Chapter 664

This was not something that could be explained in a few words—because, aside from him, the only Faceless Man in the room, everyone else was merely mortal.

"You’re thinking too small! Intelligence confirms that these two men were indeed the ones who founded the bank, but could anything bearing the Targaryen name have been established without the Queen’s approval?" One of the Keepers scoffed and shook his head. "Since we’ve already decided to use our final measures, and since we know that both the decision-makers and their enforcers must be dealt with—why stop there? Why not go one step further and eliminate the root of the problem? If Queen Daenerys Targaryen were to suffer an unfortunate accident, her faction would collapse in disarray. With no leader to rally around, her followers would crumble from within, and others would clean up the mess for us. There would be no need to waste our time dismantling a mere fledgling bank!"

The terms believers and conscious beings were easy enough to grasp, but the phrase those who have seen or understood my existence was vague—its list of potential names impossibly long. Still, one thing was certain: at the very least, it included Greenseers, the shadowbinders of Asshai… and the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White.

The logic was simple. No matter how formidable or respected Gordon Gallonier might be, he was still just a man—an elder with no power over life and death. But the Faceless Men? They were assassins who could kill without leaving a trace.

The murmurs of agreement grew louder than before, but the original proposer voiced his doubt. "You think I haven’t considered that? But isn’t it an ironclad rule that the Faceless Men do not kill Dragonlords?"
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"Not exactly."

"Of the countless gods in this world, most are merely imaginary beings conjured up by desperate fools seeking comfort. But the Lord of Light—he is different. He is one of the very few deities who has proven his existence through undeniable miracles. The doctrine of the Many-Faced God teaches that all gods are simply different aspects of the God of Death. If that god has chosen to manifest in this era as R’hllor, if he has revealed his miracles to the world, then it is because he has urgent business concerning blood and fire. And if the Faceless Men are truly followers of the One True God, how could they possibly go against his chosen agent and disrupt his divine plan?"

There was a long silence before the hooded man continued, his tone unwavering.

"The House of Black and White does not seek to interfere with the Keepers’ Council’s decisions on foreign policy. But let me make this absolutely clear: we will not accept this commission."

"Tyrion Lannister and Aegor West."

The naval representative was the first to speak. "One is the enforcer, the other is the strategist. If we eliminate them, then the Westerosi Bank, still in its infancy, will be paralyzed before it can truly begin operating."

"I agree. The Queen and Aegor—they’re exactly like the Rogare brothers. The Iron Bank’s Special Operations Division will handle the Queen’s assassination, while the House of Black and White eliminates the Night’s Watch commander. We each have our targets, and everyone is satisfied. I suggest we put it to a vote!"

The room grew momentarily quieter, but a few near the speaker leaned in to clarify.

"So the Iron Bank’s specialists will deal with Daenerys Targaryen, while the Faceless Men only have to eliminate Aegor West? That man is not a Dragonlord—he came from west of the Sunset Sea!"

The reasoning was clear. The House of Black and White traced its faith to the Valyrian Freehold—to the very slaves who once toiled in its volcanic mines. Their doctrine had been born among those slaves and had later been carried to Braavos by those who fled Valyria. And yet, their creed had never been about rebelling against slavery or fighting for freedom. Instead, it had always been about worshipping death itself—viewing it as a gift, a release.

Why?

Because in the era of Valyria’s peak, its strength was so absolute that even its enslaved masses would rather embrace death than dare to rebel.

A chilling silence settled over the room.

The Faceless Man who had spoken—a hooded figure with an utterly forgettable, featureless face—was no different from any other representative in the Keepers’ Council. He held only a single vote, just like the rest. And yet, despite his lack of formal authority, despite his rare participation in contentious debates, he carried an aura that made every man in the chamber uneasy.

If they respected Gordon Gallonier, they feared this nameless assassin.

When R’hllor had first bestowed the Dragon Scales upon Aegor, he had spoken directly to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch:

*"The bearer of these scales is my chosen and acknowledged earthly agent. My followers will obey your authority unconditionally. All beings with self-awareness will fear your presence. And all who have seen or understood my existence—save only for the Cold God of the Long Night and the demons that still stir in the ruins of Valyria—will not dare to stand against you."

Who would worship their own great-grandmother?

Especially when said ancestor was still alive, and could be seen every other day?

"If the Faceless Men refuse, we can always find another assassin!" The third voice cut in sharply. "But I would add one thing: based on our intelligence, even if the Queen were assassinated, Aegor still has the influence and capability to elevate another ruler in her place. He could drag their alliance forward through sheer force of will alone. So I say—for safety’s sake—we take out both of them. They are the Daenerys regime’s ‘Rogare brothers’!"

Valyria had never suppressed religious freedom, yet no faith had ever truly thrived there—not even the Lord of Light, despite its veneration of R’hllor Forst, the Dragonlords’ progenitor.

Why?

Because the Valyrians did not believe in gods.

They believed they were gods.

Even R’hllor Forst—mighty beyond reckoning—was, to them, merely a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, or some distant ancestor.

Was this doctrine originally rooted in fear of Valyria’s overwhelming power? If so, by now, it had long since evolved into something more like superstition. And yet, the Faceless Men adhered to it without exception. The Keepers’ Council knew this well and had never thought to force them otherwise.

The argument drew some support, but just as many voices rose in opposition.

A fresh wave of debate broke out, the very peace they had just achieved now at risk of crumbling apart once again.

Then—BANG!

Gordon Gallonier slammed his hand against the table.

A curious spectacle was now unfolding: two of the most dangerous men in Braavos were at odds with each other.

Few who had survived the Doom of Valyria understood the true horror of R’hllor Forst better than the Faceless Men’s forebears. And when their descendants—the modern Faceless Men—discovered that she was still alive, that she still commanded miracles?

Of course they surrendered.

And when the light of R’hllor revealed itself in every temple of the Lord of Light, when its presence was undeniable and the world had no choice but to acknowledge it, did they really think they could kill his chosen?

"He is not a Dragonlord," the Faceless Man repeated, "but he is the Lord of Light’s chosen prophet on earth. To strike him down now—at a moment when R’hllor has awakened, when his miracles shine across the world—is beyond foolish. The consequences would be far worse than killing a mere Dragonlord. There is no price that could make us accept such a commission."

His voice was steady, final.

"The House of Black and White declines."