The dragons in the palace gardens slowly approached, making the atmosphere of the negotiations even more tense.
When the three envoys had entered Gohor, they had also noticed the Bonecrusher unicorn turtles scattered throughout the city.
It was clear that Viserys possessed more hidden strengths than anyone had anticipated.
"So... Your Grace truly intends to reject our proposal?"
Tormo's voice trembled slightly as the corner of his eye caught sight of Balerion's night-black scales.
Before coming here, he had already heard how Viserys had executed the red priests with dragonfire.
It seemed House Targaryen's fondness for settling matters with fire had not diminished.
He had come fully prepared for the possibility that he would never leave alive.
"Don't worry," Viserys said with a faint smile. "You're envoys, not spies. I won't kill you."
Tormo's face alternated between pale and flushed.
Viserys then turned serious.
"Gentlemen, this war was never what I wanted."
"My original intention was to bind our nations together through marriage."
"Marriage?"
All three envoys visibly brightened.
"Yes.
You know I have two nephews, Aegon and Aemon.
I intended for one to marry into Braavos and the other into Volantis.
Once those marriages were secured, I could have reclaimed Westeros at my leisure and punished the usurper afterward.
But because of R'hllor, the foundation of trust between us has already been destroyed.
War has become unavoidable.
What I can promise you now is this: If I defeat you... I will spare your lives."
Viserys rose from his chair and spoke as he slowly walked across the garden.
The three envoys struggled to understand what he truly meant.
Was this young king genuinely so confident that he believed he could defeat the entire world?
Still, once the conversation had reached this point, the negotiations were clearly over.
All three stood.
Tormo spoke first.
"If Your Grace possesses such confidence in winning this war... Then I wish you good fortune."
Alios followed with a courteous smile.
"I only hope the coming war will not destroy the friendship between our peoples."
Both men offered polite farewells.
Only the bearded red priest from Norvos simply inclined his head before turning away without another word.
....
Tormo and his attendants soon departed the Dragon Palace.
As their carriage rolled through the streets, Tormo deliberately extended one hand out the window.
Hidden in a nearby alley, a small figure watching the carriage immediately noticed the signal.
It was time.
For this assassination, the House of Black and White had convened a rare gathering.
This was the greatest contract they had accepted in generations.
If they succeeded in killing Viserys Targaryen, the reputation of the Faceless Men would rise to unprecedented heights.
Truthfully, they had accomplished few truly legendary assassinations over the past century.
To ensure Viserys's death, five Faceless Men had been dispatched.
None used personal names.
They addressed one another only by their titles.
Inside a modest courtyard in Gohor, the five assassins held their final discussion.
Some leaned against the walls.
Others sat around a small round table.
One broad-shouldered assassin spoke first, his voice deep and hoarse.
"Viserys will soon gather his soldiers. As king, he must raise their morale.
If we want the greatest chance of success, we should strike during the assembly."
His title was Lord.
Whether because he had slain countless nobles or because he knew every detail of their castles, no one remembered anymore.
Everyone understood his reasoning.
Unfortunately, they also understood the problem.
When Viserys addressed his army, his personal protection would be at its strongest.
Especially with the Royal Guard surrounding him in Valyrian steel armor, armed with Valyrian steel weapons.
Perhaps they could eliminate one or two guards beforehand and assume their identities.
Even then...
Viserys himself remained an unknown variable.
"I wonder how skilled he really is."
The speaker this time was a rather stout Faceless Man.
His title was Fat Man.
Poison was his specialty.
Before undertaking any assignment, the Faceless Men studied every detail of their target.
Fat Man could reconstruct a victim's eating habits and personal preferences simply through careful observation.
Based on everything he had learned, Viserys did not appear to be a king who devoted much time to martial training.
At least during his reign, he had rarely hosted tournaments—the pastime most beloved by the kings of Westeros.
"His archery may be impressive," Fat Man concluded. "But in close combat... I doubt he's exceptional."
There was little evidence to suggest otherwise.
Very few accounts existed of Viserys personally charging into battle.
The explanation was simple.
He was extraordinarily young. How old had he been when he conquered Gohor?
After further discussion, they settled upon a cautious conclusion.
Viserys was probably competent with weapons. But not overwhelmingly dangerous.
That left one final question.
Should they attack together...
Or remain hidden and strike individually whenever each judged the opportunity ideal?
Stealth and disguise were second nature to every Faceless Man.
"Together, of course."
A lean, well-proportioned assassin spoke confidently.
His title was Handsome Man.
Ironically, no one had ever bestowed that title upon him.
He had chosen it himself.
No one knew what Handsome Man truly looked like. Even now, the face he wore belonged to someone else.
The features were undeniably handsome. The next face would likely be even more so.
"I want to kill Viserys myself," Fat Man said.
"So what if he's a Dragonlord?
Dragonlords have died from poison. They've died from sickness.
They're hardly immortal.
There is only one true god. The Many-Faced God.
It's time these fools who think riding dragons makes them masters of mankind learned the difference between men and gods.
I still believe we should strike together."
Lord calmly disagreed.
"Don't forget our mission.
Viserys must die before the war begins. We don't have time to wait indefinitely."
By now, Lord had already mapped much of the Dragon Palace.
In his opinion, a carefully prepared ambush by all five assassins offered the highest chance of success.
Yet despite the lengthy debate, no one convinced anyone else.
Most Faceless Men worked alone.
Old habits were difficult to abandon.
Finally, one of the two silent figures seated beside the round table turned toward his companion.
Speaking with the utmost respect, he asked, "And what do you think..."
"Kindly Man?"
___________
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