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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 130: The House of Black and White
The Titan of Braavos loomed over the harbor like a god of stone and bronze, its massive hand raised in eternal greeting to its visitor, or perhaps a warning to those with bad ideas.
Jaime Lannister stood at the prow of the merchant galley that brought him all the way from King's Landing, watching the colossal statue grow larger with each passing moment.
'Braavos,' he thought. 'The city of secrets, bankers and assassins. The city where I have come to sell my soul to please my sister.'
The galley glided through the harbor, passing ships of every size and origin…cogs from the North, galleys from the Summer Isles, sleek trading vessels from Volantis and Lys.
The canals of Braavos stretched before him, a labyrinth of water and stone, bridges and arches, towers and domes. It was a strange city, beautiful in its own way, but alien to a man who had spent his life in King's Landing and Casterly Rock.
Jaime touched the bag of gold at his belt. It was heavy, filled with dragons and honors, enough to buy a small army. But he knew…he had always known that gold would not be enough. The Faceless Men did not deal in gold alone. Their price was always something else. Something precious. Something the client could never get back.
'And what do I have left to give?' he wondered. 'My honor? My sword hand? My life?'
He had already given so much to Cersei. His honor, when he had pushed Bran Stark from that window. His soul, when he had sat on the Iron Throne and watched his father's men butcher the Targaryen children. His future, when he had chosen to love his sister and damn the consequences.
And now she asks for this. For the life of their son.
Jaime closed his eyes, and the weight of the truth pressed down on him. Joffrey was his son. He had never said the words aloud, had never allowed himself to fully accept it, but he had known it since the boy was born. The golden hair, the green eyes, the cruel smile…they were all his.
Joffrey was his blood, his flesh, his legacy.
And he had come to Braavos to have him killed.
Jaime opened his eyes and looked at the city before him. It was a city of life, of commerce, of opportunity. And at its heart, hidden in the shadows, was the House of Black and White.
'The temple of death,' Jaime thought. The home of the Faceless Men.
He did not want to go there. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to take the gold and return to King's Landing, to tell Cersei that he had failed. But he could not. He had promised her. He had sworn to her, as he had sworn to her a thousand times before.
'I love her,' he thought. 'I love her more than my honor, more than my children, more than my own life. And so I will do this terrible thing, and I will pay whatever price they ask.'
The galley docked at a stone pier, and Jaime stepped onto the cobblestones of Braavos before adjusting his cloak.
He had come here alone; no guards nor sellswords were accompanying him.
This mission had to be carried out in the utmost secrecy. No one had to learn of it. Only Cersei and he knew of this plan, and it had to be kept that way.
He adjusted his sword belt, feeling the familiar weight of the blade at his hip. It was a fine sword, but it would be of no use here. The Faceless Men could not be fought with steel.
He walked through the streets, following the directions he had been given. The city was a maze of canals and bridges, narrow alleys and wide squares.
Merchants called out to him in a dozen languages, offering spices and silks, jewelry and weapons.
Bankers in their fine robes hurried past, their eyes fixed on ledgers and coin purses. And everywhere, there were masks…the masks of the Braavosi, worn by nobles and commoners alike, hiding their faces and their intentions.
He found the temple at the end of a narrow canal, a building of dark stone that seemed to absorb the light around it. It was smaller than he had expected, more humble. There were no carvings on the walls, no statues at the entrance. Only a simple door of black wood, and above it, the words:
"All men must serve."
Jaime stood before the door for a long moment, his hand hovering over the handle as he felt an immense pressure on his shoulders.
He wasn't sure if that was guilt, or something to do with the place itself.
'This is where men come to die,' he thought. 'This is where men come to ask for death.'
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The interior of the House of Black and White was vast and shadowy, lit by flickering candles that seemed to float in the darkness.
The walls were lined with alcoves, each one containing a statue of a god…the Many-Faced God, the Faceless Men called it. Gods of death from a hundred different cultures, all united in their singular purpose.
Jaime walked through the temple, his footsteps echoing in the silence. The air was thick with the scent of incense and old stone, and he could feel eyes upon him, watching from the shadows.
A figure emerged from the darkness…a man, old and thin, his face kind and weathered. He wore a simple robe of grey wool, and his hands were folded before him in a gesture of peace.
"Welcome, traveler," the man said, his voice soft and gentle. "I am the Kindly Man. You have come seeking the gift of death…yes?"
Jaime nodded, his throat tight. "I have come seeking... a death. I want someone killed."
The Kindly Man smiled, but the warmth did not reach his eyes. "Many come to us seeking this. Tell me, who is it that you wish to die?"
Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but the words would not come. He tried to say Joffrey's name, but it stuck in his throat like a fishbone.
'I cannot do this,' he thought. 'I cannot-'
But then he saw Cersei's face in his mind, her green eyes pleading, her voice soft and desperate. "Please, Jaime. Please do this for me. He is a monster. He must be destroyed."
Jaime swallowed hard. "Joffrey," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Joffrey Baratheon."
The Kindly Man tilted his head, his expression curious. "The boy king of Westeros? The one who walked into the Shadow Lands and returned? The one who came to be known as the Sorcerer Prince?"
"Yes," Jaime said. "Him."
The Kindly Man was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "You understand that this is no ordinary contract. This person is protected by the Dragon Queen's army, as well as his own men. There is also the fact that he is a powerful magic user whose powers may be beyond our comprehension."
"Are you saying that it can't be done?"
The Kindly Man shook his head. "I have said no such thing. The Sorcerer may be powerful, but he is a man, and in the end…All Men Must Die. However, to kill him would require…a great sacrifice."
"I have brought plenty of gold," Jaime said, gesturing to the bag at his belt. "If this is not enough, I can get more."
The Kindly Man shook his head slowly. " The gold that you brought from King's Landing is enough, Mister Lannister."
Jamie froze. He had made sure to cover his tracks on his way here. He even came alone and bought a passage on a merchant ship.
The smile on the old man's face widened, as if he took pleasure in his shock.
"What, then?" Jaime asked, his voice sharp. "What do you want?"
The Kindly Man studied him with those cold eyes, and Jaime felt as if he were being stripped bare, every secret laid open.
"We will take your face," the Kindly Man said.
Jaime stared at him with wide eyes. "My... face?"
"Your face," the Kindly Man repeated. "Your identity. Your name. The man you are, Jaime Lannister. You will give us all of it, and in return, we will give you a new face. A new identity. You will walk out of this temple as someone else entirely. You will never be Jaime Lannister again."
Jaime felt a chill run down his spine. "That's insane. I can't-I won't-"
"Then you may leave the way you came," the Kindly Man said, his voice still gentle. "The door is open. You may take your gold and return to King's Landing. But you will not have what you came for."
Jaime stood there, frozen. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, crushing him.
'My face,' he thought. 'My identity. Everything I am.' He knew he would have to give more than just gold, but the price was too heavy.
But then he thought of Cersei. He thought of her smile, her touch, the way she looked at him like he was the only man in the world. He thought of all the sacrifices he had made for her, all the terrible things he had done in her name.
'I have already given her everything,' he realized. 'My honor. My soul. My future. What is one more sacrifice?'
And then he thought of what it would mean to be someone else. To shed the name of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the oathbreaker, the man who pushed a child from a window. He could become someone new. Someone free.
'I could start again. I could be someone different. Someone better.'
The thought was seductive, and almost intoxicating. He had been trapped in the cage of his own identity for so long, bound by the chains of his family and his name. This was an escape. A chance to be free.
"I'll do it," he said, his voice sounding more determined now. "I'll give you my face."
The Kindly Man nodded. "Then come, Jaime Lannister. Let us begin."
<><>
The ritual was unlike anything Jaime had ever experienced.
He was led to a chamber deep within the temple, a room of black stone and flickering candles. The Kindly Man and two other priests stood around him, their faces hidden behind masks of iron and steel.
They placed a mask over his face…a mask made of some warm, pliable material that seemed to mold itself to his features. He could feel it pressing against his skin, sinking into his pores, becoming one with him.
"Close your eyes," the Kindly Man said. "Think of everything you have ever been. Everything you have ever done. All the good and all the evil. All the joy and all the pain. Let it flow through you, and let it go."
Jaime closed his eyes, and the memories came flooding back.
He remembered the day he was born, a golden-haired babe in the arms of his mother. He remembered the day he learned to fight, the day he first held a sword. He remembered the Tourney of Harrenhal, the day he was knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, the day he became a Kingsguard.
He remembered the day he killed Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King, and earned the name Kingslayer. He remembered the day he pushed Bran Stark from that window, the day he began the war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. He remembered all the battles, all the deaths, all the terrible things he had done.
And he remembered Cersei. He remembered their first time, in the Casterly Rock kitchens, innocent and wrong and perfect. He remembered the day Joffrey was born, the day he first held his son. He remembered the day Tommen was born, the day Myrcella was born, the days his heart swelled with love for the children he could never claim.
"I give it all up," he whispered. "I give up the name of Jaime Lannister. I give up the face of the Kingslayer. I give up everything I have ever been."
The mask grew warm against his skin. He could feel it changing him, reshaping him, remaking him into something new.
"What do you give?" the Kindly Man asked. "What do you sacrifice?"
"I give my children," Jaime said, and the words tore at his soul. "I give them up. They are not my children. They were never my children. I do not know them. I have never known them. I am a stranger to them, and they are strangers to me."
He believed the words as he spoke them. He had to believe them. It was the only way.
"I give my face," he continued. "I give my name. I give my past. I give everything I have ever been. I am no one. I am nothing."
The mask tightened, and Jaime felt a moment of searing pain as his features shifted and changed. He could feel his jaw reshaping, his nose flattening, his cheekbones rising. His golden hair darkened to brown, his green eyes to grey. When the mask was removed, he was no longer Jaime Lannister.
He was someone else.
The Kindly Man held up a mirror, and Jaime looked at his reflection.
The face that stared back at him was a stranger's face…a man of perhaps forty, with weathered features and dark hair. He looked like a sailor, a merchant, a common man. He looked like no one he knew.
"Your new face," the Kindly Man said. "Your new identity. You will be known as... Ser. We will not give you a name. You will have to earn one, or you will not."
Jaime touched his new face, feeling the unfamiliar contours of his cheeks, his jaw, his brow. It felt strange, wrong, but also liberating.
"And... Joffrey?"
"Joffrey Baratheon will die," the Kindly Man said. "One of us will wear your face and travel to Meereen. They will find the boy king and end his reign. It will be done."
Jaime nodded slowly. "And what am I supposed to do now? I have no name. No identity. No purpose."
The Kindly Man glanced at him. "You will have to find your purpose, Ser. The Many-Faced God has a plan for everyone. You have given up everything you were. Now you must discover what you will become."
He reached out and touched Jaime's new face. "Go. Live your life. Find your purpose."
Jaime turned and walked toward the door. He paused at the threshold and looked back at the temple, the shadows, the priests who had unmade him.
"Will I ever see my family again?" he asked. "Will I ever see... Cersei?"
The Kindly Man shook his head slowly. "You are no longer Jaime Lannister. You have no family. You have no one. You are free, Ser. Free to become whoever you wish to be."
Jaime nodded, and he walked out of the House of Black and White into the light of Braavos.
He walked through the streets of the city, now, as a stranger wearing a stranger's face. The canals glittered around him, and the sounds of life filled his ears, but he felt hollow inside.
He had given up everything…his name, his face, his past, his children. He had given up everything for Cersei.
'And what am I now?' he wondered. 'What am I supposed to become?'
He did not know. He had no plan, no purpose, and no direction. He was a man without a name, without a past, and without a future.
'First…I should think of a name.'
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