Of the Dark Gift
Twenty-Eighth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Unfortunately it soon becomes clear that the Faceless Man has said all that he is going to on the matter of Sallosh, perhaps even more than he had strictly intended to, and all the rhetorical gambits you might have summoned are no use against stubborn silence. So you leave the matter be for now and instead test the waters on the idea of restoring true life, lifting the burdens of age, and otherwise extending one's time in this world without drinking of the bitter cup of undeath.
The question might be said to apply to you for taking on a dragon's form by sorcery, but truth be told you are more concerned about what the answer could mean for your mother and others whom you had restored to life. That you could burn down the House of Black and White you do not doubt, but the assassins themselves would be much more perilous to fight. It is said in Braavos that they engineered the Doom of Valyria. Perhaps it is only a tale on the wind, but you have heard too many such tales with a whisper of truth within.
"Such lives are spread thin, like a film of oil upon a quiet pond. In time the oil will be scattered, the water shall flow free," comes the cryptic reply.
You hold back a sigh, for it will serve no purpose save to anger the assassin, if indeed such a one can still feel anger. "What if it does
not? How long must one live to draw the displeasure of the Many-Faced God?" you ask instead.
"As lives become frail so is the cost of their end
lessened as their soul calls out for the Gift," the assassin explains.
By what arcane measure do the Faceless Men measure their contracts? you wonder, yet know that is a question you will receive no simple answer to this day. Perhaps there
is no simple answer, for death is their sacrament. You could as soon ask a priest of R'hllor to explain their purifying flame, or a septon to measure the Father's justice or the Mother's mercy.
Perhaps in time you will see those answers reflected in the workings of Death's hands, but for now it is your turn to make a show of faith, to answer questions in turn. "My thanks for your patience with a scholar's curiosity," you offer sincerely. "Ask of me what questions you will."
For a long moment the assassin is silent and nothing but the distorted song from behind the masking veil can be heard. Finally he speaks: "Tell me, Wisdom, how did you grow so mighty in your understanding of hidden truths in the shadow of the Palace of Dusk? How did you avoid its bitter fruits?" He pauses. "Mistake me not, I do not ask for an account of all your life, but if we two are to be more than two strangers chance-met in a monster's halls then I must know at least as much of you as you do of me, the scales of secrets balanced."
What do you reply?
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OOC: I know this is rather short, and I tried to figure out how to move things further, but there is only so much the assassin will share with you on the strength of scant acquaintance. Time to flesh out Master Liu a bit.