The Elephant Party Triarch

One evening, several unexpected visitors came asking for an audience.

"Your Majesty, a group has arrived at the docks. They say they are 'envoys of His Excellency Maro, the Elephant Party triarch,' and wish to invite you to his residence within the Black Wall for a talk."

Viserys exchanged a glance with Arthur. They had only been in Volantis for a few days, and their whereabouts had already been discovered.

"How many? How are they dressed?" Arthur asked.

"Four, wearing the Elephant Party's white robes with purple trim. Their leader looks like a steward of some sort, and their manner is reasonably respectful. They came in a palanquin bearing the triarch's insignia."

Viserys considered for a moment. "Tell them I will be there shortly."

The soldier took his orders and withdrew.

"Your Majesty, this could be a trap," Arthur Dayne warned. "We do not know whether they are friends or enemies."

"In Volantis, there are no permanent enemies, only permanent interests." Viserys rose. "Besides, if we want to enter Valyria, we may well need their help. Or at least, we need them not to interfere. Ser Alliser, take twenty capable men and stand ready outside the residence. Ser Arthur, you will come with me."

If the harbor district of Volantis was a noisy, chaotic world of sweat and trade, then the area within the Black Wall was a realm of order, luxury, and ancient power.

The streets were broad and level, lined with exotic trees brought from the upper reaches of the Rhoyne. Their leaves were as wide as umbrellas, casting dense shade. Most of the buildings were made of white marble, decorated with gold, silver, and colored glass. The patrols were better equipped and more disciplined as well.

Triarch Maro's residence stood just east of the city center, a three-story building with an enormous courtyard. In the courtyard was a pool built of white marble, where golden carp native to Volantis swam.

Viserys and Arthur were shown into the reception room.

The room was spacious, its walls hung with tapestries depicting Valyria at the height of its glory. Dragons soared among the Fourteen Flames, ridden by their dragonlords. But the tapestries had faded, and their edges bore signs of repair, as though telling of glories long past.

They did not wait long before a man of about sixty entered. He was slightly plump, dressed in a deep purple robe embroidered with the Elephant Party's insignia. His face wore a politician's gentle smile, but his eyes were sharp.

"Welcome to Volantis, guests from afar," the man said in fluent Valyrian, the High Valyrian spoken with a Volantene accent. "I am Naharis Maro, one of the three triarchs of Volantis. Please, sit."

Viserys inclined his head in greeting and sat in a chair cushioned with silk. Arthur stood a step behind him.

Servants brought wine in silver cups and candied fruit on exquisite porcelain dishes. Naharis raised his cup. "To our friends from afar."

Viserys lifted his cup but did not drink. "How did you learn of my arrival, Lord Maro?"

Naharis smiled, a hint of cunning in his expression. "Volantis has eyes and ears of its own. When two armed ships of Westerosi design dock in our harbor, their sailors plainly well trained, and their leader a young man with unmistakably Valyrian features, it is difficult for us not to notice. Especially"-he paused-"when that young man also had a rather significant conversation with the priestess Kinvara outside the Red God's temple."

Viserys gave nothing away. "Then why have you invited me here?"

"A straightforward man. I like that." Naharis set down his wine cup and leaned forward slightly. "Let me guess your purpose. You wish to enter Valyria, do you not? Everyone with silver hair and purple eyes who comes to Volantis eventually has that thought. It is a call that runs in our blood."

"Our?" Viserys caught the word.

"Yes, our." Naharis pointed to his graying hair. "House Maro's bloodline can be traced back to the Silverwing family of Valyria, though after so many generations of mingling blood, it is no longer pure. But that longing to return to our homeland, to recover our lost glory, has never faded."

"So you have organized expeditions too."

Naharis's smile turned somewhat bitter. "Three. The first was when I was thirty, full of ambition, with my family's finest warriors and the most advanced equipment. Sixty men set out. Seven returned, bringing back nothing but mad ravings and burns that would never heal. The second time, I was more cautious. I sent only a small party of scouts to land on the relatively gentle coast on the western side of the peninsula. They never returned. The third was twenty years ago. I funded a party of sellswords and scholars, telling them to observe from the sea and not go ashore. Their ship encountered something at the edge of the Smoking Sea. Only the captain escaped. His hair had turned completely white, and he never spoke again."

Silence settled over the reception room, broken only by the faint sound of running water from the courtyard pool.

"Then you ought to be trying to dissuade me," Viserys said.

"Dissuade you?" Naharis shook his head. "No. I merely wish to tell you of the true dangers. But I also know that a man like you-I can see it in your eyes-will not be dissuaded. You have something I had when I was young: the conviction that you are different, that fate has something else in store for you."

He rose and walked to the window, looking toward the unending haze in the eastern sky. "So rather than let you blindly march to your death, let us make a bargain. I can offer help, genuinely useful help, not the false maps and nonsense you can buy in taverns. In exchange, if you find anything of value in Valyria, I want a share. Not such mundane things as gold and jewels, but knowledge, books, or things connected to dragons."

Viserys considered his words. "What can you offer?"

"Three things." Naharis turned and held up three fingers. "First, copies of ancient documents dating from before the Doom of Valyria, recording certain lesser-known details of its inner workings. Second, detailed reports on every recorded expedition that set out from Volantis for the ruins of Valyria: their departure points, the makeup of their parties, and their ultimate fates. Third, a guide."

"A guide?"

"A man who actually entered Valyria and returned alive." Naharis's expression grew serious. "At least, that is what he claims."

Viserys exchanged a glance with Arthur. It sounded rather hard to believe. As far as he knew, the original books had mentioned only two people who entered Valyria and returned alive without suffering some later calamity. One was Euron Greyjoy, the Crow's Eye of the Iron Islands, and the other was Maester Marwyn of the Citadel.

"Where is this man now?" Viserys asked.

"In a slave camp outside the Black Wall," Naharis said calmly. "He is a runaway slave who escaped three years ago from my rival, General Vaharis of the Tiger Party. Naharis claims this slave was part of his expedition ten years ago, went mad after experiencing certain things in Valyria, then killed two guards and fled. I managed to hide him, because I knew that one day someone would need what was inside his head."

"Can I see him now?"

"Of course. But I must warn you, his condition is very unstable. Sometimes he is lucid and can speak clearly in Valyrian, describing scenes from the ruins. At other times, he is utterly mad." Naharis paused. "And he insists on being bound in shackles made of Valyrian steel, saying they are 'to keep the thing inside from getting out.'"