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WildlingWitch

Who are the Faceless Men impersonating?

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We already know of one “Pate” who meets Sam in ‘A Feast for Crows’

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“My thanks.” There was something about the pale, soft youth that he misliked, but he did not want to seem discourteous, so he added, “My name’s not Slayer, truly. I’m Sam. Samwell Tarly.”

“I’m Pate,” the other said, “like the pig boy.”

 

However Arya meets at least eleven at the Faceless Man Meeting

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Eleven servants of the Many-Faced God gathered that night beneath the temple, more than she had ever seen together at one time. Only the lordling and the fat fellow arrived by the front door; the rest came by secret ways, through tunnels and hidden passages. They wore their robes of black and white, but as they took their seats each man pulled his cowl down to show the face he had chosen to wear that day. Their tall chairs were carved of ebony and weirwood, like the doors of the temple above. The ebon chairs had weirwood faces on their backs, the weirwood chairs faces of carved ebony.

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 After three hours of wine and words, the priests took their leave … all but the kindly man, the waif, and the one whose face bore the marks of plague.

The Kindly Man = Jaqen H'ghar

The Waif = The Waif

The Priests = ?

The one whose face bore the marks of the plague = ?

The Lordling = ?

The Fat Fellow = ?

 

Currently rereading the previous books to see if I can figure out who they are and if there are other Faceless Men hidden in the chapters.

 

 

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I thought Jaqen H'ghar was Pate, the kindly man is just the kindly man. 

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I had completely forgotten that I had made this thread I was going to go back and read all of the books to see if I could discover any hidden faceless men.

 

6 hours ago, Remiem said:

I thought Jaqen H'ghar was Pate, the kindly man is just the kindly man. 

Your right I don't know why I wrote the Kindly man instead of Jaqen H'ghar. I guess I got the two confused in mu little brain.

 

 

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this is Plague Face...

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Eleven servants of the Many-Faced God gathered that night beneath the temple, more than she had ever seen together at one time. Only the lordling and the fat fellow arrived by the front door; the rest came by secret ways, through tunnels and hidden passages. They wore their robes of black and white, but as they took their seats each man pulled his cowl down to show the face he had chosen to wear that day. Their tall chairs were carved of ebony and weirwood, like the doors of the temple above. The ebon chairs had weirwood faces on their backs, the weirwood chairs faces of carved ebony.

...

The priests used the language of Braavos, though once for several minutes three spoke heatedly in High Valyrian. The girl understood the words, mostly, but they spoke in soft voices, and she could not always hear.

"I know this man," she did hear a priest with the face of a plague victim say. "I know this man," the fat fellow echoed, as she was pouring for him. But the handsome man said, "I will give this man the gift, I know him not."

Later the squinter said the same thing, of someone else.

After three hours of wine and words, the priests took their leave … all but the kindly man, the waif, and the one whose face bore the marks of plague. His cheeks were covered with weeping sores, and his hair had fallen out. Blood dripped from one nostril and crusted at the corners of both eyes.

"Our brother would have words with you, child," the kindly man told her.

"Sit, if you wish." She seated herself in a weirwood chair with a face of ebony. Bloody sores held no terror for her. She had been too long in the House of Black and White to be afraid of a false face.

"Who are you?" plague face asked when they were alone. "No one."

"Not so. You are Arya of House Stark, who bites her lip and cannot tell a lie."

"I was. I'm not now."

"Why are you here, liar?"

"To serve. To learn. To change my face."

"First change your heart. The gift of the Many-Faced God is not a child's plaything. You would kill for your own purposes, for your own pleasures. Do you deny it?"

She bit her lip. "I—"

He slapped her.

The blow left her cheek stinging, but she knew that she had earned it.

"Thank you." Enough slaps, and she might stop chewing on her lip. Arya did that, not the night wolf. "I do deny it."

"You lie. I can see the truth in your eyes. You have the eyes of a wolf and a taste for blood."

Ser Gregor, she could not help but think. Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling. Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. If she spoke, she would need to lie, and he would know. She kept silent.

"You were a cat, they tell me. Prowling through the alleys smelling of fish, selling cockles and mussels for coin. A small life, well suited for a small creature such as you. Ask, and it can be restored to you. Push your barrow, cry your cockles, be content. Your heart is too soft to be one of us."

He means to send me away. "I have no heart. I only have a hole. I'

ve killed lots of people. I could kill you if I wanted."

"Would that taste sweet to you?"

She did not know the right answer. "Maybe."

"Then you do not belong here. Death holds no sweetness in this house. We are not warriors, nor soldiers, nor swaggering bravos puffed up with pride. We do not kill to serve some lord, to fatten our purses, to stroke our vanity. We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces."

"Valar dohaeris. " All men must serve.

"You know the words, but you are too proud to serve. A servant must be humble and obedient."

"I obey. I can be humbler than anyone."

That made him chuckle. "You will be the very goddess of humility, I am sure. But can you pay the price?"

"What price?"

"The price is you. The price is all you have and all you ever hope to have. We took your eyes and gave them back. Next we will take your ears, and you will walk in silence. You will give us your legs and crawl. You will be no one's daughter, no one's wife, no one's mother. Your name will be a lie, and the very face you wear will not be your own."

She almost bit her lip again, but this time she caught herself and stopped. My face is a dark pool, hiding everything, showing nothing. She thought of all the names that she had worn: Arry, Weasel, Squab, Cat of the Canals. She thought of that stupid girl from Winterfell called Arya Horseface. Names did not matter. "I can pay the price. Give me a face."

"Faces must be earned."

"Tell me how."

"Give a certain man a certain gift. Can you do that?"

"What man?"

"No one that you know."

"I don't know a lot of people."

"He is one of them. A stranger. No one you love, no one you hate, no one you have ever known. Will you kill him?"

"Yes."

"Then on the morrow, you shall be Cat of the Canals again. Wear that face, watch, obey. And we will see if you are truly worthy to serve Him of Many Faces."

I think Plague Face is none other than the Faceless Man that paid Arya's debt to the Red God. 

There is sufficient time between Samwell V, Feast 45 and The Ugly Little Girl, Dance 64 for the Faceless Man who paid Arya's debt to Red Rahloo to get from Oldtown to Braavos by sea and to assume the identity of the plague "victim," whom Arya meets after serving at table for the large gathering of Faceless Men in the House of Black and White, when Arya gets her first contract assignment. I'm thinking (just speculating really) that he did his business and got outta Dodge after doing whatever (or whomever--there's always someone needing mortality) needed doing in Oldtown... Perhaps we'll see some clues in Samwell's chapters or in Daenerys's or Barristan's chapters after Marwyn arrives in the east...

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