John
They waited inside Konrad Blacktyde’s room until nightfall. The man was out cold at first, but even as he woke up again, John kept him tied up and gagged, so that he wouldn’t spew any more of his poison. The silence that followed, even if it was seasoned by the slaver’s vicious glares, was refreshing and John enjoyed every moment of it.
As soon as the sun set behind the walls of Volantis, John and his group began to move. Aidan knew the city well, far better than John and he knew just how to smuggle a tied and gagged slaver back to the docks. As it turned out, his strategy involved just flatly carrying Konrad for all to see. Most decent folk wouldn’t be on the streets at such a late hour and the indecent ones, burglars, thieves, beggars and killers, they knew better than to look twice.
There were guardsmen out there, of course, but Aidan knew how to avoid them and in the rare moments where one of them did catch up to them, he exchanged a few words and more than a few coins, until the guard sent them off. As such, while John, Temari and Gill all took turns carrying Blacktyde, who himself was squirming and struggling beneath their grip, Aidan walked ahead, striding through the nightly city with confidence worthy of a king.
It took them a good hour to traverse through the city and throughout it all, John remained on his guard. Konrad had friends in Volantis, else he wouldn’t have been able to avoid the Rogare bank for so long. By contrast, actually capturing him had been almost too easy. He could not help but believe that things were far from over. And yet, none tried to stop them, no one tried to attack them and while he could never be certain in this darkness, it didn’t seem as if anyone was following them.
Even at night, the docks were a cacophony of sounds and smells and stenches. Sailors from all over the world had gathered here and now that the sun had set, they were roaming the streets or drinking in one of the countless alehouses. It was loud, it was surprisingly bright, as hundreds of torches and colourful lanterns lined the streets and the stench of cheap ale mingled with expensive wine from the Arbor, with local fish and foreign spices, with urine, blood and the sweat of thousands. Others were there like them, men who carried someone else and here, John knew they would not stick out.
Aidan stopped only briefly, with his ship already in sight. There, standing atop a crate, was a red priest, one of the fire worshippers who preached of freedom and life. John saw little use in worshipping gods and he had grown up praying to another deity entirely, but what the priest spoke of didn’t seem to bad for him. As for Aidan, he listened to the sermon for a little while, a subtle smile on his face, the lights of two torches reflecting in his milky eyes.
After a moment of listening, he continued his way towards his ship, not even once looking back to wait for his companions. The Sparrowhawk was docked on the far end of the harbour, where foreign ships were allowed to dock without the harbourmaster looking too closely. As such, while most of the docks were reserved for the pleasure barks and trading ships of rich Volantene, with a smaller, walled part of the docks reserved for what remained of the Volantene fleet, Aidan’s immediate neighbours were thugs, pirates and slavers and it was best not to deal with them at all. And yet, there was a fleeting sense of camaraderie here. These people were scum and they were seen as such by the Volantene, from the lowliest beggar to the triarchs themselves. In any other port, this volatile mixture of cultures, allegiances and goals would have erupted into violence but here in Volantis, a cog from Braavos could dock side by side with a galley from Slaver’s Bay and Ironborn longship could dock between boats from White Harbour and from the Arbor without any of their crews quarrelling as they would on the high seas. Aidan and his pirates, themselves a wild mixture, did not stick out in any way.
Most of them were drunken already, sitting in close groups or all by themselves, drinking away the chill of this cold night, telling bawdy tales, singing songs and generally being merry. On better days, John would have joined them and even now, he was yearning for a good bottle. But it was not the right time for such things. He’d be merry again one day, with Temari, with Behara, with Janae. Without all of them, it felt wrong to even think of a nice, relaxing evening with friends.
“That useless lot”, Gill growled. “Just look at them go, as if there’s anything to celebrate” His cold glare moved across the crowd, wiping smiles off the faces of anyone who locked eyes with him. “As if there’s anything to celebrate. We’re still in this shitty excuse of a city, working for this shitty excuse of a noblewoman” His gaze fell upon his young daughter, who was sitting among the men, a bottle of… something in her hand and a tale on her lips that was, by John’s limited understanding of Low Valyrian, surprisingly bawdy for such a delicate woman. Judging by Gill’s immediate reaction, he was probably not too far off.
“Lili!”, he barked and the girl flinched as her father stormed towards her. They looked nothing alike in the light of the torches, she a beauty barely grown with a mane of red hair, he a scarred, grey pirate and yet, after a moment of hesitation, she met his ardent tirade with one of her own, using language so coarse that John had no trouble seeing them as father and daughter.
Aidan watched them argue with a wide, gleeful grin on his face. “Looks like Gill has a whole situation on his hands again”, he chuckled. The old man heard him and threw a brief, apologetic look over his shoulder. “You see this, captain?”, he growled, snatching the bottle from his daughter’s hands. The girl staggered back a bit, clearly intoxicated, as Gill took a long, hard swing from the bottle. Immediately, his expression soured even further and he spat onto the ground instead of swallowing, before throwing the entire bottle over board. “Here I stand, having taught that girl all I know and the moment I’m not around, she picks up the cheapest wine I’ve ever tasted, like some harbour harlot!”, he complained. “Where is that from, girl? Lhazar? Ibben?”
Now, the young woman paused, her anger replaced by a hint of genuine guilt. “A Qohorik gave it to me…”, she admitted and for a second, there was genuine disgust on Gill’s face. “Qohor!”, he exclaimed. “Explains why it tastes like goat piss” He turned back to his captain. “I’ll be needing the night off, Aidan”, he sighed. “That girl will be the death of me, I swear”
“I allow it, mate”, Aidan replied at once. “But be gentle with your daughter, you’ve drank your fair share of bad wine as well in your youth, haven’t ya?” Gill gave him a disgruntled nod. “Yeah, that’s precisely the problem”, he growled. “I expect better from my only child than to repeat my mistakes” A surprisingly devious smirk appeared on the young woman’s face. “Only child that you know of”, she added, before she backed off, hurrying below deck before her father could react.
“I… oh, that’s it!”, he barked after a moment of hesitation. Before he stormed after her, he glanced at the crew. “And what are you looking at?”, he growled. “Don’t think I’ll forget y’all let my daughter drink that Qohorik brew! Drink all you want if you got nothing better to do, you useless lot, but keep an eye on the kid. I don’t want her to grow up like you lot”
“It’s a bit too late for that, but she’s better for it”, Aidan whispered. “Gill’s a fine man, but the world doesn’t need two of him” He gave the captured Konrad Blacktyde a pat onto the back and the slaver squirmed beneath Temari’s grip. “Alright, lads!”, Aidan then proclaimed. “It’s been a hell of a day, but I’m glad to tell y’all that it has been worth it! We caught us a slaving son of a bitch and he’ll be our way of getting the Rogare bank off our dainty arses!”
This got a bit of a cheer out of his crew, but the looks directed at Konrad were decidedly hostile. John and Temari glanced at each other and they understood at once that perhaps one of them should stand guard over the slaver tonight, for they still needed him. On better days, he would have joined in on lynching him and Aidan probably felt the same, but as long as Lysara Rogare still had a say in this, he couldn’t just discard her wishes.
“So, drink all ye want, mates!”, Aidan exclaimed, which earned him a deafening cheer from his men. “But I don’t think we’ll stay in Volantis for much longer. Once Lysara confirms my debt is paid, we’ll be off here, so come tomorrow make sure you can still pull your weight” His tone was serious here, sterner than John would have expected, but he could understand the sentiment. He was looking forward for getting out of this city as well. They needed to get to Slaver’s Bay, to Abbas al-Yunkari and to Janae and Behara.
Carrying a lantern with him, Aidan led the two men down into the belly of the ship, with Konrad Blacktyde still carried by them. The slaver was fully awake now, but he had thankfully stopped struggling. It was clever of him to cooperate now, knowing that there was an entire crew of slaver-hating pirates just a few feet above him and his expression was now less angry and more frightened, much to John’s satisfaction.
“Not so tough now, are you?”, he growled, as Aidan led them to a small, windowless room, a holding cell as the sellsword immediately realized. There was only a narrow, wooden bench which Konrad was shoved onto and aside from that the cell was empty. The room could even be locked from the outside, at which point it had to be pitch black in there.
“Alright then… Blacktyde”, Aidan growled, his tone low and dangerous, as he approached the bound and gagged man. Konrad did not even try to reply, instead he merely shot the pirate a cold, dark glare. “I’m going to take this off now”, he continued. “Unlike you, I don’t treat people like animals… not even if they deserve it” With these words, he pulled the gag from Konrad’s mouth, though he kept the slaver’s hands tied.
Immediately, Konrad began to cough, a violent, pitiful croaking that ended with him spitting onto the ground. “You…”, he gasped and his voice was thin. “I’m gonna… oh, you’ll regret this, I’m gonna…!” He paused as Aidan approached him again, the gag still in hand. “Trust me, I already do”, he replied. “So, you want to keep yapping? Be glad I’m not going to leave you with my mates up there, because they wouldn’t be as kind”
Konrad grimaced and in his gaze, there was anger, a hint of fear and pure hatred. “You…”, he hissed and a cruel smirk formed on his face. “You have no idea what this is about, do you? I heard you talking. I listened and you… you really think this is about my debt to the Rogare bank?” Aidan shrugged. “Considering I am also in debt, I know the lengths they’ll go through to collect what is theirs”, he replied.
Immediately, the slaver shook his head. “Fuck no, that’s not what is happening here”, he spat. “Listen what, I’m going to give you one last chance at letting me go, because I can guarantee, it won’t be long until the Dark Prince hears about this” This title meant nothing to John, but Aidan immediately tensed up. “What did you say?”, the pirate replied, his tone cautious and his fists clenched.
“Aeron Longstar”, Konrad replied. “He’s a friend of mine. Owes me a life debt…” His smirk widened into a genuine, but spine-chilling smile. “Ah, Rogare failed to tell you, didn’t she? By capturing me, you’re fucking with Aeron Longstar’s men. This has never been about simple debt” Now, John looked up. “Should that name mean something to me?”, he asked and Aidan shook his head. “Not unless you’re in my line of work, sellsword”, he clarified. “Aeron Longstar, a slave trader, one of the more powerful ones. Calls himself the Dark Prince”
“Sounds like a twat”, Temari interjected and Aidan gave him a quick nod. “Yes, he very much is”, he confirmed. “He’s Valyrian, like Lysara and he’s a slaver like her father. Old Mysario Rogare, he was never fond of the competition. Got rid of his immediate rivals, now it seems he’s looking to expand his operations. Longstar is the most powerful slaver lord in Tolos, to the east of old Valyria”
Now, John cracked a smirk, despite Aidan’s stern expression. “Tolos?”, he spoke with a grin on his face. “That’s what got you so worked up? The place is a dump” Once more, Aidan gave him a nod. “Aye, it’s nothing compared to the Free Cities or Slaver’s Bay, but it remains the largest port between the two of them. There’s an active slave trade there and I know for a fact Mysario Rogare never managed to get a foothold in it”
“And he never will”, Konrad Blacktyde interjected. “The Dark Prince is not going to let this slide. He’ll find out about you and he’ll kill you all and send your heads back to Lys” There it was again, that infuriating, cunning look in his eyes. “But if you let me go now, he won’t come after you. I’ll give you a headstart and we’ll forget about all of this…”, he added. “You consider it, don’t you?”
Aidan narrowed his eyes, his odd, pallid glare falling onto Konrad and wiping the smirk off his face. “For the record, right now I consider just killing you”, he growled. A smile forced its way onto his face as he turned back to John and Temari. “We need to talk for a second, mates”, he spoke and his voice was unusually serious, not a hint of his usual cheerfulness. He pushed himself past the two sellswords and Konrad’s eyes widened. “Wait… wait!”, he called after him. “Leave me the lantern. Please, just… leave me the lantern!”
But Aidan did not listen. Without even looking at the slaver again, he closed the door, leaving him in the darkness of his small cell. He led John and Temari down the wooden hallway and around a corner, close to the stairs that led to the upper deck. His expression remained grim. “This is not good…”, he mumbled. “I didn’t know he was working for Aeron Longstar. That changes a lot”
“Does it?”, Temari asked. “I mean, that Longstar guy, he’s calling himself ‘Dark Prince’. How dangerous can he possibly be?” Aidan looked at him sharply. “Very”, he clarified. “But that’s not the point. I’ve gone up against his ships in the past and I don’t fear him” John gave him a nod. “Aye, that’s the spirit”, he growled. “If Longstar is getting in our way, that’s just one more man we have to cut down”
Aidan’s smile widened, but despite the topic, it was not entirely genuine. “The situation’s more complex than that, my friend”, he admitted. “Usually, I’d delight in this. Getting rid of Blacktyde, disrupting Longstar’s operations here in Volantis… it’ll be a heavy blow for him, that much is certain. But the problem is not what we’re doing here, but whom we’re doing it for. As I just said, Lysara’s father, Mysario, he has long since tried to expand his operation beyond Volantis. Longstar and a handful of others have resisted him so far”
“Slavers fighting slavers… I fail to see the problem”, Temari growled. Aidan sighed. “That’s the odd thing about what I’m doing… the more independent slavers there are, the easier it gets for me and my crew. See, slavers are like rabid dogs. They are territorial, they hate each other as fiercely as they hate their prey. If another slaver gets too powerful, he’s getting bad for business and the others all team up to take him down. In western Essos, old Mysario Rogare has long since gotten too powerful for that. The Rogare bank has the monopoly on slave trade in Lys and Pentos and they’re rapidly expanding into Myr and Tyrosh. Volantis is neutral ground for now, but by sending us against one of Longstar’s associates, Mysario is clearly trying to change the current situation”
“I think I’m starting to see the problem…”, John mumbled and Aidan gave him a swift nod. “Contrary to popular belief, slavery is not very lucrative here in western Essos”, the pirate continued. “At least not for the slavers themselves. The rulers of each city – except Braavos, may the Seven bless them – have long since realized that by taxing slavery, they could get a lion’s share of the profit without having to dirty their hands with such a tasteless work. That is not the case farther to the east, where slavers and rulers are usually the same thing. Mysario is already the richest man in Lys, but if he gets a foothold in Tolos and eventually Slaver’s Bay, then he could quite possibly become the richest man in Essos. If he manages to drive out even more of his competition, then more and more ships will fly under his flag, moving in large, heavily organized fleets, armed to the teeth and filled to the brink with poor, broken slaves”
“And no more easy slaver ships for you to attack”, Temari summarized, to which Aidan gave him a stressed grin. “I’m doing something good and I profit off it”, he admitted. “Ain’t nothing bad with that, my mate” He leant against the wall, looking utterly defeated for a moment. “I thought I’d be helping Lysara with collecting a debt. Not that I want to shove more coin into Mysario’s greedy backside, but a bit of coin alone won’t make him more dangerous than he already is”, he sighed. “But this… this is a fucking turf war and much as I hate Aeron Longstar, I don’t want to see him replaced by Mysario Rogare. Despite his nickname, there’s worse slaver lords than the Dark Prince and Mysario is easily one of them”
“So, what are you going to do?”, John asked. Aidan was quiet for a moment. “I need to speak to Blacktyde again”, he sighed. “I can’t just openly move against Lysara Rogare now, but perhaps there’s a way to sabotage what she and her father plan to do here in the city. Make it so that neither Mysario nor Longstar get what they want. Wouldn’t be the first time I’m a thorn in their side” His odd, milky eyes looked right at John. “You have no sympathy for her, I know that much”, he continued. “So… mate, my mates, may I request your aid once again?”
“Aye, that woman’s a snake”, Temari agreed. “And honestly, I admire what you’re doing, fighting the slaver scum” His words were surprising and earned him a slight glance from John. Temari was a loyal comrade, a man he considered a friend and brother, but he had never expressed any issues with whatever work they were hired to do. He was a sellsword through and through and usually that came with a lack of morals.
“But?”, Aidan asked, having sensed that Temari was not yet done. The sellsword gave him at least an apologetic nod. “But my goal is a different one. I want to find my sister and Janae and I don’t want do get caught in the middle of your private war against the Rogare Bank”, he added. “I… I’m sorry, but we can’t afford the risk. Do what you want, but don’t involve me”
Aidan’s smile was thin, but honest and more than just a bit sad. “I understand, mate”, he admitted. “And I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I’ll honour my end of the bargain even if you don’t help me, as long as you don’t do anything to harm me or my crew” He looked from Temari to John. “And how about you, friend?”, he asked. “I can’t offer you coin or anything more than my gratitude, but I always repay a kindness. If it’s Lysara’s wrath you fear, I can assure you that I’ve tested her before and she never managed to trace it back to me”
It was tempting, John had to admit it, for he too lacked any sympathy for the Rogare bank and their slaver associates. Lysara was rich and powerful, but he would never trust her to use even an ounce of that wealth and power to help him. By comparison, Aidan had little more than what he had already given freely, his ship, his crew, but for a pirate he seemed like a trustworthy man and a valuable ally. Perhaps getting into his good graces could be for the best and yet… John was not sure if this was the best way to do it.
[Agree to help Aidan] [Refuse to help him]
Jaron
Dextran Thraller was careful, meticulous even, as he searched them. Samuel first and most thorough, though the sellsword had nothing to hide. Jaron knew that if the worst happened, Harrington would find something to defend himself with, but not everyone was this lucky, this naturally gifted at violence. As such, he himself knew that to plan for the worst, he had to come prepared and yet, with each passing moment, cold doubt grew within him. The dagger felt heavy within his boot, pressing against the back of his foot and he sent a silent prayer to every god willing to listen that this wouldn’t remain the last time he’d make a choice to regret.
“You’re good, Harrington”, Dextran growled. “For now, at least. That’d be a first for you” He and Samuel exchanged a cold glare, before the latter slightly shrugged. “You brought it onto yourself, Dextran”, he replied. “You shouldn’t have gotten in my way back then and I can only warn you not to repeat your mistake” His tone was hostile and though they likely understood few words at best, the slave guards behind Dextran tensed up, their hands clenched tightly around their spears.
A cocky smirk appeared on Dextran’s face. “Right”, he mumbled, entirely unimpressed by Samuel’s tone. “That’s just how you’ve always been, Sam. You think just because you can swing a sword around, the entire world has to bow to you” His smirk widened into a genuine smile, but the expression did not reach his eyes. “But that’s all there is to you”, he added. “You’re good with a sword, but even better at constantly antagonizing every man around you. Beyond that… you never had anything to back those threats up. No big name, no wealth, no allies. Rumour has it that Butterfly is dead and now you’re here looking for work, so I suppose you truly have no one on your side anymore”
“There’s me”, Jaron interjected, to Dextran’s mild amusement and Samuel’s visible surprise. “Right, the Stormlander bastard”, the Northerner replied. “What you should ask yourself is if he’s on yours” He shrugged. “But that is not for me to decide. My dealings with Samuel Harrington are in the past…”, he added with narrowed eyes and a sour expression on his face. “At least that’s what I thought until now”
He began to search Jaron, patting him onto the back while glaring at him. “You don’t strike me as a killer. How did a man like you end up in the company of the Fang of Shadows?”, he asked. His gaze was firmly resting on Jaron now, inquisitive, cold, but not inherently hostile or without curiosity. “You’ve been in Oldtown as well?”, he asked in return and Dextran gave him a nod. “For a while”, he confirmed. “Until I’ve crossed paths with the Fang of Shadows here”
With these words, he glanced at Samuel. “We got along at first, not particularly well, but good enough”, he continued. “Though eventually I’ve gotten in the way of his master, this Butterfly. I’m lucky I got away with my live intact, but Harrington and his killers spared none of my men” Jaron narrowed his eyes. “I am familiar with that man”, he growled. “I’ve worked under the Burned Man for a while” This earned him a respectful nod from Dextran. “That’s a name I know as well”, he revealed. “I wonder what led to a former lackey of the Burned Man and a former lackey of Butterfly to work together”
He patted down Jaron’s legs, but his grip stopped just above the boot. “You’re not really here just to become Lady Alaela’s tutor, are you?”, he then asked. “You on your own I can believe, but Samuel Harrington has always been looking for more” He rose from the ground again without having checked Jaron’s boots. The knight barely managed to swallow a sigh of relief. “You’re good too”, Dextran stated. “But tell me the truth, the three of you have something else in mind, haven’t you?”
“You’re right, Dextran”, Samuel revealed freely. “It’s still about my brother. He’s here in the city, or he was at least. With Butterfly gone, I’ll need a new ally to help me find him. Your triarch is one of the most powerful men in the city, so I wager I have come to the right place” Dextran Thraller was quiet for a second, thinking about these words, before he gave him a nod. “Your brother…”, he mumbled as he moved to Arryn. “I guess some things truly never change. You’re right, Lord Irrario is the most powerful man in Volantis. He is the only tiger among the triarchs and his party has thrown their full support behind him. If he wants to buy someone, he will have them no matter the price. If he wants someone found, they will be found. If he wants someone dead, they will be killed”
“Then he is precisely the man I want to offer my skills to”, Samuel replied. “Me and my companions won’t remain in the city for long, but until then we can teach his daughter all there is to know about swordsmanship. In return, I want the tiger triarch’s aid in finding my brother” He was playing his role perfectly right there, but given Samuel’s past, a slight feeling of unease grew within Jaron. They were allies here and when the time came to confront Abbas and Bakr he needed him by his side, but their goals aligned merely by coincidence. But where Samuel only needed a lead, any hint where his brother might be hiding, Jaron needed the aid of John and Temari, he needed Aidan and his crew, he needed Lysara Rogare and the support of her family. What would Samuel do if the tiger triarch gave him a better offer?
“You are a capable swordsman”, Dextran agreed. “And my lord is more than able to find your brother if he is truly hiding here in Volantis. But the decision is not mine to make” He rose from the ground again, giving Arryn a nod. “You’re good too”, he sighed. “Shame. I would have loved to gut the three of you” He glanced at one of the slaves. “Inform Lord Irrario”, he ordered the man. “Three fighters have arrived, seeking to tutor Lady Alaela in the art of swordsmanship” Then, he looked over his shoulder at the three Westerosi. “Follow me. Lord Irrario will receive you soon”
He stepped through the gates of the mansion and the trio followed closely. At first, they entered a massive outer courtyard and it was there that Jaron realized just how rich the tiger triarch truly was. The Burned Man had been wealthy in his Oldtown mansion, Lady Bazaeya was even richer, living in a building that would put even Westerosi castles to shame. But Irrario Paenys’ domicile was a castle by itself, the courtyard alone larger than most Westerosi keeps. However, where many noblemen enjoyed greenery, pleasure gardens or patches of flowers, Irrario Paenys’ courtyard was covered in stone plates, painted red and golden and black, a mosaic of truly baffling size.
Guards patrolled this courtyard, marching from the mansion to one of the smaller buildings by the side, likely where the triarch’s servants lived. It was not quite a city of its own, but the entire grounds were larger than most of the countless villages Jaron and his mentor had travelled through back before he had been knighted. There were walls to patrol on, four mighty towers, but also several smaller gates that led out onto the streets of Volantis. With knowledge of the premises, one could slip in and out unseen, at least in theory.
The building in the centre was one of the most splendid Jaron had ever seen. It was a bulky beast of a mansion, huge marble bricks stacked atop each other and where red, white and golden were the dominant colours of the courtyard, this building was pristinely white, wider than it was tall and yet still five stories in height. It was one of those buildings made to make men feel small, all but its owner, who could rightfully feel like a god among them.
Atop the mansion there were four smaller towers, mirroring the mighty guard towers that protected the premises, but where they were smooth and closed aside for tiny windows, the ones atop the mansion had huge holes within them. Jaron knew of their purpose from their time in Lys. Once, the high and mighty of Volantis had been dragonlords in their own rights and fittingly, their mansions were built not just for the riders, but for their winged mounts as well.
“You did not tell me you had acquaintances in Volantis”, he mumbled towards Samuel, without taking his eyes off the massive building and especially of the huge holes on top of it. He could imagine it, the dragonlords of Old Valyria, soaring through the skies, covering Volantis in darkness with their wings, landing right there, atop this building or somewhere in this vast expanse of a courtyard.
“I did not know he’d be here”, Samuel growled in return. Where Jaron had lowered his voice, not because he didn’t want anyone else to listen, but because whispering felt right in such a borderline hallow place, the Fang of Shadows was speaking freely and loudly and Dextran Thraller heard him with ease. “Where else would I be, Harrington?”, he asked. “Volantis is the most splendid city in Essos, the centre of the world, the rightful heir of Valyria. The man who rules Volantis is the most powerful man in the world and who else would be more worthy of my services?”
“But he doesn’t rule Volantis”, Arryn interjected. “Not on his own, at least. There are two elephant triarchs and they outnumber him” Dextran glanced over his shoulder, shooting a cold glare at Arryn. “I’d cut your head from your shoulders for such insolence, if not for the cheap wine in your breath”, he replied. “However, if you wish to keep life and limb, you best watch your tongue when you speak to the tiger triarch. Lord Irrario is a prideful man and confident in his power. While it is true that the elephants outnumber him, his ambition eclipses them both” He stopped about a dozen feet away from the mansion, where stairs led up to the grand doors, raising a fist to command the trio to do the same. “We will wait here”, he spoke. “The tiger triarch will receive you soon”
“Are we not going to enter the mansion?”, Jaron asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. Dextran shot him a smirk, slightly less hostile than the looks he previously had on his face. “No, Ser, we are not”, he replied. “Lord Irrario is of the Old Blood and he accepts no lesser men in his hallowed halls. This means unless you are Valyrian or in service of one, you will wait out here until he invites you in… if he invites you in that is”
“He doesn’t think highly of non-Valyrians, I presume?”, Jaron realized and Dextran gave him the slightest of nods. “Which makes it a bit surprising to me that he’s willing to employ men of all… types… to teach his daughter. Lady Alaela is fairly sheltered and even I have not been allowed to speak to her for the first six months of my employ here”, he revealed. “I hope you are aware of how high an honour this will be”
Just then, the doors of the mansion opened as if on their own. The tiger triarch wasn’t going to keep them waiting for long, it seemed. A procession of guards walked out first, tall and dark-skinned slaves from the Summer Isles, clad in golden armour and armed with long spears and towering shields. There had to be at least a dozen of them and they surrounded the newcomers from three sides, their empty gazes moving right through them.
Behind them followed a host of women, all of them young and beautiful, dressed in regal white dresses. If not for the collars around their necks, it would have been simple to mistake them as noblewomen and indeed there were even two or three of Valyrian descent among them. They took position between the guards and the mansion, though two remained behind, standing on each side of the door, with palm branches in their hands.
An older slave followed, wearing long, white-golden robes worthy of a king, his grey hair oiled back and his beard forked over his chest. His collar was thinner than those of his fellow slaves and made of gold instead of iron, but it was a collar nonetheless. His hands were folded behind his back and his full attention was on the procession in front of them. Only when they all stopped moving did he glance over his shoulder, giving a single nod at the gaping maw of a door behind him.
At last, a man stepped out of the mansion and Jaron knew immediately that it could only be the master of this place, the tiger triarch of Volantis. He was roughly around Jaron in height, but leaner and lithe, with pale skin and rich, dark eyes, violet in colour. His hair was a light shade of platinum blonde, silken and smooth, falling down to his shoulders, framing a face that was chiselled perfection. Beautiful as only a statue could be, lean and with prominent cheekbones, as well as a prominent nose and a pointy chin. He was clad in the finest fabrics, wearing a golden vest atop a purple longcoat, with dark, silken pants beneath and surprisingly sturdy leather boots. The coat was tied together over the chest, held in place by a golden brooch.
By his side stood a young lady, no less beautiful than the triarch, though notably younger, likely even younger than Jaron. She was half a head shorter than her father and while she shared his beauty, this was not the only difference between them. Where his features were cold as if chiselled from marble, her face was heart-shaped and slightly fuller. Her hair was longer and tied into a single braid that rested on her shoulder, but her eyes where just like Lord Irrario’s again, dark violet and intelligent. The inquisitive look within them would have been unnerving if not for the truly pristine smile on her face, something her father notably lacked. Where Irrario wore a vest and an open coat, the girl wore a long, purple dress, sleeveless and tight around her upper body, but cascading down her legs like water.
It took Jaron a moment to realize that there was a third person standing slightly behind the tiger triarch’s daughter. She was standing in the shadows, but her skin was darker by default as well, a shade of olive with not even a hint of the old Valyrian blood about her. She was dark of hair, with large, dark eyes looking at the newcomers with mild interest. Her face was round and aside from her wide eyes, her features were delicate, with a small nose and thin lips. She was chubbier than the lean triarch and his daughter, but not by much and her dress, consisting of a long, pink skirt and a wide vest coloured blue and golden, was no less elegant and lavish than the clothes worn by the Valyrians. At first, Jaron thought of her as a slave like the other women in front of Irrario, but she notably lacked the collar and her gaze was firm and intelligent instead of the dull look on the slaves’ faces.
“Supplicants from beyond the Narrow Sea!”, the gold-collared slave began to intone, his voice high and nasally. “You stand in the presence of the honoured tiger triarch of Volantis, the scion of Valyria, the true defender of the Old Blood! You stand in the presence of Irrario of great House Paenys, where even greater men than you would do well to kneel!”
A mildly amused smirk flashed over the face of Irrario’s daughter, but the tiger triarch himself remained cold, his gaze fixed on the three supplicants. His expression did not lighten up even as Jaron immediately dropped to his knees, followed by Arryn, lastly Samuel, with visible reluctance. A moment passed and the old slave let out a satisfied sigh. “Now I have the honour of introducing to you the great tiger triarch, my esteemed master Irrario Paenys. By his side stands his fair daughter Alaela, as well as her guest and companion Lady Bea of Braavos!” Only the olive-skinned girl made the hint of a curtsy, whereas Irrario and Alaela remained standing firmly. “Let him hear their names, Captain Dextran!”, the slave added.
“Here stand three warriors from the wild lands of Westeros, my lord!”, Dextran began and the old slave whispered those words into the ear of his master. “Samuel Harrington, better known as the Fang of Shadows, a sellsword and killer whose reputation is infamous here in the Free Cities and in the ports of Westeros. By his side stand his companions Jaron Storm, who claims to be the Bastard of Blackhaven, as well as Arryn Blackwell, a self-proclaimed veteran of a thousand battles. I can vouch for Samuel Harrington’s skill, though have no knowledge of the other two. They wish to prove their worth to you, so that you may consider them for the honourable duties of teaching your daughter in the art of swordplay”
He was about to continue, but the triarch cut him off by raising a hand. Then, he began to speak, but his words were not the familiar tone of the Westerosi Common Tongue, but High Valyrian, odd, melodic and with a biting cold to each word. The old slave listened to what his master had to say word for word, only speaking up when Irrario was finished. “The tiger triarch is intrigued by this proposal”, he claimed, even though Irrario’s expression was one of sheer boredom. “He wishes to learn more of your prowess. Though he has heard neither of your names before, he is willing to give you a fair chance as he gave to every supplicant who appeared before you”
“Does he not speak our language?”, Arryn mumbled and his words carried far, farther than he had likely intended. The old slave flinched, while Dextran’s eyes widened. The tiger triarch now looked directly at him as if he just now noticed the sellsword, his lips curled into a thin, polite smile. “In fact, Ser Arryn, I do”, he replied in his slave’s stead and though he had the hint of an accent, his pronunciation was impeccable, his voice soft, but with an underlying strength to it that carried it far across the courtyard. As he spoke, he began to move closer, past the gold-collared slave and through the beautiful slave women until only his guards separated him from the trio.
“I am fluent in your Common Tongue as I am in the bastardized Low Valyrian that is spoken in the lesser parts of the Free Cities, in the harsh language of the Ghiscari and the pleasant Summer Tongue of the southern isles. Furthermore I speak Yi Tish and though it has gotten a bit rusty over the years I am confident I can still hold my ground in pleasant conversation”, he continued and for a second, his smile widened, though the look in his dark violet eyes remained severe. “So yes, Westerosi, I do speak your language”
He looked from Arryn to Jaron to Samuel, then back to Jaron and his gaze was truly that of a tiger, calm, inquisitive, but predatory. “Three Westerosi who have braved the Narrow Sea to enter my service…”, he spoke. “You are not the first to be interested in this position. I offer steady pay, my protection and my network of contacts, acquaintances and clients. In return, I demand excellency. My daughter wishes to learn how to fight with a sword. It is a silly way to pass the time for a woman of her lineage, but I nonetheless demand that she succeeds. For this, I want none less than the best fighter in the world to teach her”
“It is not that silly, father”, the girl behind him spoke, her accent stronger, a hint of Valyrian within her tone even as she spoke a language as simple as the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Most of my friends have picked up fencing. Bea even…” Irrario cut her off with one glare thrown over his shoulder. “I am talking, Alaela”, he replied and there was something aloof within his voice even as he spoke to his own daughter, not that he exchanged more than those few words with her before he turned his attention back to the Westerosi. His gaze met Jaron’s again and never before, not even as he had faced Maron Mullendore had the hedge knight seen this much contempt in someone else’s eyes.
“You have a question, Stormlander?”, he asked, having picked up on the hint of curiosity within Jaron’s gaze. Slightly startled by his observation and more than just a bit dumbfounded, he nodded. “I… with all due respect, I have to ask myself why you’re not picking one of your slaves. There must be great fighters among your guards and they won't cost you all this time and coin”
Irrario paused for a second, just long enough for Jaron to grow uneasy under the triarch’s violet glare. “An expected question”, he replied. “The answer is simple. I have slave guards under my command and I own a unit of twenty gladiators to fight and die at my pleasure whenever I lower myself to visit the local fighting pits. Many of them are excellent swordsmen, possibly even a match for the likes of you. But they remain slaves, desperate and dirty, loyal to me only through the chains I hold. They are hateful creatures, good only for the most menial of tasks. My officers, my higher staff, my assistants, they are free men, bound to me through gold and honour. Alaela’s tutor will work closely with her and as such, I have to seek not just a proper swordsman, but also a man of loyalty and integrity. If you remain interested, you will have to prove your worth in my eyes”
“We expected as much”, Samuel interjected. “And we are ready to do your bidding. The opportunity to work for a man of your power comes once in a lifetime” Irrario’s smile widened, but it still failed to reach his eyes. “Empty flattery will not endear you in my eyes, Westerosi”, he replied in a tone that made it clear that few, if anything they could say or do would ever change his low opinion on them. But perhaps it was better this way. As much as he wanted to win Lysara’s aid, for Harpy’s sake, he was not an assassin. He was willing to kill to protect his friends and loved ones, but the thought of taking the life of a man he looked up to was terrifying. Even now, he was not sure if he could actually go through with killing a man in cold blood.
“How can we prove our worth?”, he asked and Irrario looked back at him. “You are afraid, boy?”, he asked and his smile faded entirely. “Of me or of your task ahead?” He shrugged. “It matters little. If you are too weak, I shall give you one chance to leave this place. If not, however, if you decide to stay… I will make no guarantee that you will keep life and limb. First I will test your prowess. You may tell grand tales of your exploits beyond the Narrow Sea, but there’s no way for me to confirm them. Instead, I will only believe my own eyes”
He waited for a moment until Jaron, Arryn and Samuel all gave him a nod. “We’ll stay, mylord”, Jaron confirmed. “Test us to your heart’s desire and if you deem us worthy, we’ll be honoured to serve you and your daughter” For a second, Irrario seemed mildly pleased. “Honouring you is not my intention, Ser”, he replied. “But try to impress me if you may. Form pairs of two and my guards will each hand you a sword”
“You want us to fight?”, Samuel asked, his voice calm, but Jaron knew him well enough to spot the surprise in his gaze. The tiger triarch gave him a nonchalant nod. “Of course I want my daughter’s tutor to prove his worth in actual combat. Furthermore, you stand before me as a trio of swordsmen, but I have need for only one. ”, he stated. “But breathe easy, for your battle will last only to the first blood. I have no desire to stain my grounds with any more of your blood than necessary. No killing or maiming, at least none yet. Fight each other until I am satisfied and perhaps one of you will impress me already”
“Pairs of two, so that means…”, Jaron mumbled and he instantly turned to Dextran Thraller, who had placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll face one of you, yes”, the captain of the guard confirmed and he threw a decidedly hostile glare at Samuel. “And I already know whom I wish to face” There was a wicked smile on his face as he glanced back at Jaron. “But out of the four of us, you are the only knight. Your title means nothing here in Volantis, but where I come from a knight is still treated with respect. So, you’ll have the first pick. I want to duel Harrington, but if you wish to try your luck with him or me over that drunkard, I won’t refuse”
[Choose to fight against Arryn [Choose to fight against Samuel] [Choose to fight against Dextran]