Chapter 22: A Dance with Death
109 AC, Braavos
Laenor was doing his best not to smile like an idiot as he left the Sealord’s palace. Things had gone… perfectly. His father had told him of the Sealord’s political position in Braavos, but he really understated just how pressured he seemed to be, given the concessions that he accepted in their negotiations; their deal benefited them both greatly.
The plan to deal with the Triarchy was honestly one that he came up with, not because he planned to do anything, but because he wanted to use glass publicly without the risk of being assassinated by the Myrish, especially the Sorrowful Men. After all, glass was an important asset, one that he planned to use to a great extent, but could not, in fear of reprisal.
But now, anyone could theoretically forge glass, all things considered, as semi-standardised instructions to do so would be sent by Braavos. He could now finally work publicly on his small-eye project, as well as his mounted far-eye atop Castle Driftmark, meant as an observatory of the stars, and that was just the beginning.
Of course, making the recipe itself was a hassle for Laenor. Over the years, he had realised that he needed a way to measure how hot things were and came up with a system that used the expansion of mercury, a liquid metal, and certain precise measurements. This approach had felt oddly natural to him, but unfortunately, the rest of the world did not.
And so, for his instructions, he had instead tried to use the melting points of certain metals as well as their colours as landmarks, which took a lot longer than he expected, since that felt… inefficient to him, or perhaps not as efficient as using his own method. It should work well enough, but it will take some tinkering to reliably produce glass.
Laenor had always been tempted to just release the secret, but did not like the idea of the Triarchy targeting his family. In a way, the escalation of the conflict of the Stepstones had been an opportunity, one that he grasped as quickly as he could. He had to admit that there was something freeing in knowing that everyone would learn the same craft, that the world would progress in a way that it hadn’t for centuries. Laenor imagined many glass gardens being built in the North, staving off the smallfolk from starving during winter. He imagined more precision work appearing with magnifying lenses being more common, and so much more…
In the meantime, while the world would progress, the Triarchy would likely fall to infighting, with Myr likely demanding that Tyrosh and Lys not use the ‘Braavosi’ recipe, which was breaking their monopoly. Much of the Free City’s economy was built on that monopoly. They would not fail as a state, of course, given that they would still sell their infamous crossbows and luxuries like Myrish lace, which would still help them survive, but it would likely take decades, if not more, to recover from the losses that they would suffer; that was if the Triarchy’s incoming infighting didn’t cause even more damage.
After all, it was unlikely that Tyrosh and Lys would just allow themselves to be the only cities without the ability to make their own glass, and that would likely push them towards conflict. The great armies that they paid for would be split, and the members of the Triarchy would turn against one another, fighting as they have since the Doom of Valyria, and now worrying about Daemon or the Stepstones anymore.
It was the perfect plan, at least, that was what Laenor thought. The breaking of the Triarchy was inevitable, and the Sealord of Braavos would have loved to be the one to tell the world that it had been his greatest scheme, that he had stolen the recipe for glass and used it to destroy a great alliance, just because they threatened the trade of his merchants. Or maybe he’d use it to say that he had agents who figured it out, if only to avoid a war with Myr, and chose to spread it out instead of keeping it as Myr had. Either way, it would show him as an active man who worked in the shadows and would incite a certain weariness in the hearts of Braavos’ enemies.
And in exchange for allowing this, the man had allowed an agreement for Braavos to buy all porcelain produced on Driftmark, with certain quality restrictions, of course, for the next two decades, at a fixed cost. Of course, Laenor could have argued for more, maybe a percentage of the profits when the Braavosi inevitably sold it for even more gold, but he thought that it was better to have a known quantity of wealth flowing through his coffers, than to depend on the possible demand of porcelain, a market that he had technically disrupted when he created his own recipe, as it had only been made in Yi Ti in the past.
The rest of the day was spent making arrangements in the Iron Bank to make an account where the Sealord would deposit the gold. And in a single day, Laenor Velaryon had millions of Gold Dragons in his vault in the Iron Bank, securing any funds that he had regarding his projects in Castle Driftmark.
There still remained the logistics of transporting it back to Driftmark, but the Iron Bank had a service to do this, though it was quite expensive since they would be the ones responsible for anything that happened to the gold while in transit. Despite being on a ship of his own, something told him that going for that would be the better option, but he had a while before making this decision.
As for now, he had finished what he came to Braavos to do, and now, he could finally enjoy the city that he was in, which was, in his opinion, nothing short of a masterpiece. The aqueduct alone was a marvel of science and craftmanship that he wished to look at more closely.
But given the fact that the sun was setting, that would not be until tomorrow. And at least, it would be better to explore the city alongside Joffrey. Laenor knew that his friend would be disappointed to not join him in the talks with the Sealord, but he had been unwell at the time.
After all, the other boy had confessed to him that he wished to be Laenor’s sworn shield after being knighted, something that the young Velaryon had no problem with. Unfortunately, Joffrey would likely see that his decision to meet the Sealord while he was too ill to be a show of distrust, which it was not. Laenor had genuinely not expected the leader of Braavos to just meet him so quickly. He had expected it to have taken days, especially with the fact that he was unlikely to have been happy with House Velaryon after his father reneged on the betrothal agreement between the Sealord’s son and Laena.
Perhaps they could go and see if some play would be available. Laenor had always found a distinct lack of entertainment in Westeros, and wanted to see if the infamous Braavosi mummers, who were said to be the best in the world.
On the way back to the inn, Laenor found himself admiring the moonlight being reflected on the water before him. However, despite the beauty, there was something that unsettled him. He did not know why he felt this way, but there was a distinct feeling of danger around him.
A gust of chilling wind made him want to move, but before he could do so, a man spoke next to him: “It is surprising to see the blood of the Sea Snake walk through the streets of Braavos.”
Laenor stiffened and prepared to attack whoever tried to threaten him, for it must have been a threat. Very few people knew that he was in Braavos after all. Had the Sealord betrayed him? It was an irrational thing to do, given what he was looking to gain in the next few years of their collaboration, but he was sure that Joffrey would not betray him, no matter what.
He did not know why he reached for the Dragonglass dagger that he had found in the hidden cave in Dragonstone, and yet, just as he took it out, a strong hand stopped his own from moving, with a grip that felt as strong as steel.
For the first time, Laenor turned to look at his attacker, only to freeze as it was an old, thin, wrinkled man, a man who should not have possessed even a fraction of the strength being displayed. The old man spoke in a soft voice, “A man is surprised to see such a weapon in your hands.”
Laenor’s hand clenched harder on the obsidian knife, enough that it nicked him slightly. The moment that his blood touched the weapon, he felt a heat within him. He felt strong, ready to attack, and felt his hand warm up. The man must have noticed before, given the way that his eyes widened, and then in a blink of an eye, the heat disappeared, and Laenor found himself clenching nothing, as the dagger was in the hands of his attacker.
He hadn’t even seen what had happened and looked up in shock as the man examined the dagger carefully, “An old blade. A storied blade. Use it well, Laenor Velaryon, for fire flows hotly in your veins.”
To Laenor’s shock, his attacker handed him back his blade by the hilt, which he took shakingly, asking, “Who are you?”
“A man has no name,” the man softly answered, and the words made a shiver run down Laenor’s spine.
They sounded familiar, like they were half-remembered, and instinctively took a step back as he realised why: “You’re one of the Faceless Men.”
The Faceless Men were assassins who were so effective that their mere existence was in doubt. It was said that they only killed their targets, and often, men did not even know that their deaths were not natural. They were also extremely costly, and one of the reasons why powers often avoided trying to attack Braavos, at least directly.
The old man gently nodded, and Laenor tensed, “What do you want from me?”
The Faceless Man simply smiled, “It is not often that a man sees a man with more than one face, at least outside of the House of Black and White.”
“More than one face?” Laenor repeated, “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the man answered, “When you find what you seek.”
“And what is it that I seek?” Laenor asked hotly.
“Answers… Meaning… the Many-faced God can give that to you, should you accept the price of such a boon.”
The young Velaryon frowned in confusion. “Are you asking me to join your ranks?”
“You cannot be a servant of the Many-Faced-God, for your faces and names are carved upon your soul,” the man answered with certainty, “And yet, Death favours you, two-faced one. Beware, for your coming journey, your quest for answers will not leave you unchanged. Seeing what is unseen means that you will be visible to it.”
“I don’t understand,” Laenor said, expressing his confusion.
This Faceless man had come to him in the middle of the night, somehow knowing things that he should not, and had only said things that confused him even more.
The assassin moved forward and put a rather large iron coin in his hands, “You need not understand now, for you will later. Perhaps then, you will treasure such a time. But for now, only know that you hold the favour of the Many-faced God. A man will await your return when it is time, when you understand the truths of this world.”
Laenor frowned, confused, especially as the man just started to walk away from him, without saying anything else.
Despite the foolishness of it, Laenor quickly walked after him. After all, this man, this assassin, knew something about him, knew answers that escaped him for as long as he remembered: “How do I find my answers?”
The assassin released a chuckle, “To find your answers, you must first find your questions. Only then will you be able to peer into their truths.”
Laenor did not have the time to even digest what the man said before someone stumbled into him faintly, making him lose sight of the assassin for just a moment. He looked up and saw no trace of him, as if he had disappeared in thin air.
The young Velaryon looked around him and found his guards quickly moving towards him. He pretended to be listening to their apologies, claiming that they had lost sight of him for a few moments. Laenor knew that it was likely not their fault, and so would not make an issue of it. He did not foresee them being able to do anything against an assassin who could use magic. For it was magic, the strength, the speed, the way the creature disappeared, even the way Laenor’s hand heated up when his blood touched the Dragonglass dagger. There were no other explanations.
And so, he walked to the inn in silence, the iron coin weighing heavily in his hand, and the words of the assassin not leaving his mind. Something told him that they were important, very important. He only needed to understand them.
AN: This story is still relatively new, so if you'd like me to continue it, please let me know in the comments what you think of the rewrite so far.
That chapter was pretty fun to write. It was mostly aimed at overshadowing a few things that I planned for Laenor, especially regarding magic. I decided to leave dealing with the aftermath of Laenor's scheme until his return to Driftmark, since it will take a bit before things are ready to be set into motion.
As I said before, I am planning on uploading more of this story (outside of normal uploads). I have a bit of a backlog of chapter drafts for this story that I’ll try to go through when I can. As usual, I don’t mind rewriting this chapter depending on your feedback, so please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.