"The Faceless Men of Braavos once tried to assassinate me, which is the reason for my visit today. I will be discussing this matter with the Sealord."
Boom!
The Dragon Queen opened with what felt like a nuclear bomb—no, the words Faceless Men were far more terrifying than any bomb.
Hundreds of eager, gleaming eyes instantly dimmed, as if starlight had been snuffed out by dark clouds.
In unison—whether they were citizens of Braavos or foreign merchants and travelers—they all took a step back. Then another. And another.
The entrance suddenly became more spacious—and deathly silent.
Terror was clearly etched into their wide, white eyes, on their pale cheeks, and in mouths that trembled soundlessly, unable to form a single complete word.
Such a synchronized wave of fear even made the Dragon Queen pause for a moment in surprise.
Are the Faceless Men really this terrifying?
Of course they are!
If Dany had known the full details of Arya's journey to Braavos, she wouldn't have been so baffled.
When Arya reached Saltpans and tried to board a ship to Braavos, the captain flatly refused—even when she offered to work as a deckhand and pay the rest of the fare.
Then Arya pulled out the iron coin Jaqen had given her and said, "Valar Morghulis." From sailors to the captain, from the gangplank to the deck, and even into the cabin—it was as if someone had hit pause. Silence. Stiff movements.
After that, Arya was treated like a guest of honor.
But no one dared speak to her. On the journey from Saltpans to Braavos, everyone kept their respectful distance.
In the end, the captain personally rowed her to the House of Black and White on the Isle of Gods.
And this captain had no ties to the House at all—he was just an ordinary Braavosi sea trader.
Just as Jaqen had said, with all the flair he could muster before parting ways with Arya: Take this coin. Give it to any Braavosi. Say the words "Valar Morghulis," and they will take you to that place.
It wasn't theatrics—the Faceless Men were the real deal.
Now, the Dragon Queen had experienced it for herself.
"Ahem, yes, the Faceless Man who tried to assassinate me was disguised as one of my handmaidens. Fortunately, my dog Wangcai uncovered her true identity."
"Oh, you don't know who Wangcai is? Ah, he's just a mutt—a yellow pup from Astapor," the Dragon Queen said with a casual wave.
From the crowd came what sounded suspiciously like the cracking of jaws falling open.
"In any case, I came through unscathed. I survived the Faceless Man's assassination attempt. But what I don't understand is this—Braavos has always stood against slavery, hasn't it? After all, this city was founded by slaves."
"So why would the descendants of slaves accept payment from a slaver to send a Faceless Man to assassinate a liberator of slaves? Was it for gold dragons?"
"And so, I came here. First, I sent Ser Jello the White Knight ahead to Braavos to inquire with the Sealord."
"Truth be told, I'm actually familiar with His Grace Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord of Braavos! I lived here until I was five. Unfortunately…"
"I wasn't planning to come here at all, honestly—because before this, in Oldtown, Westeros, something appalling and cursed by the gods happened."
"The maesters invited me as a guest—then broke guest rights, tried to poison me, sent axe-wielders to kill me in broad daylight, and unleashed hundreds of crossbowmen in a coordinated assassination attempt."
"Sigh… the fall of humanity, the corruption of morals—the gods must be furious!"
Boom!
One bombshell after another left the crowd reeling. Onlookers were in uproar, one stunned gasp after another. The gossip frenzy reached fever pitch—again and again.
The "melon" was too big—it could kill a man from shock alone!
The nearby citizens and travelers were both terrified and thrilled.
The Dragon Queen's "melons" were far more explosive than dragonfire, yet also exhilarating enough to make their faces flush red.
Scared—but too hooked to stop listening.
It was agony.
Unconsciously, they began stepping forward—one step, then another, and another, and another—drawing even closer than they had been before she mentioned the Faceless Men.
Not only were they closer, but the crowd swelled in size—assassins, travelers, mercenaries, locals, shopkeepers, dockworkers, vendors...
News of "The Dragon Queen arriving at the Green Eel Inn" spread like wildfire in all directions. Loiterers, busy workers—everyone dropped what they were doing and surged toward Moon Pool in the fading glow of dusk.
Once she'd roughly finished explaining how the Citadel had violated guest rights, the Dragon Queen looked up at the sky. A deep cobalt blue—it wouldn't be long now. The Sealord and his entourage would be arriving soon.
"In light of all this, the Sealord, the Keyholder, the First Sword, and I have agreed to make an oath: During our negotiations, no harm shall come to either party. Guest rights will not be violated. No hidden knives."
"Now, I have come—for world peace, for the happiness of all people, and for the millions of slaves living lives worse than death—I must speak with the Sealord."
"As for the Faceless Men, I demand an explanation. This matter must be resolved. Otherwise—"
The Dragon Queen, who had been warm and gentle until now, suddenly turned cold and stern, her voice sharp as ice:
"I will burn Braavos to the ground. The Sealord's Palace and the House of Black and White will be reduced to ash. I will boil this water city until it steams. Let this be known—the worst-case scenario is on the table. Don't say I didn't warn you!"
Swoosh! Gasps rippled through the crowd—shock, fury, panic. Their faces shifted from green to white to blue.
Just as they were still trying to process her words, the Dragon Queen stepped back, and the doors of the inn slowly shut.
"Is saying that even useful?" Hearing the uproar outside, a trace of disdain flashed across Darkstar's stern face. "If the Citadel cared about foreigners' contempt and criticism, they wouldn't have repeatedly sent scholar-spies to Lys and Qohor to steal the techniques of steel smelting and crafting advanced lenses.
As for the Sea Lord and the nobles of Braavos, if they truly intended to act, they wouldn't be deterred by public opinion.
Nobles only believe in swords. The ones in their hands give them confidence and strength; the ones in their enemies' hands make them cautious and obedient."
Dany walked toward the staircase, smiling faintly as she said, "If the voice of the people were truly useless, then the tale of the Rat Cook wouldn't have been passed down through the ages.
Or perhaps they've lost all sense of shame and no longer care about becoming the Rat Cook in legend?
Even if they take pride in shamelessness, at least I can claim justice and legitimacy, standing on moral high ground to pass judgment on my enemies."
"Justice is nothing compared to a breath of dragonfire," Jorah sighed, then stopped and turned to the dozen or so brightly dressed assassins trailing behind him. "You wait here and prepare to greet His Majesty the Sea Lord."
"As you command, Lord Jorah," the assassins replied respectfully.
Darkstar accompanied the Dragon Queen to the third floor—a spacious hall that had once been a dining room. The chairs had been cleared away, and fresh pale yellow silks were draped along the walls and ceiling.
A fire was already burning in the hearth, and dozens of candles lit the chandelier, casting a warm and cozy glow in the room.
Dany stood by the window, gazing out at the scenery around Moon Pool.
The town's name, "Flooded Town," was no exaggeration. Where once there was a river delta, a city had stood. After hundreds of years and environmental changes, its buildings were now submerged beneath green waters, with only the domes and spires of ancient structures occasionally breaking the surface.
Since the old town had sunk into the riverbed, its original river docks had grown deeper, allowing sea vessels to anchor there.
So, the Braavosi had built a wooden and stone pier encircling the area, turning it into a harbor that the locals now called Moon Pool.
The entrance to the Green Eel Inn directly faced Moon Pool.
It was only because winter was coming and the weather had turned cold.
Otherwise, the children would have already jumped into the water, playing in the Moon Pool and diving below the surface.
Some mischievous ones even dove into the submerged buildings, emerging through the exposed domes.
About an hour later, a fleet appeared on the distant sea. Escorting it was a strange cruise ship, adorned from bow to stern with exaggerated smiling faces, slowly entering the river.
"It's the Sea Lord's fleet. He's aboard the 'Laughing Face Cruiser,'" said Darkstar calmly, his eyes flickering.
Dany turned to glance at the ship and asked, "Is everything ready?"
The tall White Knight tilted his firm jaw toward the riverside wall and said in a deep voice, "Without a doubt."
Arya saw the dragon too.
Oh—no, she was no longer Arya Stark. The one who saw the dragon fly overhead was "the Cat of the Canals."
The kindly man, her teacher in the House of Black and White, had told her on her very first day: to become one of the Faceless Men, she must abandon all memories, emotions, identity, and possessions.
Even Needle, the sword Jon had given her—an item that symbolized her past—had to be thrown into the river.
She couldn't bear to. She hid it.
But while she could hide Needle, she couldn't hide her name, personality, habits, or emotions—and the kindly man wouldn't allow her to, either.
Each day in Braavos, she played a lying game with the other orphans.
They'd invent names, backstories, daily experiences, personalities, emotions—and try to guess who was telling the truth.
Over time, her lies came easily and flawlessly. She had learned how to momentarily believe her own fabrications.
Telling a lie even she believed was only the first step. Arya was then given various identities, each one demanding her to live a different life.
An oyster girl, a beggar in Purple Harbor, a thief near the Temple of Truth, a tavern helper, a street cleaner...
Now, she was the helper of Brusco, a fishmonger on the docks of the Flooded Town. She was the Cat of the Canals.
Now, she was no one.
A Faceless Man. A servant of the Many-Faced God. A thousand faces, a thousand lives, a thousand selves.
Like so many others shaped by the kindly man, the traces of "Arya" gradually faded away.
Until one day, the Cat of the Canals dreamed of a wolf—and she became the wolf.
She saw the world through a wolf's eyes, tore prey apart with a wolf's teeth, felt a wildness in her body no different from others her age.
Eventually, she dreamed of a girl named Arya Stark. She broke free of the brainwashing. She found herself again.
By day, she was no one. But at night, in her dreams, she was a joyful, untamed she-wolf.
She knew who she was. She was Arya Stark.
So she couldn't ignore the news about the dragon and the Dragon Queen.
Because the Dragon Queen's name was Targaryen—and hers was Stark.
The Cat had followed the dragon to the Green Eel Inn and overheard multiple shocking things in the crowd: The Faceless Men once tried to assassinate the Dragon Queen? The Hound discovered a Faceless Man? The Citadel violated guest rights? The Dragon Queen truly is a Targaryen—and if negotiations fail, she'll burn Braavos and the House of Black and White?
But wasn't she also part of the House of Black and White? Wasn't she also a Faceless One?
(End of chapter)
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