AN by the end of the chapter!


Daenerys Targaryen


Nyx's reclining figure faded quickly in the thickening fog, and Dany let a long breath escape her lungs. Had it not been for this phantom, seemingly appearing out of nowhere… Only the gods would know what they would have done. As she breathed in the cool evening breeze, she quickly decided to head inside, before the Secret City could present her with even more challenges.

Turning around, she gazed upon the big red door which had welcomed her throughout the innocent days of her childhood. Daenerys felt her shoulders slump as they began to unwind themselves. As she slowly pushed the door open, she was embraced faster than she would have thought the old man capable of. She breathed in the familiar smell of her childhood home, feeling a veil of safety descend upon her, and her heartbeat slow additionally. That smell... So different from the ghoul's, and yet so similar. Both were rustique, lasting; like the walls surrounding the lagoon of Braavos protecting it from the strong winds buffeting on their surfaces, demanding entry.

She felt a rumbling on her cheek which was pressed to his chest as he began to speak, "Princess," his rusty voice started, "we were terribly worried about you." He pulled his head back to look at her face, letting his fatherly protectiveness slide as he pulled back, giving her space to close the door behind her.

Noticing his use of the plural her eyes widened involuntarily; who else was here? Why had they come? Would they prove more challenges to her even on this hour? "We?" Dany asked her voice slightly shook as she awaited an answer. When none came and she noticed his bewildered expression, her brows furrowed, "What is it?"

"Your cloak…" He took the cloak in his hands, fingering the strange black and white mixture of linen and leather. Only then had she noticed that the ghoul had left her with the cloak she had been offered and had not sought to get it back. Its weight seemed like a veil, comforting in its weight and protective in its restrictive sturdiness. It's black and white colour symbolising the dichotomy of the house itself. Servitude or death. But which was which?

Lacking any concrete answer that would bring her any peace of mind, much less a father figure obsessed with her safety, she resulted with one of the only truths she knew about the whole encounter. "It's a long story." Daenerys sighed, secretly pocketing the two coins she had been offered. The second part of her interaction with the ghoul being even more important to keep secret. The token of favour she had gotten along with the cloak, making her forever remember; forever grateful.

She would keep this secret for her saviour, even if Daenerys herself had to be the one to name her due to her secrecy; even if that saviour walked hand in hand with The Many-Faced God himself.

A telltale sound of armour clanking preceded the voice announcing the second party's presence. "Princess." A deep, rusty, even familiar voice broke in. She looked up from where she had been absorbed, seeing once more the grizzled face of what could only be the knight who had sworn himself to her many moons ago. She let out a breath as the memories came flooding back; the memories of horse lords, grass plains, and saddle sores. Daenerys quickly barred the gates of her mind that had temporarily been thrown open, trying to wind down again and calm the torrents of her mind.

"This man claims to know you, Daenerys. He said he had sworn himself to you when you were at Drogo's side." Willem Darry broke in before she had a chance to greet the knight.

"Jorah Mormont," Dany breathed. "What are you doing here?"

He inclined his head from where he knelt upon the ground and took her right hand, covering them with his calloused ones. "I swore to protect you and serve you at your wedding. I would have come to you sooner, had it not been for your brother stealing you away in the night. You shan't be rid of me so easily, princess." She felt a small swelling in her heart as she understood his cause of being here. He would not turn tail and run from his vow.

"I understand," Daenerys said lightly. "It is good to see you again." This time sincere, her worries slowly faded as the veil of safety which had gradually been built ever since the ghoul's intrusion to all the swordsmen's dismay.

As the warm feeling of contentedness settled in her chest, Daenerys offered her two knights a small smile, assuring she had come to no harm. Her murderous assassin would have to wait with receiving her thanks for now. After another small embrace from Ser Willem, a few reassurances and deflections, Dany eventually excused herself; distracted with a myriad of other things on her mind than the reunion with her sworn sword. She knew they desired answers. She knew, yet found herself selfishly ignoring their demands. As she reclined on the bed, her eyes waned quickly as her body gave up under the exhaustion of the day's events. She knew trusting the mysterious stranger, whom she even had to name herself would be a mistake, yet she could not shake the feeling of safety as she remembered the cloak she had been offered yet didn't return.

She would ponder what all this meant, come the morning. For now, she felt content that she had escaped whatever torments her brother would wish upon her. And for that, she would also be grateful to her saviour. Even if that saviour walked hand in hand with The Many-Faced God.

This night, her dreams were nothing but void till an eerie light-blue glow bathed the emptiness around her. Looking to the skies; snow began falling as the winds picked up.

The winds whispered in her ears as she gazed around the flat fields, and found Nyx standing stoically with a skull in her hands. The winds told of lions, of stags, of roses, and snakes. Of krakens, flayed men, trouts, and dragons' breath.

"When winter comes with all its might, only wolves shall howl in the night," they insisted in her ears, as Dany shivered in the face of the winds' ferocity; the cold winds assaulting her silvery hair, cascading it around her face.

The skull crumbled to dust in Nyx's hands as she turned her gaze to the looming dark horizon. As a voice echoed in the great emptiness.

"These are not the wars to come."

She looked to the sky to watch the oncoming horizon, only to notice that these were not clouds. The blue of the sky was slowly, methodically being consumed by absolute dark. This was not the turning into a night sky; this was a black, so true and pure in its darkness that nothing else could appear. No stars. No moon. Nothing.

Shadows surrounded them appearing at the edges of the darkness. Nyx looked around briefly, the stoic face still painted on her shadowed face. She sighed softly before her form vanished, leaving a bright purple light in her wake. The light was fleeting, dark, deceptive, and she could not quite fathom its existence. It circled overtop as the shadows came closer, closer towards where she was. The small light flew away casting Daenerys in shadows, slowly turning to complete darkness. The purple glow sped off into the horizon, growing ever fainter as she traced its path with her eyes.

'What is this place?' Was the only thing her mind seemed capable of asking. Not how, not why, not where. None of that seemed to matter. Everything here seemed endless, timeless even.

It only occurred to Daenerys now, that the shadows were here for her. Would that be how Nyx would leave her? Alone, in the dark, waiting for a rescue that would never come? She called for help, yet her voice merely echoed around her. Hopelessly lost in an endless dark, endlessly cold place. A man emerged from the shadows as a yellow, crumbling skeleton. His form was shifting, deceptive, impossible to grasp for more than a second. His features would change: a raven's beak appearing where once there had been a human skull, a wolf's fangs replacing simple, comparatively useless teeth. He came towards her slowly, steadily. A creeping pace that closed in around her soul with the darkness in which she had been left.

She looked back towards whence the small purple light had gone; seeming to be her only hope of salvation. In the distance she saw it, hovering over a castle covered in snow. A small white light joined the purple in the horizon as the skeletal man extended a hand for her to take. Hopelessness descended upon her as she saw a small dancing of the lights on the horizon.

In the cold, she felt the heat emanating from the hand. A radiance promising comfort, home, safety. She walked towards the skeletal man, wanting more of the warmth. A handsome face slid over his features which made the skeleton come to life. He looked inviting, pleased to see her. She continued her approach cautiously, gaining both momentum and courage as she went. She knew the handsomeness was a deception, a simple guise, yet she no longer cared. She wanted it to disappear. All of it.

Daenerys no longer wanted to remain in the dark. She arrived before, looking up to see his handsome face; her head being level with his shoulders.

Daenerys moved to put her hand in his, before having it swatted by purple light. The man shifted his face abruptly, and a terrible look crossed his features as he took in the intruder. He lashed out at the small orb, yet it escaped through his fingers. Daenerys now back away, looking around to see the white light chasing away the shadows.

Her heart sped up, her mind racing, still not understanding anything of what was happening. The white lights eminence was pure, holy, like a small sun fighting for dominion over the great dark surrounding them. The light approached the man, his features twisted into a grin upon the sight.

He lashed out again, and this time, the light was struck; almost falling before being caught it's purple brother. So different, yet mirrors of each other. The white light tried hopelessly to drive away the man, somehow being the head of the shadows. A small thread of light passed from the purple to the white, increasing its glow as former orb settled at her side, having saved its brother. The splendid purple colour faded as the thread passed from purple to white. The orb of her former companion grew smaller, fainter, it's colour fading to a steely grey as it settled on her shoulder.

The thread had spun around the white light, increasing its size. It was now twice its former size, splendid and imposing. The moment the thread broke and the now-grey orb settled the white light erupted, bathing the place and obliterating the shadows. The handsome, imposing man's face melted away revealing nothing but a shadow behind the handsome facade. The shadow reeled against the light struggling, hopelessly to claw its way over to where she had settled.

Another eruption from the same source drove the last darkness away, leaving her with the warmth and safety she had previously desired.

When the light faded once more, she saw that she was now alone; yet she did not feel the cold. She no longer felt weak, no longer vulnerable. The bright white light of the eruption had now faded to a dull, foggy grey. Looking through the fog towards the horizon she saw two glowing grey eyes staring back at her. The eyes were ferocious, wolven yet patient. Gazing at her not unkindly; not hostile. No, to her, they were gentle, patient, yet only when they needed to be. They held an offer; one that was cryptic and terrible; a sacrifice made out of need, not desire.

The very last thing Daenerys would see this night, was a three-eyed raven staring towards the eyes intently, purposefully; cawing a fleeting message at the wolf before she felt the mattress under her back:

"Fly or die."


No one


As the given name of Nyx slowly faded to the wind, the fogs tightened around her like an old cloak. What would mostly be considered bleak and disheartening whether had slowly become an old friend she was pleased to reacquaint herself with.

It was a comforting blanket which served many purposes. Not only to hide the many ways in which their order would serve both the city and the deity come nightfall, it was also a significant advantage. Avoiding attention from both friend and foe when sight was limited to the nearest of vicinities was a trivial effort. An accomplishment doable for even the greenest of assassins.

No one felt her lungs expanding as the damp, saturated air of fog filled her lungs, its moist presence pressing down upon anyone in its vicinity. Though the haze made for terrible conditions for exercise, the fog in and of itself, would aid anyone in the activity of fleeing. Hard to run, simple to run away.

The vapour grew thicker and the flickering lights in the Braavosi windows faded in orange hues under its oppressive, latent presence. As a result, the many lights illuminating the city became visible to anyone who cared to pay attention at such times. Braavos itself seemed to be constantly reminding her of the little ironies and contradictions, which permeate anything and everything if only one would look closely enough.

Much of perception was based that way. A million things mingling through the mind, only discovered if one opened their mind sufficiently. This same applied to the senses. Thus, the footsteps in her stuck out like a sore thumb in the otherwise quiet alley.

The steps were even, measured and quiet. The footsteps, almost mechanical in nature, were a trivial effort to decipher.

"You need not sneak, sister. You are aware I'll hear you regardless." The mechanical footsteps stopped, only to be resumed in the same rhythm yet larger volume. Boots against cobblestone was hard to overhear when no other distractions were in place, especially for a faceless one.

"How did you know it was me?" Came the cool quiet voice, now at her side.

"Your steps, sister. They are regular, too regular; with high and uncomfortable steps. Most would avoid such effort." She left out how very distinct her boots and quietude of steps were. Such were the things that were offered to a blind girl. It was little, yet enough in most cases.

The Waif merely sighed in response, she had always condemned the flamboyant ways of she and her Lorathi mentor.

"I see the dragon has made it home safe, regardless of the attention she draws." The Waif offered.

"Indeed," The Stranger sighed, "I was helpfully informed she had come between a rock and a hard place."

"And you just happened to be in a position to help?" Her sister questioned, "Was your well-timed rescue merely coincidental?"

"There are no coincidences, sister. Only the illusion of such."

"You are dodging the question." The Waif objected.

"How very perceptive of you; so let's change the subject." The Stranger smiled. The Waif sighed, giving up any chance of a clear answer.

There were many types of informers around the city, yet most were under the employ of either the Iron Bank or The Elder of their very order. Finding out how she even knew of Daenerys' presence would require the openness she craved, yet would not receive. At least not on this night.

"I worry for you, sister." A dark brow rose in turn. "You hardly sleep, if ever, you study like a mad-woman, spit in the face of the wind and meddle in affairs above and beyond that of most faceless. Standing directly opposed to a possible ruler of Westeros comes with great risk."

Dark brows furrowed, "You mean to say that I am being reckless?"

"Do not twist my words," The Waif objected. "You provide cause for concern, that is all. We have before seen servants of death very similar to yourself; few of them last very long." She deadpanned, awaiting a reaction that would never come.

The faceless women both let their scars fade to smoke as they entered the slightly crowded marketplace; The Stranger now doing so with noticeably less effort than The Waif. They would not want undue attention this night. The market squares kept buzzing throughout the hour of the wolf, and deep, angry scars were hardly common on women's faces. Let alone those who wandered the streets during the night. The Stranger had a sense that there was more to the Waif's premeditated meeting than mere health-advocacy.

The Moon Pool arose in the distance as they continued their pacing; The Stranger took a sharp right turn towards what could only be the Blue Lantern. The Waif sighed as she hastened her steps to reach her companion. Announced by the rusty screech of old hinges, the wooden door gave way to the sharp lights of the Inn, which provided an abrupt change from the gloom of the streets.

Lana jumped as soon as she caught sight of the new arrivals and rushed towards The Stranger in greeting. She was quickly embraced, as the smaller woman's smile was refreshed. Lana provided a stark contrast to the sharp tongue of her faceless friend, yet they had been friends since her first time in The Secret City. The Faceless Woman's unusual friend was always a source of warmth, with easy smiles for anyone who had the simple decency of returning the courtesy.

Lana broke from the hug to look up at her friend. "Cata, your scars?" She questioned while raising a hand to trace her features.

The Cat merely shrugged; a smirk flowing readily to her features. "Oh, I thought I'd leave them at home tonight." The young barmaid seemed both perplexed and amazed all at once.

"Though I am sure I could make them return if that was for your preference." Her reassurance was teasing, even a little barbed.

The sharpness of the comment went unnoticed as the young woman shook her head breaking her stupor. "No! Not at all! You look beautiful Cata. More so than you usually do."

A clearing of the throat ran through the air behind The Cat. A dark brow rose as grey eyes shifted their attention towards its origin.

Lana realised the situation simultaneously and muttered a small apology before directing them towards a bench. They each sat down as another maid approached them with a small smile.

"Anything you'd like, loves?" Came the bawdy, even flirting voice as the maid arrived at their table.

The Cat glanced up at maid from where she sat on the bench, "Whisky," she said, emphasising with her hand as a smile slid to her features, "I want the strongest you've got."

Her companion frowned, "Nothing for me, thank you." The barmaid scuttled, weaving between the patrons in order that the refreshment may be served. "I hope you are not planning to get tipsy in here."

The Cat looked down at her companion, "Now now, sister, don't be cross. Refreshment is needed after a day's work, most would say."

"Most don't live past their thirtieth name day."

The Cat stretched her limbs as the barmaid returned with a tankard in hand, "And I intend to join them. Moreover, I can guarantee that their lives, while shorter, will be infinitely more interesting than that of the man who never takes any chances."

She took a sip from the recently acquired beverage and set it back on the table. The golden liquid scalded her throat and she flexed the gloved hand holding the tankard in response.

The Cat leant back on her on her pillowed bench and raised an eyebrow at The Waif. "So, tell me why you decided to join me?" It was a polite demand, posed as a question; the same way the masters of their order would pose inquiries to each other.

"You don't think I would merely seek you out in a vain attempt to discourage you from your recklessness?" The Waif questioned, her expression now probing, challenging.

"No." The Cat answered simply, her Braavosi accent making the words dance in her mouth. "You could have done that anywhere. You would not have needed to follow me to the inn either, was that the case. Don't lie, sister, you hate drinking in a tavern almost as much as you despise disorganised phials and chemicals."

The Waif sighed. "Even while exhausted and tipsy there is no deceiving you, is there?"

"No. Now tell me why you came here. Patience has never been my strong suit."

The Waif sighed, now running a hand through her short tresses; The Stranger noted the seeming appropriation of her own habit. Storing it away in the deep recesses of her mind. Only the gods would know what information may or may not be useful.

"There have been several developments over the last time. An acquaintance of Arya Stark has come to The Secret City in search of her. The man, Gendry Waters, was sent by The King in The North and seems determined to find her."

The laziness of The Cat of the Canals melted away, subsequently leaving The Stranger to take her place. "Will he find her?" She questioned.

"Only if Arya Stark wishes to be found."

The Stranger nodded her understanding. "Will he be greeted as friend or foe?"

"Friend. So long as he remains within bounds of what is deemed acceptable." The Waif said with finality.

"Very well. What else has occurred?" The Stranger probed.

"A very honoured guest has arrived at our docks recently. One High Priestess to The Lord of Light. She goes by the name of Kinvara. She is very powerful and hardly one to trifle with." The Waif became even more serious, though few thought that to be possible, emphasising the importance of the news.

"She has settled in a small flat near The Purple Habour. She is slowly building a network of informers around the city; no doubt in retaliation of our meddling in their affairs."

The Stranger sighed and parroted The Waif's stolen habit. "We are naturally thwarting her efforts?" She questioned.

"Naturally. Yet we would be wise to let any intervention of ours go unnoticed for the time being. She has much influence amongst the church and in extension the wealthy of the city. We would not have the Iron Bank be cross with us."

"Of course." The Stranger took another sip of her beverage. "I shall see what I can do. The velvet gloves for these occurrences, I suppose? I doubt we desire to anger the King in The North either."

"Precisely; which was why I wished to approach you about this in your… habitat."

"Very well," The Stranger concluded. "You have my leave if you are finished. I doubt you would want to tarry any longer, least of all in this place."

"Thank you, yes." The Waif answered, fishing in her pockets to place two Braavosi Titans on the wooden table. "It's on The House."

The Stranger winked in return, as The Waif turned to escape her torment through their original point of entry. As her first companion left her, her second now returned.

"I never do understand what it is you two talk about…" Lana said; her voice projecting bewilderment, confusion.

The Cat now smiled up at her friend, her grey eyes shining ever so slightly in the candlelight. "I believe that is the point."

"Would you like a second round?" Lana asked her friend kindly. The Cat considered refusing for a brief moment before contemplating the road ahead of her to get home. She concluded her thoughts with a soft sigh as one of her rare smiles still remained on her features, before giving her friend a small nod of acquiescence.

As Lana left, The Cat took notice of the other patrons spread evenly across the room. It had become an odd thing when none would glance at her distrustfully like they normally would. The bar patrons shuffling away; ultimately leaving a large gap between her and the rest of the inn. A strange combination of admiration, fear, and disgust on each man. The look of pride, admiration and sometimes even wonder, sprinkled with weariness and respect from most women and children.

The realities that are known by each being equally valid, yet vastly different at the same time. Like fragments of a picture; only completed by being stuck together. The lines between each being seamless and obscure. Committing relative evil to do relative good… While hardly ideal, the predicament is preferable to its flipped reflection.

Faceless men, however, were impartial to such valuation, the product of which being obscure and redundant by their position. The moral constructs being of little value, as their core beliefs were largely nihilistic. Men were seldom of value in and of themselves, yet could be employed or manipulated to gain such. Such was inherent in the statement: Valar Morghulis. To add perspective, suggesting that value may indeed be possible and present in life, came the other side of the coin: Valar Dohaeris. Conclusively, men inevitably serve, whether they would or would not like to; the only alternative that is possible being encompassed in the former. Thus, it provided a simple, yet universal concept.

Judgements of the actions which the faceless may commit lay closer to home for those viewing from the outside, though the effects of the judged actions would be both imperceivable and most often confusing for the viewer. It was therein the problem could be found: Being an observer without the transparency for investigation. As such, nearly all the opinions and judgements cast upon The House of Black and White were all permeated with assumptions, prejudgments and anecdotes. For in the absence of graspable tenants to cling to, opinions were formed abruptly and indiscriminately.

It was for this very reason, that a consistent, predictable, and loyal friend, such as the now-approaching Lana, was not only useful, but also something treasured for faceless such as herself. Though a faceless would never go out of their way to start any form of legitimate friendship, few skewed from it. Her earlier companion belonging to the group encompassed by those few.

Lana placed the refilled mug on the wooden table in front of her. The Cat of the Canals fished inside her own robes, before adding her own two silver coins to the ones already on the table. Lana pocketed the two coins and scooted into the place of her previous companion.

"Time off?" The Cat questioned. Her tone inflecting curiosity, deliberately so. She took a sip from the beverage, the scalding heat returning once more.

Lana quietly murmured her assent; knowing it would be heard by her faceless companion. "Tavern's practically running itself these days with all the help you managed to bring."

"Is the money good enough? You won't have to lay off some of the surplus workers?" The Cat questioned, her eyes now guarded.

Lana smiled at her friend's concern, "Not at all. With how eagerly and efficiently the folk you keep sending here work, we can afford to expand. Should it get too crowded here, we could quickly get the money for another tavern to run alongside this one."

The Cat nodded slowly, taking another sip from her drink. "Thank you, Lana, truly."

As the night continued on, patrons came and went. The Cat's second drink was her last one of this night, as Lana had time to indulge her in the rare conversation ranging all from business, friends and even romantic interests alike. When Lana was nearing the end of her questions, The Cat looked towards the eastern window from beneath her lashes and frowned.

"What troubles you Cata?" Lana asked, now worryingly.

The Cat merely tipped her head towards the growing orange glow that marked the start of each day. In the distance, The Titan roared, as Lana realised for how long she had kept her friend. She gasped as her eyes widened, while The Cat merely gazed at her comedically.

"I am so sorry Cata, you must be so tired! Would you want to spend some hours in one of our rooms?"

The Cat cocked her head to the side, an ironic, even sardonic smile now painting her features, "Thank you Lana, but no. I am fine."

"But you haven't slept a single minute!" Her friend objected.

Now, The Cat's smile grew a little in its sadness, yet still, she maintained the pleasant facade. The Cat's voice was now quiet, smooth, secretive. As if the statement was a curse towards the ancient powers whilst in their very presence.

"Some duties never end, old friend. I would pray that you should not end in the same predicament, yet I fear the gods would do very little to help you."


AN:

This was the first in series of chapters I now have the time to write. This was a short one, with quite a lot of foreshadowing and a tad bit of mysterious imagery. I kind of just got a symbolic idea for the events there will be upcoming, and I sort of just ran with it... Let me know if it worked or if it was too strange ;D

I understand if you guys don't enjoy the first part this chapter as much as the previous ones. Most of this part is very nebulous and has many meanings and interpretations. Have fun dissecting it, if you wish! There are many references to many different things. All these will be picked up upon, naturally. This is the first link our Arya will have to Westeros, requiring her to take part in more and more political events, despite The Faceless men wanting to keep out of politics.