Game of Thrones: The Dangerous Traveler (MULTIVERSAL)

GOT: The Dangerous Traveler 10

Lyn Corbray VII

Year 282 A.C. – Braavos

Lyn Corbray found himself in one of the most austere rooms he had ever seen. The House of Black and White was a place where opulence had no place. The walls were bare, made of cold stone, and only a single candle cast a flickering light over the sparse furniture: a table, a chair, and a hard cot. The air was filled with a faint scent of incense and death.

It had been a year since he arrived in Braavos, and now his appearance was a shadow of what it had been. His hair was long and unkempt, his beard uneven, and his sunken eyes reflected weeks of sleeplessness. Each day was a struggle between his ambition to learn and his exhaustion.

As he stared at the candle flame, losing himself in its dance, the door to the room creaked open. The Faceless Man entered, silent as a ghost. He wore the same black and gray robes as all the inhabitants of the House, and his face was expressionless.

"A man has reached the final step," the Faceless Man said, placing a leather bag on the table.

Lyn straightened, trying to ignore the pain each movement caused him. "And what does that mean? Can I leave this hole?"

The Faceless Man didn't respond immediately. He pulled several objects from the bag and placed them on the table: three faces made of human skin, each so realistic it seemed their former owners might open their eyes at any moment. Lyn watched, fascinated and repulsed at the same time.

"A man must choose," the Faceless Man said, his tone serene. "One of these faces will be your key. With it, you will complete your final task."

Lyn had spent his travels practicing, carrying out assassinations across the world, from Westeros to Asshai. But this was new.

Lyn leaned forward, examining the faces carefully. One belonged to an old man, another to a plain-looking young man, and the third to a dark-haired woman. As he studied them, the Faceless Man continued.

"Your target is a foreigner. A woman with white hair who has recently arrived in Braavos. She is dangerous and does not belong here."

Lyn looked up, meeting the empty gaze of the Faceless Man. 'Why her? Why now?'

"A man does not ask questions. A man acts," the man said, almost reading Lyn's thoughts. "Are you ready to fulfill your duty?"

Lyn picked up one of the faces, the woman's, and held it in his hands, feeling the strange texture of the tanned skin. "I'm always ready," he replied, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Choosing the woman's face was a decision… purely for his amusement.

The Faceless Man nodded. "Then go. And remember, a man is no one until he is everything."

"Yeah, whatever," Lyn muttered. He would rest for a day, clean himself up, and then set out to complete his mission.

Lyn knew that, depending on how things went, he might not return to the House of Black and White. That boring life wasn't for him. He had already reaped the fruits of his time here. He knew how to make those masks and how to make them work. It was powerful magic, in the right hands.

'I've already spent a year in this place,' the young man thought, and he began to recall his first experience in the House of Black and White.

He had explored every corner he could find, from the cold, empty rooms to the galleries where masks hung in endless rows. There was something seductive about the stillness, the way silence clung to everything like a second skin. But what interested him most were the people. Every figure moving through the House seemed like an enigma, and Lyn couldn't resist a good mystery.

In one of those hallways, he saw a woman with dark hair and full lips. Her face was beautiful, but there was something in her eyes that unsettled him—or even excited him: they were expressionless, like a frozen lake. Lyn approached with an arrogant smile, moving with the confidence of someone who always got what he wanted.

"Are you part of the furniture, or just a decoration too attractive for such a depressing place?" he said, leaning slightly toward her.

The woman didn't respond. She continued cleaning a mask with methodical movements, as if he didn't exist.

"Not even a hello?" Lyn insisted, his tone mocking. "Wow, it seems the Faceless Men also have women without manners. Or... are you even a woman? This is like playing a game of surprises. If I pull down your pants, will I find a penis or a vagina?" the young man said casually, but then made a playful grimace. "You know what, I'd rather not risk it."

She turned her head slightly toward him, just enough for her eyes to meet his directly. There was no emotion, no interest, just a void that seemed to swallow his words.

"Maybe you're not much of a talker," he said, leaning a little closer. "But I'm sure we can find another way to communicate... no, just kidding. I don't want to risk finding a penis down there."

The woman set the mask on a table and simply walked away, her footsteps echoing in the hallway as she disappeared into the shadows. Lyn stood there, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face. He wasn't used to being ignored, much less so deliberately.

Lyn pushed aside the memories of his first experience in the House of Black and White and simply decided to lie down for a while in what could be called his room.

Lyn would be lying if he said this time hadn't affected his psychology. Adopting different personalities every time he practiced during his travels was, at the very least, exhausting. It was also dangerous, very dangerous. Lyn didn't want to lose any part of himself; to end up as a mask of the person he once was, like the rest of the Faceless Men.

Before finally going to bed, Lyn decided to close his eyes and let his consciousness take flight. His thoughts were filled with this white-haired woman, this foreigner. He even thought she might be a Targaryen, but that would be strange. The only Targaryen Lyn knew of was Queen Rhaella, and it would be too odd to have her wandering around Braavos.

So, Lyn immersed himself in his travels and tried to search for the woman with focus. He found her.

Lyn saw her crossing the Braavosi market, adjusting the hood over her head, trying to hide more than was already hidden. Even with the shadows cast by the thick fabric, she couldn't completely conceal her hair. It was silver, of a strange hue, as if winter had been trapped in each strand; it was true silver, not the faded gold of the Targaryens. For a moment, a rebellious lock peeked out near her cheek before she tucked it away with agile fingers.

Her face, from what little Lyn could make out, was young, but there was a hardness in her features that didn't match her age. Her pale skin was marked by a scar running down her left cheek, thin but deep, like a constant reminder of a violent past. She was an intriguing girl, definitely.

Her emerald-green eyes were full of determination—or perhaps something more. Lyn found her attractive, despite her attempts to hide that beauty.

She wore dark robes, a gray that blended with the shadows of the alley. It wasn't elegant clothing, but functional, designed not to draw attention. However, the way she moved, with an almost feline grace, made it impossible not to notice her. She was light, quick, as if the cobblestones didn't quite hold her. She made almost no noise as she walked, and her boots, worn but sturdy, seemed to tell stories of long journeys and harsh terrains.

'Some kind of adventurer?' Lyn thought as he fixed his eyes on her.

She didn't carry a visible sword, but the way she kept one hand under the fold of her cloak told Lyn she was armed. She seemed very cautious, too cautious. As if she knew Lyn would come for her.

'No, it's something more,' the young man reflected. Her caution was a constant guard, but not one expecting a stealthy assassin with a dagger—rather, one expecting to be surrounded by dozens of soldiers. The girl mainly watched her positioning. Lyn had never seen anything like it; her vigilance seemed almost ridiculous to him.

Lyn was now more interested in this woman. His vision… he noticed the festive atmosphere. People were celebrating, which, from what he had learned, could only mean one thing. The Sea Lord had arrived in Braavos. Which would be… in three days.

For now, Lyn would rest. But in those three days, Lyn would wait for the woman in the market, like any other merchant. Perhaps… it would be more interesting to keep the woman alive.