Tyrion’s enthusiasm for the project was beyond imagination. When Aegor woke from his dreams and got dressed to go out on business, Tyrion had already taken Morris to the outskirts of the city to meet the young man who made paper.

Of course, Aegor wasn’t ashamed of getting up late. He’d been working until the early hours, and in terms of rest, he’d probably had two or three hours less sleep than the dwarf.

While eating breakfast, Aegor ran into Yoren, who also seemed to have woken up late. This fellow crow was thoroughly enjoying life in King’s Landing, far from the constraints of the Wall and his superiors. Thinking of how hard he had been working himself, Aegor couldn’t help but envy Yoren’s carefree attitude.

“Yoren, I need to ask you something.” Aegor, sitting in the inn’s common room with his breakfast, suddenly remembered something. “You went to the prison recently to identify a few recruits, didn’t you?”

“I did. Why do you ask?” Yoren sat down across from his colleague and waved to the serving girl to bring him breakfast as well. “It’s not unusual. Only men guilty of crimes that leave no hope of release would choose the black cloak.”

“Was there a man named Jaqen H’ghar among them?”

“There was. How did you know about him?” Yoren, now dressed in the new black clothes Aegor had bought for him, no longer carried that sour smell.

“I heard it mentioned somewhere. Do you know how he ended up arrested and thrown into the black cells?”

“Of course I know. When we recruit new men, we always ask about their backgrounds,” Yoren said with a shrug. “The other two prisoners he was with are madmen, dangerous killers. Even I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a room with them. But Jaqen was different, a strange one. He got himself arrested for stealing books from the Royal Library.”

“Stealing books?” Aegor’s interest was piqued. This was new information, even to him. What sort of book would require Braavos to send one of its most skilled assassins to steal it? With this question in mind, he pressed further.

“How would I know? I can’t read!”

Aegor chuckled, having forgotten that detail. But another thought struck him. “Still, stealing books hardly seems like the sort of crime that lands someone in the black cells with murderers, does it?”

“Tsk. Do you even know where the Royal Library is?” Yoren leaned forward, lowering his voice. “It’s between the White Sword Tower and the Hand’s Tower, right in the Red Keep. The official charge wasn’t ‘stealing books’; it was ‘trespassing in the king’s residence with ill intent.’ That’s no small matter.”

Yoren grinned slyly, clearly enjoying the tale. “And the way he got caught was almost comical. Apparently, he hid in the Red Keep’s kitchens during the day and snuck into the library at night. Who knows how long he stayed there? But no one else had borrowed books that month, and a thin layer of dust settled on the shelves and floor. His footprints and handprints were left behind, and the cleaning steward noticed. They reported it to the Kingsguard, and Barristan Selmy himself decided to investigate with another knight. Sure enough, they found Jaqen inside. The Royal Library has no windows, so the poor fool had no choice but to surrender.”

Jaqen H’ghar might indeed be one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, but even he couldn’t go head-to-head with two Kingsguard knights, one of whom was widely recognized as the best swordsman in Westeros. If Jaqen hadn’t been caught on purpose, his capture was simply a matter of bad luck.

But what exactly was he looking for in the Royal Library?

…

By this time, Yoren’s breakfast had been brought over. The old crow pretended to swat the serving girl’s backside, making her scream and run off. Laughing to himself, he tore into a piece of bread and continued, “The most important part is this: how long had the previous Hand of the King been dead? Sure, Jon Arryn supposedly died of illness, but isn’t it suspicious that someone snuck into a place less than a hundred feet from the Hand’s Tower? So they sentenced Jaqen to death, burying him alongside the former Hand.”

“That is quite a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” Yoren snorted, lowering his voice again. “I think this man or one of his companions, might’ve been the one who killed Jon Arryn. He looks calm and mild, like some traveling maester, but those two lunatics in his cell were terrified of him. Why do you think that is?”

“He’s good with a blade?”

“I’d bet he’s more than just good,” Yoren muttered. “Still, this is all speculation, just us talking. Besides, even if he did kill the Hand, so what? The Night’s Watch has taken in worse men before.”

Jaqen might have killed many people, but in this case, Aegor thought, he was probably innocent. It was almost funny how even a powerful Faceless Man could look so pitiful when fate turned against him.

“You took in those two lunatics as well?”

“Of course. ‘As long as they’re willing to wear black, we’ll take them.’ That’s what the Lord Commander always says.”

“Be careful with men like that. We’ve had brothers go mad and kill their own before.” Aegor frowned. Such tragedies had happened in the Watch’s history, and he didn’t want to see them happen again.

Yoren shrugged. “I just recruit them. The more I bring in, the better I’ve done my job. Training them is the Lord Commander’s problem, not mine.”

Aegor sighed. He understood the necessity, but that didn’t mean he agreed with it.

“Don’t sigh so much,” Yoren said with a smirk. “Next time I’m here, I expect you to recruit someone useful for us. Do your best.”

“I’ll try.”

—

After breakfast, still puzzled over Jaqen’s actions in the library, Aegor went to the Night’s Watch office. The storefront was still empty, naturally, with no customers yet. As the chief logistics officer, he was a commander without soldiers, and the disadvantages were becoming increasingly apparent. Whatever needed doing, he had to do it himself. Handling one task was fine, but juggling multiple issues at once left him stretched thin.

He found himself wishing for a reliable follower. Someone skilled, like Bronn, or as loyal as Podrick Payne. Ideally, someone who combined both traits. But everything was still in its early stages, and he didn’t have time to rush such matters.

After putting up two notices written by Tyrion on the office door, Aegor returned inside, just as his apprentice arrived early for their lesson.

A Stark guard Aegor didn’t recognize had escorted Arya to the office. The girl’s hair was tied in a neat ponytail today, and she wore a fitted skirt that was clearly custom-made in Winterfell. It wasn’t particularly striking, but it was enough to make Aegor smile knowingly.

This girl takes her promises seriously.

“You wait outside,” Arya instructed the guard who had accompanied her. She then turned to her teacher with an eager expression. “I did as you said. When do we start?”

“Please, take a seat.” Aegor didn’t answer her question immediately. Instead, he politely addressed the Stark guard. “Does Lord Stark know that Miss Arya is here?”

When the guard confirmed that Eddard Stark was aware, Aegor turned to Arya and said, “Alright, follow me.”

Arya clutched a long object wrapped in cloth tightly in her arms and excitedly followed Aegor into the inner room.

The office included a small backyard, roughly a few dozen square meters, a rather luxurious setup for the location. Originally, Aegor had planned to use the space to plant flowers and build a latrine, but for now, it seemed it could serve other purposes.

Aegor walked to a corner, picked up a training sword, and turned back toward Arya. As he did, he noticed her unwrapping the slender rapier Jon Snow had given her.

“That’s a nice little sword,” he said, eyeing it. “Looks like a sewing needle.”

“How do you know it’s called Needle?” Arya’s eyes lit up, her excitement growing. She looked at Aegor as if she’d found a kindred spirit.

I also know who forged it and who gave it to you, Aegor thought to himself, though he only smiled warmly. “Very good. It seems we share the same taste. Now, put your Needle away.”

“Can’t I just practice with this?”

“That’s a real sword,” Aegor said, shaking his head. “Do you want to kill me or get yourself killed?”

“But I brought it here so carefully,” Arya protested. “If I take it back, my father might find out!”

Aegor wouldn’t confiscate the sword, he had no reason to. He needed to foster trust and build a closer relationship with the girl. “You can leave it with me. I’ll keep it safe for you. And when you’re ready, perhaps we can even spar with real swords.”

Arya hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I guess this way I won’t have to worry about the nuns rummaging through my things!”

“Then it’s settled,” Aegor said, gesturing to the training sword. “Now, take this one.”

***

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