The Sealord

The reigning Sealord, Ferrego Antaryon, waited in the ship's reception hall. He wore simple clothes: a traditional Braavosi robe of gray-brown linen, with three bronze keys hanging from a silver chain at his waist.

In Braavos, only assassins wore gaudy, garish clothes. The truly wealthy, skilled swordsmen, and the Faceless Men usually dressed in black or dark colors.

Besides two silent attendants, a man stood behind him. He was lean, dressed in close-fitting gray clothes beneath a short, dark blue jacket trimmed with silver.

He looked about thirty, with brown hair and a face so calm it bordered on indifference. Only his gray-green eyes were unusually bright, as though they could see the hidden currents beneath the water. He held a long, slender sword, its narrow blade gleaming silver.

Viserys recognized the weapon. It was a Braavosi thin sword, used only by the Water Dancers unique to Braavos.

"Welcome, Prince Viserys."

"This is Syrio Forel," the Sealord said when he noticed Viserys looking at the man. "He is the First Sword of Braavos, and my personal bodyguard."

Syrio Forel looked at Viserys and gave him a courteous bow.

Viserys remembered the name. In the original story, he was the teacher who taught Arya Stark the water dance in King's Landing. He was the very man who later gave his life to cover Arya's escape from capture.

It was also the swordsmanship he taught her that drew the attention of Jaqen, one of the Faceless Men. He was an important link in the chain that would eventually lead Arya to become one of them.

"Braavos has heard many stories about you. Some are quite astonishing." The Sealord's voice brought him back from his thoughts. His gaze moved to Arthur Dayne, lingered for a moment on Dawn's hilt, then returned to Viserys's face with a barely perceptible hint of scrutiny.

He was assessing the boy, trying to determine whether he was truly a leader or merely a figurehead the knights had pushed to the fore.

Viserys then offered the customary greetings, speaking with due courtesy, neither meek nor overbearing. He asked the Sealord to allow House Targaryen to reside temporarily in Braavos and engage in lawful trade, promising to abide by the city's laws.

The Sealord listened patiently, tapping his fingertips lightly against his chair's armrest. "Braavos opens its gates to all free people who obey its laws," he said slowly. "Freedom of trade, freedom of worship, freedom of residence. So long as you do not break our laws or bring foreign wars into our waterways, you may stay. So may your people."

He paused. His tone remained gentle, but there was no mistaking its firmness. "But you must understand one thing, Prince Viserys. Braavos is neutral. We will not intervene in the struggle for the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. That has always been so, it remains so now, and it will remain so in the future. For as long as Braavos remains Braavos."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening. "That means you may live here, trade, and accumulate wealth. But you may not establish a base in Braavos, recruit an army, or plan an invasion to retake Westeros. If we discover any such activity, our protection will end immediately. Braavos will also become your enemy."

Viserys looked calmly into the Sealord's eyes, his face betraying no unnecessary emotion.

"I understand, Your Majesty," he said evenly, his voice youthful yet unusually composed. "A chance to catch our breath and trade fairly is precisely what we seek. Thank you for your hospitality and candor."

Inwardly, however, he was thinking that once his dragons had grown, Braavos would be his first target. This city, which styled itself the "bastard daughter of Valyria," had been built by nothing more than a band of slaves who had fled the Valyrian Freehold. They had sailed desperately toward the farthest corner from the Freehold and established this refuge among saltwater lagoons and reefs.

It was only because the dragonlords who ruled at the time had been merciful that their crimes had been forgiven. Yet these descendants of slaves who had survived by sheer luck had built their city entirely from stone and mounted great crossbows on its walls. Every one of those design choices had been made with dragons in mind.

They now assumed an air of tolerance and neutrality only because dragons had become legends. Once dragons returned to the world, these descendants of the "bastard daughter of Valyria" would likely be more eager than anyone to destroy them.

Viserys noticed that the Sealord opposite him was studying him. He therefore shut away his emotions, making his expression even more impassive. This only deepened the Sealord's private surprise.

The Sealord also noticed that the Westerosi knights behind Viserys, particularly the legendary Sword of the Morning, seemed to approve of everything their young king did. That realization dispelled the last trace of his disdain for Viserys.

"Very good." The Sealord leaned back in his chair. "However, I hear there are some two thousand of you. That is no small number. For the sake of peace in Braavos, I can find somewhere to house you. North of Purple Harbor, near Ragpicker's Wharf, there is an abandoned warehouse district.

"The site is large enough, and it lies by the sea, with high walls. It has stood empty ever since a great fire years ago. You may settle there for the time being. Of course, it will need repairs. As for the rent, it will be charged at the market rate and collected by the Iron Bank on our behalf. What do you think?"

The Sealord's offer sounded helpful, but concealed a calculation. How could he possibly leave an army of two thousand to its own devices inside his city? Those abandoned warehouses were isolated and easy to watch. Being beside the sea also meant his fleet could readily surround them. After all, Braavos possessed the largest fleet in the world.

Still, Viserys did not refuse. He had only intended to find somewhere to settle, and without dragons, he could hardly make any major moves. Besides, this was clearly far more efficient than searching blindly on their own. The location was also quite good and suited their needs for accommodation. Viserys thanked him again.

Over the following month, Braavos welcomed the newcomers with bustle and merriment. The abandoned warehouses at Ragpicker's Wharf were indeed as dilapidated as the Sealord had described, but their structures remained intact.

To their pleasant surprise, the tall masonry walls enclosed a spacious courtyard around the warehouses. The warehouses even had a small wharf of their own, though it was choked with rotten timber and silt. Once cleared, however, it would provide a convenient berth for his fleet.

Settling two thousand people was an enormous undertaking. Fortunately, Ser Willem Darry proved astonishingly capable at organizing them, dividing the men into several teams. One cleared the ruins and reinforced the walls. Another purchased supplies and negotiated with local craftsmen. A third stood watch, patrolled, and familiarized themselves with the surrounding area.

There was also a team made up of the most loyal and reliable confidants and veterans from Dragonstone, its numbers kept within the limits permitted by Braavos. As private guards, they were allowed to wear full armor and carry weapons. The others had to leave their arms and armor aboard the ships for the time being. Even the soldiers on patrol could carry only longswords, the bare minimum of weaponry.

Viserys did not stand aloof. Every day, he inspected the site and asked about their progress. Though the knights handled many of the practical matters, final decisions and the allocation of resources still required his approval.

He was also learning about this world as he went, about all the things the original story had never shown. After all, this was a real world.