One side of the coin had a man's head, hooded and its face hidden in shadows... faceless. The other had the split full moon face I knew from the door of the House of Black and White, leaving no doubt as to who was summoning me.

My right hand lashed out, and a slash of my wand left a similar slash across my target. A piece of wooden log around ten feet away from me gained another scratch. The Cutting Curse had taken months of slashing it against a target to refine. Even now, after more than a year of near-daily practice, the cutting spell still lacked the range I would expect.

I had chosen the Cutting Curse over all other spells to master first as a way to avoid attention. I could not use any other spells that could get attention. Using Fire was intuitive... instinctive in a way that felt the same as breathing. Even if I needed a source of fire to use fire-based spells, I had a particular affinity for it. Unfortunately, it would also leave a line of burned bodies in the same city as the Son of the Mad King. A cut was fast, as useful as any other spell in

Appropriately, I had named my target "the scratching post", a name that reminded me of cats and Lannisters. That in turn reminded me of Tywin and how I wanted to cut him down, a fact I thought might improve my ability to cut thing as I practiced more. It was the closest thing to printing his head and sticking it to the target I could get without paying for a picture of Tywin. The piece of wood was a long line of targets I used to practice my one physical attack spell. The cut was nothing compared to the time I cut off the man's head. Near three months and I was not able to replicate the amount of power I had used in that instance... a feat I was unable to replicate. There was something to the spell that I was missing, a state of mind that I could not replicate since then. The spell I used was close quarters, no different than using a sword or an axe, yet I had only expected to only slash open the Sorrowful Man's throat instead of cutting off his head completely.

"You have to want it," I repeated the words of Bellatrix Lestrange on the Torture Curse. It was not really different in this world from my experience. I could want something to happen and that desire transferred to the medium I used, be it fire, living creatures or the strange magical air my wand produced that gave me the facsimile of telekinesis.

I pointed my wand at the piece of log, imagining the air rotating like a drill instead of a line to cut. I wanted there to be a hole in my target, I needed it. Ser Willem had told me not to `punch the target` but to `punch through the target` when I worked on my physical training and I focused on the same concept. I wanted to punch through what was behind the log, drilling through it with the bullet of air I was forming.

The next moment, there was a crack as the spell had completed and a small hole appeared through the wood where I wanted it to, cracking the dried log into two pieces.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I got up from the chair I was sitting on, in the workshop where I could be alone to think. My eyes now resting on the coin in the middle of my palm instead of the wand in my other hand.

"There is no choice, it would seem I need to go pray," I mumbled not liking the implications. Someone must have ordered my death, which was a problem since someone actually saw me as a threat and took me seriously.

Queen Rhaella was religious, and Viserys as a child was made to pray in the Sept of Baelor and later in the Sept in Dragonstone. I was not the most religious person in either of my lives. First, one was mostly a dislike for organized religion and how people tended to lose their reasoning ability when brought to a religious fervor of the masses. It was a personal choice in the end, though I enjoyed different interpretations of religion, finding interest in ancient stories.

In this life, I was mostly afraid that if the gods existed, they were not ones I would ever want to meet. From my knowledge of how souls worked, it made sense if multiple souls could combine into a single entity, a metaphysical crystallization of a concept formed by human sacrifice and belief in a single idea... or they existed before humans and had the same amount of care for humans as high lords cared about the lives of their peasants. It was a chicken and egg dilemma that I was more comfortable avoiding.

Granted, the Faith of the Seven was not exactly the best of the Religions for my health. Other Religions had cool instances of magic while the Seven had an aversion to magic as they hunted down practitioners in their equivalent of Witch Hunts. I understood that as the religion was formed in Andalos in response to the Expansion of the Valyrian Freehold, it was not the most ideal of religions to be allowed to exist if one was descended from Valyria and held power. I may have been biased, as I was fascinated by Magic itself, but what Maegor had done in breaking the Faith was required for House Targaryen to exist. To a family of incestuous magic-wielding Dragon Riders, Seven was the enemy. It was utterly baffling to me that no one worked to further weaken the religion of Westeros after Maegor the Cruel broke the Faith and Jaehaerys had disbanded the Faith Militant.

In the end, visiting the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea was one of those chores I was able to avoid thankfully... bringing forth safety reasons to Ser Willem. I was pretty sure Maegor was right in trying to break the Faith with how those idiots consistently sabotaged the actions of House Targaryen at every turn. The regency after the Dance of the Dragons followed by the books burnt by the idiot Baelor and whatever happened at Summerhall, were all proof that the Faith acted to reduce the power of my family.

Given how I had on my own, in a hidden basement managed to reverse engineer half the magic from memories of a book and un-tampered instances of spells that were out of reach to the Maesters or Septons in charge of the libraries in all castles in Westeros, I was cautious and rightfully paranoid.

I did not trust Septons to not report anything to Oldtown, who in turn would leak it to Robert, so I avoided the place. I was not certain if Robert knew that we were in Braavos, but the fact that he did not come knocking with an army meant that either he did not care or he did not know where we were.

That being said, I enjoyed spending some time in the Isle of Gods, under the guise of a Lysene boy. There were more than a dozen temples and some of them actually provided me with more information about Magic than I was able to remember. I had to convince Ser Willem that I was in fact going to the Sept to pray just to be here, but once I was done with praying, I was able to watch various religions and sects perform... some unique interpretations of their magic.

Aeromancers put on shows for coin on the Isle of Gods, just as Red Priests preached the coming of Winter and End of the World as they made the fire flare out and give off random colors through powders and Moonsingers sang sad songs without any words under moonlight that left men melancholic.

Placing a single candle upon the foot of the Stranger with a muttering of "Not Today" that I had picked up from Syrio, I headed towards my actual direction.

As I stood before the two doors, I again wondered if there were magic in them. The Weirwood Door was obviously magical, and the Ebony wood gave off a similar type of feeling to Weirwood. While most people would dismiss the black wood as Ebony, I knew that it was more likely to be the Nightwood, the leaves of which the Warlocks of Qarth used to make Shade of the Evening.

"Wait here," I said handing a torn piece of parchment to Ser Willem. He was probably safe, but I would use the same trick I did with the Iron Bank meeting, a raven perched atop a column high enough to watch my sword shield.

"Yes?" asked an old Kindly Man in simple robes of black and white.

"You called?" I asked, holding the iron coin held between my fingers and presenting them.

The Kindly Man narrowed his eyes before asking "Have you come to take the gift?"

"Death is peaceful, though it is not peace I am looking for yet." I countered instead, waiting for the man to say the first part, as it was they who called and I, who was expected to serve.

"Valar Morghulis" said the Priest, stepping to the side and letting me through.

"Valar Dohaeris" I responded with a smirk, taking a step into the House of Black and White.

The First thing I noticed were the statues of various gods... all a representation of Death in their Pantheons.

Inspecting the Gods of Death in this world, my eyes rested on the dragon statue upon one of the altars as I paused.

The next thing I noticed was that the connection I had to outside the building was cut off. As the part of me, that was looking through the eyes of the raven snapped back into my own flesh, I could only clench my teeth and grit through the backlash and let it pass through me.

"Balerion." explained the Kindly Man, thinking my pause to be because of the statue. The name brought an image of the large dragon skull to my mind. Earlier Targaryens had named their Dragons after Gods of Old Valyria, but to know that Balerion was a God of Death... was oddly fitting. Theories of Faceless-Men causing the Doom and letting House Targaryen survive made more sense given that the only dragon to have been left from Old Valyria was named after the God of Death.

"Follow me." said the Kindly Men noticing that I had stopped moving, leading us away from the people who were praying by the pool in the center of the large room.

Behind a column, through a door and down a set of stairs we moved, as I kept myself from reacting. I was not really certain why I did not feel the incredible feeling of death closing in, as I headed to the bowels of the one place that raised the deadliest people on the planet but, I felt calm... at peace.

"Did someone name a boy?" I asked, in an accented Braavosi. Speaking in the way the Faceless Men spoke was... complicated. The idea I had was the same as speaking with Fae in the stories. Do not lie, but do not reveal the truth as a whole.

"No, a boy's name has not been offered, and those who offered could not pay the price." countered the Kindly Men, as we entered a room with a circular desk.

"Where are we?" I asked, curious as there was only a desk and seven chairs in the entire room.

"This is the room where no one meets." explained the Kindly Man, leaving me more confused than anything else.

"I thought the deal we had was if someone names me, I would pay for myself to be unnamed." I broke the silence, curious as said deal involved the Faceless Man who was probably this one hearing my name simply stating `A Man will let a boy know when he is named.`

"The deal, as you say it, is that a man would die, or a man would serve." countered the Kindly Man, sitting across the room and motioning me to do the same. "A Kindly Man has watched, and seen enough to offer an invitation to a boy."

"If I am not named..." I started, dismissing the fact that they were watching me. Of course, they were watching me not that I expected any less.

"A man owes a debt to the Servants of the Many-Maced God." stated the Priest

"Are we going to play the pronoun game?" I asked, "Tell me the name of this man and whom I am going to kill."

"A boy is impatient, it does not suit him." countered the Assassin. "You shall see the man whose name is known to you."

"Why not have someone else do it?" I asked as I was again led through passages that left me confused as to my direction

"A man has come to us, just recently... seeking the gift."

"Did he now?" I asked playing their game of using partial truths.

"He had quite a debt to certain unsavory establishments... he thought a quick death was favorable"

"Not the Iron Bank then." I mused loudly.

"No... not them," smirked the Kindly Man in what I would assume was amusement, though reading the face of a Faceless-Man was a foolish task on its own. "The man was unable to pay."

"So they gave him to you?" I asked completing the trail of thought, confused. "Pretty sure you lot are against slaves."

"A Kindly Man took a man in after paying off his debt. A Man asked for aid and a Servant of the Many-Faced God answered. A man's life belongs to the House of Black and White until his debt is paid or he chooses to receive the gift." explained the Kindly Men.

"I don't understand why you lot did not just give him the gift if that is what he asked of you?" I asked.

"The man is relevant to you." countered the Kindly Man before stopping in front of a door and opening it.

I inspected the man, the scars, an unkept beard, the stained cloth and the stench covered a face I recognized. It was an older one from my memories but I have been working to use what I knew of Mind Arts to sharpen my memories... which was a finicky task, to begin with. "Richard Lonmouth" I named the man who had once been Rhaegar's Squire.

"Prince Viserys." greeted the knight in question, emotions of bitterness radiating from him in a way I could not ignore.

"One moment," I whispered before turning around to face the Kindly Man.

"So... you bought off his debt to ensure he lived to use him to get to me... how does that work?" I asked, rather confused. Sure, I knew that in principle, this man was probably one of the few who actually would be more loyal to me than to Robert... if he had chosen to pledge to me. From what I knew, Richard Lonmouth had been with Rhaegar when the whole Lyanna `Kidnapping` supposedly happened, so Robert would sooner cave the man's head in than offer him a pardon.

"All man must serve, and a man owes a debt to the House of Black and White. A boy can pay for it in exchange for the man himself."

"That sounds like slavery with extra steps." I countered, crossing my arms "I will not take slaves."

"A boy can pay a man's debt... or a man can pay his own debt... one way or another, a debt is owed and must be paid." insisted the Faceless Men, though I could feel... smug from him, even though I was pretty sure I was keeping my soul to myself and not casting Legilimency by letting it wander around. While such an act would give me a better idea of what those around me were feeling, I did not think it would end well if I got caught.

"Fair enough." I countered, strangely relieved that there was not someone after me directly. "Must be the cheapest kill you lot could make, was it?" I asked.

"A boy is too cynical... but not incorrect." countered the Priest. "A boy has chosen to bring the gift to another man then."

"Why not just bring the gift yourselves?" I asked, in a whisper as I looked up at the Priest.

"A boy is smart and the one who must be delivered the gift... his name is unknown to us... a Servant of the House of Black and White cannot deliver the gift to a man whose name is not known to us." countered the Faceless Men.

"I thought it was the opposite, that you could not kill those you know?" I asked.

"A boy knows things... but not all things," commented the Priest of Death "A Servant of the House of Black and White can deliver the gift to another if his name is known to them but he is not known to them."

`Because Death is impartial.` I thought out. It also meant that they could never come after me for a similar reason, as my true name, the name I had before Viserys Targaryen was gone... unknown to even myself.

"And I am special because...?" I asked, an idea forming around it.

"A boy is a Servant of the Many-Faced God, even if he does not realize it yet." explained the Kindly Man "But a boy is not a Member of the House of Black and White."

The idea of being a Servant of Death was... not something I was ready to digest. As was probably not healthy, I pushed it to the back of my mind for now.

"So, I kill someone for you and you let Richard Lonmouth go... is that all?"

"It is a start, yes."

"And where would be the end?"

"Valar Morgulis," smirked the Faceless Men.

`Translation... the end is in death` my mind supplied as I weighed my options. I could refuse, but I did not know what would happen to the knight who was still laying on the ground before me.

"I will get him now, so he can help pay off his own debts... also I want a minor favor within reason," I added, not wanting to go cheap.

"A man finds that acceptable." smirked the Kindly Man, and I realized that he was doing that more than I would expect from emotionless murder machines who worshiped death itself.

The priest presented a piece of parchment. I took it, still wearing gloves that I planned to burn after this. Poisoned Parchment was a trick these lot would use after all... though not as often as the Maesters.

"The Alchemist?" I read out loud, under which was an address. "Does the man not have a more descriptive name?" I asked.

"None that is known to the House of Black and White and none that would offer more to a boy." countered the Kindly Man.

"Where is he from?" I asked.

"An Alchemist has arrived from the Land of Asshai," responded the Faceless Man.

That made no sense whatsoever. From what I understood, the People of Asshai were Sorcerers all, they used either undead or some sort of life-extension method given how they did not seem to have children. Anyone who lived in Asshai would probably avoid Braavos given that it headquartered a group of assassins with the belief that death was part of life. If I figured out a way to live forever, I would avoid the Death Cult.

"And he showed up here?" I asked, confused. "Did he take a wrong turn from Volantis or something?"

"He has come two moons ago." countered the Kindly Man. "Looking for something."

`Or someone.` I completed. I was not certain but I had a feeling that the man had come for me. My right hand rested on the pommel of my wand, its presence bringing me comfort and dread in equal measure.

Did I feel vindicated as I threw a bucket full of water upon the man on the floor?

A little bit, yeah.

The whole mess with the Three Kingsguard not being there to protect my mother or me after the Trident had left a sour note on my tongue when it came to Rhaegar's sycophants and Richard Lonmouth was, rather obviously, one of those idiots who drank Rhaegar's Kool-aid, so to speak.

"Ser Richard." I greeted the sputtering man who seemed soberer after the bucket of water.

"Prince Viserys" repeated the man, spitting to the side "Set fire to any man recently?"

He seemed to hold a grudge against Aerys. Granted, before I found myself in Viserys' body, the memories provided suggested that the boy was spoiled rotten and hung onto every word out of the Mad King's mouth. Having Rhaegar's children be passed over after his death and being made the Prince of Dragonstone and the de-facto heir to Aerys did not sit well with most of the Court even during the Rebellion. While Richard had gone missing in the Trident, he would have heard the stories and assumed the worst.

`I really hate working with fanatics.` I thought as this was exactly what that was. The former Squire to Rhaegar was not exactly someone who would see me in the best light given how Ser Barristan had done the same. At least I was pretty sure that Robert would cave the Stormlander's face in on sight given his closeness to Rhaegar so I did not need to worry too much about any betrayal, even if I would keep an eye for it just in case.

"Only once," I said with a grin that hid a scowl. I really did not like being compared to Aerys "He tried to stab me with a poisoned dagger and he was missing his head when I did it, so it was mostly giving a man funeral rights."

The tunic I wore felt strangely warm when I said those words. I felt the comfort it provided, even if it was not a full-plate armor or even the best against preventing a broken bone or two, the Shadow-bound Linen had endured for nearly three months of use, unlike the versions I created by sacrificing rats instead of sacrificing a dead man.

"Hmm..." responded the Knight noncommittally. "You are not still not Rhaegar," he bit back, though I got a feeling that he was talking to himself, as I turned to the Kindly Man with a questioning look. The Murder-Priest shrugged in response.

"Thank the gods." I responded instead "The World could barely handle one idiot like my brother, let alone two."

The knight made a noise that sounded like a snort before he started to weep.

I turned to glare at the Kindly Priest, only to find that he had left. I sighed and entered the room, my wand tucked into my sleeve for easy access just in case.

AN:

Faceless Men are up to something and things are going on in the shadows that MC is now barely noticing. There are consequences to certain actions and some of them are catching up to Wizerys. He is making waves and possibly people are noticing.

I needed someone normal to react to Wizerys as well, since Ser Willem is either willfully ignorant or too old to care. In the case of Richard Lonmouth, the man was a supporter of Rhaegar and his former squire. He had gone missing after the Trident and theories exist of him being Lem Lemoncloak or some other named character but not in this fic. Given Arya had managed to escape to Braavos from Saltpans, which is near the Trident, he may have survived and lived in regret not helping Rhaegar given their closeness. I also wanted another knight introduced other than Ser Willem, given his age and I had other ideas for JonCon. This will also allow Wizerys to learn more about Rhaegar and find out some interesting things. Also, it is an homage to a longtime running quest I was able to partially read (because it is too long) called "Sword without a Hilt" that is a D&D crossover with Viserys as the MC, so I wanted my own version of Ser Richard.

The next chapter will take a while to write, though I have an outline and the one after that practically wrote itself. As I will be traveling for the next 2 weeks, I expect for the next upload to be within a month at best and but I might upload 2 chapters at once when I do.