~ Every 100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter! Your votes keep this climbing. Thanks!
Hand's Tower.
Lynn stood inside, Sansa and Myrcella in front of him.
Both girls still had that flush of excitement on their faces , the look of a scheme that had actually worked.
They told him everything. Every word of the conversation with the mysterious assassin.
"...He said Robert has already been poisoned. A slow-acting poison. He won't live much longer."
Sansa kept her voice low, as if the walls might be listening.
"He also said he could help us forge evidence and pin everything on Stannis."
Myrcella added.
"He said he wants nothing in return. Only that after it's done, he can follow you to the North."
Lynn listened without a word. His face gave nothing away.
Jaqen H'ghar.
He'd already known the man was coming. Green Sight had shown him that much.
A man who had no business being in King's Landing. Certainly not at this particular moment in time.
But that was the butterfly effect for you. His wings had been flapping long enough that everyone's path had shifted.
"Go back, both of you."
He ruffled Myrcella's golden hair.
"I'll handle this."
"But..."
Myrcella looked like she had more to say.
"Be good."
The two girls exchanged a glance. Then they nodded and left quickly.
Myrcella had actually wanted Robert dead.
Seemed the little princess had developed some unexpected ideas of her own. Whether that was good or bad, he hadn't decided yet.
But it didn't matter right now.
What mattered was Jaqen.
A Faceless Man.
Lynn watched the door close behind them.
The moment the latch clicked, he shut his eyes.
The world changed.
Light, sound, smell , everything dissolved into raw streams of information, flooding through his mind like a current. His consciousness spread outward like a net cast from the Hand's Tower, reaching across the whole of King's Landing in an instant.
He "saw" Robert in the Red Keep, drowning himself in wine and women.
"Saw" Cersei alone in her bedchamber, indulging in ways Lynn hadn't expected.
Huh.
Cersei had that kind of preference.
He'd seen something he probably shouldn't have.
He'd look into that later.
Business first.
He also "saw" Jaime polishing a new sword, bags half-packed, ready to leave.
Then he found his target.
Flea Bottom. The cheapest, filthiest rented room in the district.
Jaqen H'ghar sat cross-legged on the bed.
He'd changed into plain commoner's clothes. His face , that perfectly ordinary, instantly forgettable face , held no expression at all.
Lynn's consciousness reached out like an invisible probe, careful, deliberate.
No point guessing. I'll just read your cards directly.
[Green Sight] activated!
A flood of images crashed into his mind all at once.
A temple, black and white, on a small island in Braavos harbor. Deep within it, the faces of the dead lined the walls , hundreds of them, thousands. The Many-Faced God's house.
The assassins trained there had no names. No past. Their identities were determined by whoever wore them.
They learned every method of killing. They learned to wear any face.
Poison and daggers were the basics , the crude tools. The more sophisticated methods never required them to touch anyone at all. They read the situation, found the right hands, and let others do the work.
Process didn't matter. Only the result.
Servants of death. Givers of the gift.
The scene shifted.
A mine, buried deep beneath the Valyrian Peninsula. Slaves worked in endless rows under the crack of Valyrian whips, day after day, year after year.
The first Faceless Man had been born in that hell.
He gave the gift of release to his suffering brothers. Then he tried to give it to the Dragonlords who stood above them all.
The seed of hatred had been planted then, and it had never stopped growing.
In the doctrine of the Faceless Men, dragons were the symbol of the old world's tyranny. Heretics to be erased.
All men must die.
Dragons were no exception.
Then Lynn saw a man with an eyepatch. Wild-eyed. Unhinged.
Euron Greyjoy.
He was placing a petrified dragon egg on the altar of the House of Black and White.
He wanted to buy his brother Balon Greyjoy's death.
He wanted the Iron Islands for himself.
And Jaqen H'ghar was the one sent to make it happen.
But killing Balon was just the side task.
His real purpose in Westeros was to study Winter's weaknesses. To find a way to kill a living dragon. Then carry that knowledge back to the House of Black and White.
Yes. Dragons were on their list too.
Lynn opened his eyes slowly.
A cold gleam passed through them and was gone.
So that was it.
Jaqen had used Sansa and Myrcella to get close , the assassination plot a convenient cover, a way to embed himself in Lynn's circle and get near Winter. Study the dragon. Find the weakness.
One move, two prizes.
The corner of Lynn's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
Want to study my dragon?
Then let me show you what real fear looks like first.
---
Flea Bottom.
Jaqen H'ghar's eyes snapped open.
A moment ago, he had felt it. A cold, crawling sensation. Like invisible eyes watching him from the dark, peeling back every layer, seeing everything.
He had only ever felt that in the House of Black and White, standing before the oldest of the elders.
How?
Before he could make sense of it, someone knocked on the door. Soft. Unhurried.
"Who's there?"
"A man who can bring you a gift."
A calm voice from the other side.
Jaqen's pupils shrank to points.
He was off the bed in an instant, back pressed silently against the wall beside the door, right hand sliding into his sleeve.
The silver needle was there. Coated in basilisk's blood. Ready.
The door swung open.
Lynn walked in. He hadn't waited for an answer.
He took in the bare room at a glance, then looked at Jaqen, who was wound tight as a bowstring.
"Jaqen H'ghar."
He said the name like it was nothing.
Jaqen's whole body went rigid. Like a leopard a breath away from lunging.
"A man has no name."
That signature cadence. Flat. Practiced.
"Is that so?"
Lynn smiled.
Everyone has a name. No matter how long you pretend otherwise, you don't actually forget.
"Then why has a man from Braavos come all the way to Westeros?"
Jaqen said nothing. Just watched him.
"For Balon Greyjoy's head?"
Lynn took a slow step forward.
"Or for a dragon's weakness?"
It hit Jaqen like a thunderclap.
His plan. His true purpose. His deepest secret.
Spoken aloud by a stranger in a rented room in Flea Bottom.
How?
Only a handful of people in the entire House of Black and White knew. There shouldn't be a fifth person alive who could say those words.
Who was this man?
For the first time in memory, something cracked across Jaqen's face. His gray eyes were wide, and what filled them wasn't suspicion , it was shock. Pure, undisguised horror.
He didn't feel like he was looking at a man.
He felt like he was looking at something that knew everything.
"A man... does not understand what you are saying."
A last attempt. His fingers had already closed around the needle in his sleeve.
At this distance, no one dodged his gift. He was certain of that.
"Don't."
Lynn's voice was quiet.
"The silver needle in your left sleeve. Basilisk's blood. Kills on contact with the bloodstream." He paused. "It won't work on me. Put the tricks away."
If Jaqen moved, Lynn would coat himself in ice before the needle crossed the distance. He'd tested that. He knew exactly how fast it worked.
The second blow.
If the first had been shock, this was something else entirely. Lynn had named the poison. Named the sleeve. Named the exact location.
Every disguise Jaqen had ever worn. Every technique he had spent years mastering. Stripped bare like he was made of glass.
The assassination arts he had given his life to , useless. Pale. Laughable.
Jaqen's fingers went still.
For the first time in his life, he doubted himself.
"Who..." His voice came out different. Smaller. "Who are you?"
He hadn't said a man. He'd said who.
"Haven't you been looking into me?"
Lynn stepped forward until he was standing over him, looking down.
"I'm Lynn. The one you came here to find."
"A servant of the Many-Faced God?"
Lynn made a short, dismissive sound.
"A false god propped up by killing and lies. That's all it is." He tilted his head slightly. "It was interesting once, I'll give it that. But you've drifted a long way from what you were. Good people, bad people — doesn't matter anymore, does it? You kill them all."
"You—!"
Fire in Jaqen's eyes. The fury of someone watching their faith get stepped on.
Lynn didn't acknowledge it.
"The plan you laid out for Sansa and Myrcella was good," he continued, as if they were discussing the weather. "Robert's poisoning — that was Tywin's commission, wasn't it. And now you're going to forge evidence and hang it around Stannis's neck."
"After Robert dies, the House of Black and White walks away clean. Better than clean — you get to sit back and watch the Baratheons tear each other apart. And on top of that, Tywin's payment, plus the million gold dragons the Iron Throne owes the Iron Bank. All of it lands in your hands."
"Clever. Very safe."
"But not enough."
Lynn let that sit for a moment. He watched Jaqen's face , shock and suspicion layered over each other, neither quite winning.
"A good story needs physical evidence. Something solid. Something no one can argue with."
"I can help you get that."
He reached into his robe and pulled something out, tossing it onto the bed in front of Jaqen.
A face mask.
The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Lifelike in a way that made the stomach drop. Every facial feature reproduced with flawless precision.
Jaqen had seen that face before. Here in King's Landing.
Stannis Baratheon.
The air left Jaqen's lungs entirely.
He reached out with a hand that wasn't quite steady and picked it up.
It was warm. Smooth. It had the exact texture of real skin.
He examined it the way only someone trained in his particular art could , methodically, professionally, looking for the flaw that had to be there.
The curve of the brow bone. The nasolabial folds at the corners of the mouth. Every single detail, perfect.
This was the finest work he had ever seen. Better than anything produced by the House of Black and White. Better than anything he had believed possible.
The third blow.
His entire worldview cracked down the middle.
Someone outside the House of Black and White had made this. Someone in this world, in this city, had produced a mask that surpassed the greatest work of the Faceless Men.
"Did you..." Jaqen's voice had a tremor in it he couldn't control. "Did you kill Stannis?"
It was the only explanation he could construct.
You couldn't make a mask from a living face. Everyone knew that.
"Kill him?"
Lynn laughed.
It was a gentle laugh. Almost pitying. The kind you gave a child who'd said something hopelessly naive.
"Why would I need to kill anyone?"
"Can't a mask be made from a living face?"
"Looks like the House of Black and White still has some catching up to do."
Jaqen stood completely still.
No killing required. A perfect face mask from a living man.
It was beyond the edge of what he understood. Beyond what he'd believed was possible.
And Lynn wasn't lying. He could see that clearly enough.
This wasn't technique. This was something else. Something that shouldn't exist.
He looked at Lynn's eyes , those eyes that seemed to look straight through everything , and a thought took root in his chest, wild and terrifying and impossible to shake.
The Many-Faced God.
Was it possible that the man standing in front of him was the actual...
No.
He pushed it back. There were other explanations. This world had methods he hadn't encountered. Lynn could have used something unconventional.
But that wasn't what mattered anymore.
Jaqen was still holding the mask.
"Why are you helping me?"
Lynn smiled.
"You want to collect the debt and claim Tywin's bounty. I want Stannis and Renly's names dragged through the mud. Neither of us gets what we want without Robert's unfortunate cooperation." He shrugged. "Our goals are close enough. Helping you is helping myself."
Jaqen was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"Right." Lynn's tone shifted. The lightness dropped out of it. "I'm done with the pleasantries."
"I know exactly why you're here. That means you have no leverage. You don't get to negotiate."
His voice settled into something that felt like the last word on the subject.
"You can do this job for me. Do it well. Then you go to the Iron Islands and put Balon in the ground, happy as you like. I have no interest in making enemies of the House of Black and White — we stay out of each other's way, maybe we even do business again someday. I'd make a decent client."
"Or you can refuse."
"If you refuse, the consequences are straightforward. I take your head. Consider it a small payment for coveting my dragon."
"Your choice."
He let the silence stretch for exactly one beat.
"Friendly reminder: I'm in a good mood right now. Don't ruin it."
"If I stop being happy, you stop being happy. That's just how this works."
➤ Next: The Impact of Chinese Civilization on the Natives
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
📚 BOOK COMPLETED ON PATREON!📚
This story has reached its conclusion on my Patreon!
🔥 Full story available now
💎 Exclusive bonus content & early access to new books
👉 Join my Patreon community today!
✨patreon.com/DarkGolds
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━