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God's Will

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It had been a year since Jaqen H'ghar left Braavos to spy the maesters in the Citadel of Oldtown. His mission had not been completed yet but the alarming news he had received from the Elders forced him to return prematurely to the temple. His lovely girl was in need!

The kindly mentor and their dutiful sister, the one his sweet girl called the Waif for her skinny stature, were deeply concerned about the girl's condition. Right after Jaqen's arrival in the temple, the three of them gathered in the quietude of the sanctum of the House of Black and White to debate about the future of Arya Stark.


'We have summoned you, brother,' the Elder started, 'to discuss a matter of great importance.'


'Arya Stark had her blood.' Their sister informed him.


Jaqen blinked in confusion.


'A man does not understand. It is a natural thing. Surely the news could have waited till my mission in Oldtown was completed. I have found the scrolls with the information that could change the course of the war.'


The Elder waved his hand impatiently.


'The war will wait.'


'The war must wait.' The priestess insisted.


Jaqen looked at their troubled faces. His kindly master spoke first.


'Ever since the thing happened Arya Stark has been having disturbing dreams.'


'What sort of dreams?' Jaqen needed to know.


'Vivid.' The Elder pursed his lips. 'The girl tosses around in her bed and moans as if she was possessed by a ghost.'


The revelation saddened Jaqen.


'Gods have mercy!'


'Forget the gods.' Their sister chimed in. 'She's horny.'


Jaqen raised his brow in curiosity.


'Is she?'


'The girl indulges herself in wild behavior.' The Elder confirmed. 'Not that she wasn't wild before, but now...'


'She bought a gown made of Myrish lace.' The priestess whispered, lowering her eyes coyly. 'The thing is so short it barely covers her sex!'


Jaqen did not know what to say to that. The vision of his lovely girl wearing such a lacy thing took his breath away.

The Waif leaned forward and looked him right in the eye.


'She demanded an apprenticeship with the Black Pearl to learn how to give a man a s...'


Jaqen felt heat spreading through his body.


'Enough!' He breathed.


'All at the tender age of sixteen!' The Elder nodded in agreement. 'Last time the moon was black, our brother, the one she calls the Stern one, found her in the armory. Do you think she was throwing knives?' The Elder shook his head sadly.' She was lying on the floor, rubbing her sex furiously and moaning a man's name. Her breasts were exposed, her legs were wide open, her pearly juices shining on her thighs. Our brother was moved to the core!'


Jaqen H'ghar was moved too.


'Is he alright?' He asked not without effort.


'He'll be fine.' Their sister reached out her pale hand and patted his arm reassuringly. 'We have sent him to the Nightingale.'


Jaqen raised his eyes and whispered a short prayer for their brother's recovery. But the Elder had no mercy upon him.


'There is more.' The priest heaved a sigh. 'The girl over-strained her wrist.'


'She developed tremor in her hand.' The Waif clarified. 'Last week she dropped two vials of basilisk blood. You know how precious it is!'


'She can't even hold a dagger!' The Elder exclaimed. 'She cannot give the gift!'


Jaqen stared at them in horror.


'This has gone too far!'


'It must be stopped.' His mentor said firmly. 'You need to stop her.'


'This man?' Jaqen blushed as the image of the lacy thing flashed in his mind again. 'There must be other way.'


'If only there was, my boy, if only there was!' The old priest sighed. 'It is your name the girl screams while she is touching herself! And does she scream loud!'


'She screams as loud as she snores.' The Waif concurred.


'She doesn't snore so loudly.' Jaqen opposed weakly. The vision of Myrish lace exposing soft curves of his lovely girl's lithe body clouded his thoughts.


The Elder gave him the look.


'A fortnight ago, Tycho Nestoris came to the House to whisper his prayer. I took him to the garden to discuss the price in peace and quiet. How foolish I was. Arya Stark was occupying a bench under a lemon tree, swaying back and forth like a whore at the Happy Port. The profanities coming from her mouth would put the Sailor's Wife into shame. Tycho wanted to marry her on the spot!'


'Oh my Red God!' Jaqen felt the thrust of jealousy, like hot iron, in his chest. Whether he was jealous of Tycho or the bench, he couldn't tell.


The Elder looked at him sternly.


'This is not the reputation we have built over the years.'


'But what can a man do to cast this mad dream aside?'


'She will tell you.' The Waif said quickly. 'She's very vocal about her desires.'


'She has a list.' His kindly mentor added hastily.


Jaqen understood that the decision had been made and he could do naught but follow his duty.


'You planted a seed of lust in her heart, brother.' The old priest reminded. 'It is your obligation to quench this manic thirst.'


'Valar dohaeris.' The three faceless men whispered dutifully.


A deadly silence filled the room; Jaqen could almost hear his own heart pounding.


His master placed a hand on his shoulder. 


'Jaqen H'ghar,' the Elder declared solemnly, 'by the power granted me by the Many Faced God, I command you to pleasure Arya of House Stark.'


The Many Faced God heard the prayer.


'If this is God's will.' And Jaqen felt it was, his member was already so hard, the pressure in his small clothes so great that if it weren't for the presence of his brother and sister, he would have taken himself in his hand and rub his throbbing shaft until his seed spilled, soiling the sacred floor of the sanctum. 'If this is His will.' He bowed his head piously. 'A man will do what must be done.'