(This chapter takes place before, during and after the war)
Oldtown 298 AC.
Jaqen.
For almost three moons he had traveled to get here and then for a further three he'd planned. Taking up residence in a small room and waiting to see just how he'd get inside. Had he been aware of the death and disappearances of the men before he got here then he'd have been able to come and go even more quickly. As it was security within the Citadel had been tightened and the men he needed to get to rarely left except under guard.
Even when he had taken a different face and became a guard himself it had brought him no closer and the Many-Faced God would only let him take one more to see his work done. The problem was whose should he take? There were many to choose from and yet which one would get him to where he needed to be. Initially, he had made friends with the fat boy after finding out that he slept near the Archmaesters themselves.
Over time he had come to like Samwell though, not that it would have been enough to stop him becoming a gift for the Red God, though it had given him pause. Had he been certain that Samwell would lead him to finish his mission then he'd have given him the gift, but he was not and so he waited some more. When it came it came by accident, or was it fate? Either way, he had been ready when the boy drunkenly staggered into the Scribes Heart and had helped him into the Citadel itself.
Though he'd been challenged it was not greatly so as Samwell's drunken state had served his purpose well. After helping put the boy to bed, Jaqen quietly left the room and began to move through the darkness. One, just one is all he needed, a face that would allow him to become someone who could come and go as they pleased. A face though wasn't all he needed, the face he chose must also have something more, many links on their chain, and an iron key.
"You, help me with these." a voice called and Jaqen turned to look at the man, almost smiling to himself when he saw the chain he wore.
"A man will help the Maester." he said moving to him.
"Archmaester, Archmaester Ryam, now help me carry these books." the man said grumpily.
"A man will do as the Archmaester demands." he said lifting up the books.
They walked in silence down a corridor and then down another before finally reaching an iron gate. Jaqen watching on as the Archmaester reached into his robes and took out a chain with an iron key on it and opened the gate before locking it behind them. Through another corridor they walked and reached another gate, Ryam stopped and opened this gate also, looking at him and seeming to decide something before bidding him follow.
"You're from Lorath?" Ryam asked as the walked in the darkness.
"A man was born there."
"Yet you came to Westeros?" Ryam asked.
"A man was searching for something." Jaqen said as they reached the desk and Ryam motioned for him to put the books down.
"Did you find it?" Ryam asked.
"Not yet." he moved quickly, the long thin knife piercing the brain through the ear, Jaqen catching the man as he fell.
By the time he laid him on the ground, the man was dead and Jaqen knelt over him and said a prayer to the Many-Faced God, offering the death to him. Then he began to do his work and removed the face before he moved the body. Wearing a new face was different for each of them, some simply took on the mannerisms and speech of the faces they wore, all took on their appearance. Some though became them somewhat, their thoughts, their feelings, and who or what they were in life becoming who you were when you wore their face.
