Chapter 164: The Dragonlord Drifting Downstream
"You must be joking, my young friend. If you were to hire the Faceless Men to assassinate you, the cost would be immeasurable! You are the second heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros, the only Dragonrider with three dragons, unmatched on the battlefield. And if you count that unfortunate Khal, you are also a veritable kingslayer," Magister Illyrio Mopatis said exaggeratedly. "If the Faceless Men were to assassinate you, they would probably have to worry about their own casualties. From what I've observed, they consider the difficulty of the mission. But these people are elusive, so in any case, you must be careful."
"Assassins are indeed like that, my fat friend. After all, I've added a lot of excitement to the world; I expect I have as many who love me as who hate me." Rhaegar ate a piece of cherry jelly. Rhaegar had indeed stirred the world—hatching dragons, dominating the Narrow Sea, intimidating Myr and Lys, and slaying a Dothraki khal. Standing at the forefront was glorious, but also extremely dangerous. To the people of Westeros, Rhaegar was a figure of the new age, igniting the flames of history itself. But in the eyes of some Free Cities, he was nothing less than a calamity—an evil dragon incarnate.
Nothing more than interests—my hero is my enemy's enemy. Perhaps soon, assassins from the Three Daughters would appear? After all, they still lacked the courage to oppose him openly.
"The methods of the Faceless Men are poison and disguise. These are the two methods they excel at most—especially poison. My young friend, their mastery of poison is divine! No warrior can stand alone forever; you must strengthen your defenses for unforeseen dangers. Even your ancestor, the great Aegon the Conqueror, established the Kingsguard. Your current protection is still insufficient," Magister Illyrio Mopatis warned seriously, a trace of fear visible on his face. Poison showed no mercy to rank or identity.
"I will be careful, my fat friend. The tides rise and fall—so long as I stand in the arena of power, I must face such dangers," Rhaegar said calmly. Ordinary Dragonlords might fear such threats, but a true Dragonlord should remain composed. A true Dragonlord—a master of runes and fire.
Rhaegar wanted to see those hidden enemies, to see who would dare step forward. That was power—to stand at the peak required constant conquest, and enemies would never cease to appear.
"My fat friend, how much do you know about the House of Black and White? Do you have any reliable information?" Rhaegar asked.
He was referring to the headquarters of the Faceless Men. The House of Black and White was a temple dedicated to the Many-Faced God, located in Braavos. It was built from dark grey stone atop a rocky hill. The temple had no windows, and its pointed roof was covered with black tiles. Its main entrance consisted of two massive carved doors—one of pale weirwood, white as bone, and the other of dark ebony. Between them was a carved moon, where weirwood and ebony were inlaid into one another.
"I know some things, but not much. During the wars between Pentos and Braavos, we tried to uncover its secrets, but the House of Black and White is heavily guarded and difficult to investigate deeply.
First, regarding its origin—the Faceless Men claim to have come from the Freehold of Valyria. According to legend, this assassin order began among the slaves of the Valyrian mines.
After Valyria defeated the Ghiscari Empire, they adopted its brutal slave system—and made it even worse. Slaves from hundreds of lands were forced to toil in the mines. Volcanoes, unbearable heat, choking smoke, endless labor, and the lash—life there was worse than death.
Eventually, the slaves began to pray—not for life, but for death.
The first Faceless Man, in that darkness, came to a realization: though the slaves prayed to different gods, they were all the same god with many faces. And he became that god's instrument. He granted the gift of death—first to slaves, then to their masters," Magister Illyrio Mopatis explained.
"A compelling story—profound and terrifying," Rhaegar said.
He could almost see ancient Valyria—the Forty Fires erupting, the unbearable heat, the suffocating ash. Compared to that, Dragonstone's volcano seemed mild.
Rhaegar also recalled an ancient rumor—that Valyrian Dragonlords used dark magic to resurrect dead slaves to continue labor. Corpses forced to work endlessly, unable to truly live or die. It sounded absurd—but not impossible. Even the high priests of R'hllor possessed resurrection magic, though they could not use it on such a massive scale.
But what became of the first Faceless Man? No one knew.
Could the Doom of Valyria itself be connected to them? It was an unanswered mystery. What was certain, however, was that both Braavos and the Faceless Men had benefited from Valyria's fall.
"Other secrets of the House of Black and White lie underground. From what we have learned, the hill it stands upon is hollowed with countless tunnels—a massive underground structure far exceeding ordinary fortresses. These tunnels allow the Faceless Men to move unseen.
The priests' chambers lie beneath the main hall, followed by servant quarters below. The lowest level is forbidden—accessible only to priests. That is the sacred chamber.
Most importantly, the House stores countless faces—used for disguise—hung upon the walls of its chambers," Illyrio said.
"These assassins live like rats," Rhaegar remarked.
Ordinary assaults—fire or land attacks—would likely fail to eliminate them. Underground tunnels could evade dragonfire, just as the Dornish had done before.
But water… Braavos was a city of water. If one could flood it… perhaps water magic would prove more effective than flame. A forgotten art—but perhaps still viable.
"An accurate assessment, my young friend," Illyrio laughed. "The Faceless Men are not like ordinary assassins—or like the flamboyant Braavosi water dancers. They do not see themselves as heroes or killers, but as servants—humble servants of the Many-Faced God, granting death as a gift."
"Rats that survive so long must possess extraordinary abilities," Rhaegar said with a faint smile.
"Indeed," Illyrio agreed, studying Rhaegar carefully.
If this young Dragonlord truly did not fear the Faceless Men, then he was either mad—or possessed terrifying hidden strength.
"I need a ship. I intend to sail from Qohor to Volantis," Rhaegar said.
To strengthen his understanding of water magic, he needed to journey along the Rhoyne. And in Volantis, he could reunite with his old acquaintance, Maegyr.
"A ship can be arranged. Sailing from Qohor is also feasible. Though the upper Rhoyne has been lawless for centuries, I will provide you with the finest shipwrights and Unsullied guards. With your dragons, the river poses little threat.
However, my ship can only take you as far as the Sorrows. Beyond that, even the bravest sailors refuse to go. I advise you not to venture too deeply. That place is cursed—filled with stone men afflicted by greyscale, ruled by the mysterious Shrouded Lord," Illyrio warned.
Rhaegar understood. The Sorrows were once a great Rhoynar city—now reduced to ruins and shrouded in mist, crawling with the diseased and damned.
Days later, a discreet vessel appeared at the Qohor ferry.
From the sky, dragons descended. The Dragonlord spotted the ship easily.
Rhaegar was following the route that Tyrion Lannister would one day take—sailing down the Rhoyne toward Volantis.
But unlike Tyrion, Rhaegar would not be fleeing in disgrace.
Even so, the Rhoyne remained dangerous—both upstream and down.
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