferred moving much too rapidly within the target's body, to allow for any kind of rescue to happen. In contrast, she liked her targets to see her face and know exactly who had dealt the killing blow. So yes, she had expected her gift to stay on a beautiful display stand, like some of his other blades had. But instead, he had strapped it to his hip that day, and there it had stayed ever since. He had called it his good luck charm. As long as he had it, her hand would always keep his steady and see him to success, even when she wasn’t with him. And she supposed, as her voice lifted louder in pleasure, her nails digging into his shoulders to drag down his back, that it seemed his belief in his dagger was true. Had he not succeeded in finding her once again? And had he not succeeded in finding the solution to the problem of her running away from him and the order? And finally, had he not also succeeded in still loving her even though most would have turned their backs on her now after what she had done? Most wouldn’t be able to bring themselves to even look at her, with a betrayal like this. But here her husband was, driving deeply within her body, as though nothing had happened between them. He had even joked that he would try to put a son in her next, even though he had just found out that he had a daughter of five summers. And although he had joked, it came from a place of choice. He was telling her that he was willing to still have more babies with her, even though she had cruelly stolen his firstborn from him, regardless of her reasons for doing so. And as a few tears slipped from her cheeks, a manifestation of her overflowing emotions, she flipped them so that he was on his back and she was above him. Leaning down, she kissed him, solidly making the kiss deep and pouring all of her unspoken emotions into it. He returned her kiss with equal measure, his hands slipping down her back to rest at her hips, where he began to thrust up into her, as she rode him long, slow and hard. One thing she highly enjoyed about her husband was the Lorathi in him. They lived in a society that was completely devoid of a sense of self. Thus, everything was equal, and that included sex. Most men in Westeros had a nasty habit of needing to be in control all of the time (or so she had heard). So, the idea of allowing their women to ride them, as she now rode Jaqen? It would be a source of shame. A man's place was above a woman after all, according to them. So why would he allow her to be above him, even during an intimate act such as this? But Lorathi men, on the other hand? They embraced it wholeheartedly, and they thoroughly enjoyed watching it happen, too. Or, at least, her Lorathi man did. His masculine moans, sighs and gasps were heady and like music to her ears, her name slipping from his lips like a prayer. This, it seemed, would be the one time where his race indulged in a brief sense of self as they became overcome with pleasure. As she started to bounce faster and grind on him harder, she allowed her nails to sink into his skin and drag down over his chest. She watched as the deep pink welts rose on his skin, a few red beads breaching the surface, with a deep sense of pleasure. Yes, she wanted him marked. She wanted him to carry the evidence of her hands on his chest for the next few days. A reminder of who she was and what they’d done. She was a hellcat underneath the loving exterior that she happily lavished on her husband, and from time to time, she needed to remind him of this fact. Just like he reminded her of his lethality every so often, like he had tonight. It kept them both aware of the other and what could happen should they cross one another. They were both dangerous. The personification of an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. She saw as his eyes flicked from hers to his chest and then back up to meet her gaze once again. The fire she found in there stole her breath and wracked her body with dizzying new heights of pleasure. “Yes, Jaqen H’ghar. Remember who a man belongs to. For it is not himself, it is his wife. Let a woman’s marks of passion remind a man of this truth just in case he had forgotten.” She hissed out in a deep moan, as her walls fluttered around him for a moment. Her first warning that she was getting close, and he had felt it too. “A man had never forgotten this truth. But it seemed his wife instead forgot that she also belonged to her husband. Arya Stark is the runaway. But as soon as Arya Stark became Arya H'ghar, running away stopped being an option!” He practically growled in response, before she was flipped, and Jaqen was over her again. Leaning back a little, he began to drive into her with reckless abandon. “But it matters little. A man will remind a woman of who she belongs to, when he floods her with his seed once again.” He added lewdly before adjusting himself just so, to hit a part of her that Arya knew would end her and end her, it did. Between his possessive words and his sinful movements, her body tensed, and as his scent of sandalwood, clove and ginger filled her head, she gripped his arms. “Jaqen! I'm about too…” She gasped, and he just smirked down at her. “A man knows, lovely wife. He wouldn't be much of a husband if he couldn’t read his wife's body. He is waiting.” And just like that, her back suddenly arched off the bed violently, her body devolving into uncontrollable shakes. She barely registered over the cry of his name, his sharp curse, before with one more deep and brutal thrust, he tensed above her. Within moments, her name fell from his inviting lips, and she felt the warm pulsing as he spilt himself deep within her. But it seemed his release, much like hers, had been so strong that it had stolen his strength, and he collapsed above her. She caught him about his shoulders and guided him down with her as her body sagged in deep, blissful relaxation. Every muscle within her, now feeling like jelly. They lay together, gasping for breath and waiting for their hearts to slow in pace. And Arya felt at peace for the first time in five years, as she tightened her arms around Jaqen as if he would disappear. She heard him chuckle above her before he rolled and settled her on top of him, where she shifted around for a few moments before she melted into him, now comfortable, with a contented and happy sigh. “I missed you, my Lorathi love.” She murmured against his chest, feeling as her eyelids began to droop from tiredness. “I know my actions would say otherwise. But truly, I did.” She added a yawn, overtaking her words and making him chuckle again. “And I you, my lady wolf. Running does not always mean you do not miss those who you ran from. A man knows this and so he believes his wife.” He replied. “But for the moment, get some rest, Arya H’ghar. We will talk more in the morning.” He added, wrapping his arms around her tighter before placing a lingering kiss on the top of her head. “You will meet your daughter first, Jaqen. Then we can talk.” She murmured before her eyes slipped shut and sleep claimed her. She was safe again. With him, she was safe. They were safe. Her daughter would finally have her father, and she had gotten back her husband. But even though these were all happy things, she knew damage had been done to her and Jaqen’s relationship. Regardless of what they had done tonight or how much he had told her that he still loved her. She had damaged their marriage and knocked his trust in her. It would take time to earn that back and repair the breakages. But she would do it. Because she loved him and he deserved her devotion, not her distance. -X- Jaqen felt eyes on him and the sun on his face. He could feel, by the steady rise and fall of her breathing, that his wife was still fast asleep on top of him. So if he was feeling eyes, that could only mean one person. A small person. Opening his eyes and blinking back the minor sting from the bright sun streaming through the window, he turned his head and met eyes that matched Arya's exactly, but curls, atop a head, that matched his shades. His daughter. This was Adriana. “Why did you stay away so long, papa?” She asked, her small head tilting in curiosity. “Momma thought you would have come quicker.” Jaqen felt himself blink rapidly in both surprise and emotion. His heart surging with a new kind of love. A love he had never known. Is this what it meant when others said they felt a father's love? Her voice, although still young and childish, was sweet and smooth like the soft tinkling of a crystal bell. And, he noticed, rich with a Lorathi accent. But then, that's where his little wife had absconded to because it would be the last place anyone would have thought to look for her. The land of his birth, and where half of his daughter's lineage came from. “It was not a man's choice, lovely girl. It took some time, because a girl's mother is very good at hiding to protect a girl.” He replied and watched as her small eyes widened almost comically. “Papa! You sound like me! Well when I'm outside. Momma says it's polite and only right, to mimic how Lorathi people live, if we can.” She said excitedly as she bounced up and down a little on the spot. “And a girl's mother would be correct. A girl’s father sounds like a girl because a man was born and raised in Lorath as well. Just like a girl was. A girl’s mother wants a girl to know of her lineage and for a girl to respect it.” He explained, reaching out to place his hand atop her head and rub her hair affectionately, making the small girl smile in happiness. “Is momma ok, papa? She is usually awake by now and making breakfast. But when she wasn’t in the kitchen, I came in here.” She asked innocently, looking at her mother with great concern, and Jaqen almost choked on his breath as he hastily looked down. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that although it was clear that he was shirtless, the blankets had been pulled up over Arya’s shoulders, covering her completely. Thank the God's that they were both appropriately covered, he didn't need his first meeting with his daughter to end in a mental scarring, because her father couldn't keep his hands to himself the night before. But still, Adriana’s innocent question was quite amusing to him. “A girl’s mother is just fine. A woman is simply tireder than normal, that is all. But a man asks a girl to wait for him in the kitchen. He will be down shortly to feed a girl. We will leave a woman to rest a little more.” He replied and watched as Adriana gave him a big, happy grin before she nodded enthusiastically and hurried out of the room. He listened as her small steps ran down the stairs, and that was when he slowly slipped Arya off him. He was careful not to wake her, and when he was sure she was still slumbering, he slipped out of bed and hurriedly dressed himself, lest his child run up again in impatience. Looking around him, he found a comb on Arya’s vanity, which he used to run through his hair, knowing that his wife wouldn’t mind. They shared everything normally. Then, grabbing a hair cord from a stack that sat in a small glass jar, he tied his hair back and out of the way. He and Arya had cooked together more than once when they were still at the temple. And although they both did not compare to Umma, the resident chef of the House of Black and White? They were still more than decent at the task. So making breakfast for his daughter wouldn’t be difficult at all. In fact, he was looking forward to it. So much he had missed out on because of Arya’s fear and panic, and it would hurt him for a very long time, he knew. But as he had said to her last night, what was done was done. What now mattered is what they did going forward, and what he could do now is cook for his daughter for the first time. But even so, as he left Arya’s room and made his way downstairs to where he could hear Adriana humming happily, he couldn’t help as his mind travelled to darker places. Places that hurt. For one, he had no idea of his child's likes and dislikes, which cut him deep. It was some of the most basic knowledge that a father should know, and he didn’t. But he would find out. He was not even aware of how much she had weighed when born, or how long she had been. He had never gotten to hear her first infantile cries as she entered the world, or held her as a babe for the first time, marvelling at all of her tiny fingers and toes. When was the first time she had gotten sick? What comforted her when she did? What had been her first word? When did she take her first steps? What had been the day of her birth? What season!? He suspected a Spring child, but didn’t know for sure. Given she would have most likely been conceived during the warmest days of late Summer in Braavos. Most likely a night or two before he left on that last contract, just before Arya had disappeared. But all of these were memories that he didn’t have because he had been denied them. And although he now understood why, he could not help but still feel a small amount of resentment towards his wife for this. He should have been with his daughter from the moment she began to grow within her mother. He never should have been without her. Without them. Being without Arya had hurt like the seven hells. But he had been able to manage that pain, although it had been with difficulty, he had still managed. But then he had found Adriana with Arya yesterday, and as soon as he had seen the girl's hair and had marked her age to be around five or so summers. He had known without a shadow of a doubt that she was his. And he had been denied the knowledge of her. And that pain had been unbearable. Arya had known how deeply he felt about the idea of having children of his own. But still, she had hidden the knowledge that he had sired one with her. Even if she had run and then sent him a letter explaining that she was pregnant and why she had run and where she had run to!? That would have been better than this. He would have protected her from the Order and carried out her wishes in her stead. He would have taken care of it! But she hadn’t! And he still didn’t know why she hadn’t trusted him enough with the knowledge of their child, and that? That made him irrationally angry. He was still furious. He would continue to be furious until he had all of his answers from Arya. Every single one. Because she still had a lot of explaining to do. Because she hadn’t just denied him his right to his daughter. She had also denied her daughter’s right to a father. Something he had also to remember was that he wasn’t the only one who had lost precious time and memories. Adriana had as well. And where he was sure she had plenty of good ones with her mother, she had nothing with him. She knew who he was, and he assumed Arya had spoken highly of him, given Adriana's reaction to him this morning. But she had been denied the right to grow with him and get to know him as a daughter should a father. She had missed the comfort a girl could get from running into a father's arms when she had gotten hurt or scared. Or even just knowing the comfort and safety of sitting in his lap with his arms around her, knowing that he would protect her from anything and everything. A daughter’s first love is supposed to be her father, well, if said father was doing his job right. The first man she ever meets, that she can trust with her very life and more and know that he would never hurt her or allow another to do so. But this was an experience that she had been denied as well. An experience that Arya had been granted with her own father, and thus should have wanted the same for her daughter. And while he knew that Adriana was still young enough to learn all of this now and have it happen purely. The fact remained that it should have been something she already knew. Knowledge that she should have begun to learn in the womb, when she should have been hearing his voice alongside her mother's. So yes, as much as he would start to work on teaching her these things now, he was still somewhat embittered towards her mother. And that would take time to leave him altogether. He may never fully forgive Arya for this, but eventually he would be able to let it go and leave it be. It would just take time. Luckily, their love for one another was still powerful, and so they should be able to weather this and come out stronger for it. But it was going to be rough for a while. He was brought out of his thoughts, though, when he felt a slight weight thump against his legs. Looking down in surprise, he smiled, his heart warming again when he found Adriana wrapped around him. “No, no, no. A girl does not hug her father this way. This is incorrect. If she wishes to hug him, then she must do it properly!” He joked, before he bent down and swooped her up into his arms, making her giggle happily. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, he squeezed her against himself in a warm, firm embrace. He felt his heart jump a little in happiness when her small arms wrapped about his neck just as tightly, and she hugged him back. He stood with her like this for a few minutes and did not shift her to his hip or loosen his hug until she let go of his neck first. Once she did, though, he adjusted her to a more comfortable position so that he could keep holding her but had his other hand free, which she seemed perfectly content with, as her big grin had never left her adorable face. “Now then. What would a girl like for her breakfast today?” He asked, brushing down her nose with his knuckle, making her scrunch it cutely and giggle again. “A girl likes eggs! Gooey ones that she can dip her bread into!” She said excitedly with a mini cheer that had him chuckling at how cute she was. “Very well then. A man shall do this for a girl.” He replied, giving her chubby cheek a small kiss, before he turned to begin cooking. Suddenly, as he felt Adriana shift more comfortably on his hip with zero intention of getting down, he was very thankful for his training as a faceless and in combat. Because God’s knew he would have found this whole thing rather difficult with only one hand and arm, otherwise. -X-