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She found him in his quarters, still awake despite the late hour, reviewing documents by lamplight. He looked up as she entered, immediately reading the tension in her posture.
"We caught them," Redna said without preamble. "Three professionals—Braavosi broker, hired through intermediaries. They were after training methods, wanted to know if it was sorcery or something else. And if they found nothing, they had orders to cause trouble before leaving."
Arthur set down his papers, his expression sharpening. "Bring them to me."
Minutes later, the three infiltrators were escorted into Arthur's private study, still bound but now facing the man whose methods they'd been sent to steal. Arthur stood behind his desk, his posture relaxed but his eyes cold as winter steel. Redna positioned herself by the door, arms crossed.
"They've been cooperative so far," she said. "Told us about their contractors wanting to replicate your methods, or at least understand them. The usual—stories about impossible strength, rumors of something beyond normal training."
Arthur stepped closer, studying them with that quiet, dispassionate focus that had birthed half the rumors about him.
"The second option is simple," he said. "You leave Hollow Vale alive—but marked."
Korlyn stiffened, but Arthur didn't pause.
"I mark all three of you. A sign you can't hide, a reminder of what you attempted and what I allowed you to survive. Anyone in the North who sees it will know exactly what you are… and exactly why you'll never be welcomed within our borders again."
His voice dipped, almost soft—dangerously so. "And then you go home."
Korlyn's breath hitched. "Home?"
"To Braavos," Arthur said. "Straight to the broker who sent you. You show them the mark. You tell them the North saw you coming, stripped you of your purpose, and sent you back with a warning carved into your skin. They'll understand the message. They won't risk another attempt."
The walls seemed to draw inward, the air tightening around them, as if the room itself recognized the severity of the choice laid out before them.
Korlyn looked at Maren, then Voss. Both men's faces were drawn, calculating the odds of survival against the cost of reputation. In their line of work, being marked was almost worse than death—it meant the end of anonymity, the end of trust, the end of profitable contracts.
But death was permanent.
"The second option," Korlyn said quietly. "We'll take the mark."
Maren and Voss nodded their agreement, grim acceptance settling over their features.
"Smart choice," Arthur said, though there was no satisfaction in his voice. Just cold practicality. "Redna, unbind them one at a time. Starting with Korlyn."
Redna moved forward, cutting through Korlyn's bonds with efficient movements. The former Faceless Man stood slowly, rubbing his wrists, his eyes never leaving Arthur.
"This will hurt," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "And it will be visible for the rest of your life. Everyone who sees you will know what you are—a thief who failed, marked by the North as a warning to others."
Korlyn nodded, steeling himself.
Arthur stepped forward, and Korlyn expected a hand to his cheek, perhaps a brand-like touch that would leave a scar. Instead, Arthur grabbed his entire head. His palm covered Korlyn's face completely, fingers curving along his jaw and brow, encompassing forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth—everything.
The grip was firm, inescapable, and the moment contact was made, Korlyn felt something surge through him. Not pain, not exactly. But a burning sensation that seemed to sink deep into his skin, into the very structure of his face. He tried to pull back instinctively, but Arthur's grip was immovable.
The burning intensified, spreading across every inch of skin beneath that hand, and Korlyn's breath came in sharp gasps through his nose.
Then Arthur released him.
Korlyn staggered back, his hands flying to his face. The skin felt hot, sensitive, but not damaged. Not burned. Just... changed.
"Look at him," Arthur said to the others.
Maren and Voss stared, their faces going pale.
Across Korlyn's entire face—forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, around his mouth and eyes—ran intricate patterns. Not burns, not scars, but marks that looked almost like tattoos, except they had the faint shimmer of something deeper. Swirling designs that formed no recognizable symbol but were unmistakably deliberate, unmistakably permanent.
"What—" Korlyn's voice cracked. His hands explored his face frantically, feeling the subtle texture of the marks. "What did you do to me?"
"I marked you," Arthur said simply. "As promised. Everyone who sees you will know you attempted to steal from the North and failed. No hat will hide it. No beard will cover it. The marks will remain visible for the rest of your life."
He gestured to Redna. "Next."
Maren looked like he might bolt, but Voss put a hand on his arm. "We chose this," the smaller man said quietly. "Better than the alternative."
Redna cut Maren's bonds, and the large sellsword stood with visible reluctance. Arthur approached, and Maren closed his eyes as that hand reached for his face.
The same process. Arthur's palm covering his entire face, the burning sensation, the gasped breaths. When Arthur released him, Maren's face bore similar marks—different patterns, but just as visible, just as permanent.
Finally, Voss. The small thief from Myr trembled as Arthur marked him, his fingers—usually so quick and clever—clenching uselessly at his sides.
When it was done, all three infiltrators stood marked, their faces forever branded with the evidence of their failure.
"You're free to go," Arthur said, stepping back. "Leave White Harbor tonight. Return to Braavos. Tell your broker exactly what happened here—that the North doesn't tolerate thieves, that our methods remain our own, and that anyone who tries this again won't be given the mercy of marks."
He moved to his desk, dismissing them with his posture. "Redna will escort you to the gates. I suggest you leave immediately and don't look back."
Korlyn touched his face one more time, feeling the marks, understanding with cold certainty that his life as an infiltrator was over. No one would hire a man whose face proclaimed his failure so visibly.
"We'll deliver your message," he said, his voice hollow.
"See that you do," Arthur replied without looking up from his papers. "And be grateful you're walking out of here at all."
Redna opened the door, gesturing for them to follow. The three marked men filed out, their faces catching lamplight as they moved, the patterns shimmering faintly with each shift of illumination.
Once they were gone, Arthur sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
"That will spread," Redna observed from the doorway. "Three marked infiltrators returning to Braavos. The story will be all over the Free Cities within weeks."
"Good," Arthur said quietly. "Let them see what happens to those who try to steal from us. Fear is cheaper than constant vigilance."
"And if they send others? Ones willing to risk the marks?"
Arthur's smile was cold. "Then we'll have plenty of examples to show them."