The girl with the horse-like face was none other than Arya.
She had transformed into a cat by the canal and squeezed into the crowd to watch the Dragon Queen.
Even after the Dragon Queen closed the inn's door, she didn't leave. After all, the cat worked as a dockhand at the waterlogged town's pier—she still wanted to gather news about the dragon!
Yes, that black dragon looked almost exactly like the evil dragons from old nanny's stories—it fulfilled all her fantasies about dragons.
She wanted to see the dragon.
The Dragon Queen was in the inn, and that black dragon—wherever it had flown off to—would surely return. She wanted to see it again.
A small hand tugged her wrist. It was her senior sister, the Waif.
The Waif was a pale little girl, looking no older than ten. Her cheeks were sunken, and she appeared frail and malnourished.
But this little girl was older than Arya's mother—thirty-six this year.
A strange poison from the House of Black and White had locked her appearance and body at the age of ten.
"Someone kind wants to see you. As a former Stark, it's time you recognized your greatest enemy," said the Waif.
"Who?" Arya asked, surprised.
Then, as if realizing something, she immediately shook her head and denied it. "You've got the wrong person. I'm not a Stark. I'm just a cat from the canals. The cat works for Brusco the fishmonger—she has no great enemies."
The Waif stared at her for a long time, then nodded. "Yes, you're the cat. Now the Kindly Man hopes you will remember one person well—the Stark's mortal enemy, the King in the North's greatest foe. Will you go?"
"I—" Arya turned to look at the blurry figure of a woman by the third-floor window of the Green Eel Inn. Her hesitant expression turned firm. "You mean Daenerys Targaryen? I'll go."
Then Arya and the Waif donned their black-and-white robes and, as attendants of the Kindly Man, entered the "True Dragon Court."
Daenerys was surprised to see the horse-faced Arya, and Arya recognized Daenerys—the beautiful female knight she had seen in her dreams.
Unconsciously, her eyes began to flicker, and her expression turned visibly strange.
She recalled the warning that female knight had once given her: You are a skinchanger, a wolf spirit. In a wolf dream state, remember the taboos—do not eat human flesh, do not deny your instincts, do not indulge in what doesn't belong to humans.
Her long horse-like face flushed red and hot. She had eaten human flesh, and had become addicted to it.
Thank goodness I was in my wolf spirit form. She didn't recognize me, Arya thought with relief.
The Kindly Man noticed Arya's awkwardness, but merely frowned and paid it little mind.
He thought "the cat" was beginning to slip into the identity of "Arya Stark."
It would be strange if a Stark could remain calm upon meeting a Targaryen.
And that was exactly his intention.
"A nameless one greets Her Majesty Daenerys Targaryen," the old man walked up to Daenerys and bowed respectfully.
An old man and two children—the three Faceless Men's robes were quite distinctive: black on the right, white on the left.
But the most striking feature was the old man's face. When he pulled down his hood, Daenerys nearly screamed.
What a face it was!
His skin was rotting and peeling, white tendons and red muscle showing the grayish hue of the dead. Sharp bones like the nose bridge, forehead, and chin revealed golden skull beneath.
Right before Daenerys's eyes, a fat white maggot, about the size of a fingertip, squirmed its way out of his eye socket.
What the f—?!
She cursed inwardly and almost screamed aloud.
But in the next moment—just a blink—the old man's face changed, now a grotesque and glaring expression.
A big "what" flashed across Daenerys's mind.
The next moment, just as she began to doubt her vision, she blinked again—his face had changed once more.
A solemn, stern old man with a white beard.
So she blinked again.
A scornful old man's face.
Blink.
A stiff, rigid expression.
Blink.
A blank, emotionless look.
Blink.
A faint, subtle smile.
Like that, Daenerys kept blinking—and with each blink, the old man's face kept changing, transforming from something terrifying into something kind and pleasant.
By the end, he had become, in Daenerys's eyes, the most benevolent old man she'd ever seen.
Looking at that face, Daenerys found her hostility gradually fading.
"Amazing." She closed her eyes and said sincerely, "Your Excellency's face-changing technique is masterful—beyond belief. I'm in awe."
To be honest, even the greatest Sichuan opera master couldn't compare to this old Faceless Man (PS). It was too real. The expressions were as vivid as a living person's—there was almost no way to tell it was a false face with the naked eye.
The old Faceless Man smiled faintly, a clear glint of pride in his eyes.
Since the purpose of today's meeting was clear, how could a Faceless Man not show off a little?
Especially after a certain queen had insulted the renowned Faceless Men by calling them Astapor's dogs.
"But many times, we do not judge people by their faces," Daenerys wasn't about to let the old man have the final word.
"For instance, Astapor's mutts can sense a person's aura, good or evil. As long as it's an assassin, they harbor malice in their hearts."
Oops. She said it again.
Let the mutts of Astapor sniff out the White Walkers instead!
"Your Majesty speaks wisely," the Kindly Man said with a warm smile, though inside he was seething. His face remained ever kind, radiating a gentle warmth.
Daenerys's expression tightened. She suddenly realized she could feel only kindness and peace from the old man—she even felt drawn to him.
But anyone with normal intelligence would know the old man must harbor hostility—murderous intent, even.
So… do the Faceless Men have ranks?
Could it be that Arya killing the Night King wasn't lazy writing by the showrunners, but a sign that she had reached the highest level among Faceless Men—able to hide even the aura and intent of a living person?
Daenerys felt uncertain.
"Your Majesty," the Kindly Man continued gently, "you summoned me to inquire about the attempt on your life, correct?"
He smiled, still warm, still gentle. "You captured one of our own at the Great Pyramid in Astapor, and later released her.
Thus, there's no need for me to deny the House of Black and White's failure. Yes—we attempted to assassinate you, and regrettably, we failed."
"Regrettably?" Daenerys's expression darkened.
"Your Majesty, please believe me—the House of Black and White bears you no personal ill will. They merely took a contract," the Keeper offered with a friendly smile.
Daenerys let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Trying to kill me and you call that 'no ill will'?"
"The one who wants you dead is the client. Assassins are like blades—while they may kill, they themselves have no personal intent," the Keeper explained.
The Kindly Man was displeased with the Keeper's explanation. While he spoke the essence of what it meant to be a killer, the Faceless Men did not consider themselves mere assassins.
They had structure, faith, and noble ideals—they were a legitimate religious order.
So, he turned his head toward the chubby man beside him. In that instant, his kindly face transformed into a stern, serious one.
Daenerys, who had been watching him the whole time, was stunned once again—she was starting to wonder if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
He didn't even blink, yet still couldn't catch how the man changed his face!
The solemn man said, "Lord Bessaro, you have misunderstood the teachings of the Many-Faced God.All men must die. All men must serve.
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Death is a merciful release. The Faceless Men are not mere assassins—they are simply messengers delivering the gift of release on behalf of the Many-Faced God.
And the Faceless Men never act out of selfish desire. They do not choose their targets on their own. They are merely servants of the Many-Faced God."
What he said may be outdated, but it was an undeniable truth.
At least, his interpretation of the Many-Faced God's teachings, as believed by the Faceless Men, wasn't wrong.
The Faceless Men's assassinations are viewed as sacred rituals—like baptisms for Christians.
"Death is a merciful release." Sounds like nonsense? Twisted, even?
Then we must start with the origin of the Faceless Men.
No one knows exactly what they were seeking, but the Valyrians scoured the world for slaves, forcing them to dig deep into the volcanic mines of the Fourteen Flames.
The Fourteen Flames were active volcanoes sealed by Valyrian sorcery.
Active volcanoes!
Imagine the conditions in those mines—it's easy to guess how brutal they must have been.
It's said even the strongest miners couldn't survive more than a month.
To live in such misery was worse than death.
Eventually, someone emerged—someone who brought death to those slaves who couldn't endure the torment but couldn't bring themselves to end it either.
They were the first Faceless Men.
Back then, death truly was a merciful release.
But that doctrine, if not outdated today, is at least something ordinary people can neither accept nor understand.
Of course, in any society, there are always those who have given up hope.
But ninety-nine percent of the people assassinated by the Faceless Men don't want to die—and certainly don't see death as a mercy.
After all, the Dragon Queen is alive and well, full of joy, and wishes she could live another five hundred years!
Even the key-bearer listening had his chubby face twisted in disbelief.
"Sigh... Priest, the way you say such nonsense with such a straight face really makes me want to punch you," Dany leaned lazily against the wooden chair back and said.
The kindly priest said nothing—but his expression changed. His face twisted into a terrifying snarl you'd only see in nightmares.
"Dany, those are not words befitting a queen, especially not in the presence of a high and respected priest," the Sea Lord said sternly, putting on his elder's authority.
"You wanna die?" Dany shot him a sideways glance.
The old Sea Lord's face turned pale with rage. His hand trembled as he pointed at Dany, but he was so angry he couldn't form a single word.
The First Sword abruptly stood up and stared coldly at the Dragon Queen. "Are you threatening His Majesty the Sea Lord?"
Dany spread her hands, looking innocent. "Everyone can see it—His Majesty is advanced in age, suffering constant pain, and yet he doesn't want to die. He doesn't believe death is merciful.
As they say, do not impose upon others what you yourself do not desire. Don't you understand this simple truth?"
"I..." The Sea Lord's face turned purple as he glared at Dany's flippant tone. "I respect the Many-Faced God, but I also have my own faith!"
"The problem is—I don't believe in him!" Dany replied, looking even more innocent.
"Enough of this pointless talk. Let's stop beating around the bush," Darkstar slapped the table impatiently and scanned the four people across from him. "The Faceless Men may not serve the Sea Lord, but they certainly act in the interests of all Braavos.
The assassination attempt on Her Majesty the Queen had nothing to do with the teachings of the Many-Faced God.
Don't try to tell me there wasn't money or some shady political agenda involved—I'd never believe it.
We only have two demands:First, stop sending Faceless Men to assassinate Her Majesty and her followers.Second, Braavos must maintain political neutrality and stay out of matters in Slaver's Bay and among our allies.
In return—"
"Ser Jello, is this your personal opinion, or are you conveying the Queen's terms?"The Sea Lord angrily interrupted Darkstar, emphasizing in a firm tone, "Let me tell you two things: First, Braavos supports freedom of religion.
We do not and never have interfered with the operations of the House of Black and White. The Queen's attempted assassination has nothing to do with me or with Braavos.
Second, the internal and foreign affairs of Braavos shall not be interfered with by any outsider."
He looked directly into Dany's violet eyes and said slowly and clearly, "At its height, Valyria had more than five hundred dragonlords. But not one of them ever dictated our policies."
(Author's Note: Regarding the kindly man's face-changing ability—this is not exaggerated in the slightest. In fact, the depiction in the book is even more grotesque.
At that moment, Dany actually blinked.
In the book, Arya was lying right on top of the old man's face, yet she couldn't detect how he changed it.
Uh... Arya has a strong stomach. She literally bit into the fat maggot on the dead man's face and ate it. Then the old man gave her his kindest face.
Also, the Many-Faced God is Death itself. The House of Black and White is a religious institution devoted to the Many-Faced God.
Westerosi know Death as "the Stranger," in Qohor it's "the Black Goat," and in Yi Ti, it's "the Lion of Night."
A thousand races, a thousand cultures—perhaps a thousand names for Death. The Many-Faced God is the total embodiment of all these gods of death.
If Dany worshipped Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva, then there would be a shrine to him in the House of Black and White too.)
(End of Chapter)
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