Cadigan leaned over his desk, reading over various reports on the past months missions, when a raven began to impatiently tap at his window. Glancing over, he raised his brow, noting how Rhodania bobbed her head in a semicircle, her interest in the newcomer clear.
Getting up from his chair, he opened the window and watched as the tired raven, a pretty female by the looks of her plumage, glided in and found a perch on his desk. She shook her head lightly, an envelope clasped tightly within her beak. Moving over to her, he gently took the envelope and then offered her some dry meat which she happily took, before he held his hand out for her. She hopped up and he carried her to the other resting perch in the office, this one complete with more food and a cup of water.
Once his feathery guest was settled, Cadigan looked at the envelope in his hands and recognised Jaqen's script immediately. Something had happened. Opening the letter hastily, he read over the words within, feeling his eyes well at the contents.
Cadigan,
A man sends news. Something has happened. Arya has fallen with child and now we find ourselves in more danger than ever before. I can not rest until I know my lady and our child are safe. A man is most ecstatic with the news that he is to be a father, even though he understands the timing couldn't be worse. If your offer still stands and remains, a man speaks a name onto you now.
Astor H'ghar, First of his name, an Elder of the council of Faceless Men.
Send him to the Red God, quickly, efficiently and without delay. In any fashion you see fit. Any pain this would have caused a man has long since faded. For something else was revealed to a man in these ensuing weeks away.
Milena H'ghar was not in fact a man's mother. She was his step-mother. A man's lady received a dream visit from a woman calling herself Allandra Castille, hailing from the Hold of Castille in Lorath. This dream woman held a man's hair, eyes and spoke as he does. She also provided a man's lady with a phrase that only a man and his family would know, to prove her words, when spoken back to him from his Lady.
We are now headed for Lorath, so that a man may investigate this further. But as it currently lies, a man's sire has proven himself to have lied for a man's entire life and hidden a man's true mother from him. He has abused a man in every way and even now plots to, yet again, take a man's love and child from him. A man is done. A man has no blood father, only a surrogate one. Which is the man who now holds this letter. Astor H'ghar will not stop until he gets what he wants. So for a final time a man speaks…
Astor H'ghar.
It is time.
Best,
J'
Cadigan read and re-read the letter before he nodded to himself and then hastily tossed it into the fire. He stood over the hearth, watching the flames lick at the parchment, until he was sure nothing but ash remained of it. Jaqen had spoken his wishes and so Cadigan would carry them out. And he would do so tonight and he had the perfect method to do so.
Walking over to his desk again, he unlocked a hidden drawer on the underside of the writing surface and dropped it open. Gazing down at the contents, he allowed his fingers to ghost over a set of vials, stored in an open, leather pouch, none were labelled. They didn't need to be. Not for him. These were his personal poisons and antidotes. Draughts that he had created himself to serve purposes such as this. All undetectable. All slow moving. But most importantly, all left no trace in the body after death. He was, unbeknownst to all but one other, a particularly gifted alchemist with a speciality in vicious, silent poisons. Knowledge that he had passed down to Jaqen as he had grown. He knew the boy had a similar pouch that he always carried with him. Sliding out a vial that contained a clear liquid, he smiled to himself. Yes. This one. This one would be perfect.
It was a variation of the Tears of Lys. Except his was slower moving and did not cause the tell-tale stomach fires as its inspiration did. What this one did was attack the blood of the heart, causing the body to throw a clot that would then become trapped in the valves of the heart. From there it would stop the heart completely. The only thing that would be noticeable, should an autopsy be performed, would be the clot. It would look as though a natural, pulmonary embolism had caused the death of the person. And Jaqen's bastard father was old enough for that to be utterly believable. He would slip this into Astor's water and wine jugs in his chambers, the substance leaving no taste, colouration or odour within either. Within twelve hours the man would begin to feel ill. By twenty-four, he would take to his bed with fever and by seventy-two? He would be dead. The beauty of this poison, was that as it worked its way through your system? It would feel as though you were simply coming down with a flu, which meant most would not call for a physician.
Slipping the vial into the hidden pocket of his robe sleeve, he closed and locked the drawer once more, before with a pet to both Rhodania's head and Jaqen's temporary raven, he left his office and made his way to the halls of rest. Astor was out scouring the city for any information on Jaqen's whereabouts, so the time was right. The hour of the eve that it was, ensured that his jugs would have been freshly refilled thirty minutes previous. So they would not be changed out again this night. And Astor did so love his wine. Milena had always scolded him that his love of the beverage would kill him one day. If only Astor had taken her warnings seriously, maybe he would think twice before drinking tonight. But he wouldn't. Cadigan knew this.
-X-
Astor stalked through the halls of the House of Black and White. All day he had scoured this damnable city for any information of Jaqen and his whore. But as with the previous two times he swept through the city, no new information had been uncovered. Gods but this was damned infuriating! He needed a drink and he needed it now! He would go to a pleasure house, but honestly, his mind held so much angered turmoil, that he wouldn't trust himself to not accidentally kill the working girl. So drinking himself to calmness would be better. Then if he felt so inclined after he settled some, he would visit his favourite whore.
Slamming his door closed behind him, he threw off his cloak and grabbed a wine goblet and the silver pitcher filled with rich, burgundy liquid. Filling his glass almost to the brim, he took a deep gulp thirstily. The warm burn that travelled down his throat felt nice as the flavours of the Dornish wine popped across his tongue. Damn if the Dorne's didn't know how to make a fine wine. Taking another gulp from his glass, he grabbed the pitcher and made his way over to his desk. He would pour over everything that he had already collected and see if something on his son's possible whereabouts wouldn't jump out at him.
As far as he was aware his son hadn't fled back to Lorath, the men he had in the city had also had no luck in finding the boy. Nor had the ones who he'd sent to Westeros. So at this moment, they all could only assume that he was in neither of those places. So where else would the boy go? Looking at the maps that were strewn across his desk messily, he favoured them for a few moments. If not Lorath, Braavos or Westeros? Then what was left that was close by enough that they could feasibly make a journey quickly and stealthily? As he pondered the maps and drained his glass, refilling it again, he started running down outliers.
Lys would be unlikely.
Ibben was doubtful as well.
As was Tyrosh and Pentos.
So, where else could star-crossed lovers, looking to escape death, choose to hide? As he contemplated these thoughts and savoured his wine, his eye caught the far left corner of one of the maps. A map that showed the Summer Isles. Of course! Why hadn't he thought of that!? Where was the one place, in all the lands, where two forbidden lovers could flee and become complete ghosts!? Gods old and new! How could he have missed this for so long!? But even as he asked this question to himself, he knew the answer. He had idiotically underestimated his son's intelligence. He knew better than that. Knew that Jaqen was smart as a whip and cunning as a fox. This would have been the most logical place for him to spirit them away too. And why not?
The Summer Isles was known to hide and protect refugees of their ilk. The land of love, sex and heat. No love was considered forbidden in those islands. None at all. Well, accept children. But that was a morality thing that all peoples of the world agreed with. Children should be protected at all costs. But aside from that and rape? Nothing was forbidden. And with the right back story? It was a sure thing that Arya and Jaqen would be protected. Smirking at himself then, he pulled free some parchment from a drawer and took up his quill. Time to call back his men from Lorath and Westeros. He would ask them to return to the house, where they would pull together a plan to help them find Jaqen and Arya. They would need it because The Summer Isles would be a tough nut to crack, if they expected to get any information from the citizens. So they couldn't go in half-cocked and they couldn't employ the same heavy-handedness that they did in Lorath, Braavos and Westeros. It would only make the Summer Islanders more stubborn.
So yes, plans would need to be made ahead of time, but his mood had considerably lightened once more. As he drank down yet another mouthful of the wine, he smiled. Hmm maybe he would visit his favourite courtesan afterall. But before that, he needed to complete his letters to his men. Sighing in victory, now that things were back on track, he began to pen his recalls.
-X-
Arya sat in her and Jaqen's rooms on the ship that was bound for Lorath. Already the temperatures had dropped noticeably. But in her case, it felt little more than a stiff breeze. She had been born and raised in Winterfell after all. Her head was resting on the back of her hand and she gazed out of the large porthole window at the docks they had anchored in, her other hand resting on her lower stomach, her thumb running over the area contemplatively.
Pregnant. She couldn't fucking believe it. But then, she supposed, what had she really expected? She and Jaqen had allowed themselves to get swept up in their amorousness for one another. They both knew the risks they were taking and they took them anyway. But her justification of this, shaky as it was, was simple. They were in a unique position where they truly didn't know whether they would survive each new day, with Jaqen's father after them. So, they were living in the moment, trying to enjoy the borrowed time that they were living on currently. So caution truly went out the window then.
Jaqen had told her, a few days ago now, that he had since taken care of his father and that he wouldn't be a problem soon. He hadn't elaborated on how he'd done this, but she could guess and probably be correct. She wasn't stupid, she knew he'd most likely sent a raven to Cadigan and asked him to do what needed to be done. She should probably be concerned that Jaqen could make a request such as that and order a hit on his own father. But again, it was a unique scenario. There was no love lost between them, Astor had abused his son in every way. Killed his first love and their child. Was trying to now kill her and their child. He'd also allowed a woman, that wasn't even Jaqen's mother by blood, to abuse him and his siblings. Had hidden Allandra, his true mother, from him and all for what? To keep unwavering control over his son, because without Jaqen, Astor was vulnerable. He was nothing. He kept Jaqen around, not because he wanted to. But because he needed to. Other order members feared Jaqen, not Astor. And rightly so. You didn't become one of the best in that order easily.
So in this, she supposed, she couldn't really blame him. She'd probably feel little regret about it if she was in his shoes. But she also knew that Astor wouldn't stop unless someone stopped him. She had met his type before. Joffrey. Ilyn. The Mountain. Tywin. All these and more were men that wouldn't stop committing atrocities in pursuit of their own selfish goals, unless someone put them down. Astor was just another one of those kinds of men. So she felt no sympathy that the Hand of Death was now snatching for his shoulder. A hand that Jaqen had called to action. It would be kind of hard to, while simply knowing the type of man that Astor was, never mind also carrying the knowledge that he wanted her and her child dead. And for what? Because she dared fall in love with his son and lay with that son in the way men and women in love do. Any proper father would be overjoyed to hear that their child had found their love and would encourage it. For no other reason than they wanted to see their child happy. She knew that if he was still alive, even though her father would be most unamused that she was with child outside of the marriage bed, he would still be overjoyed that she had found her one.
Coming out of her thoughts by a tap, tapping on the porthole window, Arya looked up and saw a beautiful Peregrine Falcon. Next she heard Farangal starting to squawk excitedly, his head bobbing up and down happily as he puffed up and ruffled his feathers. What on earth? Opening the window, she helped the poor thing come inside. Where the porthole was bigger than most, it was still a bit of a tight squeeze for a full-grown falcon. But she managed to get the bird inside. She watched, chuckling, as the falcon fell flat on her face on the table, before jumping up and shaking off, blinking up at Arya comically. She then dropped an envelope from her talons. Arya saw as Farangal flew from his perch to land beside the female, where he began to twitter at her lightly and began to groom her feathers sweetly. Oh? Arya thought. Was this Rhodania? Cadigan's peregrine? Jaqen had explained that he and Cadigan had planned to breed these two, so were they a bonded pair now? It seemed like it, as Rhodania cawed happily at the attention she was receiving from Farangal, while nibbling at his feathers in return. Although when she leaned down a bit too far, she stumbled a little and almost planted her face again. Rolling her eyes in disbelief that such a goofy bird could make it to them in one piece, Arya returned her attention to what was in her hands.
Looking down at the envelope, ignoring the reuniting falcons, she gasped at what was written on the front of the black and white envelope. In silver ink, written in beautiful script, were both her and Jaqen's names. Figuring it would be ok for her to open this letter, given it was addressed to them both, she felt her mouth fall open once again.
'Jaqen & Arya,
It is with great sadness that an Elder writes this missive. But as it pertains to an unexpected death of a family member, an Elder must write it.
At the hour of the wolf on the first day of the Braavosi Autumn, a man known as Astor H'ghar made his final journey to the Many-Faced God. This followed a short but difficult illness that was initially expected to be no more than a simple respiratory sickness. Sadly, this was not the case.
Autopsy, performed at the House of Black and White, revealed a clot that had travelled to the heart and stopped it.
All at the house are deeply aggrieved of this loss and wish to extend our most sincere condolences to a man known as Jaqen. It is never easy to lose a parent. Even harder when it is unexpected and fast.
An Elder asks that a man and woman return at their earliest convenience, if they are able to do so in order to arrange the necessary burial or burning services. If not, then the House will perform the standard burial rites for a man.
An Elder's thoughts and heart are with a man at this difficult time. Should he need anything else, he simply need ask and an Elder will see it done. All active tasks that the man known as Astor was responsible for, have since been reassigned. Or, indeed, called off and closed.
Regards & Condolences,
Elder Cadigan
House of Black & White
Leader of The Faceless Men'
Arya read and re-read the message and felt, rather grotesquely she would admit, her heart swelling in hope and absolute relief. Dead. He was dead. It was finally over. And as she read again, she smiled. In particular when her eyes travelled across the underlined words 'called off' and 'closed'. She just knew that Cadigan meant he had trashed the hunt down for her and Jaqen. They were finally safe again. Jumping to her feet, she picked up Rhodania and placed her on one of the two perches in the cabin. Then once she made sure the peregrine had food and water, and Farangal was snuggled into her, she ran from the room. She needed to get this to Jaqen, and she needed to get it to him now. He was up on deck with Syrio, she knew, both of them having taken to sparring with one another at every available opportunity.
-X-
As Syrio and Jaqen sat on the deck in comfortable silence, both of them were panting a little. They had just got done with a particularly savage sparring session. But it had been good to get their bodies moving and their blood pumping.
Jaqen hadn't been able to bring himself to spar with Arya, although she desperately wanted him too. But ever since he'd found out about her condition? He had become almost scared to spar with her, he didn't want to injure her or the little life growing within her. Arya, although she'd understood, had scoffed at this and rather sarcastically reminded him that she was pregnant, not deathly ill and that she could handle a little hand to hand combat, so long as they were careful with gut shots. But he had staunchly refused her. He had also refused her more amorous advances of late as well, again for the same reason. He didn't want to potentially harm her or their unborn.
She'd definitely scoffed at this one and understood it less so. Because, as she said, the unborn was protected further up in her womb and provided he wasn't an animal in his movements, the likelihood of him harming anything north of her womanhood was slim. But still he had refused and she was growing frustrated, he could tell. He dared say that she would jump him soon, if he didn't get his shit in order. Not that…he would be terribly opposed to her taking control of him and snatching his soul from his body with her need. But before he could enjoy this trail of thought in any detail, a shout rang out that had his head and Syrio's popping up over the crates they were resting behind.
He was sure, as he and Syrio stared down Arya, that they looked a comical pair. Just two heads and nothing more. But he ignored these musings in favour of zeroing in on the parchment that Arya was waving above her head. Getting to his feet, he jogged to meet her half-way, Syrio following sedately behind. Once he reached her, he pulled her into a sweet embrace, before he brushed his lips over her cheekbone in a soft kiss, then plucked the letter from her hand.
"It just arrived. I think it was Rhodania that delivered it? But my only basis of comparison there is the fact that it was a female falcon and Faran got all swoon-like over her. Well. As best a bird can anyway. It was rather cute at any rate. Although if it is Rhodania, she's a bit…dumb. She fell on her face on the table. After I had to help her inside and sit her on the table." Arya explained, her expression showing clearly the fact that she was surprised that the bird even breathed. But the description was spot on and with a chuckle, he found his words.
"Yes. That uh…that sounds like her. Truly, if not for Cadigan, the poor thing would probably be dead. Killed by some ridiculous method or other. Probably of her own doing…" He said amusedly, before falling silent and looking down at the parchment now in his hands, his breath halting in his chest for a moment and he mentally prepared himself to read.
As he read over the letter addressed to him and Arya, Jaqen felt the relief flood him. Although he was careful to keep his face neutral. Syrio didn't know that he had organised a hit on his father, and he knew the other man was sneakily reading over his shoulder. Which was precisely why Cadigan had worded this letter the way he had. So that it would appear as nothing more than a regrettable notice to one of his charges. But as he re-read he wanted to smirk. Respiratory illness indeed. He knew exactly what Cadigan had done and what method he had used to take Astor out of the equation for good. For he had a little vial of the exact same solution that had undoubtedly been slipped into his father's wine.
Jaqen thought idly, that he should probably feel some kind of sadness, regret or remorse at the contents of this letter. But he didn't. Rather, for the first time in his life, he felt truly free and like an unbearable weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was so fucking sad that he felt this way, because it was just further proof of the damage his father had done to him and to their relationship as parent and child. To not feel anything but relief and lightness, to know that his father no longer walked the earth? It was honestly so piteous and damned down-heartening. But it was what it was. At least now he, Arya and their child would be safe and they could stop running.
Cadigan's elaboration on closing and calling off some of Astor's tasks was clear. But was further supported with his invitation calling he and Arya back to the House. He was telling them that it was safe to return because he had called off the search and death notice for them. But they wouldn't return. Not yet. They had business in Lorath first. Then he and Arya needed to wed. Then travel to Winterfell and visit with Arya's family. Then and only then, could they return to Braavos and to their homes. Or one of their homes anyway, most likely his, if Arya's words before they left had been anything to go by. Not that it mattered what roof sheltered them, his or hers. As long as they were together? That was where home was.
"I'm sorry for the loss of your father, son. As much as I know he was an awful man. He was still your father."
The words, so gently spoken by Syrio, as his hand fell to his shoulder startled Jaqen from his thoughts. Ah. So he was right. The sly old man had been reading over his shoulder. But it mattered little, there was nothing incriminating in its contents. But still he appreciated the man's words and the soft, although uncomfortably spoken, term of endearment.
"Careful instructor, a man may start to believe that you actually like and care for him." Jaqen joked weakly, before switching to first person and adding; "And don't be. I appreciate the words. But don't be. We weren't close. The things that man has done to me and my siblings…well. Anyway, it is done and I have my own family to look after now. This storm too shall pass."
-X-
A.N - So we are now at the mid-point of the story. This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but it is more a wrap-up of what was essentially the prologue and set-up to the heart of it all, than anything else. So there we have it. Astor is now gone and Arya and Jaqen can go about their merry way, get married and live happily ever after! Or...can they? Guess you'll just have to come back and find out later!
