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Arthur Snow stood on the battlements of New Castle, watching the sun set over White Harbor's bustling port. The negotiations with Lord Manderly had concluded successfully, but something had been nagging at him throughout the afternoon—a sense of being observed that went beyond normal curiosity about his presence.
The feeling was familiar from his previous life, when enemies moved in shadows and death could come from any direction. In Murim, such instincts had kept him alive through countless missions for the Heavenly Demon Cult. Here in Westeros, those same senses whispered of danger approaching on silent feet.
A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision confirmed his suspicions. Someone was indeed watching him, positioned among the shadows cast by the castle's stone crenellations. The observer was skilled—most men would never have noticed the subtle shift, the barely perceptible adjustment of position that betrayed their presence.
But Arthur was not most men.
"You can come out," he said conversationally, not turning from his contemplation of the harbor. "Your concealment is impressive, but not quite impressive enough."
Silence stretched for several heartbeats, then soft footsteps approached across the stone. Arthur turned to see a figure emerging from the shadows—medium height, unremarkable clothing, but something indefinably wrong about the proportions of their face.
The mask was expertly crafted, so realistic it would fool casual observation. But Arthur's enhanced senses detected the subtle inconsistencies—the way certain muscles didn't quite move naturally, the slight misalignment between voice and apparent age, the telltale signs of artificial features overlaying true ones.
"A face-changer," Arthur observed calmly. "I wondered when someone with such skills would make contact."
The figure stiffened slightly, clearly surprised by the immediate identification. "You have knowledge of unusual techniques."
"I've encountered many things in my travels and studies. Including methods for disguising one's true appearance—though the approaches I learned were... different from yours." Arthur settled against the stone merlon, his posture casual but ready. "The question is what brings someone of your evident skills to White Harbor, and why you've chosen to reveal yourself to me."
"Because we have information you need, Arthur Snow. And perhaps, common interests that transcend our usual... disagreements with those who cheat death."
The assassin moved closer, and Arthur noted the fluid grace of their movements—professional training at the highest level, but still bound by mortal limitations. Dangerous to ordinary men, perhaps, but not to someone who had transcended conventional martial boundaries.
"Common interests?" Arthur's tone carried mild amusement. "That seems unlikely, given your order's usual response to those who extend their natural lifespans."
"Your situation is... unique. The Many-Faced God's servants have observed your actions, studied your methods, analyzed the implications of your presence in this world." The Faceless Man paused, seeming to choose words carefully. "You are not what we initially believed you to be."
"And what did you initially believe?"
"A practitioner of forbidden arts. Someone who had stolen years from death through necromancy, blood magic, or pacts with powers best left undisturbed." The assassin's voice carried a note of something that might have been respect. "Yet our inquiries uncovered no trace of such corruption. Whatever keeps you beyond ordinary men is no bargain with death it is a discipline we cannot name, a mastery beyond any art known to this world."
Arthur nodded slowly, appreciating the distinction. "And this revelation changes your order's position regarding my continued existence?"
"It does. But it also brings urgent news about others who do not share our... revised assessment." The Faceless Man moved to the parapet, gazing out over the harbor with the air of someone checking for observers. "The red priests of R'hllor have marked you for elimination. They see you as an obstacle to their Lord of Light's divine plan."
"I assumed as much after their failed attempts in King's Landing."
"Those were preliminary efforts. Crude applications of conventional assassination techniques." The assassin's voice grew more serious. "What approaches now is far more dangerous. They are mobilizing practitioners of shadow magic—servants of R'hllor trained in techniques that blur the line between flame and darkness."
Arthur's interest sharpened. In his previous life, he had encountered similar dual-nature techniques among certain Murim cults. "Shadow magic wielded by fire priests. That suggests more sophisticated understanding than typical religious zealotry."
"Indeed. The red priests have access to knowledge from Old Valyria, techniques that survived the Doom and were preserved in the temples of Volantis and Asshai. Shadow-binding, flame-walking, the ability to strike through dreams and visions." The Faceless Man turned to face Arthur directly. "They are sending a team of shadow-binders to eliminate you. Three practitioners, each capable of techniques your conventional allies cannot defend against."
"Timeline?"
"They departed Volantis a week ago. Given favorable winds and their... supernatural assistance with travel, they could arrive within days."
Arthur processed this information while calculating responses. Shadow magic was dangerous precisely because it operated outside normal defensive measures. Steel and armor were useless against attacks that manifested from darkness itself, and conventional guards couldn't protect against enemies who could strike through dreams.
"Why are you sharing this intelligence? The Faceless Men rarely involve themselves in the conflicts of others."
"Because your survival serves the Many-Faced God's interests in ways that your death would not." The assassin's tone suggested careful consideration behind the decision. "Your actions are reshaping the balance of power throughout the known world. Kings grow weak, priests grow ambitious, ancient forces stir from their slumber. Such chaos creates... opportunities for those who serve death in its proper time and manner."
"You want me to continue disrupting the established order."
"We want you to survive long enough for that disruption to reach its natural conclusion. The red priests seek to impose their vision of divine order through fire and blood. Such imposed order serves neither death nor the natural progression of power."
Arthur smiled grimly. "So you offer alliance against a common enemy."
"We offer information, and perhaps... limited assistance when circumstances align with our interests. But the shadow-binders must be dealt with through your own capabilities and resources."
"Understood. Is there anything else about their methods I should know?"
"They draw power from darkness but serve the light. This creates vulnerabilities—their techniques fail in direct sunlight, weaken in the presence of certain minerals, and require sustained concentration to maintain effectively." The Faceless Man produced a small vial from their robes. "This contains powdered iron mixed with salt from the Narrow Sea. Scattered around defensive positions, it disrupts shadow-binding techniques."
Arthur accepted the vial, noting its weight and the faint metallic scent when he uncorked it briefly. "My thanks. Though I suspect you're not sharing this purely from altruistic motives."
"When you defeat the shadow-binders—and we believe you will—their failure will demonstrate to other eastern powers that conventional magical techniques are insufficient against your abilities. This will force them to either abandon their efforts or escalate to methods that create... instabilities we can exploit."
"So my survival advances your longer-term objectives."
"Precisely. The Many-Faced God serves all mortals in the end, but some deaths create more interesting opportunities than others."
Arthur tucked the vial into his coat, already planning how to integrate this intelligence into his defensive preparations. "I assume this concludes our business?"
"For now. Though I suspect our paths will cross again as events continue to unfold." The assassin began backing toward the shadows. "A word of advice—the shadow-binders will likely target those closest to you first. They prefer to isolate their primary objective by eliminating support systems."
"My companions are more capable than they might assume."
"Perhaps. But shadow magic strikes through bonds of loyalty and affection. The stronger the emotional connection, the more vulnerable the target becomes." The Faceless Man's voice carried genuine warning. "Protect those you care about, Arthur Snow. Your enemies have learned to use your strengths as weapons against you."
With that, the assassin melted back into the shadows, disappearing so completely that Arthur might have imagined the entire encounter if not for the vial of protective powder in his pocket.
The sun had fully set while they talked, leaving the harbor lit by torches and lanterns that created pools of light separated by shifting darkness. Somewhere in that darkness, enemies were approaching with techniques designed to exploit the very bonds that gave Arthur's life meaning.
Time to prepare his allies—and to ensure their loyalty through methods that went beyond mere trust.
An hour later, Arthur stood in the private chambers Lord Manderly had provided, facing the three men who had become his unlikely followers. Brother Tormund, Gareth, and Sorrin waited in respectful silence, sensing the gravity in their leader's demeanor.
"Circumstances have changed," Arthur began without preamble. "We face enemies who employ techniques beyond conventional understanding. To survive what approaches, I need absolute certainty of your loyalty—not just your word, but bonds that cannot be broken by external influence."
Gareth, his spy's instincts alert, spoke first. "What sort of external influence?"
"Shadow magic. Techniques that can manipulate thoughts, exploit emotional vulnerabilities, turn allies against each other through supernatural means." Arthur moved to the room's center, where he had already prepared certain materials—incense that filled the air with subtle fragrances, candles arranged in specific patterns, and three small silver bowls. "The bonds I'm offering will protect you from such manipulation, but they require... commitment beyond ordinary loyalty."
"What sort of commitment?" Sorrin asked, his warrior's pragmatism evident.
"Blood oath backed by techniques that bind the spirit itself. You will find it impossible to betray me, not because I compel you, but because the oath becomes part of your essential nature." Arthur met each man's gaze in turn. "This is permanent. Irreversible. Choose carefully."
Brother Tormund stepped forward immediately. "I have already witnessed miracles that transcend mortal understanding. If you offer protection from spiritual corruption, I accept gladly."
"The Faith's training included warnings about such oaths," Gareth said slowly. "Binding of souls, permanent alteration of free will. They taught us to recognize and resist such techniques."
"Then you understand the seriousness of what I'm proposing. But consider the alternative—facing enemies who can turn your own thoughts against you, who can use your loyalties as weapons to destroy everything you've chosen to protect."
Sorrin had been examining the prepared materials with the eye of a professional warrior. "In the fighting pits of Volantis, gladiators sometimes underwent binding rituals to prevent betrayal of their sponsors. The process was... intense. But those who survived it became legendary for their reliability."
"This is similar in principle but more complete in application. The technique originates from ancient practices I studied during my travels in distant lands. It creates absolute loyalty while preserving individual thought and initiative within that loyalty."
Gareth struggled with the decision, his training warring against his newer understanding of Arthur's capabilities. "What guarantees do we have that you won't abuse this power over us?"
"None, beyond my word and your assessment of my character." Arthur's honesty was stark. "I'm asking for trust that extends beyond rational calculation. But consider what you've already witnessed—have my actions suggested I desire power for its own sake, or that I use others as disposable tools?"
The three men exchanged glances, each weighing risk against necessity, trust against self-preservation. Finally, Sorrin spoke for them all.
"We've already chosen to follow you. This merely makes that choice... more secure." He knelt beside one of the silver bowls. "I accept your oath."
Brother Tormund immediately joined him. "As do I. The Seven guide me to serve righteousness, and I have seen righteousness in your actions."
Gareth hesitated a moment longer, then slowly knelt as well. "My training taught me to recognize manipulation and coercion. What I see here is neither. You're offering protection in exchange for certainty, and given what we may face, the trade seems... reasonable."
Arthur nodded solemnly, then began the ritual that would bind them to him beyond any possibility of betrayal. The techniques were ancient, refined through generations of Murim practitioners who understood that absolute loyalty was sometimes necessary for survival in a world of supernatural threats.
The incense thickened, creating patterns in the air that seemed to move with purpose rather than mere air currents. The candles flared brighter, their flames taking on colors that had no names in ordinary language. And in the silver bowls, drops of blood mixed with substances that resonated with forces beyond normal understanding.
Each man spoke the words Arthur taught them, felt the subtle shifting in their minds as the oath took hold, experienced the strange comfort of knowing their loyalty was now unshakeable. Not compelled, not forced, but made natural and permanent as breathing.
When the ritual was complete, Arthur helped them to their feet, noting the subtle changes in their expressions—a deeper calm, a more profound sense of connection to their shared purpose.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Different," Tormund said wonderingly. "As though doubt itself has been burned away. I know my path, and it leads to serving you and the righteousness you represent."
"Clearer," Gareth added. "The constant calculations, the assessments of loyalty and advantage—they're gone. I serve you because it has become my nature to do so, not because circumstances make it profitable."
Sorrin tested the feeling by trying to imagine betraying Arthur, then smiled grimly. "The very concept feels... foreign. Like trying to imagine flying by flapping my arms. Theoretically possible to contemplate, but so contrary to reality that it holds no real meaning."
"Good. The shadow-binders will find no purchase in your minds when they attempt to turn you against me or each other." Arthur moved to his desk and began writing rapidly. "Now we must warn the others and prepare for battle unlike any we've faced before."
The first message was to Lord Stark at Winterfell:
My Lord—I return to the North immediately. Expect enemies using techniques beyond conventional understanding. Trust only those you are certain of, and be wary of shadows that move against the light. I will explain all when we meet. —Arthur Snow
The second was for his company at the Hollow Vale:
Weather worsens faster than predicted. Secure all positions and trust no strangers, regardless of apparent credentials. Watch for attacks that target bonds between allies. Begin evacuation protocols for non-essential personnel. I return within days. —A.S.
After dispatching the ravens, Arthur sought out Lord Manderly directly, finding him in his solar reviewing ledgers by candlelight.
As ravens carried his warnings into the northern night, Arthur reflected on the choices he had made. The soul-binding ritual would protect his most vulnerable allies from enemy manipulation, but it also marked a line crossed—the point where necessity demanded techniques that some would consider as dangerous as the threats they were meant to counter.
But in a world where enemies could attack through dreams and shadows, where loyalty itself became a weapon to be used against its bearers, such measures were not luxuries but requirements for survival.
The shadow-binders were coming, bringing techniques designed to exploit human nature itself. Arthur's response would demonstrate that some humans had transcended the limitations their enemies counted on.
The real war was about to begin—not just for political power or territorial control, but for the fundamental question of what forces would shape the future of their world.
And in a castle on the shores of White Harbor, four men prepared to face enemies that most people couldn't even imagine, bound together by oaths that made betrayal not just unlikely, but impossible.