Tales From The House Of Black And White

To say it was weird to be travelling with Jaqen felt to Arya like the understatement of the year. It was unusual to look over and find him at her side, asleep beside her in the early morning light. But it was also a rather giddy thing, because in this situation, his whole, unfiltered personality was showing through unabashedly. He was not only smart as a whip, but also wise beyond his thirty years. Which was another thing she had found out, his actual age. Now that he could tell her. Ten years older than her, but she didn’t care about that, because as far as she was concerned? Age, between them anyway, was just a number. A record of how many years they had lived. They didn’t place much weight on their ages or indeed the gap between them. It made little difference in their day-to-day lives and interactions with one another. His age wasn’t the only thing he had told her, either. He had explained that the name he had given her all those years ago was his true name. Something he absolutely should not have done, but for whatever reason, he had. So she’d come to understand that he had never lied about his identity, and it made her feel just that much closer to him. It also helped her trust him even more as well. But it wasn’t just his identity that she had been made privy to in the ensuing weeks they’d been wandering here, there and everywhere. She also came to find that he was hilarious; his wit was definitely of the drier variety, but it was wonderful and a perfect complement to her relatively sarcastic humour. Many nights they had spent doubled over with one another, fighting to catch their breaths, because they had laughed so much. He was also a profound thinker and turned things over and over in his mind. Looking at something from all angles before coming to any conclusion, opinion, or even speaking on it at all. He took time to gather information and analyse it before taking action. Which, she supposed, was a trait that was needed in someone who had spent a good portion of his life as an assassin. A profession where a sudden, impulsive decision that was poorly thought through could spell disaster. But when he wasn’t in that state of mind, he was free and almost wild-spirited. Something that called to her in so many different ways. He was adventurous and seemed to be of the mind to try everything at least once, before he counted it out entirely. He was spontaneous, as evidenced by when he had taken her in his room at the House of Black and White on the day they’d reunited. He’d shared with her afterwards that he hadn’t planned on that in particular happening. But then the opportunity had happened to present itself, and they were both willing, so he had given in to the urge. And Gods, was she glad he had. Because she’d found something else out about him that day that she hadn’t known, but had secretly suspected. The man was a lover of the highest order. Unselfish and very much a ‘you, you and you again before me’ type. She’d been dazed and with a body like liquid before he’d deigned to let himself find his full pleasure. It had been…an experience to put it mildly. Something he had not let up on since, even though at this point they’d lain together multiple times. Rolling over onto her stomach, feeling the incredible warmth of the Summer Isles sun on her bare back, she smiled as her hand reached out to brush over Jaqen’s forehead, gently sweeping his red and white hair out of his face. Looking over him, she felt warmth fill her chest for him. Asleep on his front, with his arms under his pillow, the expanse of his equally bare back fully visible. She couldn’t help but realise that he somehow looked younger now. Now that he’d been getting more sun, plenty of rest, and actually living his life stress and worry-free. It was a fantastic transformation, really. And one she was glad to see. Too much had been borne by his strong, broad shoulders over the years. Too much responsibility. Too much hard labour. Too much…everything. And too little of what he actually needed to live happily and comfortably. She had stayed in Braavos for the few days he had needed to settle his affairs at the house and collect every coin of his earnings over the years. Then, when he was done, he met her at the inn where she was staying. For the first time since she’d known him, he’d held a smile of genuine excitement and happiness. He was brighter, happier and more content than he’d ever been. Her heart had screamed in her chest for him and his life up until then. But even though she’d had a million questions on her lips, she’d asked none of them; instead, she’d just pulled him into her arms and they’d embraced one another in a way they’d never been able to do before. They’d spent a further couple of days in Braavos, planning where they would go next, before they’d hopped on a ship and taken off for the Summer Isles. This, they had done because they’d both agreed that, before they embarked on their massive excursion, they’d wanted time together. Time to just be with one another, relearn each other and have peace while they do it. So the summer isles had been the best choice. Warm. Private and very open to unmarried couples, it was perfect for what they needed. They’d been here for two months now, staying in a beautiful but cosy villa close to the water's edge. The kind of place that was perfect for a temporary lovers' nest, and they adored every moment. But they would be leaving in a couple of days to begin their uncharted journey into the vast expanse of unmapped waters. “Keep looking at me like that and you will end up blissfully sore for the rest of the day, she-wolf.” Arya startled at the deep sleepiness of Jaqen’s voice as his blue eyes opened and he gave her a hooded look. One that she had become so very familiar with of late. Seductive. Warning. Wonderfully predatory. She shuddered and felt the sudden warmth that bloomed, lightly, between her legs. He’d make good on that threat, too, she knew it because he’d proved it over and over again in the last two months. And he was…never wrong. She always did end up hurting in that delicious way that only good and deep sex could give. He never half-assed his love-making, not even when his head was dizzy on fine, summer-isle wine and decadent food. Always a lover and never a selfish or sloppy one. She was pretty sure it was a point of pride for him. At least that’s how it seemed. Gods knew he couldn’t stop smirking when he would see her wincing slightly when she walked, after he’d worked her over the previous night or that very morning, depending on his mood or, she didn’t know, the position of the fucking moon. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to belong to one of the pleasure houses of Lys, Lorathi? Because Gods know you would have been the highest paid and most sought-after male consort in all the lands. I’m sure of it. The wealth you would have amassed!? Unthinkable. Unknowable.” She muttered in jest as she shoved his face with her hand lightly, making him give a rumbling chuckle of amusement. “I am no male whore, she-wolf. Unless, of course, the title was ‘Most Favoured Consort of Arya Stark of Winterfell’, in which case? I would wear that badge with honour.” He retorted, and Arya couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes rolling in exasperation. “Probably a good thing then, because I think I would get decidedly stabby, if other women were laying their hands all over you. I’d be the most wanted woman in all of the lands, with the amount of murder I would sow, over the head of you.” She replied, her tone one of irritation at the thought of anyone else draped over or under him. She wouldn't say she was the jealous sort, but she was protective of what she considered to be hers. Call it a curse of having siblings and growing up with her stuff always going missing from her rooms and inevitably being found again in one of her siblings’ rooms. But it seemed this only further amused Jaqen, as he laughed lightly once again. “Which head?” He asked jokingly, and Arya wanted to groan in pained annoyance. Instead, she settled for rolling her eyes once more and smirking. “Both of them.” She responded, a playful glint entering her eyes, as she allowed them to rake over her assassin's form. He was still lying on his front, and the sheets, rather disappointingly, were slung just low enough over his hips to hide the rest of him. How annoying. She wanted to drink all of him in, even if he made her pant like a bitch in heat. It didn't matter. He was divine, and she thoroughly enjoyed ogling him. “Ah, I do so love it when you get viciously protective over me, my dearest. It warms my heart. But it also heats my blood. You should know better than to say such things, especially first thing in the morning.” Quicker than she could track, Jaqen was above her, and her back was against the plush mattress below them. She’d had no warning about what he was going to do, but even so, she couldn’t find it in her to be upset. Instead, as her eyes swept over his handsome nudity, her blood sang and her body hummed. Gods, but he was ethereal in the glow of the half-risen sun, as it made its lazy track across the sky from the open arches across from the foot of the bed. His skin was awash in shades of reds, golds and oranges. A stab of arousal and need shot through her as her hands danced up his back and pulled him down, where she kissed him soundly. But he didn’t let it last too long before he was pulling away and then slipping down her body. His lips dragged over her skin teasingly, as his hands followed closely behind, retracing the path his mouth had taken. But as his mouth made its way between her legs, and the anticipation of the head-spinning pleasure that she was about to receive fogged her senses, a sudden loud, sharp knock sounded on the door of their bedroom. Both she and Jaqen froze at this, their eyes locking as mutual confusion passed between them, before she called out to whoever was at the door. “Who is it?” “Miss, I truly am sorry to disrupt you and the Sir’s slumber so early in the morning. But um…you seem to have a…uh…visitor.” Amira, their caretaker, called back through the heavy rosewood door. She glanced back down at Jaqen then, finding an equally lost expression in his eyes as she assumed was in hers. But calling out again, she asked for further clarity. “A visitor? Who on earth would be calling on us!? Did they give their name? We’re a little…occupied at the moment. So it may be a few minutes before we can be downstairs.” “It is a red-headed woman called Sansa and a dark-haired man called Gendry. Both say it’s urgent, ma’am. It’s why I’m knocking.” Amira replied. Arya’s face formed into a dark scowl then, and her tone was clipped as she called back. “Thank you, Amira. Please let them know that we’ll be with them momentarily.” As soon as she was sure that Amira was gone. Her wild eyes found Jaqen’s again, who, rather than get off her, had instead chosen to rest his head on her thigh. It was clear that he was annoyed at the interruption and just as confused as she was. “So, I know that ‘Sansa’ is your sister, she-wolf. But just who is ‘Gendry’? You’ve never spoken of him before.” He finally asked her after a few moments of tense silence. Arya groaned and suddenly wished the ground would open up to swallow her whole. Fuck. She had not wanted to explain anything about Gendry to Jaqen. Nothing at all. But she wasn’t in the business of lying to him. Neither of them lied to one another anymore, not after everything they’d been through together. “Gendry was…my first. It was just before the battle with the Night King and then Daenerys. I had not wanted to possibly die a maiden, and so I…made a stupid decision. Thus, Gendry happened. It was awful. It was awkward. I hated every moment. But when it was over, I thought it was done and dusted. Nothing more to worry about…” She explained, cringing as every word passed her lips. Jaqen didn’t need to know about this. The information didn’t serve any purpose to him. He didn’t need to know of her past exploits anymore than she needed to know about his. But he had asked, and so she would answer. “But?” He prompted, recognising that she had trailed off for a reason and wanting the whole story. “But he then got it into his head to propose to me after the wars were won. I turned him down immediately because I had absolutely no plans, at that time, of marrying anyone. No matter who they were, and most certainly not him.” She replied with a shrug and a sigh. Her hand came up then to rub over her face to try and wipe away the annoyance. But it seemed it was to stay, as the motion didn’t make her feel any better. “And?” Jaqen prompted again from his position between her legs. His blue eyes were boring into hers. There was more, and he knew it and once again he was pushing for the answer. She sighed then and nodded before she found her voice. Though his positioning was the last she would ever want him to be in while discussing this. But c'est le vie. “And he didn’t…take it well. He took it quite badly, actually and I don’t think he ever forgave me for it. But I left again not too long after that, so I didn't need to see him again.” She provided him, and tried to push his head away from where it rested against her thigh. But he just pressed down harder, making it so she couldn’t shift his head. She frowned and flicked his forehead in reprimand. He only chuckled and her eyes rolled. “And now?” He asked, batting her hand away as she once again tried to shift him. The look in his eyes told her that he would pin her wayward hands, if she tried again. So she simply gave up. What was the point? He was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be. Pick your battles, Arya, she thought to herself as she spoke. “And now, what?” “You said that you had no plans at that point to marry anyone. That insinuates that those thoughts have changed. So…and now?” He clarified for her, arching his brow in such a way as to insinuate that she should have known what he meant. Frustrating man, she thought, but again reminded herself to pick her battles. They kind of had enough going on right now; she didn’t need to add anything more to their already full dance card. “I would marry now. But only if it was you who was my groom.” She answered him honestly, her hand reaching out for him again. But this time it was to run her fingers through his hair affectionately. Allowing her eyes to show him the truth in her words. “Ahh. Well, that certainly lightens a man's heart indeed.” He replied with a smile, his head leaning into her touch as his eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, their look was stern and serious. “But we can discuss that later, dearest. For now, why do you think your sister is here and, moreover, why has she brought your ex-lover, however brief and awful, with her?” “I don’t know, my love. But it can’t mean anything good. So I'd better hurry.” Arya sighed, dropping her head back against the pillows in a show of how much she thought of the idea. Thumping her head against the mattress a couple of times, she released another sigh. “We'd better hurry.” Jaqen corrected, drawing her gaze back to him. “I will not have you doing whatever this is on your own. I will be at your back, lovely girl.” He added, after placing a soft kiss on her thigh. Smiling lovingly at this, she pulled him up to give him a quick but deep kiss in thanks. Before she nodded and soon they were both on their feet, dressed and headed for the door. -X- Sansa didn’t know what to say as she looked at her sister, or rather, at the man who stood silently behind her, a hard look in his eyes. Protective. He was protecting Arya while giving a narrowed look between her and Gendry. The air the strange man gave off chilled her blood as she watched him, watching them. Those eyes, pretty as they were, were cool, calculating and observing every shift and breath that they took. Gauging. He was gauging their weaknesses or, at least, Gendry’s. It seemed that the stranger’s animosity was mainly directed towards the dark-haired man at her side, rather than at her. As those blue eyes swept over to her, they softened a bit and even warmed a touch before becoming veritable balls of ice again when they fell to Gendry once more. Deadly. This man was deadly. And given how closely Arya allowed him to stand at her back? She could only assume that she held a profound trust for him. Given that Arya wouldn’t even let her stand that close to her from behind. And they were sisters. So the ease and relaxation of her sister's stance, with such a man at her back, led Sansa to believe that they were close. Very close indeed. “Well come on then.” Arya said, finally, her tone sharp and filled with tiredness. “Out with it, Sansa. Why are you here, and why have you brought him with you?” She added, tossing her head towards Gendry’s direction sharply. “Gendry Baratheon has come forward with a formal request for your hand in marriage, sister. This is on the basis of his noble blood. The blood of Robert Baratheon, late King of the Seven, now Six, kingdoms. Bran and I have deliberated, and we have agreed to grant the request.” Sansa answered her, her tone filled with an air of authority. Something that caused her sister to glower at her and her arms to cross under her bust. “No.” She replied simply, and Sansa startled at this. Her sister’s voice was so cold and so firm that it had taken her aback. Sansa blinked in disbelief at this before she frowned. Her own eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry!?” She bit out, her tone filled with warning to her sister to reconsider what she’d just said. But it seemed Arya simply took that as more of a challenge. “I said no, Sansa. Do try and keep up, sister. This is an impossible thing and cannot happen.” Arya replied with a sharp shake of her head, her weight shifting to one hip. Sansa stared at her defiant sister and couldn’t believe how stubborn Arya was being. She understood that for her sister, this would be something of a shock. It always was when you were married off when you were least expecting it. Gods knew Sansa understood the feeling all too well. It had happened to her three times, each one worse than the other. So a part of her sympathised with her sister. But there was a strange coldness to the air at the moment that put her on edge. It was quite misplaced given where they were. So glancing around to find the source, her eyes soon found the lovely blue of Arya’s companion. But as soon as their eyes met, Sansa felt as though she wanted to take several steps back. His look was like death as he stared her down, the pale blue seemingly darkening to a more stormy colour. And she realised the source of the coldness. It was her instincts screaming at her to be mindful of this man. To watch her words and how much she pushed the issue. He seemed to be primed to lash out at any moment, and her body was screaming at her because she was standing in the presence of a predator. Someone who would not think twice about taking a blade to whomever he felt deserved it. And all of it would be done in defence of Arya. Just who was this man, and who was he to Arya? “I am your Queen! Bran is your…” Sansa began, balling up her courage, regardless of what her mind was screaming at her at the moment. She could also feel Gendry’s tenseness at her side. His hand had moved to his sword, and she caught how Arya’s companion noted the movement, and she’ll be damned but he smirked. His hand brushed over his side, where she was sure he had a weapon concealed. He was ready to meet Gendry’s blade with his own, if the lad took it into his head to draw his sword. A fight that, for some reason, Sansa didn’t think Gendry would win. But her attention was drawn back to Arya, who was speaking again. “No. You are my older sister, who holds a throne that I helped you gain! Same for Bran. You both are only in the positions you are in, because of my assistance. And I made it clear to you, when I left Winterfell, that I was no longer under the control of any King or Queen. Not even when that King and Queen were my own siblings. So I will tell you again. No. I will not.” Arya refused again, and this time she was outwardly aggressive. Her posture coiling dangerously, as she squared her shoulders and shifted her feet, though her arms were still crossed. But it was clear to Sansa that Arya was now entirely on the defensive, and she wouldn’t back down from this easily. So, doing something that she hated, she pulled rank. “You cannot refuse this! Even if you are under no King or Queen’s rule. You are under the control of our brother, Bran! He is the eldest male of our family. Thus, he controls what happens to it. Including marriages. This is an advantageous match. One that will go a long way to reuniting the realms. So you will…” She began to demand, but Arya cut her off. “You marry him then.” The words hung in the air between them all. Heavy and oppressive. Her sister’s tone was so icy that Sansa actually shivered a little, though it went unnoticed by everyone else. Blinking at her sister like she had never seen her before, her own temper snapped then. “I beg your pardon!?” She snarled, taking a step towards her sister and then hastily backtracked. When she had stepped forward, Arya’s companion had taken a step forward as well, his hand snapping to his side again without a second thought. Who in the hells was he!? And why was he even here to begin with!? This was a family matter, and he had no business being a part of the conversation. Sansa watched as Arya glanced towards her companion, noting his movement, her arm came up then and pressed against his torso gently. She saw as the man glanced down at her sister’s arm across his waist, before his gaze slid up to meet her sister’s. They stared at one another then, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Before the man inclined his head towards her reverently and fell back half a step. As soon as he had, Arya gave him a warm smile of thanks and appreciation, before her gaze swung back to her. “I said, you can marry him then. If Bran is to be head of the family and wants to act like it. Then the first marriage he should secure is yours. Given you are the eldest daughter. Regardless of your Queenliness. Heads of the family still control those in power within that family. So. You can marry Gendry. I will not.” Arya stated simply, almost tonelessly, and she had even shrugged.  Something that Sansa couldn’t believe! Such flagrant disregard for her and Bran’s positions in her life and their authority over her. Her temper flared again at this. Enough of this, she thought angrily. Arya would toe the line, one way or the other. “I am already betrothed! You are the only one left of the women who is…eligible for marriage.” She bit out sharply, but before Arya could say anything else. Someone else spoke. The voice was rich, deep and exotic-sounding. The accent that slid through the words was a mix of Braavosi and something else that she couldn’t put her finger on. But knew she’d heard it somewhere before. But she couldn’t just remember right now. “Betrothals can be broken off. Far easier than a marriage can be.” Realising who it was that had spoken, Sansa’s head whipped towards the man beside Arya. Until now, he had remained silent, but it had been clear that he was furious. Why was that, she wondered? Not that it mattered. This had nothing to do with him, and Sansa reminded him of that quickly. “Excuse me, Sir. I appreciate that you may wish to help my sister. But this is a family matter and as you are not…” “As I was saying, your grace…” He replied sharply, cutting her off and causing her to jump a little. “Betrothals can be broken off, far easier than a marriage can. And as I have already married your sister, that makes me her husband. Thus I am a member of this family. The marriage was completed in Braavos, overseen by an Elder of the holy House of Black and White and witnessed by two others. A Braavosi divorce needs both parties to agree. And as neither I nor Arya will do so? Our marital bond will remain.” He explained his words, slamming into her with the force of a thousand stampeding horses. Even Gendry sucked in a sharp breath at this. Married!? Arya had gotten married!? And to this man!? He was her husband!? Since when? And on whose authority!? But now that he had informed them of this, it made things so much more complicated. She had a suspicion that he might be lying. But she had no way to prove that. So she had to take it for truth, at least for now. But she supposed that would explain his protectiveness over her sister. And the ease with which Arya stood while in his presence. It would also explain her comfort with his being behind and to the side of her. If it were her husband at her back, then why would she feel anything other than comfortable? “Sansa…” Arya’s voice came, drawing her attention to the smirking face of her little sister. “Allow me to introduce you to one Ser Jaqen H’ghar. He is my Lord husband, as he says. But you may better know him as my ‘Real Killer’.” She added, allowing those words to drop between them like an urn of wildfire. But not giving Sansa time to process this fully, she was speaking again. “I’m sure you remember the tale of him well enough, I spoke of him quite often. Not only to Sandor Clegane, but also to you, when I explained that he was also the master of the faceless ways that I apprenticed under.” She finished before her icy glare swung Gendry’s way. The first time she’d focused on him since they arrived. “As for you!” She seethed before Sansa could interject. “You would do well with a reminder of a conversation I had with you, whilst you were working day and night at the forge. I told you, I knew death. He had many faces. And that I looked forward to seeing the next. Well. Here you are.” She snapped before motioning to Jaqen. “This is death, and you are towing a line most precarious and lethal, if you push this matter any further.” Gendry flinched at this, Sansa noted. A flinch that was followed by his gaze levelling on Jaqen, where he quickly swept his eyes over the taller man from head to toe. Jaqen smirked at him darkly, making Gendry take a step back unconsciously. And Sansa didn’t blame him. If he genuinely was Arya’s ‘real killer’, then they were in bigger trouble than she first thought. But before she could contemplate this any further, Arya was talking again and as much as she didn’t want to? Sansa focused on her sister once more. “I would also remind you both that you saw what I was capable of, when it came to combat. I want you to look at those memories now. Then I want you to think about this. I am good. Damn good.” She said, her smile turning sly as her grey eyes danced with dark mirth, which made Sansa want to shiver again. But she managed to hold it at bay. “But regardless of how fucking good I was and am. I never once bested him. So, I ask you this. Is this a fight you want to engage in? Because it won’t just be me that you will be fighting. It will be him as well. So tell me? How do you like your odds?” She added, directing this last part towards Gendry specifically. Gendry swallowed heavily at this, and Sansa thought that the man wanted to run a thousand miles in the other direction. This, Sansa mused uneasily, was probably a smart thing to do. The situation had changed drastically, and in a way that they had not anticipated when they had planned this journey to Arya. “I think…” Sansa began, as her heart raced in her chest and her mind spun a mile a minute. “That this can still be resolved without a fight, little sister. And if you are truly married to your real killer, neither of you will have a problem with providing us the proof of said marriage? Should said proof be shown, then we will close the matter. If you are unable, then you will fall in line and do as you are bid.” She levied her compromise, and she thought that she saw a flicker of uncertainty in her sister’s eyes at this. But before she could confirm that, Jaqen was speaking. “We can provide the documents you need. Certified appropriately. But they are not things we carry with us. The certificates of marriage are taken and then sealed in the archives of life. Where the Braavosi keep the records of all births, deaths and marriages. It will take a little time to get a copy of our marriage record. But we will get it.” Jaqen snapped coldly, his eyes narrowing on Sansa once more, making her shudder. So much for trying to hold these kinds of reactions back, she thought bitterly. But it couldn’t be helped. “Then see to it.” She snapped in response, glaring at him, even though it terrified her to do so. He smiled saccharinely at her then, before he bowed his head in mock reverence. “I will. As soon as Arya and I finish the honeymoon that you both so rudely interrupted. You will also need to pay reparation for that, by the by. As Braavosi law states that when two marry and take leave on their honeymoon, they are not to be disturbed unless it is a matter of life and death. As this is not the case for your interruption, you will be expected to pay a monetary fee for the time we have lost.” Jaqen stated matter-of-factly, and Sansa felt her mouth fall open at these words. But it seemed the man wasn’t finished as he took a breath and continued. “Safe travels back to Westeros, Sansa Stark. Arya and I will travel to Winterfell and personally hand-deliver the documents you so desperately seek. I will take great pleasure in watching your lovely face fall. And even greater pleasure in watching this whelp's manhood shrivel and die, when he realises his little scheme to take Arya against her will was for naught.” He said with a slow, measured shrug of his broad and strong-looking shoulders. But then, his gaze met Gendry’s and he smirked dangerously once more. “That is, if I, as is my husbandly right, don’t choose to remove it with my own hands and blade. Braavosi men don’t take kindly to other men trying to usurp our wives, you see. So much so that we have a law for that, too. Tell me, how much is your cock worth to you, boy!?” Jaqen asked, practically spitting his last words at Gendry. Gendry, Sansa noticed, was now shaking a little. And she didn’t blame him. Jaqen was terrifying and not the kind of person you wanted to get on the wrong side of. Especially not if he truly was Arya’s faceless teacher and real killer.