[h1][center][color=8dc73f]The Killer in Highgarden[/color][/center][/h1]

The faceless man had taken his time, Highgarden was a lovely place, and it was fun to be there, he'd arrived a few days ago, he quickly felt the atmosphere of the place, it was a bustling area, tons of people, many nobles, a surprising amount of soldiers, not surprising because he didn't expect war to force raised levies, he'd just assumed that they'd be on their way to the Crownlands to secure Garland's claim.

Many doubt the speed at which a faceless man could cross a continent, it takes months for a normal man, a faceless man can make the same trip in weeks, mostly due to the complex webs they set up around the world, allowing one to travel even when he was sleeping, often the faceless man would fall asleep in a small town, then wake up in another Lord's lands.  

He'd taken the face of a simple laborer, he had met the young man during a trip around the Castle, grabbing his shoulders and putting a knife to his throat, the young man pleaded for his life in a surprisingly deep voice, despite his small size and skinny arms. The faceless man wasn't here to kill peasants, he was here to kill a maester, so he shushed the boy, handed him a small coin, and sent him to Oldtown, he remembered the boy's confusion, he turned him around, grabbing him on the shoulders and telling him that he wouldn't be safe here.

The Faceless men needed a few more good assassins, telling the boy the passphrase would allow him safe passage to Braavos, after which, he'd be trained in their ways. He often did this on missions, something he enjoyed doing, though he seemed to have a keen eye at spotting those who would make good assassins, two of his recruits so far had been accepted into their ranks, so he was obviously doing something right.

After that, he took up the boy's job, serving wine to the lords and ladies, no matter how insipid. He now understood why the boy had fled so easily, he'd had to deal with Lord Garlan Tyrell. Gah! What a fool, it made the faceless man disappointed that he wasn't the one he was sent to kill, always banging on about how conflicted he was, not only was that infuriating, but it made his sister seem all the more competent in his shadow, she made the plans that mattered. Once, he climbed up the castle walls and listened to her conversations through closed shutters. Her plans nearly impressed him. Nearly.

Now he was just waiting on the opportunity to strike at the maester, he hadn't heard the man speak, though he'd heard around the court that he was an excellent healer, this made the faceless man a little upset, as the cripple needed someone to take good care of him, though after the maester was dead, it was likely that he'd be replaced with some babe-lover from the citadel. No matter the consequences of his actions, coin was coin, and the faceless man had to do what was asked of him.

The face he'd had to take had bothered him, a pointed chin and a mop of hair that rested itself right above his eyes, awful, he had someone from the town give it a trim, just so that no one would suspect the servant who's hair suddenly disappeared overnight.

He found Highgarden beautiful, but the one thing that he enjoyed about it most was Rickard Tyrell, the young cripple, he was shy, and the first few times the faceless man brought him things, the young man didn't speak to him, however, after a few days, he spoke up, apparently he trusted the faceless man enough to tell him what was within his head, a bad idea, but hey, he wasn't here to judge. After a few conversations, they discovered that they shared a cynical worldview, and that the young man's pursuit for knowledge was fueled by the faceless man's tales of the lands. Very few spied on the young man, so the faceless man decided to tell the young Tyrell of his identity. 

He gulped, and opened the door to the young cripple's room.
"Young Tyrell, do you have time to converse?" The cripple had been sleeping, and as such, he twitched awake, looking directly at the faceless man, before rubbing his eyes and yawning.
They spoke for a bit, before the faceless man decided to reveal his identity.
"I have something to tell you, I owe you a great debt, for giving me a friend, something I've never had before, I know you have questions about how a servant your age has traveled the world, and your questions are founded, allow me to answer them." The faceless man closed the door behind him, and shifted his face, his chin shrinking, and his nose shortening, his cheekbones becoming less defined. After a second, Lord Garland Tyrell stood in the room, wearing the servant's garb. He smiled, walking over to the side of the boy's bed, and planting a coin in his hand.
"My young Lord, dear child, this coin is our symbol, the symbol of death, death eternal, Valar Morghulis, remember these words, young one, for we are all around you." He gave one last smile, before his face shifted back into the servant's face, he turned back one last time, speaking clearly and with a threatening tone,
"Do not tell your family of this meeting." and with that he left the room.

Why had he done that? Even he still didn't know that, normally you weren't supposed to do that, but the faceless man owed the child a great debt, he'd made his mission much easier, by telling the faceless man of the maester's favorite spots, one of them a balcony, an assassin's best friend. He'd often preformed little rebellions to the etiquette of the Faceless, small enough not to come back to bite him, but large enough to actually make a difference. It wasn't like the child would know what do do with this knowledge, but letting him know of their existence was a way of ensuring that the child did well later in life.

He turned a corner and froze, there stood the maester, looking out a window at the night sky. He grinned, it was the middle of the night, no one was around, and the maester was alone.

Opportunity had struck. 

The faceless man quickly shot into a crouched posture, his right side towards the maester, he walked, light on his feet, towards him, crossing one foot over the other. He reached behind his back with his right hand, grabbing a knife, and drawing it loose slowly, it made no noise, it took an agonizingly long amount of time. He finally reached the maester, standing up fully, and grabbing the maester's shoulder, he spun him around and punched him in the face with his right hand.

The impact of the maester's nose on his fist was near cathartic, as was the satisfying pop he felt in his knuckles as the nose broke. The maester fell to the window, his head bouncing off of it, and then into the ground limply.

The faceless man shook his hand, it had hurt slightly, but that was beyond the point. He leant over, placing the maester over his shoulder. He slowly got up into a crouch, stopping to make sure he was balanced, then standing up fully.

He took the maester's unconscious form out of the castle, dressing the maester in armor from a sleeping guard, and shifting his face into that of the master-at-arms' lieutenant. He exited the castle, looking at one of the guards, square chinned and scarred, who looked back quizzically, the faceless man frowned.
"Training accident, bringing him back to the barracks, he'll be fine." The guard nodded, and the faceless man walked past.

He eventually met up with a short, stocky hunchback with quite an ugly face and quite muscular arms. The man looked at the body, and then at the faceless man, and crossed his arms.
"Valar Morghulis." He said, suspiciously.
"Valar Dohaeris." The faceless man responded. The hunchback nodded, and the faceless man set down the maester. The hunchback leant down, looking him over, then picked him up by the collar with one arm. He looked at the maester, his underbite making it hard to take him seriously.
"Looks like the Tyrells are having pork today." The faceless man frowned, the hunchback was a disposal specialist, he used to be a faceless man as well, but he crippled himself falling from a roof, so now he cooks for the Tyrells. It was a horrible thing to do, but it was easy, and it got rid of the evidence.

The faceless man frowned at the hunchback, before turning away, he looked back one last time, before walking away into the night.