(King's Landing 10/4/298 AC) Lady Stork IV

She still could not get over the fetid smell of the city, but years of shadowing the Firelord allowed her to hide her disgust as her lady would. The sun was high above them, as they strode near the shops by the Lion's Gate. The heat made the smell and sounds aggravate her senses even more than they would have otherwise. 'I hate this city,' she thought, nodding towards a passerby and smiling.

"Cheer up, mother," Ser Steffon said, nudging her shoulder. "The city isn't that bad." Five suits of armor clanked behind her, signaling their five shadows. The three repurposed assigned to Steffon, and the two assigned to her. Robes billowed to her side, as Qyburn examined some herbs near a healer's cart.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," Steffon threw a lopsided grin towards Qyburn chatting excitedly with the slim, beady eyed, healer. "Once he's done, we will go to Marello's shop, to see if he has completed the doll I have asked for."

"Doll?" she asked, knowing full well that the conversation was empty of meaning. The mummer from Braavos knew what was commanded of her. Though the order was simple, it was tedious. 'All to draw attention away from the Lord Hand,' though, for what purpose, she did not know.

"Yes, mother," he replied, with a knowing twinkle in his eye. "The one I had made for Myrcella came from Marello's. It was good work, so I requested another to be made, in your likeness, for Ty Lee. I hope she likes it," he smiled, looking towards Qyburn who handed the slim healer a few coins.

"Find what you were looking for, Qyburn?" she asked, hands clasped behind her back.

"Oh yes, my Lady. My experiments have left me low on supplies. These were quite the bargain, couldn't help myself," the old man replied with a soft smile, handing the small satchel of herbs to the repurposed near him. The former man reached for the bagged collection of herbs and silently tucked them away into a small, black leather bag, strapped to his side.

After the healer, they continued down the street, all the while reading the faces of the commoners who were torn between curiosity and avoidance. A trio of highborn ladies approached with their escorts, one with straight golden locks, another with curly brown hair reminiscent of the Tyrell girl on Dragonstone, with the last bearing rosy cheeks and flowing black hair. All, barring the girl with raven hair, seemed intent on striking up a conversation with Steffon.

"Good afternoon, Ser," the women curtsied, giggling and crowding around her 'son.'

The women's guards shared her annoyance at the spectacle, eyeing her and her Flameguard warily, muttering amongst themselves. A single stare from her was all it took for them to cease their chattering. 'This guise does have its advantages,' she smiled inwardly, not allowing the emotion to overcome the carved stone that was the face of the Fire Lord. Once the women started blathering, she tuned them out, striding slightly down the street towards a clothier's shop, taking care not to stray too far from the Fire Lord's son. A large chubby man rose out from under a table with a grunt, holding strands of cloth. He hunched and wore a hood, his forehead riddled with beads of sweat. Despite his outward appearance, he did not smell as bad he looked. Only the slight smell of rotten onions, but she also reasoned, that it might just be the city and the people surrounding her. The sweaty man appeared to be preoccupied as his eyes remained focused downward at something beneath the table. As he lifted his gaze to look upon her, a look of surprise splashed across his face, before it suddenly turned into fear.

"My lady?!" the large man stumbled over his words, nearly dropping the strands of cloth he had been holding.

She raised an eyebrow and saw the man look down into his arms before he tossed the bits of cloth into a wicker basket by his side. "Busy, are you?" she asked, spying a quaint little white dress with a black border, running along the waist and down the middle of the dress, and gold embroidery.

"Not too busy for you, my lady," he replied, following her gaze towards the dress. "Do you like it? Pure Yi Tish silk," he said, reaching for the dress and throwing it over his arm. He presented the bottom corner of the garment, reaching forward, urging her to feel it.

She ran her hands across the smooth fabric, "Exquisite," she replied. The Braavosi mummer knew the Fire Lord disliked overspending, but in order to keep up appearances, a purchase here and there was to be expected, lest eyebrows be raised. "How much?"

"For you, my Lady?" his indigo pools never leaving her enchanted golden ones. "Twen.." the fat man, with remarkably clean teeth started to say. She shifted slightly, facing her body towards his. "Ten," he corrected himself, pulling at his dingy collar. "Ten silver stags."

"Ten?" she questioned. "Hmmm, you drive a hard bargain..." she let the question hang in the air, seeing if the man picked up on it. He was new, and with something as expensive as Yi Tish silk in his stores, he would need to be noted. Especially if none of the others had driven their claws into him. However, that was for the Fire Lord to decide, and not her impersonator.

"Crodell, my Lady," his reply was rushed, frantic.

"Well, Crodell," she smiled, emphasizing his name. "I have never seen you here in King's Landing before. Where are you from?"

He paused, seemingly lost for words. "I was born here, then traveled the seas. Made a life in Qarth for a time, saw my fill of wine and women before those milk-blooded cunts began to annoy me." His eyes bulged out of his sockets after the last word left his lips. He looked to her and took a bow, the shadow of his hood covering his eyes. "Excuse my language, my lady."

"Well, you seemed to have learned something from them then haven't you?" Her arms fell across her chest, bracing themselves against her hands.

"Yes," he smirked. "They were always too prim, too proper, for my tastes. And those Warlocks were very…off-putting. Eventually, I just took my gold, took my ship, hired a crew and set sail for Westeros. There were a few stops along the way, some stops saw me near Volantis where I was witness to the last bits of the Stannis Fort's construction. Even caught a glimpse of the Ironship that patrolled its waters."

"The Firestorm," she stated.

"Whatever its name, it certainly scared those pirates," he gave her a knowing look. "I passed through the Stepstones, my Lady. Not as dangerous as they once were."

"Yes, well, one does what one can," she smirked, reaching into the coin purse at her side. She jingled the coins around, feeling for the silver. "Ah! There they are!" Cupping the correct amount, she presented them towards the clothing merchant. A greedy glint shone in his eyes as she opened her hand.

He looked up, locking his eyes with hers. "If you would allow me to verify that they are true silver stags? I would be most appreciative, my Lady."

She smiled and chuckled, seething inside, "Surely you don't think me a cheat?" The din of the crowded street seemed to fade away, as she focused on the hooded man.

"Of course not, my Lady!" his twin mauves grew in alarm, although the feeling did not seem to go far past the surface of his violet eyes before returning to their cautious guise. "But I am, after all, a trader, and I would be a poor trader, indeed, if I took people at their word, you understand?"

She nodded her head, smile still plastered on her face, "Of course." Her dainty hand remained outstretched and still, the ten silvers reflecting the light of the midday sun from atop her open palm.

He reached over, his head lowered, the shadow of his hood hiding his expression.

"Although," she closed her hand, knuckles cracking as she did so. "I find it interesting that for a man so recently arrived in Westeros, you have quite the unreasonable, fear of me. Why is that?" She smiled. "What terrible stories, of me, have you heard?"

"The typical raunchy stories, pirates, and sailors tell," his head remained lowered, mouth thin and straight, but she knew his eyes were still upon hers. "Hardened men, speaking in hushed whispers of the massacre at the Stepstones, the crushing of the Greyjoy rebellion. All of these at the hands of a grim man and his small Yi-Tish woman, of a wife, with golden eyes."

She couldn't help but smirk at the man's words. "Go, on."

"The descriptions of you are quite detailed, my Lady, even amongst the uneducated rabble of pirates and cutthroats that I often encountered in the brothels and taverns, of the ports lying along the coasts of the Summer and Narrow Seas," the man revealed a small scrap of cloth from his right hand and dabbed it across his brow, his sweat seemingly to have finally got to him. "My return voyage to Westeros proved to be quite the learning experience about your legend. Secondhand, though the tales were, it would've been unwise to risk having taken them as mere exaggerations than as reality," he proffered his hands to receive her silver coins.

"You chose well, Crodell," she relented, opening her hand, and letting the coins fall into Crodell's fat cupped hands. "Now, if you would indulge my curiosity?"

"Yes, my Lady?" he questioned, as he began biting into the silver coins, setting them down after each bite, before flipping a new one in between his fingers.

"During your travels, did you ever have a prolonged stay in Lys?" She asked innocently, taking great care to present her face with a look of childish curiosity. 'Almost had me fooled.'

The King's Landing newcomer paused mid bite, lowering a coin from his mouth. "I did, my Lady," he smiled, lifting his head, eyes still partially shrouded in shadow. "When I first set out from Westeros. Spent a brief period of my life there, and I often frequented its pleasure houses."

"Really? And how did they compare to the ones here in Westeros or those in Qarth?" She crossed her arms once more.

"There are no pleasure houses in Westeros, my Lady. Only brothels," he answered. "But you knew that already."

She did not hide the smirk or her arched brow.

"And to your question, the brothels in Westeros are dirtier. Even Lord Baelish's establishments are a far cry from the cleanliness found in Lys, which itself is a far cry from the cleanliness of those found in Qarth. Though, the Qartheen do enjoy their incense a bit too much. It ruins the experience when one is coughing up thick, sweet-smelling, smoke."

"Ha! Reminds me of that little pleasure house I burned during the Stepstones. All those pirates too caught up in their ecstasy that they ignored the warning bells," she evened her brow and stared at the man and his shaded eyes. "It was a simple task to bar their doors and windows," she leaned in, cupping her hand around the sweaty man's ear, and whispered. "As they screamed, I wondered why the smoke smelt of sage."

The man reacted with grace and did not allow a hint of concern to mar what she could make of his face. "Hmmm, clearly the owner of that ill-fated establishment was familiar with Qartheen customs."

"Clearly," she stated, casting a quick glance in his direction before raking her fingers along the clothing presented on 'Crodell's' table.

"I have frequented many places, my Lady. Lys, Qarth, and Volantis, the few amongst them," he spoke, folding the white dress, as he did so. "During the first of my travels, I visited all the free cities. Lorath, Myr, Norvos, Tyrosh, Qohor, Pentos, but one of the most memorable places was Braavos. I especially enjoyed the traveling troupes."

For a brief moment, her hand paused its movement over the displayed clothing, before she continued down along the table.

"I remember those mummers being incredibly talented," he carefully slid the folded dress into a leather satchel, tying the leather strips tightly to prevent its contents from falling out.

"So I have heard," she replied, looking back to him. "Truth be told, I find the stories of Pentos to be more intriguing. All those magisters, and their little plays. It is no secret that we trade with the free cities, and I must admit that I find Pentosi cheese to be quite the delicious commodity. Even heard a rumor that a magister who dealt in cheese was seen here in King's Landing, not that long ago." The fat man shifted slightly in response, yet remained silent. "It is my deepest regret that I missed the opportunity to thank him for his products. Had the rumors proved true, of course."

"If such a man had come," the man nodded, smiling, as he handed her the packaged dress. "I'm sure he would've been honored to meet you."

"Of course he would have," she smiled in return, taking the leather bundle from his sweaty hands. "Everyone is honored to meet me." They stood staring at each other in a silent contest of wills.

"Mother!" she heard a shout coming from beneath the, formerly muddled, clamor of the crowds gathered on the street. The multitude of sounds that she had ignored suddenly roared back to life.

"Mother!" she heard again, clearer than before. The clanking of armor and billowing robes could be heard, trailing behind the voice.

"Mother?" she felt a hand on her shoulder. The sudden weight shook her out of her trance.

Casting one last look at the heavy man, she turned to stare at her 'son,' and the three Flameguard behind him. Qyburn stood by Ser Steffon's side. "What is it?"

Ser Steffon leaned in and whispered in her ear. "We must leave this area. Lord Stark in on his way."

"Trouble, my Lady?" 'Crodell' asked, as he straightened out his stores of clothing presented on his tables.

"Nothing of concern," she replied, looking at him. "Minor business with the Alchemist's guild, that slipped my mind," a forced smile graced her face. "I look forward to doing business with you again, Crodell."

"And I you, Lady Azula," he nodded, casting a smile of his own. "Good day."

"Good day," she stated finally before heading out to the Alchemist's guild with Qyburn, her 'son,' and their guards.