Astor gripped the report that was within his hands, before he slammed it down on his desk. Dead. Gara was dead and Jaqen and the girl had managed to slip away from all of the eyes that he had posted throughout Braavos. The last known location of both, was in a few alleys over from the one that they had found Gara in. How had they both managed to evade his men!? What the hell was this order coming too?

They had one job. One! Find his son and the Stark girl. Bring his son to the temple by any means necessary and do what they would with Arya, he didn't care. As long as it ended with her washing up on the shores of the bay! But instead they had brought him nothing but shit! This couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose Jaqen. Not yet. He still needed him, while he continued to hunt for Astarion, his eldest.

"It seems the skills of a man's son, that he so prised? Are the very ones that enabled a boy to escape a man. An elder did try to warn a man not to train a boy quite so well, for it may come back to bite a man in his sorry arse. And here, it seems, his chickens have come home to roost."

The gravelly voice that filled his study made Astor's skin crawl. Dammit all to the hells, he had hoped that he would have more time before Cadigan's little mice had skittered their way back to him. But apparently they were doing a much more bang up job than his own gatherers at the moment.

Cadigan was the eldest out of them all, and also the eldest son of the founding family and he had been desperate to get rid of him for years now. Something about reckless abandon of duty and using the order to further his own selfish needs or something like that anyway. But all he had been trying to do this whole time, was find a way back to Lorath and back to their families seat of birthright. The fact that he had access to the resources of the Faceless, was just a coincidence.

"A man recalls an elder praising him, for disregarding his so graciously given advice. The day a man's offspring saved the life of the elder and quickly replaced the life owed, with that belonging to an elder's would-be assassin. As a man recalls, his offspring was lauded for his prowess and ability, amongst all elders that day." Astor replied although he did so with gritted teeth. He may be Lorathi, but the stringent way in which the Faceless were expected to speak, drove him to the brink of madness. He hated it. Truly he did.

"Ah an elder remembers this thing, yes. But he posits that it was a man that allowed that would-be assassin close to an elder. An elder also remembers how thoroughly a man angrily lashed his offspring for the saving, later. Though a man swore he was not involved in any way. But as always, a man is careful to hide all evidence of wrongdoing, leaving only unverifiable suspicion in his wake." Cadigan replied casually, as he hobbled over to where Cicero was perched and stroked the bird's head.

"A man did not punish his offspring that day for this thing. Why would he ever punish his offspring for saving the life of an elder? A boy had done something else that day that needed to be corrected and so it was. A man still maintains that he had nothing to do with an attack on an elder." Astor replied, his eyes narrowing on Cadigan. He watched then as the old fool shrugged his shoulders before giving a hollow chuckle.

"Aye an elder is older now, so it is always possible his own hearing can deceive him. But even so, he would have imagined that the courageous acts of his offspring would have been enough to negate any wrongdoing he may have committed prior to it, that day. Though it seems a man has always found something to punish his offspring for. No matter how minute. An elder would caution a man to stop. Lest he lose the last of his offspring for good." Was Cadigan's response, his tone showing how much he didn't believe Astor's words.

But what really got to him, was the comment about how he handled Jaqen and the jab that reminded him of how, at present, all of his children were gone from him. Just who did Cadigan think he was, to come in here and chide and deride him over his parenting choices. The man had never had any of his own, so what experience did his words come from? As Astor continued to watch the old man pet Cicero, it seemed he was doing so in a bid to keep calm. Not for any true appreciation of the bird.

Astor thought this, given he had seen Cadigan repeat this same process with Rhodania, his peregrine falcon. And it always seemed to be when the old man had become incensed over something. Come to think of it, Cadigan seemed to be calmed by birds in general, although Astor had no idea how that was possible. Birds were annoying at the best of times, as much as he appreciated Cicero, his raven was about the only bird he could tolerate. But speaking of birds and Cadigan…hadn't Cadigan gifted Jaqen with a peregrine falcon of his own, once he reached his twenty-first year?

Yes, he believed the old man had. He had gifted Jaqen with one after he had commented on how much he enjoyed Cadigan's Rhodania as a companion, when he had looked after her for a few weeks, while the old man had gone away on business. So for the celebration of Jaqen's birth, Cadigan had presented him with Farangal, a male peregrine who was to become the mate of Rhodania. Hmm. That bird was probably the only one in this infernal place that could lead him to Jaqen. He could send him, with a missive, posing as Cadigan and then when the blasted beast returned, he could pin-point a close location of where Jaqen was hiding with his little whore.

Yes. Yes, that could work! A thorough dusting of the birds feathers and talons afterwards, could potentially give him insight to the lands he had traversed through, on his way to Jaqen. It was rudimentary and utterly archaic, but it could be reliable if done right. But wasn't there something about falcons in particular? He felt like there was and that he couldn't remember.

"A man has a question, if his elder would oblige?" Astor requested politely, wanting to gut himself at how submissive he was having to be right now. But when Cadigan nodded, he felt a little discomfort was worth it, if it helped his plans. So motioning to Cicero, he spoke.

"A man's messenger bird is growing older. He still has some life left in him, but a man would be remiss to not begin training another, younger bird in preparation. A man was considering a peregrine, similar to an elders and a man's offspring. But a man hears that those birds need to be trained in a particular way?" Astor queried, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back on his desk, appearing for all the world as though he was relaxed and curious. Nothing more.

"Aye. They do. In order for a peregrine to obey a man, the man must raise it from a hatchling and imprint on the creature. This is difficult for a man to do and it takes time. But once done, a peregrine will only ever obey a man that raised it. It will not obey another." He responded, turning and heading toward a chair by the hearth in the room. He took a seat heavily, his joints clearly protesting the movement. Good Gods, Astor thought, he old man should just abdicate now. There was no way he could be considered fit to lead anymore. Not in his condition, it seemed obvious to him that Cadigan should retire and move to one of the warmer climates, where he could find some relief.

"How long would an elder say that takes? Just so that a man gets an idea of when he should begin? How long did it take an elder and a man's offspring to do so?" He asked instead, deciding to keep his thoughts to himself for the moment. For now, he wanted Cadigan to think that Astor still looked at him as a threat.

"A man's offspring had help from his elder who has raised many a peregrine. Thus the time was halved. Ordinarily it would take a minimum of four seasons before a man has adequately trained his falcon." Cadigan answered, looking over at him in a way that made Cadigan feel as though he was being analysed. And he didn't like that, it made him feel as if even one wrong inflection to a word, would blow his cover to hell.

"Hmm…maybe a man should think about a different bird? He is not sure whether a peregrine would suit his needs, then." Astor replied, before making his way over to the window behind his desk, where he stood and looked out over the water. His back was now to Cadigan, something he didn't like either. But it was better than having the man's eyes boring into his soul, when he was facing him.

"A peregrine will also always be able to find their master. So if a man takes a chance on one, he will end up with not only a most loyal bird? But one that will rarely, if ever, get lost on its way to a man. It is also the one time where a peregrine will listen to any man. If they are asked to find their master? Then they shall do so." Cadigan explained, and Astor's ears perked up at that and he smirked in victory.

That's what he was looking for. For Cadigan to freely provide that information off his own back. Because if Astor had just asked him the question outright, the old geezer would have known immediately the reason for his asking. But before Astor could say anything else, he heard Cadigan haul himself up from the chair he'd been sitting on and then with a farewell, he left the office.

Now though, where was Jaqen's prised falcon? He knew the bird wasn't at his son's home, he'd already been there and had found the multiple perches that he kept for the creature, empty. And it seemed he hadn't introduced his falcon to his little whore yet, either. Because he had also been to her house and he hadn't found a bird perch in sight. Which he knew there would have been, if she and Jaqen had been together as lovers for longer than a few weeks. There was no way that his son wouldn't have introduced his falcon to the girl, if they'd been together longer. Nor would he want there to be nowhere for the beast to roost or perch while Jaqen was in Arya's company. Jaqen took pride in Farangal and so he would have wanted the bird to get to know a lover that he was more serious with. So maybe there was still hope that this relationship with Arya was still in its fleeting infatuation phase. Because if so? It would be easier to convince his son to drop her.

But before all that, he needed to find the fucking bird. So if it wasn't at his son's personal residence and it wasn't at the girls? Then the only other place it could be was here in the temple, in his son's chambers. Nodding to himself, he made a note to go there next. But first, he had to write a reply to his cursed men on the ground. A couple of threats should soon see them scrambling to get results for him.

-x-

As Cadigan closed the door to Astor's study, he scowled. That man was a frightful one. Too conniving and overreaching for his own good. And that spindle of shit that he had fed him, regarding needing a new messenger bird was laughable.

Cadigan knew birds and aside from Falcons the other breed he had experience with, was Corvids. Specifically Ravens. Cicero was still in fine health and not all that old at all. Astor would still have years with that bird, before he even needed to think about training another. But Cadigan had let the pretentious prick think he'd hoodwinked him but he hadn't. The only reason that bastard was asking about falcons, is because he was thinking about using Farangal to find Jaqen. Well, not on his watch. Absolutely not!

What he had chosen to omit from his explanation, was that because he had helped Jaqen raise Farangal? Farangal had imprinted on him too, thus he would obey him as though he were Jaqen. What Astor also did not know was that while he had been so obsessed with punishing his boy in every way he could and doing whatever possible to keep him chained to his side like a damnable lap dog? Cadigan had been doing the raising of Jaqen. Not the training. The raising. He had seen so much potential in the boy, for he had many talents. Talents that Cadigan had encouraged him to explore and provided the materials for that exploration. Jaqen had a talent with his hands for example, anything that required handiwork and a calculating mind? The young man was able to understand and apply the theories to practice.

A good worked example of this was the cane that Cadigan always had these days. It had been made by Jaqen and gifted to him on his name day. The cane had been beautifully crafted from three different kinds of wood, which wrapped around one another in graceful curves and twists. The handle of the cane was the head of a falcon, its body curving down lower to blend with the rest of the wood, with the opened wings sitting just below the handle. Jaqen had hand carved it all and blended the woods himself. But the most special thing about the cane? It held a hidden sword within its depths as well as a secret compartment that was accessed by an unnoticeable button. Once pushed, the falcon's beak would open and a vial of poison would fall down into the mouth. A button on the other side did a similar thing, except it crushed the vial then through channels, chiselled within the wood, it would pour over the hidden blade, coating it with a potent poison. From the outside, no one would be able to tell that his cane was also an actual weapon because Jaqen had carved it in such a way that it appeared utterly seamless.

It was their little secret that no one else knew about, so that Cadigan always had the element of surprise. Where he had grown much older now, he had not lost his edge. In fact, he was still quite spritely indeed as he continued to train everyday to keep himself supple and in good form. So although his joints definitely creaked in manners comparable to unoiled hinges? He was no less lethal. Perhaps a little slower than he had once been. But other than that? He was still just as dangerous as he had been in his prime. But he could not deny the leverage that playing the doddering old fool provided to him and so, on Jaqen's suggestion, he had leaned into it. As the boy had put it; 'Just another mask, elder one. Just another tale. But one that will hold an elder in good stead and always keep his enemies off balance.'

Yes, Jaqen was a special man with many useful talents that would see him navigate the world and life in general, without much difficulty. He had seen long ago how being a member of the faceless was draining his soul. But when he requested to leave the order, as all of them had a right to do, his father would always shoot him down. Astor always had some reason or other to keep Jaqen in place. Oftentimes they were threats or ultimatums. And as much as Cadigan had wanted to slam Astor into the ground and overrule him? He was duty-bound not to interfere in the dynamics of a family group of assassins. It was part of their many rules of etiquette. There was nothing he could do for the boy on that front. Nothing at all.

So he had been forced to sit back and watch as time after time, Jaqen requested to leave and each time he was denied. And with each new denial, Cadigan had watched, his heart breaking as more and more of the bright, smiling red-headed boy he had come to know and love, died a little more inside with each forced servitude. And in his place grew a man who, although respectful, was embittered and cynical. Astor had taken Jaqen's innocence in more ways than one. He was doing everything he could to turn his son into an unfeeling, uncaring killer who obeyed no one but his father. And he had almost succeeded too. That is until Serana.

Once Serana had come to their order, Cadigan could see as her presence had begun to heal what Astor had broken within Jaqen. All of a sudden he was smiling again, he was laughing and he was showing his playful, mischievous side once more. But then Astor had to tear that away from him as well. Because it was a threat to his power and control. As soon as Jaqen's seed had taken root in the girl, the boy found his purpose again. He had started to gnash and gnaw at his fathers cursed chains. But as always? Astor had found a way to break his son for another time and make him cower like a dog before its angered master. There was no solid proof? But Cadigan was sure Astor had been the one to sink the girl's ship and to kill her. Then the day came that Astor coldly told his son that Serana was gone.

Cadigan had watched, powerless, as Jaqen broke for the very last time. On the floor of the Hall of Faces, Cadigan had witnessed, as Jaqen's soul finally died. His heart and his mind in agreement that this was all they would ever have. That this was the life he was bound to. A prisoner in a pretty cell with only an illusory sense of control over himself and his decisions.

On that day as Jaqen screamed out his pain and anguish, his tears streaming down his handsome young face? Cadigan had felt wetness on his own cheeks and hidden from view he had cried too, for the boy that until then he hadn't realised that he had begun to see as his own. Thus the days turned to weeks, turned to months and then to a year. All the while, Jaqen had tread the halls of the temple blank and disassociated, not even allowed to take on a single mission, which would have at least given him a chance to get away from the House of Black and White. So when an opportunity had arisen, amongst the many contracts that he held, for an experienced assassin and sleuth? He had given the mission to Jaqen. Astor had tried to block it but Cadigan had been able to overrule him that time, because it was a mission handed down by the head of the organisation, which meant it would be carried out to his specific specifications. That mission had taken Jaqen from Braavos and into Westeros where he had finally stepped into an old, dilapidated but occupied keep called Harrenhal.

When Jaqen had finally returned to Braavos a few weeks later and briefed Cadigan on the mission's success? He hadn't missed how Jaqen's step had seemed to have a bit more pep to it. His smile, although faint, had returned and his pale blue eyes were once again twinkling with mischief although it was weak. But to Cadigan that didn't matter. All that mattered was that it seemed Jaqen was starting to come alive again. At first he had thought it had been because he'd gotten away from the temple for a while and it had helped soothe his many hurts and agonies. But then a few months later she had arrived. Arya Stark of Winterfell, the little wolf of the North and she was asking for Jaqen by name.

Suddenly Jaqen's purpose had come back in full force. Normally, in their order, the recruiter did not do any of the training. It prevented issues with attachment bonds. But in this case, when Jaqen had asked him to allow his teaching of Arya, he had accepted it. He hadn't missed the look of well hidden hope and pleading within the now man's blue eyes. For whatever reason, Jaqen had needed this. He had needed to train and teach Arya and so Cadigan had allowed it and what a damn fine student that little wolf had turned out to be. Contrary to what Jaqen would have had her believe.

But that had been by design. If you thought you were always getting things right? You got lazy or arrogant and you suffered for it. But she had persevered and thus by the time she was leaving their halls? They had a brand new member for the order, however unofficial, and she was a force to be reckoned with. Moulded into the perfect killing force, wrapped up in the most easily dismissed form that Cadigan has ever seen. For by then she had not yet grown into her womanly looks. But while she had been with them, Jaqen had almost completely found himself again and Cadigan's heart was full at the prospect.

It wouldn't be until after she had left that Jaqen would explain where he had met and recruited her. Harrenhal. The mission Cadigan had sent him on, as a rescue mission for Jaqen himself. It was then that the source of Jaqen's brightness upon his return had become clear. It had been because of Arya.

And now? Now his surrogate son had found her again and once more the man's bastard father was trying to steal Jaqen's happiness. No. Not this time. Not if he had any say about it. Jaqen, now in his twenty-fifth spring, deserved to live the life he longed for, for himself. He was not asking for much, just that which most men craved at their cores. Love, family and peace. To happily live out their lives with another, have a couple of children, who would then maybe go on to give them a couple of grandchildren, before they lay in their beds and peacefully left the world, because they had succumbed to age and death had finally found their door.

Cadigan wanted that for Jaqen. He so desperately wanted to see the young boy, now a man, get what his heart had truly been calling for all of this time. He had a chance to have it with Arya Stark, who had all the potential in the world to become Arya H'ghar. A most suitable wife for his surrogate son. A most suitable wife indeed. But they would need help to get there. Cadigan couldn't do much at the moment, but he could do this.

Pushing his way into Jaqen's chambers he cooed to the roosting falcon, handsomely perched on his decorative stand, enjoying the sun as it warmed his silken feathers. Closing the door behind him, Cadigan straightened up from his slouch then, rising to his full height of six feet, three inches. Setting his cane aside, he stretched his arms over his head before walking, his gait steady and sure, over to Jaqen's writing desk. Taking some parchment, he dipped the quill in some ink and began to write. Once done and sealed with wax, he made his way over to Farangal.

"Here you are, handsome boy." He cooed sweetly to the bird, who happily took the note in his beak and hopped up onto the sill. Cadigan smiled then and opened the window, turning to the bird. "Take that warning to your master. Do not return unless he does. Stay with him." Farangal gave a couple of answering calls, before without thought, he jumped out of the window and took to the skies.

Cadigan watched him circle far above for a few moments before he oriented himself towards the South and headed off in that direction. Hmm, Cadigan thought, it seemed as though he was heading towards the Summer Isles. If so then even he had to admit that Jaqen was very smart. With the right back story, not a soul on those isles would give up the location of refugees. Shaking his head then, before giving a chuckle of pride at the thought of Jaqen, he closed the window tightly, tidied the writing desk up once more and then left the room. Closing the door once more. Now the room would look as though no one had been in there recently.

Needless to say? Astor was going to be quite annoyed when he realised that Farangal would be nowhere to be found. In the meantime, Cadigan had decided, any missives he would send to Jaqen and there would be a few, would be sent by Rhodania. Yes, that was another way he could help. He could repay Jaqen back in part for all of his years of service, by becoming his spy within the order. Ah, he thought with amusement, how the tables had truly turned. All those years of Jaqen spying for him, would now become Cadigan spying for Jaqen. And all so the boy could finally leave the nest and make a life for himself. Life truly was a funny thing sometimes.

-X-