Jory Cassel was not in a good mood. In his defence he had rarely been in a good mood since even before they left Winterfell. First there was that terrible business with the young Lord Brandon falling from the tower. Then the trouble with the Prince and the direwolves and the worsening of the simmering enmity between the Ladies Sansa and Arya. All the while Lord Stark struggled to balance making time for his family with effectively running the seven kingdoms for the King. And those were just the problems in House Stark. As captain of Lord Stark's household guards it was not Jory's place to think on the great affairs of the Seven Kingdoms, but he had grown up in Winterfell seeing Lord Stark almost every day and he could tell that his Lord was greatly troubled. Lord Stark had come back from his first Small Council meeting in a dark humour and had vanished out into the city accompanied only by Lord Baelish not long after, returning in an even stranger mood. Add to all this the viper's nest of sneering so called knights and scheming nobles known as the Red Keep it was not surprising that Jory spent most of his days in a bad temper.
Today, was a particularly bad day however as, though he would rather die than admit it, the current source of Jory's bad mood was in fact Lord Stark. Or more accurately, the task he had given Jory to fulfil.
When he had been summoned to Lord Stark's rooms this morning the last thing Jory had been expecting was to be asked to find someone to teach the Lady Arya swordsmanship, or he supposed swordswomanship. Lord Stark had suggested, or more accurately ordered, Jory to find someone capable of teaching the Lady Arya a style of combat suitable for an unarmoured warrior wielding a small light blade. In short the exact opposite of how nearly every swordsman in Westeros was trained to fight. Of course it went without saying that whoever was found would have to be suitable and safe to spend extended periods of time alone with the Lady Arya.
In short Jory had to search a city he did not know for a stranger, probably a foreigner, who could teach an unknown style of fighting while simultaneously being honourable and of good reputation, also preferably currently without a Lord or Master and not a spy for one of the other Great Houses. In short Jory was as fucked as one of Littlefinger's whores.
On leaving the Red Keep he had gone straight to the inns and brothels near the Street of Silks, always the first place to look for unemployed fighting men. He had just as quickly realised his mistake. With enough coin he could have assembled a decent mercenary company of swordsmen, archers and a scattering of horsemen, but he hadn't found a single man Lord Stark would let within a hundred leagues of his youngest daughter.
All this had brought Jory to his current position, walking slowly along the Street of Steel. Rather than watching the shops he was watching the men, or more precisely their weapons and armour. Any man in full armour was discounted; such men would be wealthy enough, or noble enough, not to take paid employment. Not to mention anyone who wore armour shopping was unlikely to know how to fight well unarmoured. Any man with a sigil was out of the question, neither Lord Stark nor Jory wanted any other Lord's men anywhere near Lady Arya. The man would have to be a natural swordsman so Jory watched the men wearing swords, the way they walked, the way they carried their weapons. He also looked at the swords themselves, how worn they were, how ornate the hilts or scabbards, how well cared for the blades.
It was getting near to sunset as Jory reached the end of the Street of Steel. He had found no one. Already cursing this impossible task Jory was turning to start the trudge back to the Red Keep when he saw him, a short, darker skinned foreign looking man with black hair just leaving one of the smaller and less fashionable armourers. Something about the man caught Jory's eye, when he look at him properly he saw what it was. The man walked with a strange almost dancing grace, he seemed to slide through the crowds like smoke. Truly assessing the man now Jory was starting to think he'd found his swordsman. The foreigner was well dressed, but in plain traveling clothes. The, to Jory's eyes, thin sword at the man's side looked worn but well cared for. Combined with his grace everything about the foreigner suggested a skilled swordsman. Jory shouldered his way through the crowd towards the man.
"Ser, a word" he called out. The man stopped and slowly turned, one hand resting on his sword, eyeing Jory inscrutably. "Ser, might I speak with you," Jory began.
"You may," the man replied "Though I am not one of your Westerosi knights".
Jory paused, "Then might I have your name?"
The man seemed to consider the request, before drawing himself up with an air of pride, "I am Syrio Forel, once First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos." A Braavosi. Jory had heard of the pride the Braavosi placed in their sword skills, though he had never seen one fight. If this man truly had been the First Sword of Braavos then he would have to have been an excellent fighter. Jory inclined his head in respect.
"Well Syrio Forel, would you be willing to consider an offer that would bring you some wealth and greater honour?"
The Braavosi looked interested, "A man who offers more honour than gold, that is unusual in this city." He paused, "I am staying nearby, shall we talk of honour and wealth over what passes for fine wine in Westeros?"
A short walk led the two men to an inn, and soon they were sitting with a flagon of what was definitely not fine wine. Now he had found his man Jory decided to take the direct approach.
"My Lord is seeking a man who can instruct a high born member of his household in swordsmanship," Jory paused.
"I am wondering why it is you come to a man such as me?" the Braavosi interjected, "A Lord with a warrior such as yourself at his command would have many such men who could teach the sword dance."
"The noble in question wishes to learn a different style of fighting, using a light blade and fighting unarmoured," Jory replied cautiously, Lord Stark had been clear that the Lady Arya's name was not to be mentioned in any public place.
Syrio Forel's eyes seemed to light up, "A most unusual request, and one which may be most interesting. I accept your offer," a sudden smile appeared "If your Lord pays well enough."
Jory felt relief surge through him. In a day he had done what seemed like an impossible task only this morning. "My Lord will be willing to discuss payment when he meets with you. I shall speak to him and…" The Braavosi suddenly held up his hand, cutting Jory off mid flow. A man was walking up to their table, hooded and cloaked he held out a scroll to Syrio, who took it silently. Jory got a glance at a strange seal before the Braavosi broke it and quickly read the message. His face paled slightly and then turned dark and serious. He looked up at the messenger's hidden face "Valar Dohaeris". At those words the messenger turned round and walked straight out the inn. Jory sat quietly, he had a feeling that something important had just happened, though he had no idea what. The Braavosi looked up, "I must give you my apologies. A First Sword of Braavos should not break his word but a man has duties he must put before all else. Your Lord will understand that duty binds us all."
Jory nodded mutely, to find the right man then lose him almost immediately was infuriating. But the Braavosi was right, Lord Stark would understand. "Well I will take my leave then..." began Jory, rising from the table.
"Hold a moment," the Braavosi interrupted, "I may have duties, but there are others who do not, who would be able to teach the dance you wish your noble to learn."
Jory sat back down. "You would recommend another, why?"
"To pledge to teach your highborn the water dance then to not. It would be shameful to not offer up another to take my place." Jory paused, in truth it was an easy decision. Spend another day standing on the Street of Steel hoping to see the right man or take the advice of a man who claimed to have been the First Sword of Braavos. He had nothing to lose by meeting this new man.
"Very well, who is this man you speak of?"
Syrio smiled, "It is better you see him, hear him yourself than have another speak of him. He stays at this inn and will be returning soon".
It was two flagons of wine later that the man arrived. Syrio had been telling a story of sailing within sight of the ruins of Old Valyria when he suddenly broke off and sprang up to greet a man by the door. Jory couldn't see well through the crowd but the Braavosi was clearly guiding someone to their table. The other man threw himself into a seat, lounging in it with an easy arrogance, as he scowled at Jory.
"So," the stranger began "What does Lord Stark want with a man like me?"
Jory froze in his seat, "Lord Stark?" he replied.
The stranger snorted, "Yes Lord Stark. He is your Lord so you are here on his orders. Unless you have broken your oaths and taken another master?"
Jory felt a surge of anger at the insult, "What makes you think I am Lord Stark's man?" He almost snarled in reply.
The stranger rolled his eyes, "I could point out that by your speech and dress you are clearly a northerner recently arrived in the city. That as you make no attempt to dress in the southern style your Lord has no problem with this and is therefore also a northerner. There is only one Northern Lord recently arrived in the city and you reacted as soon as I mentioned his name" the stranger paused and smirked again, "But actually I saw you ride in at Lord Stark's side when the royal party returned to the city. So I ask again what does Lord Stark want with me?"
Jory glanced at Syrio Forel, who gave him a nod and an encouraging look.
"He is looking for a man of discretion and honour who can teach swordsmanship. Though a name would be a good place to begin."
At this the stranger smiled, "Well in that case, my name is Draco Malfoy and I am at Lord Stark's service".