“Swear it,” Arya said. “Swear it by the gods.”
“By all the gods of sea and air, and even him of fire, I swear it.” he placed a hand in the mouth of the weirwood. “By the seven new gods and the old gods beyond count, I swear it.”
He has sworn.
“Even if I named the king?”
“Speak the name, and death will come. On the morrow, at the turn of the moon, a year from this day, it will come. A man does not fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another, and one day a man is there, and a king dies.” He knelt beside her, so they were face-to-face, “A girl whispers if she fears to speak. Whisper it now. Is it Joffrey?”
Arya puts her lips to his ear.
“It’s Jaqen H’ghar.”