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Chapter 20 - z2

He said I will remain here with our sons until he has wiped out every last Faceless Man, so I do not know how long that will take," Shiera said with a visible frown, it was nice knowing she was not in horrible company but she would rather be with her husband. 

"I have little doubt he and Aunt Visenya will succeed in their attempt," Prince Aenys said with a smile and Shiera offered a hesitant one of her own. It seemed to her that Prince Aenys was closer to how Maegor described him than how Queen Visenya did. 

"Now then, how big is Terrax?" Prince Aenys asked then, seemingly moving on from the serious subject matter in an instant and Shiera could only chuckle lightly. She was glad she chose to dine with King Aegon and Prince Aenys that night, she would say it was worth it in the end. 

Their discussion continued for a few more hours after that. Discussing Maegor's myriad of inventions, Terrax, their property in the Velvet Hills, along with all manner of more lighthearted subjects before it was time to head to sleep. 

Before Sheira went to Queen Visenya's room or even to the nursery to bid goodnight to her sons, she checked in with the Maester. If his suspicions were concerned, she would have a whole other mess to deal with. 

Unfortunately, they were confirmed, and Shiera felt the hopelessness and sorrow return. She had to do it alone now, bereft of her husband and goodmother, in a castle filled with people wary of her and those she barely had a relationship with. She was with child. 

__________________________________________________________________________

No One

33AC

They had made a mistake, that was the thought that became readily apparent as he looked at the newly prepared face. Ordinarily, he would slip it over his own and move into the camp resting atop a low hill in Old Andalos. Unfortunately, he and his partner had the distinct problem of not being able to get close to their target. 

Their entire operation had gone so terribly wrong. The organization and skill of the Black Company was boasted about but it appeared it was not mere bluster. There was near-constant coverage of every single part of the walled camp by at least four guards. Along with a series of fires and lanterns strewn about to make hiding in the shadows all but impossible.

The original plan had been to simply kill a guard by the wall, wait for the change in the guards, and close in on Visenya Targaryen, and end her in one quick motion. It would in all likelihood end in their deaths but he had already given the message to their fourth surviving brother. He was to retreat to Lorath and begin anew, on the off chance they failed. 

His would be a long and hard journey, given that they had lost most of their senior members and were now bereft of their most holy temple, but they had recovered from losses before. It was obvious now that his elder spoke of a previous conflict with House Targaryen, one which must have humiliated and nearly broken their order. 

He could understand the desire to not proliferate the news of such a loss but his own lack of information made it harder to act. How were they countered? Was it the dragons or something else? He did not know, and unfortunately, he was now the most senior Faceless Man alive.

Which meant it was his duty to fulfill their god's demand. The many-faced god demanded the death of Maegor Targaryen, and now after a quick vote, Visenya Targaryen too. So he and his least experienced brother set out to give the gift to Queen Visenya, while he trusted his other brother to get the injured Maegor Targaryen. 

Yet as he looked over the defenses of the Black Company's camp, he lamented his situation. This was clearly no ordinary assassination on account of the dragons involved but truthfully going after the Targaryens had been foolish and hubristic. 

 'What the hell were we thinking sending our newest member after Maegor Targaryen?' he lamented. Their traditions meant that only one without any connection or knowledge of the one to be killed was allowed to do the deed. Which made assassinating the popular Prince Maegor a challenge. 

The council eventually settled upon the newest addition to their ranks. A gutter rat picked off the streets of Lorath. It was a shock he failed at all, but he should have known better. Maegor Targaryen was renowned for his strength and prowess in battle. Their newest member would surely be at a disadvantage if the battle turned into a fight. 

A sickening feeling developed in his gut as he continued to stare out at the camp. He just had a terrible feeling about their entire mission. Nobody had ever survived their gift before, and yet Maegor Targaryen lived. 

'Is he fated to die at all,' he thought with a frown. They killed in the name of their god, and yet his brother failed to kill Maegor Targaryen and was killed in turn. 'Is he not fated to die by their hands then? Is that the horrid feeling in my gut?' he continued to think. It was all he had done for the last three moons watching the camp.

Three months of braving the last of the winter had to bear. The celebrations in camp must have been at the return of spring but throughout it all they maintained their vigilance. He had seen no opening, no way behind the walls for the better part of three moons now. 

He and his partner had killed off a few soldiers to get new faces, a crime they would one day pay for to their god, but their current mission came first. They originally wished to use the faces to quickly slip in but they had no luck, now they just had to wait to see if an opening would present itself. 

'Valar Morghulis,' he reminded himself. All men must die and it was time for Visenya Targaryen to go. She had desecrated the many-faced god, her dragon's flames burned their temple, almost all of their stored faces, along with six and ten of their twenty members. She spat in the face of death and now it was time for death to return the favor. 

It seemed their chance might just be arriving, as a mere two days ago the proper Pentoshi Army finally got off its ass and joined the advanced sellsword force. The Pentoshi camp was a veritable mess compared to the walls camp of the Black Company and he and his companion had taken turns infiltrating the Pentoshi camp. They had to both acquire information about its layout and acquire a face or two to use when inside. 

Now it seemed their long-awaited chance was here, as Queen Visenya returned to the army only the day prior and he could see through his Myrish far eye that she was leaving the walls of the camp. 

"Let us go," he whispered to his companion as he slipped on his face. Wearing the face of another was no trivial matter. Preparing a face for use was a process and over their three moons here they had managed to accrue just five faces between them. A new stockpile would need to be built in their hopefully temporary new home in Lorath, but until then they would just have to make them on the field. 

A simple nod was given to him by his duo. Typically their order went on single missions, two Faceless Men were rarely needed, unfortunately, they would likely need two to kill this Targaryen bitch. 

They each climbed atop their horse and he prepared his cover story. They had been working on an excuse to get into the camp and the Pentoshi sending out some foraging parties was the perfect chance. They ambushed two in the woods and now they were simply foraging soldiers who needed to report their findings of a small Braavosi contingent in the Norvosi Hills. 

The ride to the camp was not far but it was not close either. They had carefully observed the Black Company for the last three moons, which necessitated a fine balance between being close enough to properly gather intel and far enough away to not be spotted. 

So he gave his companion one more nod before urging his horse a little faster. This was in all likelihood a suicide mission, one he gladly took. He would join his brothers with the many-faced god soon, secure in the knowledge that the Targaryens would never be able to wipe them out completely, for who would suspect a simple black-haired fisherman from Lorath? 

The interior of the Pentoshi camp was pure chaos. The general of this army was clearly less skilled than whoever ran Maegor Targaryen's army as the camp was disordered and a right mess. It serviced them well, however, as they could move through the camp with ease after they got through the foolish guards. 

They stowed their horses in the make-shift stables and traipsed through the camp easily. Visenya Targaryen was obviously in the commander's tent. No doubt called by the arrogant Magister leading the main Pentoshi army. 

All they needed to do was close in and make the switch with the guards. Before slipping in and securing the kill. They only had to dispose of Visenya Targaryen and they each had a myriad of weapons to do so. 

Throwing knives laced with poison, daggers concealed in their boots and armor, a shortsword attached to each of their waists, and a long spear as well. He was imagining a million different ways to kill their old bitch of a target. 

An elderly woman would be trivially easy to kill if they could get to her. Even the smallest wound could do her given her weakened body. Maegor Targaryen may be able to survive stab wounds and deep slashes but what of his elderly mother? 

Bereft of her dragon, Visenya Targaryen was prey waiting to be slaughtered, and now they were nearing their succulent target. The ornate golden tent of the Magister commander stuck out like a sore thumb in the ramshackle tent and he and his partner gave each other one final look before resolving themselves. 

'Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris,' the two shared the same thoughts, he could tell just by looking into his brother's eyes. They would serve and they would in all likelihood die here. But it would be worth it in the end. House Targaryen would learn its place across the sea and his brother in Lorath would begin their order anew. 

"Good evening," he spoke with another man's voice. He knew nothing about the face he was currently wearing or the man who he peeled it off of. He got his voice due to their magical ritual but his personality and life were unknown to him. 'Just as it should be,' he thought with a smile behind his helm. He was a killer, he did not need to know what his victims thought or how they lived before he killed them. 

"Good evening, already time to change the guards?" the guard on the right of the tent asked, clearly a little nervous about something. 

'Strange,' he thought before his partner confirmed. They slotted seamlessly into the position the two guards used to have with their backs at either side of the entrance and they waited. They would wait for nightfall which was soon arriving, to obscure their movement inside the tent to those bustling around the camp and perhaps give them a chance to escape should they survive the attack. 

Soon enough the sun began to fall behind the horizon and he gave his brother one final nod. Checking the surroundings and seeing very few soldiers about, most of them crowded around campfires or already heading to sleep. 

He drew his shortsword along with his brother and entered the tent in one fell swoop. The moving cloth was quickly swiped away and he brought his left hand around to slash the guard covering the inside of the tent entrance at the neck. 

His swipe was not met with a wet squelch and a gurgle of a man drowning in his own blood however, all he swiped was a simple wooden pole laden with armor. 

"What," his brother vocalized his thoughts and he quickly swiveled his head. Looking toward the center of the room. There he saw nothing but empty tables and chairs, bereft of what should have been an old woman and a number of men. 

"We've been had!" he yelled to his brother before rustling outside of the tent alerted them both. Before they even had a chance to lower their spears, five men burst through the tent entrance and barreled into them. 

He reached for his daggers but he was quickly detained. Then he simply waited for death, they had been tricked. He had gotten too hasty and it cost them. 'No matter, Braavos may die but our order will live,' he thought before a strong blow to the back of his head knocked him out.

He awoke later in abject agony. He could move neither his arms nor legs, his mouth was gagged with a thick rope, his eyes were blocked with a thick cloth, he was bereft of his clothes, and most agonizing of all, his tongue was gone.  

'Is this hell?!' he thought over and over again, the agony from his ankles and wrists was bad enough but a constant searing pain sprouted from where his tongue ought to have been met with the thick rope of his gag. 

He screamed and screamed and screamed into his gag before his voice went hoarse and his screams turned into a placid wheeze. He was hyperventilating and felt like his entire body was on fire before a single cold word mixed fear with pain. 

"Silence," the distinctive voice of a woman was spoken right next to his ear, he jostled in his chair but he received no reaction. 

"Wonderful, good evening, Faceless Man. Or is it morning? Or night? I suppose you will never know again," the woman's voice was a chillingly cold one. It sounded almost as if there was a smile on her face, but it was not a joyful one. 

He huffed and puffed into his gag before the woman began speaking again. 

"Judging by your screams of agony, you are awake. Good, I do not want to repeat this again. I am going to tell you this plainly, cretin. You will die here," she spoke the words like they were a warning but truthfully he wished for death now. His mouth felt like it was filled with boiling water and his wrists and ankles burned like they had been cut. 

"You get to choose how you die however, give me all the information that I want, and I will stick this here knife into the base of your skull," she said while placing the tip of a very sharp object up against the back of his head. 

'You dumb bitch,' he thought defiantly. She had removed his tongue, and even if he could tell her things. He would sooner die than ever give up anything relating to his order. She was smart to remove his tongue in the first place because he would have bitten it off to deny her the chance if he could. 

"Or, if you are the fool I think you to be and resist, I will give you the most agonizing and gruesome death I can afford you," she said in a chilly, calm voice and he merely snorted, for that was all that he could do given his gag.

'Her brother must have fucked all of her brains out,' he thought with a small snicker to himself, it was clear who his tormentor was, Visenya Targaryen herself. If he was to die what was the point then? He would gladly put up with whatever pain this whore could inflict on him if it meant she was denied what she wanted. 

"I do not think you quite understand, Gutless Cretin. So let me paint you a picture," she said before backing away and kicking him right in his loins. 

The agony was enough for him to pass out there and then. His mind simply stopped working before a cold splash of water onto his face restored him back to agonizing consciousness. 

"That was for the snicker, but now I will tell you exactly what I will do. I will start with your toenails, I will pluck off each and every one with care until your feet are nothing but flesh. Then I will move onto your fingernails, and pluck them off too. Then I think I will remove your toes and fingers, as you do not really need them anymore. Then, if your mind has still not somehow broken, I will have to resort to more unsavory injuries to inflict upon you," she said with an increasingly pleased tone and he could not help but jostle in his restraints again. 

"Do not think that death will take you before I get what I want, you wretch. I am well trained in medicine and will ensure that you get to live and feel as I peel the skin from your flesh," she continued, an even more satisfied tone appearing in her voice as he jostled again. 

'Stupid brother-fucking whore, if you break my mind and have already cut out my tongue, you will get nothing!' he thought with another snicker. Knowing it made her upset was more than enough reason for him to do so. 

With another swift kick and another cold splash of water later, Visenya Targaryen leaned in again. "You still do not seem to understand, I figured you would have pieced it together when you woke up without a tongue but I do not need you to speak. I will get my information, I was being truthful when I said you can have an easy death or a hard one. You will not win here," she said with an obvious smile in her tone, and for the first time, fear outweighed the pain. 

'What does she mean?' he thought before he felt more pain and agony appear on the big toe on his left foot. Clearly, she was fulfilling her promise.