Yagami Light in Game of Thrones

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***

Light's heart was pounding somewhere around his throat. His gaze stayed fixed on the fat glistening tip of the crossbow bolt. Some kind of poison. Just to be sure.

Easy! The chance of survival is slim, but it's there. Varys has already made one mistake. He didn't kill me right away. We need to keep talking to buy time.

- Lord Varys. Rumours of your death have been greatly exaggerated.

- Not at all.

Light didn't think he was capable of being more surprised and frightened - but that's exactly what happened. Varis' face changed, melted. The bald spot disappeared, covered by long dark hair. The rounded lines were replaced by pointed angles. The nose became hooked. Deep-set black eyes looked at Light with a sneer.

Faceless!

- Who are you and why are you here?

- I am no one. I am here to give a man named Lancel Lannister a single gift.

By 'gift,' you obviously mean death. Then why is he talking to me?

The Faceless One has guessed his thoughts.

- These are the client's terms. You must see the face of the one you killed, hear the name of the one who carried out the revenge, and die understanding the reason why. Lancel Lannister, Magister Illyrio Mopatis sends you his best wishes.

The seconds became visceral and slow. Faceless One's finger reached for the trigger of the crossbow. Light's thoughts were scattered. He was frantically remembering. Everything he'd read about the Faceless Ones, everything Jaqen had told him. He searched for the slightest detail, the clue that would... help him save himself? Nonsense. The Faceless Ones are as effective and as ruthless as the Death Notebook. Give them a target's name and they're dead. Death Notebook. Name. NAME!

- I'm not Lancel!

Faceless One's finger stopped a centimetre from the hook.

- What?

- I'm not the one you want. Lancel Lannister is not my name. I'm not him!

The Faceless One fixed his gaze on Light.

- You're telling the truth,' the assassin's voice sounded surprised. - But you look like Lancel Lannister, you talk like Lancel Lannister, and everyone around you thinks you're Lancel Lannister!

- So what? When I came in here, you looked like Varys, talked like Varys, and I took you for Varys. But you're not Varys and I'm not Lancel.

- Then what are you?

Light crossed his arms across his chest.

- 'I see no reason to give you my name.

- A man of our order would answer 'no one'. Are you a sorcerer? A werewolf?

Light smiled silently. If Faceless One took him for a sorcerer, there was no need to dissuade him.

- The gift is meant for Lancel Lannister. If you're not him, where is the real Lancel?

You can't lie. The Faceless know how to spot a lie.

- Lancel is gone. I took over his body.

- How long ago?

- Over a year ago.

The Faceless One laughed.

- So you killed Varys after all. Illyrio didn't know that and gave us a false name. You have cheated death, sorcerer, but only for a time. Sooner or later your true name will be known, but for now...' the killer's face changed to a woman's, 'live, sorcerer.

The dart flew at Light so fast that he didn't even have time to cry out. The slight prick in his neck was almost painless and paralysed him almost instantly. Light collapsed to the floor. He couldn't make a sound, couldn't move a finger. All that remained was to watch the killer's actions helplessly.

The pretty girl turned her back to Light and threw the crossbow out the window. The sound of the waves drowned out the quiet splash. The crossbow was followed by a shapeless dressing gown, similar to the ones a eunuch liked to wear. Beneath the dressing gown, Faceless One wore a short dress that emphasised her feminine roundness and slender figure. The girl bypassed Light and headed for the exit. As if through a thick layer of cotton wool, Light heard Brienne's surprised voice, Faceless One's ringing laughter, the sound of distant footsteps, and then silence.

When the paralysis passed, Light summoned the guards, had them lock the gates, and searched the entire castle. But the search was fruitless. The Faceless One was gone, as if she'd never existed.

***

- Mirror impressions for each letter? - Maester Jurn asked. - But why? It would cost more to make a book that way than to rewrite it!

- One book, yes,' Light agreed. - But what if you need many books? A hundred, two hundred, a thousand?

- A thousand copies of one book?! Where are you going to get that many readers? There aren't that many literate people.

- Literacy can be learnt.

- That's true, my lord, but where will you get teachers?

- From the septons. The first book we publish will be The Seven-Pointed Star. To take the word of the Seven to the masses, is it not a godly thing to do?

- And the other books, My Lord?

- There will be others. Textbooks of history and arithmetic, treatises on warfare, the basics of economics, and a code of laws.

Maester Jurn remained silent, though Light could see that the question 'Why do you need so many specialists?' was on his tongue. Because the army, finance and the court are the foundations of any state. And the court is the most important of the three. Fair and impartial resolution of disputes is the main difference between a civilised society and a horde of savages.

Speaking of savages. Light made enquiries about Illyrio Mopatis and learnt that it was he who had organised the wedding of Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo. The Magister was preparing the Targaryen restoration? And Varys? What was his connection to Illyrio? What was the eunuch to the Master? An agent, a partner, a friend?

Judging by the fact that Illyrio was not stingy with the Faceless Ones, more likely the latter. But the Magister's sentimentality failed him. If it wasn't for his demand to tell the victim before he died who killed him and why, Light would have just been killed, without a chance to use the loophole in the rules. Although you have to give Illyrio credit: he has a sense of humour. Forcing an assassin to take on the guise of Varys... something Light had experienced only once before, when he had first encountered Nia. In that moment, he felt as if L had been resurrected.

Revisiting the past in light of the new information, Light reconstructed a rough picture of the events. Varis knew who Jaqen Hgar was; realised that his escape had been staged; and guessed what favour Light had demanded from Faceless One in exchange for his freedom. In the notes sent back to Illyrio, Varis provided the name of who should be blamed in the event of his death. When Varis died, Illyrio struck back.

How the Faceless Ones got hold of Varys' face is a purely technical question. Most likely, Jaqen performed some kind of magical ritual, took a cast of the dead man's face and delivered it to the Black-White House. Then Illyrio's messenger arrived there (it is even possible that the magister came personally) and agreed on everything. What will Illyrio do when he learns that the Faceless Ones have failed? Hire other assassins, less principled and less skilled. A good guard and a food taster would be enough to defend against them.

***

The Braavosian was waiting for Light in the main hall. Noho Dimittis, emissary of the Iron Bank. Lord Selwyn Tarth, Brienne's father, had travelled to Braavos at Light's request and convinced the bankers to send a representative to Storm's Edge. Schools, roads, gunpowder and foundries all required money. The funds Lord Tywin had allocated to Light for the initial settlement were almost over, and the plans were just beginning to be realised.

The most important thing for any leader is to find the right assistants. Gallin built factories, Ser Jaselyn trained recruits, Maester Jurn printed books. Light himself did what he did best: intrigue and espionage. After a long conversation behind closed doors, Ser Ronnet Connington publicly quarrelled with Light and left Storm's Edge. The knight travelled the Stormlands, cursing the Lannisters at every corner and provoking others to make careless remarks. Crows flew into Storm's Edge. Names, words, dates. Light had started a file cabinet and was compiling dossiers on everyone, enemies and friends alike.

If Ser Ronnet spied on the nobility, Light used a travelling circus to spy on the common people. Tamers, acrobats and fortune-tellers performed in the bazaars and village fairs, gathering information and spreading rumours at the same time. With their help, Light managed to spread a story about Shiren's illegitimate origins. The princess's real father was not Stannis, but Pestryak, his mad buffoon. It went down well with the nobility, who love to wash the bones of the noble. The rumour reached the lords, and soon Ser Ronnet reported that the subject of Shireen having more claim to Storm's End than Myrcella had completely disappeared from the conversation.

There was a temporary lull in the war. The Northerners declared independence and formed an alliance with the islanders. The remnants of the defeated Redwyne fleet were being repaired at Staromest. Stannis's men crowned Shireen on Dragonstone, but no one outside the island recognised the new queen. She wouldn't last long anyway. The fleet in the capital is almost ready. The flagship is named Lord Tywin; the smaller ships are named Princess Myrcella, Lord Lancel, Queen Cersei, and Queen Margaery.

Mace Tyrell spared no expense on his daughter's wedding. The lavishness of the ceremony surpassed all royal weddings before: seven singers, seventy-seven courses, and even a dancing bear. A dwarf performance was also planned, but Tyrion objected so vehemently that the Tyrells had to give in.

Another wedding took place at the Cliff. Lord Tywin insisted that his heir should have a family; after much persuasion (Light received regular letters from his uncle and was therefore aware of them) Jaime agreed. The Lannister vassals brought their daughters to the Cliff. His cousin's choice was Jane Westerling, who was the same age as Light. After the wedding, Lord Tywin wanted to name one of the ships after his son, but Jaime resisted. 'I prefer to be the only one,' he said.

The conversation with the banker took several hours: the Braavosian clung to every detail and forced Light to make a number of concessions. The amount of the loan was half of what he had asked for (Light had anticipated this and asked for a margin), and the interest was higher, but within the expected range. Taking into account the planned growth of income, Light expected to pay it off in five or six years.

When the banker left, Ser Jaselyn arrived and reported that some vagrants with clubs were crowding the gates of Storm's End, led by a septon. Light frowned. Refugees from the Riverlands had come here before, and Light had found a use for all of them in his work, but an armed band with a leader was something new.

- They behave peacefully and threaten no one,' Ser Jaselin said. - But they don't want to leave. Their leader demands to see you. Shall I send them away, my lord?

- Did they say who they were or where they came from?

Ser Jaselin shrugged.

- From everywhere, they said. Strange people, my lord. They call themselves 'sparrows'.