I walked in silence as the boy, Adam, led me through the stone corridors of Harrenhal. The Common Tongue felt strange and clumsy on my tongue, a brutish language with odd cadences and stranger customs. While High Valyrian had different dialects in Essos, the language as a whole was much.. fuller I guess would be the word I'd use.
My thoughts drifted from the languages to the task Lord Tywin had set before me. Retrieving his son would be no simple matter, but then again, I wasn't paid for simplicity. Besides simplicity was boring, no tales were sung about simplicity.
As we turned a corner, I saw him—the same man I had glimpsed earlier from the window, now leaning against the wall as if he'd been waiting for me. His hair was the most striking thing about him, straight and shining, white on one side and blood-red on the other. His face was comely in a strange, foreign way. He wore Lannister crimson.
"A man wishes to speak," he said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of a drawn blade.
I looked down at Adam, the servant boy with sunken eyes who seemed to flinch at the stranger's presence.
"Go, boy," I commanded.
"But sir, Lord Tywin's orders were to—"
"Wailing Tower, right?"
The boy nodded, his thin shoulders tense with uncertainty.
"I'll find my way on my own," I said. "Take your leave."
Adam looked between us for a moment, his dead brown eyes calculating some risk I couldn't fathom, before bowing his head slightly and walking away. His footsteps quickened as he rounded the corner, echoing through the stone corridor until they faded entirely.
I turned my attention to the red-armored man, taking in the details I had missed at a distance. His armor was a bit too big and raspy and old, it was something thought of without much care.
As I looked deeper into the man's eyes, I felt a grin spread across my face. "A man is wondering what a man is doing here."
The stranger smiled, a small thing that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A man is taken to many places he wishes not to go to, but a man is pleased to see the Son of Red."
My grin only widened at the title. Few knew me by that name, and fewer still lived after speaking it.
"A Son has been tried to be sent to the Red many times," I replied, adopting his peculiar manner of speech.
"A man knows this."
By all the gods of Essos and Westeros, it was tiring to speak like this. The pattern was archaic, a dialect I had encountered only a handful of times in my travels.
"A man knows a great many things, it seems," I said. "Isn't it only right for a Son to know as well?"
"This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar—"
"Lorath, then," I interrupted, placing his accent.
Jaqen nodded, a slight incline of his head that acknowledged my recognition without offering anything more.
"You are far from home, Son of Red," Jaqen finally said, his voice dropping the peculiar Lorathi manner of speech momentarily.
I glanced around to ensure we were truly alone in the corridor, before speaking.
"As are you," I replied, my mouth weirdly dry. I should have asked Tywin for some wine.
"A man's business took unexpected turns," Jaqen said, his eyes tracking the movement of my hand.
"And now you're in Lannister colors," I observed, nodding toward his armor. "Which only makes me wonder even more what a man is doing here."
Jaqen's eyes revealed nothing, but I caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "A man wears many faces. Today, this one serves."
"And who does it serve exactly?" I asked, leaning against the stone wall, now our position switched from how the conversation had started.
"The same as the Son serves. Gold."
I laughed, the sound echoing off the ancient stones. "Is that what you think? That I came west for coin?"
"A man believes what he sees. Three thousand men do not follow without promise of reward."
I pushed off from the wall and stepped closer to him, close enough that I could see the strange bi-colored strands of his hair shifting slightly in the draft that perpetually haunted this cursed castle.
"My men follow me for glory, not just gold," I said, abandoning his strange pattern of speech for clarity. "Something you wouldn't understand, wearing different faces, serving different masters."
The Myrmidons had followed me across the Narrow Sea, through pestilence and storms and foreign lands, because I offered them what no amount of gold could buy—legacy. Their names would be remembered in songs and tales, just as mine would be.
"Glory," Jaqen repeated the word as if tasting it. "Glory is a sweet poison many men desire."
There was something in his tone—not quite mockery, but a hint of it. As if glory was a child's game that I still played while he had moved on to darker sports.
"For what does a man wish to speak with a Son?" I asked, growing impatient with his riddles. The castle was vast, and I still needed to find the Wailing Tower, to check on my men and get some rest, my ass hurt from being on a horse for half a day.
"A man wishes to apologize."
That gave me pause.
"For what?" I asked, suddenly wary. "The debt, as you call it, has already been paid. I made sure of that."
A memory flashed in my mind—the stench of blood in my tent, the tearing of flesh, the coldness of the gasp that escaped once a person was stabbed and of course the thud of a body falling to the ground.
Jaqen's eyes narrowed slightly, reading something in my expression that I hadn't meant to reveal.
"A man knows of your mission," he said. "To retrieve the Kingslayer."
Kingslayer? Was that a title of this Jaime? Maybe we would get along well once I rescued him—after all, meeting one who has slain a king should be interesting. After all there weren't many kings in Essos.
"And why would that concern you?" I asked carefully, mind racing through possibilities. If he was here to complete the contract on me, why warn me? And if not, what game was he playing?
"Because a man has similar business."
Now this was interesting. I hadn't thought of it until now, but there was only one reason why a Faceless would linger in a place like this. The first possibility was simpler—he had been paid to kill someone in the Lannister camp—but that felt wrong. The second reason felt more appropriate, and the second reason was always a funny one.
"A man has a debt to pay?" I said with a smile.
In the tongue of the Faceless Men, a debt meant many things. It could be a life owed, a death promised, or a favor to be repaid.
Jaqen didn't confirm or deny, but his silence was answer enough. The torch nearby sputtered, casting his face in momentary darkness before flaring again.
"Well, while it would be interesting to know who this debt belongs to, I'm afraid a Son has much to do, and he doesn't very much care for anything else you have to offer," I said, making to move past him.
"A man offers nothing but information," Jaqen replied, not moving from his position. "The Kingslayer is well-guarded. A wolf is young but not stupid."
I smiled at his words. "I wouldn't have been hired if it was easy, now would I?"
Three thousand Myrmidons against whatever guard the Young Wolf had set. The odds favored me, as they always did. I had faced worse in the fighting pits of Meereen, in the plains of the Dothraki Sea, in the shadow of the Black Walls of Volantis.
"A Son speaks the truth." Jaqen stepped away from the wall, his red armor clattering as it scraped against the stone. "But know this—the path you walk is watched by more eyes than you know."
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise, not at his words but at the certainty with which he spoke them. The Faceless Men had a way of knowing things they shouldn't, of being places they couldn't possibly reach.
"Threats don't concern me," I said, calming myself. That was right threats didn't concern me, they never had and they never would, except-
I willed my mind to stop thinking those thoughts.
"A Son is too careless," Jaqen warned, his voice lowering to barely more than a whisper. "The game played here is not like the ones in Essos."
I barked out a laugh. "Then a Son will find it more entertaining then."
The man wished to say something else, but I already began to walk away, the weight of my armor, the ache in my muscles from the long ride, the hunger in my belly all reminding me of more immediate concerns than cryptic warnings from a Faceless Man. I had other shit to do, and I couldn't be bothered with a man's words.
Gods, now I was thinking like them too.
Creepy faceless.