Far away, across the Narrow Sea.
A small wooden boat rocked as it slowly approached the feet of the magnificent Titan of Braavos.
It was not merely a landmark and a lighthouse, but also a perfect defensive fortress, standing at the mouth of Braavos's harbor, guarding this prosperous Free City day after day, year after year.
"My lady, we have reached your destination."
The boat slowly drew up to shore. The boatman hunched over as he put away his oars, then gave the figure at the stern a fawning smile.
Her loose black robe concealed her figure, and her face was hidden entirely beneath her hood. Only the faint glimpse of her chin and a few dangling strands of silver-gold hair barely revealed that she was a lady.
"Clink."
With a clear ring, a fair, slender hand emerged from beneath the robe and tossed a Gold Dragon into the boatman's hand.
Although she had already paid her fare, how could she fail to see what lay behind that fawning smile?
Fortunately, after all her "heroic deeds" along the way, her pockets were hardly short of Gold Dragons.
She lifted her foot and stepped lightly onto the docks of Braavos once more, her footsteps tapping against the ground.
Clearly, she was in a fairly good mood.
Braavos truly deserved its reputation as the wealthiest of the nine Free Cities. Though the sky had only just begun to pale with dawn, the bustling harbor was already filled with voices.
Hawkers' cries rang out incessantly, and the scent of all manner of fresh seafood, still carrying the smell of the sea, filled her nose. From a nearby smithy came the occasional clang of hammering iron.
"Beautiful lady, buy some oysters."
Just as she was taking in the bustle of everyday life here and making swift progress toward her destination, a little girl carrying a wooden basin blocked her path.
The little girl's eyes were utterly innocent, filled with beautiful hopes for her future life. As she diligently promoted her wares, she took an oyster from the basin and pried its shell open with a small knife, exposing the white flesh inside, which was still slowly wriggling:
"Look, they're all fresh oysters, taken from the sea just this morning."
"I don't need any, little girl."
A clear, lovely voice came from beneath the hood. Even her refusal sounded so elegant.
Having failed to make a sale, the little girl's innocent eyes showed a trace of dejected disappointment, but she obediently stepped aside.
"Jaina Targaryen!"
As she prepared to set off toward her destination again, a man's voice called out to her in flawless Valyrian.
Beneath her hood, Jaina's lips curved into a faint smile. She lowered it, her long silver-gold hair dazzling in the sunlight. Together with her peerlessly beautiful face, it instantly drew the gaze of every man at the harbor... and not just the men.
She slowly turned, her purple eyes reflecting an upright figure wearing a light rapier, and asked with a hint of playfulness:
"What business does a Water Dancer have with me?"
Water Dancers were a type of swordsman unique to Braavos. They practiced a distinctive sword technique known as the "Water Dance."
They wielded their signature light rapiers, which allowed them to deliver fatal blows to their enemies with swifter, more elegant footwork.
"I should be asking you that, fallen princess."
As the First Sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel had pride and elegance that made him unwilling to trouble a young girl living in exile.
But the Sealord's orders left him little choice.
"Since the Targaryens already left Braavos safely, what have you returned to do?"
Although the Sealord had ordered him to expel Jaina, Syrio did not draw his rapier, merely asking the question casually.
"Relax, proud swordsman."
Jaina maintained her elegant smile as she faced the equally elegant Syrio, like two nobles attending a ball:
"I mean no harm. I have only come for the Iron Bank."
Indeed, that was Jaina's purpose.
Ever since the day Daenerys decided to marry that Dothraki Khal, she had resolved to assemble an enormous fleet.
After all, Dothraki horses could not cross the Narrow Sea on their own.
Of all the nine Free Cities, only the Iron Bank of Braavos, the wealthiest, could produce such an enormous sum.
Determined to give it a try, Jaina had made her way to Braavos, performing "heroic deeds" along the way.
She had not expected the Sealord to have received word beforehand, or to encounter his obstruction the moment she came ashore.
"The Iron Bank will not lend to you."
Although he had already suspected as much, Jaina's answer still brought Syrio a measure of relief.
As long as she had not come intending to use her Targaryen identity to vie with the Sealord for power and influence, there probably would not be any danger.
Although the current Sealord had appointed him First Sword, such an outrageous order had already left Syrio somewhat disappointed in him.
Every Sealord was chosen from among all the citizens by the magistrates and Keyholders of Braavos, following a mysterious and baffling process.
They bore the great responsibility of serving Braavos for life, until death.
After each Sealord died, people would carve a statue recording his achievements, setting them in a line beside the canals of Braavos.
By rights, a Sealord should have been broad-minded, wise, and learned.
Yet the current Sealord was actually afraid of a girl who had not even come of age, something the ever-proud Syrio found rather difficult to accept.
"Thank you for the warning, kind swordsman."
Sensing that he meant her no harm, Jaina also released her grip on the sword hilt at her waist.
But she had never been one to give up easily. An unyielding resolve shone in her beautiful purple eyes as she answered firmly:
"Although the Iron Bank believes the fallen Targaryens are no longer worth investing in, I must try regardless."
"Daenerys needs a large fleet to transport Dothraki warriors."
The astonishing news that a daughter of House Targaryen would marry the most powerful Dothraki Khal had already spread throughout the nine Free Cities.
Everyone understood that these three young dragons who had fled Westeros were eagerly gathering their strength, ready at any moment to reclaim their family's Iron Throne by force.
After hearing her explanation, Syrio had no intention of further troubling this little girl intent on restoring her family. His figure gradually disappeared into the crowd, leaving only a softly spoken warning:
"Then please be sure to obey the laws of Braavos, and do not attempt anything you should not."
"And I hope you get what you wish for, Your Highness, the fallen princess..."
"Syrio, you have disappointed me greatly."
In the Sealord's Palace, the current Sealord of Braavos, Ferrego Antaryon, sat upon his throne. His blue eyes were filled with disappointment as he looked at the First Sword who had come to report.
He was already in his fifties. More than twenty years of ruling Braavos had given Ferrego an almost obsessive arrogance about his own decisions.
Once, Ferrego had also been a young ruler full of ambition and vigor. Under his rule, nothing had ever gone wrong in the ever-peaceful, wealthy Braavos.
When Viserys and his two sisters fled to Braavos, the wise Sealord had witnessed the secret marriage pact between Oberyn Martell and Willem Darry, promising that Viserys would marry Arianne, the eldest princess of Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne.
This was very much in Braavos's interests.
But like so many rulers growing old, his increasingly frail body made Ferrego deeply afraid of threats from any quarter. All he wanted was to die peacefully upon his throne in the little time he had left.
When word reached his ears that Jaina had arrived uninvited, the aging ruler hurriedly sent out his strongest subordinate, the First Sword, hoping to drive this still-growing young dragon out of Braavosi territory.
"Your Majesty, she is merely an unarmed little girl."
Faced with the Sealord's questioning, Syrio had his own pride as well. Having never raised his hand against women or children, he stood firmly by his position and argued:
"I have already warned Jaina. She does not seem like someone who would cause trouble in Braavos."
"You are too naive, Syrio."
The aged Sealord clearly did not accept such a feeble explanation. As long as Jaina remained in Braavos, he would be unable to eat or sleep in peace:
"The Targaryens are all mad. Have you forgotten how our ancestors struggled to flee the monstrous dragons, and how many generations of effort it took to build the Braavos we have today?"
"How could you be foolish enough to believe a Targaryen so easily? Will you only be satisfied when Braavos is destroyed by raging dragonfire?"
Ferrego grew more agitated as he spoke, his furious roars echoing throughout the Sealord's Palace.
"The dragons have long been extinct, Your Majesty!"
Syrio truly could not understand why a ruler who had once been so great had become like this, actually fearing a little girl of only thirteen and those legendary dragons that had long since died out!
"Besides, I will keep an eye on her."
"If she does anything detrimental to Braavos, I will personally drive her out."
"That will not be necessary, Syrio."
After Syrio's repeated objections, Ferrego no longer trusted this First Sword who kept refusing his orders.
He waved his right hand, and a tall, slender man slowly emerged from the shadows in a corner.
"Valentine will take over your mission and make that little Targaryen whore disappear from Braavos forever!"
"Your Majesty..."
Syrio wanted to say more, but Ferrego cut him off:
"Enough, Syrio."
"If you are unwilling to serve your king, I believe there are plenty of others willing to risk their lives for me."
Looking at the nearly deranged Sealord, Syrio's expression shifted uncertainly, his thoughts unknown.
After a long while, he sighed softly and, under Ferrego's incredulous gaze, removed the badge on his chest that marked him as the First Sword of Braavos:
"My king, I believe I am no longer qualified to serve you."
He turned around, his back still elegant, yet bearing a hint of desolation:
"Braavos will not be destroyed by dragonfire. It will only be drowned at the hands of a mad ruler."