Tales From The House Of Black And White

He refused to let her see the pain on his face as she slammed him against the hard, unforgiving stone of her chamber wall. There was no gentleness in her for him. None whatsoever. Not that he cared; they’d never been gentle with one another, not since Harrenhall. And even then, he’d only been doing it because she was a child. But by the time she found her way back to him? She was already almost grown. Seventeen summers, filled with rage and pain. Rage and pain that called to the viciousness and brutality in him. And he unleashed it on her, fully and without remorse. Because why should he have remorse? She sure as the hells didn’t when she made him the prime target of that seething mass of rage and pain that coiled and curled deep in her gut. It was why he had refused to allow anyone else to take her through her training. Any other would buckle and cripple before that lethality and maliciousness that was in her. So he had stepped up and he doled out as much pain and misery upon her as she had drowned him with. He didn’t really know how they had become intimate. It felt almost like he’d simply woken up, that first night after she had reached her nineteenth summer, and found her in bed with him. He remembered that was probably the only other time he’d been gentle with her, outside of their first meeting at Harrenhal. She’d been untouched, and as much as he seethed with something akin to hatred for her, he refused to take her brutally during her first experience with a man. So he had gentled his hands and had worshipped every single pale inch of her skin that had almost glowed in the moonlight. If someone had been watching them that night, they would have sworn that they were two in the deepest of love. But the truth was much darker and sadistic than that. And that night was held in sharp contrast to right now. As she rose to kiss him, he allowed her to claim his lips in ravenous brutality. A brutality that went on a one-way trip straight to between his legs. But he didn’t let her enjoy the power over him for too long before he snapped his teeth against her lips and captured her bottom one between them, where he bit down. And bit down hard. She released an angered but aroused hiss of pain before her hands that were tangled in his hair, tugged downwards sharply, sending a fissure of pain through him as well. He growled then, before he picked her up and threw her down onto her bed. The breath left her briefly, leaving her gasping a little to catch it again. But he was uncaring about this. She’d be gasping a fair bit more not too long from now. “Take it all off. Now.” He snapped down at her as he reached up and, with quick and practised ease, started to undo the bindings that held his robes together. But he paused when he saw that she wasn’t moving to do as he’d demanded. In her eyes, he could see the light of hot, heavy defiance. And then she smirked. “No. You want my clothes off? Then you can remove them. I’m doing nothing for you.” She bit back, her words snapping through the air like a whip crack, to reach his ears, and he felt his fury come upon him then. “Fine.” He shrugged. “I only need them pushed up. After all, all I need is access to what’s between those legs of yours. I don’t need to see anything else. But if you’re not undressing? Then neither am I. Fair is fair, lovely girl.” He sneered smugly. A sneer that turned into a victorious smirk when he saw her face drop at the knowledge. Particularly when he re-tied the few bindings that he’d already undone. A clear sign to her that he was deadly serious. He didn’t give her time to protest before he climbed onto the bed with her. Then he gripped her hips hard enough that he would probably leave bruises. He forced her onto her front, before his hand slid up her back to tangle into her long hair and with a sharp, hard tug, he pulled her head back. The motion caused her to release a yelp, but also forced her onto her hands and knees. His free hand was already sliding under her robes, where he did precisely what he said he would. He shoved them up her legs and over her hips, revealing her small clothes to him. Small clothes that he practically ripped off her. Now bared to his gaze, he gave a dark, short bark of laughter when he could already see the shining evidence of her need between her folds. “For someone who says she hates a man? She becomes remarkably wet for him.” He taunted her, swiping his fingers through the slickened heat. He then drove two fingers within her roughly, making her shudder as he began to thrust them within her, giving no mind to gentleness. This was not love between them. It was pure lust and nothing more. Lust driven by the hot, intense passion of their combined hatreds. Who knew that hate could make you want someone almost as severely as love did? It had always been a curious notion to him. But one he’d never paid much mind to. But as he dragged his fingers from her soaked, needy heat. He leaned over her to speak into her ear. “Just remember, Arya Stark? You asked for this. You ordered a man to ruin you and make you hurt. And he is nothing, if not a giver.” He purred mockingly seductively in her ear, making her shudder. As he spoke, he made short work of pulling up his robes and pulling off his small clothes. “So are you going to talk me to death? Or are you going to prove that you’re worthy of the cock you were blessed with? Because Gods know it’s your only redeeming quality, you vicious bastard!” She snapped back at him, and he laughed in sadistic amusement, then, before he took hold of himself and guided himself to her. “Fuck you, little princess. At least I have something redeeming about myself. Shamefully, you can’t say the same. But I’ll make use of your cunt.” He growled crudely, and then he yanked her hips backwards at the same time as he drove forward. The entry was rough, and it was vicious. Hard enough that it had made him wince, so he could only imagine how it had felt for her. But if she felt pain? She didn’t show it. Instead, her guttural, husky moan spoke too much to the opposite. A moan he’d answered with one of his own. Gods, she was practically a waterfall. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. She always flooded for him. Just as he would always be ragingly hard for her. Dragging himself from her, he revelled in her gasp, a gasp that she had desperately tried to silence. But she never could control her voice when he was laying siege to her. But he’d pat her on the back for the effort; she tried at least. Driving forward again, his body was wracked with a divinely potent shudder as pleasure exploded through him. It was perverse, he thought, just how good they were for each other when it came to a bed chamber. Terribly perverse. Especially when they were anything but good, outside of it. They were poison to the other, a poison that sloshed through both their veins and pumped through their hearts, blackening and hardening them to one another. But that misery was addictive, the pain celestial. Because at least when they felt the pain, they were feeling something. Something other than the darkness that raged through them both, obliterating any goodness or humanity that they may still possess. And the pleasure that went through them in teeth-rattling shockwaves when they got into bed was the only time they both felt alive. The only time when they could still be reminded that they were human. That they hadn’t become completely numb to life and the world around them. Their hearts may be numb most days, but at least their bodies were still humming with life and able to feel something. Anything. So willingly, they continued to drink down that poison. Continued to fight, bite, claw and scratch at each other every day, all day. Then they would do this as soon as night fell, they would unleash all of the pent-up aggression and tension, for their nightly dose of life-giving sensation. Because as much as neither would admit it to the other, sooner choosing death than that? He knew, just as Arya did, that they were the only ones who understood one another. They were mirror images of each other. She was him if he were a woman, and he was her if she were a man. Reflections of one another, and maybe that was why they were so hate-filled towards each other. What they actually detested was themselves, and to see each other reflected at them, when their eyes met, was enough to make them seethe and attack. He didn’t know, but he thought it was a fair judgment at any rate. They couldn’t hurt themselves, so they would hurt each other instead. As Arya began to struggle to hold herself up below him, he slipped an arm around her hips, his other slipping up her chest to grip her shoulder. He convinced himself easily that he was only helping to support her, because he was enjoying the position too much to have it change. And when his mind tried to refute this, he took it in a chokehold and strangled it to silence. He refused to hear anything different, even if it was from his own thoughts. It was for himself and nothing more. Driving against her harder and rougher than before, she cried out, and he let the sound wash over him. Divine, he thought. Her sounds of both pleasure and pain were absolutely heavenly, and he craved them like he needed air to breathe. “Gods! I hate you so much, Jaqen…” She gasped out, her words choked and quiet as he wracked her with bliss, tipped in poison. Feeling these words cutting through him, he released a shuddering sigh as his eyes closed in something akin to hurt. But it wasn’t the first time she’d told him as much during this. She told him at least once, most of the time, except for the very first. He refused to acknowledge how his half-dead heart gave a weak, gasping clench in his chest at the words. And instead, he spoke. “I know, Arya. You tell me all the time. But still you crave being below me.” He growled, throwing up the walls around his heart and his mind. “You must love to hate me, if you can’t go a day without me inside you.” He added, his words razor sharp and mocking, and he felt as she tensed below him. But before she could say anything more, he heard it. The hitch of breath. A hitch that he recognised. Intimately. She always made the same sound, right before she came all over him. So angling himself just right, he slammed into her as hard as he could and dragged himself back achingly slowly. It was this slow, drawn-out pullback that did her in most nights. Something about the bolt of pain on the inward thrust, being soothed by the backwards draw. And it seemed that tonight would be no different as she gasped his name in a strangled call. Her warning to him. He repeated his motions twice more, and then she was done for. He braced himself for the deluge of wetness that would douse him, and within moments, he felt just that, as she released a scream. Then her walls clamped down around him as her back arched almost violently, as her body was wracked with bone-rattling shakes. She cried out again as he cursed lewdly, and on his next thrust in, he tumbled right after her. He released an angry but blissful growl of her name as he exploded within her, his seed pouring into her deeply. Together they shook, shuddered and fought to catch their breaths. But it was too much, and they both collapsed together on her bed, Jaqen pulling from her quickly, to fall to the side rather than on top of her. His weight was greater than hers, and he didn’t want to crush her below him. But he noted how he flipped her robes back down to cover her modesty before his arm came to rest over her waist. He also didn’t miss how he drew her closer to him, his hand tucking beneath her. Or missed how she came to him easily and without a fight. They didn’t speak to one another afterwards. They never did. But this time he did. “Sleep, lovely girl. The hour is late and we both have early rises tomorrow.” He murmured and she hummed quietly, before she shifted onto her side. She tugged lightly on his wrist for a second before she caught herself and snatched her hand back. He narrowed his eyes at her, though she couldn’t see it. But he shifted onto his side as well, before he tightened his arm around her and pulled her into the curve of his body. She quickly settled then, and his eyes slipped closed briefly, that strange clenching in his chest presenting itself again. But ignoring this, he kicked her covers up and over them both. -X- As Arya walked the perimeter of the group training hall, watching the acolytes be put through their paces. Her eyes, inevitably, found Jaqen’s tall, strong form as he assisted a girl of no more than fifteen with her combat form. She watched as the girl blushed as red as the sunset, when he tapped here or there briefly and lightly on her body, pointing out the muscle groups. Then drew his hands back and tucked them into his sleeves as he verbally explained the importance of keeping those groupings tight. She understood the girls' warmed cheeks because she still keenly remembered what it was like to have him so close and touching her. Even though he’d always kept his hands respectful and never allowed them to linger on her body, even by accident. Huh, she thought. How the tables had so drastically turned. Now he used those same hands to grip her, toss her and slam her against walls or beds. Used those same hands to drive his fingers into her body and draw lustful, needy sounds from her. Used them like necklaces around her throat, where he squeezed just enough to make her fear for her life but never sufficient to claim it from her. Gods, she hated him. She hated him so much. And she wasn’t even sure why. There was just something about him that drew the worst of her out of herself. How could she hate someone and also want them so desperately that she would do and take almost anything, just to have them? It was baffling to her. It never made any sense, but it was reality. It was their reality, and as his eyes met hers across the hall, she felt the thrum of need start to pulse through her once more. His gaze was dark, almost a glower, but not quite. And it just heightened the want even more. How could she find that so attractive? How could she find a man who hated her so divine? An angel of death. A man who held no love for her, outside of what their bodies craved from one another. Because he was just as wanting. Just as needy, and he never turned her down. But then, she never turned him down either. It was bordering on perverse. She knew it was. But it was a perversion that she loved and she wanted to keep. His warning tilt of his head to the side, letting her know someone was approaching her. So she pulled her gaze from him and turned her head in the direction he had indicated. She felt her brow raise when she saw Viktoria, otherwise known as The Waif, heading towards her. They had formed an uneasy alliance with one another over the last year or so. As soon as Arya had become a master of the faceless ways, the petite woman had flipped entirely when it came to their interactions. Now she wasn’t caustic. Now she wasn’t a complete bitch. It had been a surprise for Arya until Viktoria had explained why she had to act as she did. She needed adversity to drive her. She required the pressure so that, like a diamond, she would become something beautiful in the end. And she had, she had become a well-respected member of the Order. Referred to as ‘The She-Wolf’ and also regarded as Jaqen’s crowning jewel. Thought of as a gift to their order. But Arya hadn’t liked how Viktoria’s efforts weren’t lauded. After all, she had a large hand in what kind of assassin Arya became. So she made sure to remind everyone who mentioned how well Jaqen had trained her, that while he did indeed do a good job? Viktoria had done the heavy lifting. “You know, she-wolf? A woman and a man really do need to settle their differences once and for all.” Viktoria said tonelessly as she came to stop beside her. Leaning her weight on one hip and crossing her arms under her bust, she looked at her and then towards Jaqen. It made it clear which man and woman she had meant. “What differences? We work well together when we need to. And ignore one another otherwise. There is nothing to settle, waif.” Arya replied, her tone a little more biting than she intended. Something she threw an apologetic look towards her companion, for. Viktoria rolled her eyes then and shook her head in something akin to one long suffering. Reaching out surreptitiously, she pinched Arya’s side, lightly. Making Arya hiss at the unexpected nip of pain. Rubbing at her side lazily, she threw a glare towards the woman but otherwise remained silent. “A lie. Hasn't a woman learned better than to lie to another, by now? She and a man have not been ignoring one another, as she claims. Another knows they share their bodies regularly. But it is not a healthy sharing. She has heard the mutual vitriol being spewed in passing.” She shared, and Arya swallowed at this before clearing her throat. “It is…difficult to explain. A woman has not the appropriate words to do so. But another is correct. They are…intimate with one another.” Arya sighed tiredly as she rubbed at her face. Her gaze, unbidden, finds its way back to Jaqen. He was now guiding his acolyte through her staff movements with his hands. His expression was agitated and growing increasingly impatient. But she could see that he was still speaking gently to the girl and not causing her more frustration by allowing her to hear his own. He was a good teacher, she mused absently, he always had been. Well, provided he was teaching literally anyone else, rather than her. No, with her, it seemed she dragged the worst from him as he did from her. “Intimacy should not sound as though a double murder is about to take place inside of the bedchamber, Arya. That's why I'm saying that you need to settle your differences.” Viktoria spoke, apparent concern lacing her tone. And Arya was taken aback by the use of the first person, as well as the use of her name. Viktoria rarely, if ever, spoke her name or used the first person. So she knew the woman was serious. “We hate each other, Viktoria. Honestly, we do. But for some inexplicable reason? We can't seem to keep our hands, or our bodies for that matter, to ourselves. I don't know what to tell you. I've asked myself why, what feels like a million times. But I'm still no closer to an answer.” Arya admitted, and Viktoria hummed in acknowledgement and an understanding that only she seemed to have. “You cannot make sense of it. Either of you. Because you both believe you hate each other. But in reality? No, no you don't. It's much the opposite. As much as you wish it to be true, sister? People who truly hate one another? Will never make their way into bed together. True hate? It sickens your gut to even look at the object of that hate.” She explained sagely, and Arya felt her entire body recoil at the insinuation. But, curiously, her heart began to beat staccato as the words repeated in her head over and over. It lit a fire in her belly, and she glared at her sister in death. “You know not what you speak!” Arya hissed angrily. “What else could make two so utterly maddened and enraged, when simply being in the same room as the other?” “What indeed, Arya Stark. What indeed? If not hate? Then ruminate on what other emotion could possibly incur such intense reactions? Mayhap, you'll both learn something that you had yet to even consider.” She answered cryptically before she bid her a good day and breezed off to take a lap around the hall. Arya was left then, utterly confused and looking after Viktoria. But soon her gaze shifted once more and found the tall and imposing form of Jaqen again. That strange staccato beat of her heart, picking up in its intensity. What other emotion could incur such an intense reaction, if not hate? She heard Viktoria's words in her mind again. But as Jaqen’s eyes met hers from across the hall? Arya almost thought of another word. One much different to hate. One much the opposite. But as the light of shocked realisation crossed Jaqen’s handsome face as he read whatever expression was on her own? Arya shut her thoughts down immediately. Refusing to give them space to form properly. Hardening herself, she tore her gaze from Jaqen and began her own lap of the hall. Ignoring his presence as best she could, she helped acolytes here and there who were training on their own and appeared to need some assistance. -X- All Hallows Eve had come to The House of Black and White. It was the one night of the year when their temple became awash with activity and throngs of people. The time of year when the citizens of Braavos came to the House to commune with those they had lost and loved. Wreaths were left, prayers were said, and the heads of the temple led ceremonies. It was also when the men and women, unabashedly, cast their eyes towards the faceless in ways that were much more primal in nature. Something that the members of the House used to great advantage for themselves. They weren’t unused to being lusted after. There was something about assassins that spoke to the need for danger in the human psyche. So it wasn’t as though they were scoffed at on other days separate from this one. People were simply less shy to show that interest. Less secretive about it. Currently, Jaqen was seated at a table, for once out of his robes. This day and night were a time when all were expected to cut loose and release built-up tension and stress. So he was dressed in fitted black britches, knee-high black leather boots that he had polished to a fine shine. His doublet was a rich navy velvet with silver accents and shining buttons. His undershirt was also black. His hair, usually well cared for in general, was gleaming healthily and cleanly, and he knew he smelled good as well, also something he tended to do anyway. But it had been noticed, as evidenced by the four women who were also currently surrounding him. And all four were vying to be the one he chose for the night. But he had no intentions of choosing any of them, because his eyes were tracking Arya as she moved through the event hall. She had also gone all out with how she had made herself look. Selecting a beautiful, fitted black velvet gown with red accents and a lower cut at the front. The swooping but tasteful ‘V’, showing just enough of her generous bust to be teasing but not indecent. Her feet were encased in a pair of red silken ankle boots with a small heel. She looked ravishing, with her hair left loose to fall down her back to her waist and over her shoulder. It was also gleaming and brushed to a fine smoothness, and he knew she smelled divine as well. They had passed each other in the hall a little bit ago, both stopping to compliment the other on how they looked. So no, none of the women surrounding him would be the ones who would end up in his bed tonight. No, that experience would be given to Arya. As it always was. Because she was the only one he was interested in. That’s not to say the women with him now weren’t beautiful; they very much were. They just weren’t her. It was as simple as that. But something had changed between them. Something that had begun to turn since that day in the training hall when Arya had looked at him after speaking with Viktoria. Even now, he still found it hard to believe that both women had become something akin to companions, given their rocky history and beginnings. But they were, and whatever Viktoria had said to Arya had made the she-wolf look at him with an expression that he’d never seen in her eyes before. One that seemed dangerously close to something that he refused to believe or look too closely at. But it hadn’t been an expression of hate. He’d known that much. But ever since then, their interactions had been coloured with that brief expression that she had gazed at him with. Her words were holding less and less bite as she spat them at him, her touch had gentled, and her lips, while still ravenous for his own, were not vicious in their claiming. The passion was still there between them, very much so. As was the heat and the almost unbearable need for the other. All of it was still there, but the sting and the cut of it? That was becoming less and less as well. And he’d be damned, but he was finding it all the more intoxicating than he already had been. And he’d noted how he had pivoted and begun to match her. He was nowhere near as cutting when he spoke to her, his touch becoming more reverent and their couplings much less animalistic and mean-spirited. But as lovely as it had been between them lately? He also hated it. Because the more it went this way, the more their already complex entanglement would become all the more complicated. They were heading towards a danger zone, and if they reached it? All the hells would break loose between them. And he wasn’t much interested in going through the equivalent of an emotional flaying, and he didn’t think she was either. But still they couldn’t stop. Still, they couldn’t save themselves, and it made him furious. Furious at her. Furious at himself. Because they both should have better control than this. Both should be better able to break away from one another and throw up impenetrable walls between them. Looking up when he sensed the approach of someone, Jaqen smiled when he found the form of Alancio. Another faceless one, and one he'd known since he was a boy of seventeen, as they'd both entered the House together. Alancio grinned cheekily as he straddled the bench on the opposite side of the table. Excusing himself politely as he slipped between two of the women who had been sitting with him. The women parted, welcomingly, to give him space. “Well, brother? It looks like another very successful All Hallows Eve, wouldn't you say?” He asked him, and Jaqen smiled as he ran his hand over the raven hair of the woman on his right. He'd been entertaining them for a while now, but there had been a comfortable lull in the socialising where the ladies had talked amongst themselves. This had allowed Jaqen time to think. “Indeed it has. I see you are without companions. That's new for you. Are you ill?” Jaqen teased light-heartedly, making Alancio laugh out loud. “No, no. My eye is on only one person this year. Which is why I'm over here. I need to speak to you.” Alancio replied, and Jaqen felt himself tense at this. Suddenly, not liking where this conversation was going. “I assume, given she's not hanging around your neck, that you and your lovely past acolyte are simply platonic?” His friend asked, getting right to the point. And Jaqen felt his fury start to lick up the insides of his belly. “We are….friends. Yes.” Jaqen answered, although it was difficult for him. He hadn’t wanted to say it. He had wanted to tell Alancio to go fuck himself and that if he touched Arya, it would be the last time the man had hands. “Oh good! So you won't mind if I talk to her, right?” Alancio asked next, with a smile as he took a hearty gulp from his full goblet. “She looks ravishing today and I'm not the only one who has noticed.” Jaqen felt his eye wanting to twitch, but he forced it down and schooled his features into an expression of calm unconcern. “Yes. I suppose she does, doesn't she? As for talking to her?” He began, reaching for his own goblet and drinking from it slowly and deeply. Then, looking over its rim at his friend, a dark smirk on his face, he added; “You can try…” “Try?” Alancio asked curiously, and Jaqen nodded, still smirking. “Yes, try. But don't be surprised brother, when she cuts you to pieces with her words. Four have gone before her already. And all have been refused. So yes. You can try.” He replied with a lazy shrug, pulling from his goblet again. “Who knows? Maybe the fifth will be the charm, though?” Jaqen knew well and good that it wouldn't be, though. He knew that Arya only had eyes for him and that her body craved only his. All he had to do was stand, catch her eye and tilt his head towards the sleeping chambers, and she'd drop everything to have him. Much like he would do, if she did the same thing to him. Gods! How had they become so addicted to each other? When had it happened? Why had it happened? As these questions swirled through his mind, Alancio drained his goblet and stood. “Well. Wish me luck as I go to face the ravishing she-wolf of the House of Black and White. Pray she doesn't catch my neck between her fangs.” He said, and Jaqen, although he wanted to tear his friend's head off, inclined his head towards him stiffly. “Good luck, then. But if not? I pray your death is quick and clean.” He replied, and Alancio chuckled, amused before he turned and headed in Arya’s direction. Jaqen couldn’t help but watch as Alancio approached Arya and asked if he could sit with her. But when she nodded and motioned for him to do just that, the roll of bitter anger curled in his gut. Why was he so angry about it? She wasn't his. They weren't together. They punished one another. Released their frustrations on each other. There was no love between them. There had never been. Maybe some consideration and concern. But never love. There had only been sour hatred and seething fury. So why, as she leaned on the table towards Alancio, did he want to storm over there, snatch her away and drag her kicking and screaming from the hall? If he hated her, then why would he care if she opened her legs for someone else? Why would he feel this dark, choking jealousy at the thought of another man between them? Why did the thought of any seed other than his, finding its way within her, make him want to kill something or someone? What was this!? Angered, green-eyed with jealousy and feeling an intense pain in his chest, Jaqen tore his eyes from the scene and drained his goblet. Fine. He thought, let her do what she would. If she was going to accept another man in her bed? Then he wouldn't concern himself with worrying about having another woman in his. He did, after all, have four willing ones surrounding him. Looking over all four, he soon made his decision. Blonde. Beautiful. And green-eyed. The complete antithesis of Arya. Yes, he thought, yes, she would do nicely. Thus, he zeroed in on her and, with a lazy, lop-sided smile and raised brow, he began to woo her. -X- Arya woke with a pained groan as she clutched at her head. Gods! She couldn't remember the last time she was as hungover as she was now. How much autumn wine had she drunk last night!? Looking over to the left-hand side of her bed to ask Jaqen, because surely he would be able to tell her, she blinked in surprise to find it empty. Well, that was strange. For the past three years, she'd woken up with him in the morning after All Hallows. So, where was he? Had he just gotten up earlier than her? No, that didn't seem right. He generally didn't rise until she did, even if he had woken before her. Come to think of it, she mused, confused as she felt velvet against her skin, why was she still clothed!? There was no way in hell that she would be, if she'd been with Jaqen last night. So if they hadn't been together? Then…where was he? Feeling as her stomach bottomed out in a way that had nothing to do with her hangover. A wash of dread and….anger flooded her. Where. Was. He? But before she could think anymore, her chamber door knocked and she called out to whoever it was to come in. Looking up when it opened, she blinked in confusion when she found Alancio walking in with a small tray of food and warm tea. “Good morrow, she-wolf. Gods! You look a bit worse for wear don't you?” He teased her light-heartedly. And she blinked in more confusion. But he just smiled. “I figured you would be feeling a little delicate this morning, given you drank an entire flagon and a half of wine last night. A woman after my own heart, in truth. So I brought you some food that should be easy to eat. And ginger tea, to help settle your undoubtedly sour stomach.” He explained, and Arya dropped her head into her hands with a groan. Well. That explained why she felt as absolutely dreadful as she did. A flagon and a half!? She never drank that much! She knew her limits, and even if she was in a mood to push them, Jaqen had always been there to stay her hand and make sure she didn't overimbibe. Because he knew how much she hated the hangovers afterwards. He also knew he was the one who would be forced to deal with the fallout of it. So if he hadn't been watching? Then what had he been doing!? Not that she could blame him for this as much as she wanted to. She was a big girl; she should be able to handle herself by now. But it still begged the question, what had he been doing and where had he gone? “Um…thank you? I'm sorry. What all happened last night? I can't really remember. And I definitely don't usually drink that much.” She asked as she accepted the tea that Alancio gave her. Surreptitiously smelling it to make sure all it contained was ginger, she sipped when she found nothing amiss. Alancio nodded lightly before he asked wordlessly if he could sit with her. Nodding in return to him, he gracefully lowered himself to sit on the edge of her bed, closer to the foot of it. “Mmm. I figured. You were drinking lazily when we were sitting together and talking. But for some reason as soon as you saw Jaqen leave the hall with a pretty blonde, you started downing wine like water.” As soon as these words left Alancio’s mouth, Arya almost choked on her tea. As dread crashed over her and she felt her stomach drop into her ass. Closely followed by her heart. But then the fury was upon her. That bastard! That absolute bastard! Reaching out, she slammed her cup down and got out of bed, throwing her hair up into a bun, to at least look much more presentable. Giving a quick word of thanks to Alancio, as well as an apology, she stormed from her room. Jaqen’s wasn’t too far from hers, and soon she was standing before it. But before she could reach out and open it, it opened from the inside, and a tall blonde woman came walking out, fixing her skirts and bodice as she went. Meeting Arya’s gaze, she gave her a bright smile, and then she hurried away. Seeing red, Arya flew into Jaqen’s room, slamming the door behind her. She found him lounging in bed, his back against the headboard. His arm was thrown over his eyes in a classic example of also being hungover. But that wasn't all, his chest was bare to her gaze, his sheets utterly rumpled around his waist. One leg was out of the sheet and bent at the knee, also bare. It was clear to her. More transparent than glass, that he was naked. And there was only one reason for that. “Well. I'm glad you found a willing body for the night, Jaqen H'ghar. But understand this? From today onwards? Don't you ever think of crawling back into my bed.” She seethed and saw as his arm was snatched from his eyes, and he looked at her in utter shock and disbelief before his expression darkened. “Oh? So the little princess can fuck who she likes, outside of a man? But he cannot, outside of her? That's unspeakably rich!” He bit out, his eyes narrowing on her. But the words threw her off, and she raised a brow, giving him a look of complete confusion before she shook her head. “What in the hells are you talking about, Jaqen!? I've only ever fucked you! You claimed my virtue, or did you forget!? And since then, I have been with no other man, except for you!” She countered sharply, levelling him with an icy, dangerous glare as her fists balled at her sides. Gods! She wanted to punch him or throw something at him. “No, you had been with no one else, except for a man, until last night. Is he to believe that a woman didn’t take Alancio to her bed!?” He asked, his look one of smug knowing, which just further confused her. Staring at him for several moments, she motioned down her form. “Look at me, Jaqen! Do I fucking look as though I had someone in my bed last night!? I'm wearing the same dress from the night before, and it is obviously slept in! I was alone! I had no man with me, much less Alancio!” She snapped in retaliation. “I drank a flagon and a half of wine. Much too much, and I can only assume I was put to bed for the night. Either by Alancio or by someone else. I know it wasn’t Viktoria, because she would have changed me into my night slip, instead of leaving me in my gown! And it definitely wasn’t you as you were clearly otherwise occupied!” She yelled in frustration and watched as he shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, before he did, indeed, properly look her over. She knew the moment he came to the realisation himself, as his face dropped and he went a curious shade of pale. “So you didn’t…” He began, and she sneered at him in profound distaste, before she cut him off sharply. “No, you vicious bastard. No I did not, I stayed true to whatever fucked up us that we have. Although why? I haven’t a damned idea! Because you obviously care less about it and made a different choice! But it changes nothing about my decision, Jaqen. You have made your bed. You can lay in it! I will not share a bed with a man who is open and willing to share it with someone else, at the same time as he shares it with me.” She bit out coldly, feeling the unfathomable sting of tears in her eyes. Before he could see them or indeed before they could fall, she spun on her heel and stormed from his room. Ignoring his calls for her to come back and paying no mind when she heard him jump from his bed, as though he was about to chase her. But he didn’t get a chance as she slammed the door closed behind her again. Then and only then did she take off running for her room. She hoped against hope that Alancio wasn’t still there. He had looked concerned when she had taken off. But she knew she needed to cry, although why she wanted to, she couldn’t say. Why she felt betrayed by Jaqen in this was beyond her as well. It wasn’t like they were in a romantic relationship! They slept together, that was all. It was nothing more than that! So, technically, either of them could also sleep with another if they so choose. But whatever the reason for this sense of betrayal, it didn’t change that it was there. It didn’t change that it felt like her heart was shattering into a million pieces. -X- Jaqen knew he was giving off an aura of pure darkness as he stalked through the halls of the House. He was looking for Arya, but he had yet to find her. She wasn't in her room, nor the master's sparring halls. She wasn't even in the library. He had searched all of her regular haunts and the places she would usually go when upset. But he had been unable to find her. He had found Alancio, though, the man sitting casually in Arya’s room at her desk. He had asked the man what he was doing there, and Alancio had explained. He'd put Arya to bed last night, because she had been rather drunk. And he had been concerned that she would be taken advantage of in that state. So he'd put her to bed safely, closed her door tightly and then rejoined the party. He had come in this morning to check on her and bring her some food and tea to help settle her stomach. But she'd taken off not too long afterwards. He had decided to wait for her to come back then, because he'd assumed that she'd needed to empty her stomach. But she hadn’t returned. This had Jaqen cursing foully in his mind. Cursing because Alancio had just inadvertently vouched for what Arya had spat at him in the privacy of his room. She hadn’t taken another man between her legs last night. She had slept alone. Meanwhile, he had….Gods! He had had that Blonde, long into the night. Something he'd done because it had been nowhere near as satisfying. Nice, sure. But not enough to sate him. There had been no push and pull. No back and forth. There had only been total, purring submission, and he had realised that he hadn't preferred it. He had preferred the fight. Preferred the battling for dominance and control. He enjoyed not knowing whether he would end up at the mercy of Arya or whether he would earn control of her. And now? Now he felt sickeningly guilty. He was wracked with it. However, he did not know why. They didn't belong to each other. She wasn't his woman or partner. And he wasn’t her man or significant other. They were casual lovers at best. It was just sex. Mind-boggling, intoxicating and addictive sex. But just sex nonetheless. So realistically, neither had much room to be pissed at the other for trying out another person or two from time to time. But even knowing this? He couldn't help but feel he had done something wrong. Couldn't help but feel as though his heart was breaking at the thought of losing her. And he didn't think it was just because he would miss her body. If he hated her as much as he swore he did? Why was his heart now in his mouth at being unable to find her? Why was he refusing even to eat until he knew she was safe and ok? His search for her takes precedence over everything else. But less than that? Why would he even care to lose her? Why would he feel guilty for sharing his body, for a night, with someone who wasn’t her? These questions spun in his head as he began a quick jog towards the only other place in this damnable house he hadn't checked yet. The astronomy look-out. The highest point of the House. As he breached the stairs, he took them two at a time. It was then, as he hurriedly ascended, that another thought came loud and imposing. Could it be that he'd had it all wrong, all this time? Was it possible that what he had thought was hate had been completely confused with…with…. As the word finally forced its way to the front of his mind in screaming clarity, he faltered on the stairs. His breath started to come in soft pants, now. Pants that had nothing to do with his sudden cardio workout. And everything to do with the cloying, choking grasp of anxiety, that was clawing at his throat and chest. No. Not that. Please, he thought, anything but that. He couldn't handle that. There was no way in the hells. But as the word flashed in his mind again, more incessantly than before, he knew he was pleading fruitlessly. He released a shuddering breath, then as the clamping twist of realisation bent his mind and squeezed his heart. A realisation that quickly morphed to acceptance. He'd let the thought in, and that was all it had taken for it to cement within him. “Fuck.” He cursed quietly as he felt his eyes start to sting. He dropped back against the wall of the stairwell and covered his face with his hands. Tilting his head back, the thought spun and twirled merrily in taunt of him. “Fuck”, he choked out again as a tear escaped his eye and slipped down his cheek. Upon feeling this, he banged his head against the wall lightly. However, he didn't get a chance to spiral any further as a soft sob reached his ears. Barely at first, indicating it came from further upwards. Pushing off from the wall, he quietly climbed further up the stairs and with every couple of steps, he would hear another sob. Each coming faster and louder than the last. Finally reaching the top, he stepped out onto the terrace, and that's where he found her. Kneeling on the ground, with her arms resting on the lip of the rooftop. Arms that her head was buried in, as her shoulders lightly shook. Crying. She was crying, and it was all because of him. He felt the hateful twist of guilt wrap around his heart. He slowly approached her. The guilt within him was joined by something else. Something brought on by his newfound realisation. Pain. Actual, honest to the Gods, pain. A pain that only one with his affliction could feel. Because it was the pain one felt when they realised just how they'd hurt the one they…the one they loved. His tears came then as his feet carried him towards her, and before he knew it, he was dropping to his knees behind her. Dropping to his knees and then draping himself over her, as his arms slipped around her waist, crossing over one another. Holding her to him as tightly as he could, they both cried together. Both allowing the other to see, hear and feel their combined hurts. His apologies were spilling from his lips freely, as he told her he had been wrong. He should never have done what he did, as he hadn't realised that she wasn’t doing the same. That he had made a rash, terrible decision based on nothing but the imaginings of a jealous mind. His jealous mind. He told her that he never should have hurt her like this, and he didn’t think he would ever forgive himself. All of it and more spilt from him without a barrier or blockade. It was all raw, all pure. Nothing but truth and emotions, unfiltered and unchecked. And she heard and listened to every word. Every hitch of breath and every lift and fall of tone. And indeed, every sob that he released as they knelt together on that terrace. When their tears finally ceased, both were left emotionally drained and exhausted. He stood on shaky legs and held his hand out for her. She took it, allowing him to bring her to her feet, and he did so gently. Then with equal gentleness, his arm slid around her shoulders and he drew her into his side. Turning them both, he began to slowly lead her back towards the stairs, where they descended in silence. When they reached the bottom, she murmured the word ‘baths’ and he hummed quietly in understanding. He then oriented them towards the bathing chambers. They didn’t stop until they reached their rooms, both parting for a few moments to gather their things. When they next joined back up, she slipped her hand into his, and he entwined their fingers. Then, taking the lead once more, he headed towards the stairs that would lead them below the House and to the waiting springs there. -X-