The moment the Kindly Man began to speak, everyone else fell silent.
For the assassination of Viserys, even the leader of the House of Black and White had personally come to Gohor.
Fat Man.
Lord.
Handsome Man.
All of them turned their eyes toward the Kindly Man.
Yet instead of deciding whether they should strike together or separately, he steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Do you know what Valyria was truly like?"
The others exchanged puzzled glances.
They could not understand why he had suddenly brought up Valyria.
But the Kindly Man was the soul of the House of Black and White.
If he wished to speak of Valyria—or even the bed slaves of Yunkai—there had to be a reason.
The others straightened respectfully and listened in silence.
"The Dragonlords lived atop soaring towers. Dragons carried them from one tower to another.
Many of them passed their entire lives without their feet ever touching the ground."
His words reminded them of the Triarchs of Volantis.
Once elected, they too no longer allowed their feet to touch the earth.
The difference was that the Triarchs rode upon elephants. The Dragonlords rode upon dragons.
From its political institutions to its customs and ceremonies, Volantis had always been little more than a clumsy imitation of old Valyria.
But in Valyria's age, no one dared force a Dragonlord to bow.
As for the Volantenes...
When Viserys had possessed neither dragons nor power, they had looked down upon him from above.
They had even failed to contain a single fleet.
When Viserys died, they had insisted on witnessing the young king reduced to ashes with their own eyes.
Yet after dragons returned to the world, they had humbled themselves with every ounce of flattery they could muster.
Inside the Dragon Palace, if Viserys ordered them to leave their elephants behind and walk on their own feet...
Then they walked.
The Kindly Man slowly rose.
Bathed in moonlight, his figure resembled an ancient monument.
For a moment, the glorious empire of Valyria seemed to take shape within every listener's imagination.
Dragons.
Towering spires.
Magic.
Power.
Then his voice changed. "But tell me... What was the price?"
No one answered.
Yet each of them already sensed the truth.
The Kindly Man continued. "The price was the countless millions of slaves beneath the Fourteen Flames."
Emotion crept into his voice.
"The Valyrians possessed magic that could restore the dead to life.
So long as the body was not completely destroyed, even those pierced through the heart could be revived.
For those slaves... Even death became an impossible dream.
They were chained together in endless lines. They couldn't even destroy their own bodies.
If a craftsman broke both his hands... They simply assigned him to the mines.
If a scribe blinded himself... They sent him to hard labor instead.
Every time a slave committed suicide, the Dragonlords revived him. And with each resurrection, part of his memory disappeared.
They died.
They returned.
They died again.
They returned again.
Until they forgot who they were.
They became nothing more than empty shells that knew only how to work.
Beneath the blazing volcanoes, rivers of molten rock flowed endlessly. There was no respite. There was no escape."
A chill ran through every assassin.
Beneath that glorious empire... Lay an endless hell.
They imagined endless lines of slaves bound together by iron chains, digging through burning rock.
A crippled leg?
The Dragonlords healed it... Only to send the slave back into the mines.
"The Nameless Ones were born among those empty shells." The Kindly Man's voice carried unmistakable pride.
He never raised his voice.
He spoke almost in a whisper. Yet every word struck like distant thunder.
"So..." Fat Man swallowed hard. "So this is what 'death is a gift' truly means?"
"Yes." The Kindly Man nodded. "Only the Nameless Ones could grant those pitiful slaves true death."
"Soon, genuine death fell beneath the Fourteen Flames like life-giving rain.
And at last... The Dragonlords noticed.
It was time for those so-called Dragonlords to experience true death themselves."
According to the story handed down by the Kindly Men, this had been the true cause of Valyria's destruction.
It had been the work of the Nameless Ones.
Generation after generation, the secret of the Nameless Ones' birth had been passed from one Kindly Man to the next.
"You've all seen those Bonecrushers roaming Gohor. If we attempt to deliver death to Viserys, they'll raise the alarm.
It is entirely possible that none of us will survive. That is why I have revealed this secret to you."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"Viserys's dragon will bring back that accursed power of resurrection.
We cannot allow him to profane death.
We must not only deliver death to Viserys...bWe must also be prepared to share death with him."
Silence settled over the courtyard.
It was as though the Dragon Palace housed some terrible demon king.
And they...
Were the heroes destined to destroy him.
"So I have decided.
Our target is no longer only Viserys. We will destroy the entire House Targaryen.
Only by extinguishing the blood of the Dragonlords can we ensure that such an evil empire never rises again."
.....
News that the Eight Free Cities, the Iron Throne, and Slaver's Bay had all declared war upon House Targaryen spread through Gohor like a plague.
At the same time, royal conscription orders reached every household.
Throughout the city's streets and marketplaces, crowds gathered to discuss the coming war.
"Maybe... we should run."
"If the whole world is attacking Gohor, won't we just become slaves if we're captured?"
Such thoughts quickly began to circulate among ordinary people.
"Run?"
A shopkeeper standing before his storefront looked at the speaker.
"And where exactly would you run?"
"If His Majesty loses... Our land will be gone. Our homes will be gone.
Without him standing between us and the outside world, Volantis's slave hunters will return.
The governor of Pentos will bury us under debts our children and grandchildren can never repay.
Without His Majesty keeping them in check, the Dothraki will ride across these lands again, burning and plundering everything they see.
I'd rather die.
And if I must die... I'll die here in Gohor."
The speaker was a middle-aged shopkeeper.
He had three sons and two daughters.
In a world where fewer than half of all newborns survived to adulthood... Every one of his five children had lived.
Simple folk credited that blessing to Viserys.
The three-headed dragon banner had come to represent peace and prosperity.
Gohor was their home.
They had no intention of abandoning it.
"Which one of you wasn't given land? Which one of you pays heavier taxes than the people of the other Free Cities?
His Majesty died once for us.
So I'll die once for him. And not just me. My three sons will stand beside me.
If anyone wants to harm His Majesty... They'll have to step over our corpses first."
___________
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