"Good, the paste is going to open your eye and wed you to the trees; in time, you will take my place," said the blind and old woman with a raven on her shoulder, watching the world with a judging eye.

Mother Malna was the Village wise woman, one that the Crows called a witch, though few dared attack her, smarter ones… 'Alive ones,' a part of me said, took her bread and salt, and listened to her tell her dreams. "Now off to your parents with you; I tire of your presence," said Mother Malna, using her cane, a twisted piece of white Weirwood, to smack me in the leg and chase me out.

The crow chose that moment to make herself know, landing on my shoulder, nibbling at my ear that tickled before I swatted her away with annoyance that it knew was superficial.

The laughter of the children filled the air as the summer snow fell on Hardhome. I made my way through the village, passing through the wooden houses huddled against the cliff. Hardhome was not much but it was the only town in the True North, where only clans of Free Folk, descendants of the First Men, lived. It was relatively safe, where girls were not stolen without the leave of their families, and fights were kept in the yard when a man was insulted.

Ma and Pa were waiting for me, a pot of beaten bronze holding warm stew that I could not wait to taste. I must have beaten others to supper then.

Everything was peaceful and calm.

Then one fateful night, Hell came to Hardhome... and demons descended upon the shore.

The roar of the dragons was like thunder… and their fire set the wooden houses on fire.

Ma burned to dragon fire… Pa was cut down by the spears of the man with bronze skin and bronze armor, their eyes dead. I do not know what happened to the others.

Mother Malna was atop a hill, singing a song in the Old Tongue, her hands wide as a dragon made to dive towards her, spewing fire and death. In the last moment, the dragon opened its wings and somehow flew into the cliff face, crashing into the stone and bringing rocks down onto the village; as Mother Marla screamed, her eyes engulfed in flames. A moment later, she, too, was lost in the fire of another dragon that came out of nowhere.

Come dawn, the smart ones had hidden themselves in the caves, only for the bronze men to seal them all in. They were the fortunate ones, while the ones who were not, they took us all in chains, in galleys, under threat of their steel blades and whips that ripped the skin; they chained us and made us kneel, made us no more Free Folk.

Men were of less use to them, but a few that survived were put in heavier chains. The ones that knew how to fight, ones I somehow knew would be made to fight for the enjoyment of these… Masters.

My eyes landed on another with chains, a Black Brother whose eyes were slashed, blind to the world, his limbs bleeding with half dozen cuts that would fester soon. 'A Crow was taken in chains… what sort of Kneelers were these?' I thought, seeing the man… the boy really… be forced to move.

The fires of Valyria hungered for death, yet the Masters of Valyria hungered for the gems and the glittering metals that came from the ground.

I had been too sickly since birth, a cost of the gifts of Gods, Mother Marla would say. I was too sickly for housework, not pretty enough to be made into a whore. So here I was, serving in the Mines of Valyria, forced to mine metals through the scorching heat.

That is how I died... the first time... and the second time... and the third.

The Sorcerers called it the "kiss of life", though it was more a curse.

Pain became lessened with each death, hunger mattered not, sleep was not needed.

We were all dead, man, working in the mines, after all. Chosen for not being strong enough for the fighting pits or crippled and of no better use to them. Their sorcerous ways brought each of us back each time we died... made lesser than we were before but also less bothered by the fires that burned within the walls.

I forgot their faces first, Ma and Pa... and then I forgot their names, and I had a brother... I think.

A fourth death, and a fifth... each death meant we were sent deeper into the mines, where the fires within the Fourteen Flames burned closer. Another step closer to the deepest of hells.

The only ones spared were those consumed by the fire or had their bones crushed beyond repair... or the things that moved through the ground, melting and carving their own mines through the very stone itself...

By seventh, I was just another slave with no name and no power.

Those fortunate faded after the first death, no word they uttered, just mindless dead working until their flesh burned off and bones crumbled to dust.

He endured, though... the Blind Black Brother. He was there, not too far away from me. It was as if the Gods themselves guided him to me. Every moment he breathed, he repeated it again and again... "Night gathers, and now my watch begins..."

I tried holding on, but there was nothing but the groans of Men dying and falling apart… and the non-stop chant of the Crow, his words echoing through the groans of the dead.

"It shall not end until my death."

Death was the only mercy in this hell... Death was the only god that mattered. Until death, we all served.

'I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.'

None of the Masters cared for the faces of the dead men of the mines... they cared for the numbers. We were No One to them.

"I shall live and die at my post."

I do not remember why I chose to grant him his wish or what guided me to pick up the black rock left behind by the beasts that moved through the ground. I wanted him to be taken far away from me… I wanted him to stop talking... for his watch to end… for him to be silent for once.

The rock fell, and the Black Brother died.

And he did not rise again… the mages could not make him rise again and I knew there was mercy in death. The body, someone had to drag out of the mines... the Masters of Valyria would not sully themselves, so it was me and another who had moved the body. With sand, we washed his body, for water was not wasted on the dead.

I noticed the crack in the stone, only realizing that I still held onto it. A chipped piece came off from the black stone, flat and sharp.

I wondered what he was thinking, where he had gone to after death.

Mother Malna had told me of the gift I had; Skinchangers she had callde us, the memories of those stories had not faded; nothing had faded after the foul taste of the paste.

The black stone was sharp, and it could cut the skin of a dead man. No magic without sacrifice... I recalled the Wise-woman preach in lessons of how to serve the Old Gods. I took the stone to my face, a long cut across my forehead. I stuck the skin onto the skin and felt the blood stick the skin to my own.

I was supposedly a skinchanger, so it made sense to me to wear the skin of another. The face of the blind man left me blind, but it mattered not in the darkness of the mines when I had long since learned to see without my eyes.

Then came the memories of the dead man who was supposed to have faded into nothingness.

Among those memories was one of a black stone… Obsidian… Dragonglass. The Watched were armed with knives made of Dragonglass for when the horn was blown thrice. The stone would bring true death, and it could be made into blades.

Ice or Fire, was it any different? Were the dead in the mines not Wights of a different form… were these Valyrians not akin to White Walkers of the stories I had forgotten since then.

From the Black Brother, I learned how to hold a knife... and of the Cold Ones and the true purpose of the Night's Watch. From the Black Brother, I learned how to chip at the black rock, make it into blades.

'I am the sword in the darkness.'

Each night, I waited. Each night, I gave the gift of mercy to the ones who begged, taking their faces in exchange. Soon, I learned so much, how to survive in the winter, how to dig, how to make knives and weapons.

And each night, I watched the Masters move.

'I am the watcher on the walls.'

'There is only one wall,' my mind supplied, making me scratch my head. It is far away, and I will never see it again. 'Then why did the Black Brother call it walls?'

Then came another and another. One after the other, their memories came to me, Many Faces I wore and Many Faces I served.

Then one day, I found one who did not beg for his own death but the death of a Master… one who held on, one who was cruel… one half-mad, and a Warg whose partner burned in dragon fire.

But everything had a cost, and the only thing a man owned was his life.

It was not hard to sneak out of the Mines. A dozen lifetimes of picking locks and sneaking while hunting helped. The Master did not feel the black blade slice his throat. That day, the First Master died... and one became two.

Many months later, taking the knife to cut the face off the dead Blood Mage... to take it for my own. A thousand years of knowledge flooded into me, and I understood for the first time.

Master to Apprentice, the Blood Mages moved from body to body, their souls growing with each life, becoming more and more while bound to the same Dragons that had grown so large that they could not fly with their wings.

The Blood Mages lost their names, taking on the names of the Fourteen Dragons that now lived in the Fourteen Flames... Myraxes and Vhagar, Syrax and Arrax, and many others.

All men must die, for that is the way of things. Blood Mages were not men. Abomination is what Mother Malna would call them, not men.

'I am the shield that guards the realms of men.'

Was I not dead now… yet unable to die.

"All Men must serve," I added, knowing the secrets of the Pyromancers. Their knowledge would serve so that Men could live and die as they ought to.

'I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch for this night and all the nights to come.'

And in the night, I hunted.

Enacting a Global Scale Ritual that targeted a conspiracy of Assassins, as it turned out, was exhausting... and included me tripping balls as I lived through the highlights of the life of who I could guess to be the first Faceless Men. 'That is going to be the last time I shared a connection with them as I killed them,' I thought to myself.

I wiped the wetness on my cheeks as my eyes adjusted to the white light, witnessing something as horrifying as the mines of Valyria.

Also, I would like the records to reflect that Valyrian Freehold was fucked up, and they deserved to get their asses blown up. I would have frozen their asses up just to be contrary if the little girl had not somehow managed it using all the knowledge she got from Blood Mages and Pyromancers.

"So you understand," said the voice of the girl I had dreamed of. I stood up from where I was lying, naked as the day I was born, and I looked at my surroundings, shrouded in a white mist.

She stood before me, with her pitch black hair and glowing red eyes indicating her potential as a Greenseer. This was the nameless girl who had carved her way through the Freehold… her name forgotten and sacrificed to the altar of vengeance, justice… and mercy to those who had been subjected to such cruelty.

The being before me had my senses scream 'DANGER!' and the ritual had left me disoriented enough that a more primal part of me had taken over. I held up my arm, my wand materializing in my hand and shooting a blast of destructive nuclear flames, brought into existence through my will, memory, and knowledge, only for my opponent to brandish her own wand in return. It was a familiar-looking, pale wand, long and straight with bulbs along the wood itself. I knew it to be Elder, Thestral Tail Hair Core... fifteen inches, unyielding… deadly.

My opponent simply slapped away my spell, sending a green light that hit my wand in response. In a second, the white wood turned to ashes in my hands as I watched.

The green spell-fire traveled up my arm and vaporized the flesh of the bone up to my elbow before it stopped. Once it managed to sear off the soul-stuff bound to my arm up to the elbow, the pain was gone, and I was left gasping.

Right... do not pick fights with a potential representation of Death... and try to keep a better hold of the impulses.

"Close… but no," said the being before me, reading my mind. "I am not Death, just a Greenseer… or at least I was… once. All that is left now is a shadow, as a shadow in the Weirwood who serves Death, and now you know why I do so."

"Offended that I killed off your Death Cult?" I asked, grasping the soul-stuff that was on fire from the backlash and ripping it off, letting it consume itself in a conflagration of golden and green flames.

"That is disturbing even by my standards, Wizard," commented the Faceless Men, "And I am not offended"

"You destroyed my wand," I countered.

"And you targeted the Faces of the Faceless Men," countered the girl "The wand was gone the moment you poured Star Fire through it. There is a cost of the ritual you have done, a backlash of using that particular spell; you really should not dabble in such things without a proper focus, you know."

"And you would know, how?" I asked while trying to not panic. I watched the flames burn through the flesh of my arm… stopping only when the bone remained. 'It took away all but my own soul,' my mind concluded.

"I have the knowledge of many, and in here, I have the knowledge you hold as well. It was not a spell you were ready for, not one that you would have called on had the Faceless Men shown themselves to be a threat. Now, you pay the cost…you might find that specific combination no more work for you... sacrifices should mean something after all," said the Faceless Men, waving her wand around. "now, you know who I am and why I became what I was."

A cold feeling shot through my spine as I tried to calm myself. The Elder Wand came from my memories… but to claim it as her own.

"All men must die," I repeated, now understanding more of the Faceless Men and their creed. "Am I dead then?" I asked.

"No… not yet, at least," said the girl in turn, her eyes closing for a moment as though she remembered something before she spoke, "Even if not for that dog of yours acting as an anchor through your Skinchanging, you are not dead. You are in the In-Between, Limbo, the Gate... consider it.. the bridge in that story of Three Brothers from the memories that you hold. Killing so many all at once, their souls tried their best to drag you along, so here you are. While I cannot cross to the land of the living, this neutral ground, though... we are overdue for a chat... Wizard." said the girl, twirling her wand. "Fascinating, isn't it... so simple yet so versatile, no wonder you managed to outsmart the best of them with it; the mages of Valyria would give their firstborn for less power… and they have done so in the past," she stated as she inspected the wand.

"I cannot take the whole credit," I admitted, "You do not sound so sad, what with the order you built dying out," I countered, making her look at me with pity.

"All Men must die, and All Men must serve. It was the time for Faceless Men to die, and now, it is time for you to serve," said the girl with a shrug.

"I am not a Faceless Man," I countered, knowing it was a futile argument.

"Are you not? They have learned from the ones they hunted and those they deemed too dangerous for the realms of men, as I learned the spells of Blood Mages and Pyromancers, only to turn it on them, as they would have done to you," explained the girl.

"Is that what they wanted, gain my knowledge once it was ready?" I asked.

"Had you joined the Faceless Men, they would have learned from you," said the girl. "Had you died in their hands, they would have taken your face and worn it, and your knowledge would serve them. Had you killed them all, they would have the gift and you to pick up their task… it matters not to Faceless Men. Do you think the one who stabbed that puppet of yours cared that he died when the knowledge you held could be used to bring the gift to those who have avoided them for centuries?"

I nodded, understanding why they were so contradictory. They supported me until I became capable of avoiding them… until I was considered good enough to be made part of the group. "The Faceless Men turned their very magic on Valyria, and Valyria burned for it," I stated.

"Have you not done the same for the Faceless Men?" asked the girl before me.

"You have made the call," said the girl. "You have passed the sentence, and now, you will live with that decision… the burden."

I took a step back. "I am not going to kill humans on the whims of a god," I stated simply, preparing to go out fighting.

"Foolish boy... without death, life cannot flourish. We serve the Realms of Men," she responded her tone even and under control. "The likes of Valyria are rare and far between, but should another rise, the cost to the living is far too high. The Many Faced God cares not the living, but the ones who threaten it."

"Sounds hypocritical from knives for hire," I countered, not buying the whole thing, considering that Qohor had human sacrifices, Asshai and Qarth existed for those who practiced Magic that even I would have questions looking into.

"Is it? Coin, food, steel… resources are needed to keep a close watch on the Realms, as the foolish push the boundaries of what they ought to do. The Many Faced God cares not for the sacrificed, for all return to him. He cares for those who are bound in chains, forced to remain beyond death… begging for the Gift. A Red Priest raises the dead and a few years later, an army of dead burn through cities in their religious zealotry. We keep watch, intervene when those with power abuse it." explained the Faceless One. "Some learned to avoid us, but they would not be able to avoid you."

"What makes you think I am even willing to do something like that?" I asked "Why would I pick a fight I have no qualms with."

"Do you not think there ought to be a reason you were returned from the Beyond, do you think Him of Many Faces would have let you go without reason?" asked the Faceless One "There are more of the kinds who would pervert Death, I would call them Wights, and you would call them... Liches, Ghouls, Wraiths, Vampires, Immortal Sorcerers, and God-Kings," the girl paused, as though she had tasted something bitter "Your knowledge of the undead is both disturbing and terrifying but I suppose that is why you would have been the best of us. How many ways can you list, Wizard, that can be used in this world?" asked the girl, somehow looking through my memories without even an effort, making me think it over. Off the top of my head, there were three methods, but with the proper understanding, there could be dozens.

"And you expect me to hunt your run-of-the-mill undead that thinks they have found ways to run from their end, only to prey on the innocent of having one more day on this world," I asked, ignoring that bit of thought.

"Not soon, but in time. First, the ones in hiding will show up, the users of Magic who avoid the attention in fear of what we might do, thinking us the hunters of all with Magic. Then will come the ones corrupted with power, working to build an empire of their own. There will be those who would raise the dead and bind them to their will and take that belongs to Him of Many Faces for their own ends… those like the Blood Mages, drunk on their power… you would not let another Valyria come to be, would you?" asked the Faceless Men.

"What do you expect me to do, serve like some slave, and fight everything that goes bump in the night until I am old or a cripple?" I asked, not really following the cryptic talk.

"Like a slave?" repeated the girl, "No, you are not a slave, little dragon; you have proven that once more,". I gave her a look that showed how unamused I was with the nickname. "Beneath all the bravado and arrogance, you are, however, kind… and you would not let the innocent be defenseless. With the Faceless Men gone, they will come out as cockroaches that they are. You will choose to stand against the Enemies of Men because that is the type of person you are… and when I pass you the mantle, you will become a Shield that Guards the Realms of Men, whether you want it or not. Whether you choose to do it alone, or let others join you, it is a choice of your own. Rebuild the House of Black and White if you wish, or hunt them one at a time, bringing fire and death upon them far from your tower… you will not stay idle."

"Is that so?" I asked, ignoring that bit of assessment. I had long since gone far from the idealist I was when I found myself in the life or when I had taken a life. Good men did not kill hundreds of people in a second… good men would feel regret.

"It is so, and the choice will be yours," she said with finality. "Are you not the man who chose to fight for a little girl against someone with greater power and experience. Are you not the man who refused to break the minds of the weak as punishment for protecting their families and yet binds them in oaths they could not break as would be just… Are you not the man who braved the fires of the sun to kill his enemies yet still offered his enemy a last chance."

"So they were tests," I observed, realizing that it was the case.

"Thrice you were tempted to cruelty, to become an abomination in line with the others, and thrice you refused. We are the shield that guards the realms of men… more so than that decrepit institution under the shadow of that ice wall… we are the Watchers on the Walls," she said, and I could feel the capitalization of the last phrase.

"This is happening in my head," I declared simply, "how can I know you are not some hallucination or manifestation of my guilt?" I asked.

"You do not…" she shrugged, "mayhaps I am a hallucination, mayhaps I am who I say I am, mayhaps I am you from the future, manipulating you in the dream world, does it matter when it comes down to it, you will answer the call," the girl stated with finality. "Your time here draws to a close, Wizard; mayhaps we will talk again," she said finally.

"And how do you expect me to leave this place?" I asked.

"Where do you think we are?" she asked in return.

I looked around, pushing against the mist and opening my Third Eye to see through everything.

The ground was covered in black sand, with a hill that moved up. Through the mists, I saw a familiar castle, half-remembered but easily identifiable, with dragon-shaped black stone towers. "Dragonstone," I stated, "seems fitting, given this is where I started this whole life."

"Then you know how to get back," the girl said to me.

"I suppose I could take a ship," I admitted before getting a feeling that that was not what I was supposed to do.

"I suppose you could… but this is a place beyond time, Viserys Targaryen, and there is another way off this island," said the girl with a smirk. Her red eyes had a carefree attitude that they did not have before… as though her burden was passed.

I paused before closing my eyes and reaching out with my senses. A moment was all it took for the wind to change direction and a roar to be heard almost at the same time.

A great pure white dragon, shot with streaks of red beneath the scales, landed in front of me with a thud; its head was larger than Balerion's skull, its eyes the color of crimson sunrise.

I reached out, my right hand touching the dragon before I opened my eyes to a searing pain as I felt myself engulfed in the golden fire.

AN: This chapter was inspired by "The Seven SIs You Never Hear About," ([https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13366539...3366539/1/The-Seven-SIs-You-Never-Hear-About)) which I would recommend as a read… though it made me lose sleep after reading that fic from the shear horror elements.

The connection between Hardhome, Faceless Men and Valyria is my own interpretation based on theories. My estimation is that, Hardhome happened 600 years before the canon, which is 200 years before the Doom. Uncloaking of Uthero happend 111 years after Braavos was founded, so timeline-wise it all fits. Given what we know from Faceless Men being found in the mines of Valyria, there is a decent chance that the first Faceless Men was some Warg or Greenseer from the North, given how they are training Arya to reach her full potential as a Skinchanger.

Also, the limbo is how Viserys would subconsciously process it, given his understanding of being reincarnated into a fantasy series. To him, HP-verse is off in one direction of the multiverse, so he has his own mental King's Cross, only his is Dragonstone, which was the starting point of the entire new life.

Yes, the entire chapter is Viserys having a Dragon Dream after going through the Ritual, because that much magic will have side effects and he barely got a glimpse of the consequences of his actions. With Faceless Men gone, magic users will become bolder, as well as magic starting to play a larger role in the whole world and not only for Viserys.