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I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
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123 AC, Braavos
A man with no name walked the streets of Braavos, just as he had for as long as he remembered. He had travelled across the Known World, been to places that most would consider barely more than myth and legend, seen wealth that would render even the richest man in Braavos speechless, and yet he always preferred his home, the only truly free city in the world.
Slavery was everywhere, even when it was not always named as such. The Sunset Kingdoms often abhorred the practice, but he had walked amongst their so-called smallfolk and found that they were treated no better by the nobility there than slaves that he had seen across Essos. Looking back, perhaps the illusion of freedom was just as powerful as the act of slavery. After all, while the Westerosi thought themselves free, it mattered little when their lives were not their own.
But Braavos was a city of opportunities, a patron of art and passion, where anyone from anywhere could rise above their means, should they have the strength of will and intelligence to do so. They could worship the gods they wished in freedom, false they may be, and choose their profession if that was what they desired. It had been the foundation of Braavos, one that had stood the test of time and the Valyrian Freehold at its strongest. That was what truly separated Braavos from the rest of the world: the prospect of choice, given to everyone.
It was, in his opinion, the most beautiful city in the world.
Which was why it was sad to see the usual stalls taken down, and so many ships leaving the city suddenly. It was completely understandable, of course. The events of the last few days would terrify anyone.
It was as if the entire world had suffered the worst winter in living memory, but only for a day. The waters froze, not allowing the ships to move, and snow fell suddenly, surprising everyone. The night came and did not allow the day to return, only an endless darkness.
And a day later, it suddenly returned. The snow and ice melted, allowing the ships to sail away. The light of the sun returned after its day of absence, and the world returned as it was, as if it were spring. This was not a unique phenomenon; many of his subordinates had informed him that something similar occurred there, in both Essos and the Sunset Kingdoms.
Some claimed that it had been the gods, putting the entirety of winter's wrath into a single day. Some claimed that it was just the beginning, that some demon or God was showing their wrath.
In the end, it did not matter, for the merchants chose to go home to their families, wishing to see if they were well or survived the coldness' wrath. The Sealord of Braavos found himself facing a sudden crisis, which meant that he had been stuck for the last few days in meetings with the Magisters and the Keyholder of the Iron Bank, trying to find mitigating issues to what occurred, and also what to do should this happen again.
He wondered if he should have told them that it would not.
After all, the man with no name had caught a glimpse of what occurred. After all, the Many-Faced God granted him many boons to deliver its gift. The others did not know that what occurred had not been a crisis, but one of the greatest victories that this world has ever seen.
He would admit that he had his doubts in recent memories.
Magic was a very slow-moving force, and things had changed disturbingly quickly, starting with the death of a god, the second Doom of Valyria, the resurgence of magic, the uncursing of Chroyane, the destruction of Greyscale, and the fall of the Undying Ones in Qarth.
He had gone to the Red Temple in Volantis, though he had been disguised. Mighty, Benerro undoubtedly was, but he still could not grasp the subtleties of the servants of the Many-Faced Gods. He hadn't expected much sincerity from the man, but he would admit having been taken aback by the display of a mighty force of destruction that would swallow the world whole.
Of course, it had not taken long to see that it was a ruse against Qarth, and the city had promptly fallen soon after. It was concerning, the fact that the servants of R'hllor were gaining so much influence so quickly, spreading across Essos, though they had not yet reached Braavos. The Red Faith's power was quickly becoming problematic, gaining agents in governing positions, with the hopes of spreading even further.
The resurgence of magic had changed much and given power to many who were unworthy of it. Before the Second Doom of Valyria, those who had been capable of magic had relied on sacrifices and blood to assert their will into the world, which meant that the strongest sorcerers now were likely the most monstrous, and the idea of their like becoming a political power that spanned across many of the Free cities was a terrible omen.
The Sealord, a young man whose position was unstable, had refused to act on his warning against the coming magical threat. He did not wish to be seen dealing with matters of magic, when it had not played a part in the world since Valyria's fall.
Thankfully, his order had rebuffed the Red Faith from their ambitions in Braavos, but he could feel the tensions rising, especially in Pentos, and perhaps even the Triarchy. He could hear the drums of a war in the distance, one where magic would play a very active role.
Finally, the man looked around him and found that he had returned to the House of Black and White, looking at its gates of Weirwood and Ebony. It seemed that he had, in his busy mind, returned to whence he came, for the man with no name, once had one, long ago.
He had lost it alongside his face, in his servitude to the Many-Faced God, becoming what others referred to as a Faceless Man.
Their order, even the House of Black and White, predated even Braavos. It was by the grace of the Many-Faced God that they hid them when they escaped the Valyrian Freehold, which later grew into what many considered one of the greatest cities that ever existed.
Their society was different from most others. They did not pray for Death, for it would give its gift to everyone eventually. They did not worship Death, for the Many-Faced God did not need it, but instead, they often honoured it by hunting down those who try to cheat it of its rightful dues, those who disparage the gift of life and dishonour death. Unfortunately, some were too powerful, some were protected by entities that, even with the blessing of the Many-Faced God, could not grant the gift.
This was their purpose, though they often offered the gift to others, in the hopes of spreading their influence, and finally get rid of their true targets, though many still remained.
But no more…
For Death was free at last.
He had much to plan, much to consider, for the world had shifted beneath their feet, for Death would not have its due, just as it always should have.
A voice spoke up behind him, bringing him out of his thoughts, "That's a rather beautiful building."
The man with no name turned towards the voice's source slowly, his false face not showing even a hint of the surprise that he was feeling. After all, the Many-Faced God's blessing allowed him to perceive potential endings. It was a very delicate skill, one that very few in his order ever mastered. It was an enhancement of their ability to perceive falsehoods, for Death did not lie.
It was as humbling as it was beautiful to truly understand that everything would truly end, that the gift of his god was inevitable. Yet, he did not perceive the ending of the man next to him. He could not see anything, really, for he did not exist to his senses, and yet he stood before him, looking at the House of Black and White, barely even giving the nameless man a glance.
The man looked unassuming at first glance, just a thin, relatively short man with black hair and green eyes; then again, his order had perfected the art of using such disguises to provide the gift to their target.
He should have been on guard, or perhaps attack on sight, and yet, he did not feel the need to. Nought could hide from Death but Death itself, and if the Many-Faced God blessed such a mortal, then he had no choice but to honour it.
And so, he answered, "Did you come for the gift, friend?"
The man shook his head, as a smile grew on his face, "Not today, friend. Not today. Though I wouldn't mind a tour of the place, if you don't mind."
The man with no name hesitated for a moment before answering, "Very well. All are welcome in the Many-Faced God's embrace, for all life ends in Death."
That said, they walked together and entered the House of Black and White, looking at the rows of stone benches lining it, as well as the familiar statues of the many faces of the Many-Faced Gods, from Yi-Ti to the Sunset Kingdoms. For Death had many faces, but it still remained singular.
As they walked forward, the visitor spoke up, "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Harry, by the way. What's your name?"
Harry…
It was quite an ordinary name for what was surely a very extraordinary person. There was power thrumming beneath the man's skin, but his intuition told him to be very careful around this Harry.
"I'm afraid that this man has no name," he simply answered.
"Ah, yes. I forgot about this. You're telling the truth, aren't you? I thought they might have been exaggerating, but I can see the effects of a complete form of personality death. Quite drastic in my opinion."
"It is but a small price to pay for the service to the Many-Faced God."
Harry shrugged, "How would you know?"
The man with no name did not answer, for he couldn't. He had once been a man with a name and a face, but he could not remember any of it, only his service to the Many-Faced God.
By that point in the conversation, they had arrived near the black pool, a central part of their order. Harry knelt down and passed his hands through the waters before releasing a hum, "They're all wrong about this place. There isn't a drop of poison here, just Death, instant, painless, and merciful."
The man blinked for a few moments before nodding, "It is but a gift, free for all those who seek it."
"Is it? Free, I mean," Harry asked.
The Faceless Man nodded, "It is."
He knew what the visitor alluded to, that the price for the gift was the faces of those who drank it. It was not, for the faces were nought but a gift, a tradition that the Braavosi had practised for centuries, but not an obligation.
Harry hummed thoughtfully, "You do know what I am here for, don't you?"
The man nodded, and the visitor asked, "Care to show me?"
Every instinct that he had told him to deny this request. And yet, he could feel the Many-Faced God's urging to trust this stranger. He would have imagined it being some form of magic, except that its source was the pool before him, one suffused with the Many-Faced God's gift.
It was humbling, in a way, to realise that there was still much that he could not perceive, much like the nature of the man before him. He had often thought himself to have reached the pinnacle of what his order was capable of, but perhaps there was still much to learn.
And so, without saying another word, the Faceless Man turned and walked towards one of the hidden tunnels, Harry following him without a word. They stayed silent as they walked down to the depths of the House of Black and White, arriving at the very vaults where their greatest treasures were kept.
They first arrived in the Hall of Faces, of the gifts from those who gifted their faces to their order, and Harry released an impressed whistle, "Now, that isn't something that I see every day. Concentrating one's identity on the faces of the dead, enough to act as a focus of some sort."
The Faceless Man did not bother answering. The Hall of Faces had unsettled kings and killers alike, yet the stranger only studied it with mild curiosity, as if examining an unfamiliar tool. Harry stepped closer, brushing his fingers over the smooth cheek of an old woman's face, preserved as if in sleep.
"Memory without a mind. Echo without a soul," he murmured. "Useful, especially being used as the base of an illusion of an entire identity. Still… impressive craftsmanship, though very morbid. It would drive anyone mad, unless… unless they had no personality to begin with. That makes a very disturbing amount of sense now."
The Faceless Man nodded, no longer surprised by the man's ability to understand much of their practices, as a favoured creature of the Many-Faced God.
"This way," he said quietly, turning before the stranger could linger further.
They descended deeper, into the oldest passages, the first passages that had been the foundation of their order. Every single man of his order came to this place at least once, though often most chose not to return.
The corridor opened into a small stone chamber, unadorned, as bare as the day it had been carved. Inside were three pillars of the same black stone that could be seen commonly in Asshai. However, it paled before the majesty that he could see before him, of a small shard, barely larger than a bead, that floated, moving and pulsating with crimson light.
Harry walked forward with a small smile on his face, "It's quite ingenious, what you managed to achieve with this, especially without destabilising the world around you with a fragment of Death and guiding its ambient energies into a pool, using it as an interface to copy entire identities, mannerisms, and so much more, into the faces you peel. I'm guessing that just staying for an extended amount of time in this place would result in personality death. I have to say that this is an ingenious way of using Death power without tapping into it and still end up as one of the more feared factions of magic users in the Known World."
The Faceless Man froze, completely taken aback by how accurate the visitor's words were. Many of his predecessors had gone mad trying to understand the power of the Many-Faced God and their blessing. The most common consensus was that the Many-Faced God had shed a fragment of himself to bless their order, to give them purpose, just as they shed their past selves to fulfil this purpose.
Harry nodded to him, as if he had listened to his thoughts and walked up in between the three pillars of Black Stone, "I almost hadn't noticed it when I released the rest of Death's fragment. A sliver of power which was not even actively used, but I could tell that it was incomplete, that it ached to be reunited. It had worked for so long, a mere fragment of a whole, a sliver, really, that stopped the world from falling apart."
"You wish to take it," The Faceless Man said as dread started to rise within him.
"It's not about what I wish," Harry answered, "Death is not meant to be restrained, not even by you."
Just as he finished this, the visitor touched the fragment of the Many-Faced God, and for a fraction of a second, the Faceless Man's breath was taken away, for Death unravelled all lies. It had barely been more than a moment, but he had seen the truth of Harry Potter, and it terrified him.
He had seen something truly endless, spreading far away in a true display of infinity. He had seen a creature who bent the world to his will, a monster who could slay the world, a creature that pierced the dark space between the stars, who slayed gods and demons alike.
It was no wonder that the Many-Faced God accepted him so, for he was kin, in a strange way. An alien Death, strange but true, seemed to have blessed him, nonetheless.
And just like that, the fraction of perception that the Faceless Man had received over the visitor ended, and all that remained was horror, fear, and awe. He was glad that he had trusted the Many-Faced God's guidance, for he was sure that very little could have stopped this 'Harry', if that was his true name, from his purpose.
The man turned towards him, unbothered by the fact that grabbing the Many-Faced God's blessing had killed everyone who tried to do so before him, turned them to dust as well, and spoke up, "I don't know what I expected, but I suppose you have been quite helpful so far. You have also kept this fragment of Death safe without misusing it. And assassinations aside, your purpose is a noble one. All of this means that I can give you a little gift."
The pillars of Black Stone started to chip away and melt into a black mud-like substance, and the entire room was enveloped with a pulse of crimson light. The Faceless Man closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, they were near the black pool, which he noticed had a faint crimson glow in its depth.
'Harry' spoke up, still holding a fragment of the Many-Faced God in his hand, "Your pool is blessed now, directly, by Death. Your faces will still work, but you will not be able to create new ones. And I will also grant you this."
The creature raised its hand, and a small dagger appeared, seemingly made of normal metal. Then, it started to release a crimson glow, "A gift. A single target, struck with this, will perish, no matter his or her protections. Until then, you can use it in a very similar capacity to the Shard of Death, though far more directly. Use it wisely."
The Faceless Man shakingly grabbed the dagger and felt his god's power coursing through him for a moment, relishing in it. In the meantime, Harry raised his hand and crushed the fragment of Many-Faced God. Suddenly, the shard of crimson light pulsed before disappearing, and he felt a faint sense of contentment coursing through the dagger he wielded.
Harry seemed to share that statement, having taken a deep, relaxed breath, "Finally, Death is complete and free. I didn't expect that it would feel so satisfying, but I suppose I've spent a bit too much time in this realm and gotten used to it."
And it was. The Faceless Man had felt a faint sound, as if the world had righted itself momentarily. He did not know the full connotations, but he realised one thing. Those who had cheated Death will soon find themselves having a much harder time continuing to do so. As for him and his order, he would help them get acquainted with Death's gift at last.
In the meantime, Harry's eyes widened, "Oh, right. Would you look at the time? I'm almost late for dinner."
He turned towards the exit, while whistling a small, unfamiliar tune, and the Faceless Man spoke up, "Valar Morghulis!"
That stopped the man short for a moment, and he answered, "Valar Dohaeris."
That was the last thing he said, before he disappeared without a sound in the blink of an eye. Despite himself, the Faceless Man relaxed momentarily, the memory of Harry's true nature, of the creature that had set foot in his temple, still making him nervous.
How curious.
How long had it been since he felt genuine terror?
He was lucky that it was he whom Harry met. Many members of his order would have likely attempted to attack him, which would have ended in devastation.
Alas, that did not matter now, for the Many-Faced God was now free at last, and now, he had work to do. There were many who had lingered past their time, many who had taken what was not theirs to keep, and his order would see it all repaid, for Death's gift was absolute, and none who stole a moment beyond their due would escape its reach.
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AN: This is a bit of an interlude chapter, with the consequences of the Long Night in Braavos. Honestly, I couldn't find a proper storyline that involved Braavos, despite having planned out the lore, so I thought that a chapter like this, with Harry meeting a Faceless Man, could show a bit of it. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.
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If you want to support me, check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr
I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions on them, so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.
Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.