[A/N: This chapter took longer than expected to post, hopefully it would be worth it. But first I'll respond to two guest comments from the last chapter:]

Guest: Having re-read my own earlier chapters, Edmure was freed in the Battle of Riverrun during Ch. 7. I've still changed the supposed location from Riverrun to Seagard, both because Lord Jason Mallister would be concentrating his forces anyway with the Ironborn threat to the west and Frey-Bolton threat to the east, and because a nearby threat - that is (supposedly) armed with Alexandrian weaponry - lets Olyvar more easily pile pressure on and BS Walder Frey. Speaking of which-

Guest: 'Alexandrian guns' was mentioned in Olyvar's dialogue rather than through narrator-voice. Do consider the possibilities he might be misled, exaggerating the truth or outright lying to Walder Frey regarding those supposed guns; he was already very clearly lying with the whole 'sweetspeak' thing anyway. Whether my story's shit or not is a matter of personal taste and I'll respect your opinion either way, but thanks for bringing this to my attention, and in the future I'll try to make the narrator and character perspectives more distinct where applicable so that the story could be presented more clearly.

But without further ado-

On the fifth morning after leaving Dragonstone, the Titan of Braavos slowly crept over the horizon.

At first it seemed as large as one of Sansa's dolls, propped upon a sliver of land. An hour later it was as tall as a man, its feet planted amongst molehills, Arya guessed it would be about the size of Baelor's statue back in King's Landing. Yet soon it was clear the Titan was bigger than anything Westeros had ever built, maybe even as large as the Statue of Liberty in Carl's world. But the Titan was made of stone and bronze, and he wore armour as if dressed for battle, his upheld hand wrapped around the hilt of a broken sword.

The ship was now a flurry of activity. Admiral Waters stood on the forecastle barking orders to the men handling ropes down below. Soldiers and militia assembled on the deck, Alexandrians to starboard, Northmen to port. The Alexandrians' starry banner was raised above the Cinnamon Wind's main mast, and the Northmen's below it. The Blackfish and Lord Manderly had finally agreed to this order after a fierce debate with the Alexandrians. But the order would be reversed once they entered the North's waters, Manderly had insisted.

Almost everyone who wasn't busy stood at the bow. Northmen and Rivermen, and Westermen and Reachmen, Dornishmen and Crownlanders, and nearly all of the Alexandrians. Even Brandon Rose, the Alexandrian bully who had been hurting Tommen on Dragonstone. Lord Grimes had finally let him out onto the deck after much pleading and weeping and promises to be on his best behaviour. He pointed at the Titan, eyes wide with amazement. Next to him, Tyrion Lannister stood upon one of the deck chairs. Many times the Imp had spoken of visiting Braavos and seeing the Titan with his own two eyes. Now Tyrion stood small beneath the Titan's looming shadow, neck craned upwards and mouth agape.

"Holy shit! That statue's huge!" Carl shouted excitedly. "Can we climb inside it, dad?"

"I don't know," answered Lord Grimes. "You better ask the Sealord yourself."

"We will," Arya promised. It seemed to be hollow on the inside, she could already spot some of the arrow slits that lined the Titan's legs. As much a fortress as it was a statue, the Titan would be hard for her and Carl to sneak into anyway, not with so many soldiers guarding it. Maybe they could climb up the Titan's side instead. Bran would have climbed the whole thing in half an hour, but all that remained of him were ashes in the wind…

"Arya!" Carl's hand shook her shoulder. "Wanna see me become the Titan?" He planted his feet wide apart, straightening his left arm downwards as if he were about to punch the deck, just as the Titan's was jammed into the rock below. His right hand drew his shortsword and stabbed at the sky. "Aaaa…" Carl shouted, his face as savage as Rickon's once was-

The Titan roared.

"Ahhhh!" Carl dived into Arya with outstretched hands, crashing into her and flinging both onto the ground. "I thought we were under attack," he said lamely as both of them got back up. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya saw several other Alexandrians making themselves as small as possible. Alexandria's wars often had explosions, Arya had learned in her history lessons, and in one battle their foes lobbed pots of wildfire over their walls against men and women and children alike. Half of the Alexandrians' houses burned down that day.

Though there would be no pots or bolts today. On and on the Titan roared, its cry booming out towards the expedition's ships still in the Shivering Sea. It was easily the largest sound Arya had ever heard, even louder than the steam powered machines the Alexandrians and the Alchemist's Guild were devising in King's Landing. If this was how the Titan greeted its friends, Arya couldn't help but wonder how it would greet its foes.

They were nearly into Braavos now, so close that Arya could no longer see the Titan's head above its protruding chestplate. Purple banners flew from the murder holes under its skirt, beneath rows of masks that lined the iron bars. Some of the Braavosi waved. Arya waved back in turn.

"Masks on," Lord Grimes ordered. He put on his own first, the same white-headed eagle Alexandria took for its sigil. Tyrion and Tommen wore lions, Oberyn's orange and red like the rising sun, Margaery's blooming with carefully painted paper roses. The Blackfish had his black fish scales, while Lord Manderly's scales were light green-blue with a trident painted under its eye slits. Arya slipped the band of her mask over her head. The mask Carl gifted her was wrought in the form of a grey direwolf, the edges of its eye-slits painted dark gold just like Nymeria's eyes. Sansa had one too, its gold brighter as Lady's eyes had been.

And then they were through. Over the sea-foam a castle stood. Scorpions, catapults, even a trebuchet or two... war engines of every kind were displayed on the stone towers and walls, themselves guarded by galley after galley with purple sails.

One of those galleys broke off and sailed towards the expeditionary fleet. The captain shouted at Noho in Braavosi Valyrian, and Noho shouted in reply, back and forth a few times until the captain was satisfied and left. "The other ships are to dock at the Arsenal of Braavos, after which all except a skeleton crew will head for Ragman's Harbor on Braavosi galleys," Noho explained. "Today's the last day of the Uncloaking, just in time for the masked revelry."

"And the Cinnamon Wind?" Aurane shouted from the forecastle. "Should we make straight for Ragman's Harbor?"

"No, and not the Purple either, that's only for Braavosi ships. We will land at the Sealord's Palace instead. The Sealord will welcome you to Braavos himself."

But it was the First Sword of Braavos who met the delegation on the docks. "Qarro Volentin at your service, my lords and ladies," he said, bowing with a flourish. His face was covered by an elaborate mask, and his garments were an austere black, as black as those suits the Alexandrians would wear for the Sealord's feast. "The Sealord sends me with his apologies, for other matters require his immediate attention. Nevertheless he will dine with you tonight as promised. I hope this is not too much of an inconvenience."

"Not at all," Lord Grimes replied cordially. "We'll have more than enough time with him later anyway, and we'll welcome a few free hours to enjoy Braavosi' sights and mingle with Braavos' folk."

Arya's eyes focused on Qarro with a cat-like stare. Maybe he knew another man who was once the First Sword of Braavos, one whom Arya last saw fighting Meryn Trant with a broken wooden sword after killing five Lannister guardsmen. "Qarro, did you once know a man named Syrio Forel? My father hired him to be my… dancing master," she asked, after all of the Westerosi delegation had introduced themselves.

"And he was mine when I was much younger." The Braavosi sighed and shook his head. "We've heard what happened in King's Landing, Your Grace, and we miss him just as much. I thought the Sunset Kingdoms were known for their chivalry, yet it seems this does not hold true for all the Westerosi." Qarro added.

"He died as he lived, fighting an unfair battle. Or at least I think he's dead. He was lying face down in a pool of blood with a few bullet holes shot through his chest," said Carl.

"A less tragic end than Syrio, and I suspect the Prince of Dragonstone has many stories to tell. But there will be plenty of time to hear of the many exploits across the Narrow Sea at tonight's feast. Your bags will be taken to your quarters in the Sealord's Palace while we tour the city."

Qarro took them to the Sealord's pleasure barge. It was covered in laughing faces, not unlike the masks worn by the Braavosi sailors and guards. The barge gently pushed off the docks after a few crisp commands, making its way down the eastern side of the lagoon. Domes and towers rose along the shore, and marbled manses far bigger than any of the houses she saw in King's Landing bar the Red Keep itself. Queen in the North she may be, but here in Braavos she was just as small as everyone else.

The Sealord's barge turned right just off Braavos' Fishmarket, entering one of the three main canals leading straight to the city's heart. The Long Canal it was called, though it was also the widest by far, nearly half as wide as the Blackwater River back in King's Landing. Here the buildings were smaller and the people more plainly dressed, their masks less elaborate than their richer counterparts in the north of the city. Braavos' purple banners hung from the grey arches of a bridge towered above the houses and establishments on both sides of the canal, taller than even the bridges she saw in Alexandria. Qarro called it the Sweetwater River; that's where Braavos' fresh water came in from the mainland, he explained. Sweet water for the Moon Pool where the aqueduct ended, and for Braavos' fountains and houses and palaces.

The buildings grew grander again past the Sweetwater, opulent palaces built right on the Canal's banks. Even the barges were longer here, often gilded with gold and bearing well-crafted figureheads on their bows.

A few more bridges later, the Long Canal opened up into a lagoon in the middle of the city. A massive palace rose on the right side of the lagoon, almost as large as Winterfell's Great Keep, but topped by a green copper dome that glinted in the afternoon sun. "What's that?" asked Arya.

"The Palace of Truth," Qarro answered. "It's where our magisters and keyholders vote."

Voting. The Sealords of Braavos served for life, but the title did not pass on to their sons. Whenever a Sealord died, the powerful men amongst the Braavosi called a great council and chose the next Sealord from amongst their own ranks. The Alexandrians also used to vote before their world fell apart. Not only did their magisters vote for their princes and on matters of law, but the magisters themselves were chosen by vote, amongst all the Alexandrians who were men or women grown. Arya had learned much about the two cities' politics in the lessons she and Carl had to sit through on the Cinnamon Wind.

Westeros had its own voting too. Up at the Wall, every black brother in the Night's Watch got to vote for their Lord Commander like the Alexandrians do, and like their Braavosi counterparts those Lord Commanders served for life. And in their last election they had elected Jon, at least according to a terse parchment from Maester Aemon. But Jon had never written back himself. "Though the Night's Watch takes no part in affairs south of the Wall, it has its own politics nevertheless. It may be inconvenient for your brother to reply at this moment, perhaps even perilous as a new Lord Commander, when the realms of Westeros were so recently at each other's throats," Manderly had advised. "We'll send another raven to Castle Black before we sail to the Wall. He should be more secure in his seat by then, and our victories in the south would have sunk in. Jon might even find time to meet you at Eastwatch himself."

Still Arya wondered how Jon was doing. She could already feel the slight chills of late autumn, and the Wall was further north still, even more north than Braavos is from King's Landing. Did Jon and his men have enough food and warm clothes? Arya would send as much help as her kingdom could spare, but more than a year of war and devastation had also left the Northmen and Rivermen in need of food. Maybe the Sealord would be kind enough to send the Night's Watch supplies for winter.

Arya's eyes turned towards the left of the lagoon. Temples and shrines and towers and statues rose above a chain of small isles, swarming with the faithful paying respect to their gods on this festive day. Whereas Westeros worshipped two faiths and Alexandria one, it seemed the Braavosi built enough temples to worship a thousand gods and more.

The Sealord's barge slowly weaved its way through the scores of barges on the water. Masked courtesans decked in silk, masked sailors singing bawdy songs in a foreign tongue. Masked peddlers selling clams and other seafood to the revellers, one so bold as to stop by the Sealord's barge and try to sell its wares. Qarro politely declined but offered to take the barge's name down for a later visit. Full bellies would ruin the feast, and there would be more than enough time to enjoy Braavos' delicacies in the coming weeks.

Finally the barge reached the other side and sailed into another canal, this one lined with massive statues. Solemnly they stood on both sides of the canal, stone men clad in bronze, scepters and hammers and swords in their hands. For a moment Arya thought those were statues of the Seven, but they were beyond the Narrow Sea, and the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea was already behind them. "Here in the Canal of Heroes, we raise statues to remember those who had led Free Braavos to wealth and glory," Qarro explained.

"Are these your soldiers?" asked Carl. Even as his eyes looked at the surroundings, his hands were busy bending small glass sticks, and he had a mischievous smile on his face when Arya turned to look at him. For what purpose Arya did not know.

"Sealords," said Qarro. "There were warriors among them, but most were magisters or merchants or bankers. The strength of our fleet has kept war far from our own shores."

"We had Mount Rushmore from where we came from," Michonne spoke from behind them. "Four of our Presidents' faces were carved onto a hill in the middle of our land, to remember those leaders who founded and brought prosperity to our country."

And the North had Winterfell's crypts, statue of statue upon Stark kings and lords with iron swords in their hands. Father and Robb would be buried there too… if their bones could be found. Tyrion had sent Father's bones to Riverrun, and Mother had sent them north from there, but no word of them had been heard ever since. No word had come back from Olyvar either since he left for the Twins. Maybe he's on his way back with Robb's bones. Arya could only hope.

The sun had just set when they entered the Purple Harbor. Carl was nearly done with the crown in his hands. A strange blue light shone through the soft glass sticks, brighter than any of the ships in the harbor, nearly as bright as the alehouses and inns on shore. Nine glowing hoops were fanned in front of the crown's circlet in a seashell pattern. A winter rose of paper was pinned to where those two parts of the crown met, in the centre where all could see. Carl gently set the crown on Arya's head just as the barge began to dock. "You're beautiful, my lady," he whispered. "Care for a dance?"

Clumsily they danced at first. They barely had enough time to practice, not after also preparing for the song they would sing for the Braavosi right before the Titan roared. But it did not take long for both to pick up the pace. She was taught by Braavos' best dancer after all, while Carl learnt much from her in their spare time.

On and on they danced. They weaved through the crowds, making their way through streets large and alleys small. They danced next to the canals, spinning next to the dark waters below. Several times they nearly fell in. Luckily Carl always found his footing whenever Arya lost hers, and Arya held steady whenever Carl tripped.

A whirl of masks floated by, so many that they began to blur. A red-haired woman as tall as Mother, a bravo's mask with a beak long enough to fit Syrio Forel's nose. She saw black-cloaked Yoren, heard Jory Cassel's laugh, smelled Septa Mordane's faint perfumes, they were all here under these masks tonight. "We're free! We're free!" The revellers sang as they danced.

But Mother and Syrio were gone in the blink of an eye. Then Yoren and Jory and Septa Mordane too. Only one gold-glittered mask stayed through the night, one pair of warm hands held onto hers from the Dome to the Blue Lantern, and beyond. Faster and faster they danced, whirling past mummer's playhouses and over stone bridges, storming their way east, east, until a square suddenly opened up in front of them with a huge fountain in the middle. "That's the Moon Pool!" Arya excitedly raised her voice.

"And that's the Iron Bank!" Carl exclaimed. "Wanna make a few quick bu-gold dragons there? We can buy a small house in Braavos and more food for Westeros."

"The Braavosi don't use gold dragons, silly," Arya laughed. It wasn't as if they needed the coin right now. The Westerlanders' mines and the Crownlanders' ports more than paid for themselves, and Alexandria was littered with things worth more than their weight in gold.

Any further talk of coin would have to wait. A huge crowd had followed them, in numbers so great that they would soon fill the entire square. "The pool!" Arya tugged at Carl's hand. They could dance for a bit longer, and then the crowd can hear them sing. They ran to the aptly named Moon Pool and started to go around. The moon was bright and round, Arya saw, before she tripped and the two tumbled into the pool.

Seconds later, Arya spat out a mouthful of water... straight into Carl's face. "Ugh!" he shouted, shaking the water off his head. He stood and pulled Arya up.

"Sorry," Arya said meekly.

They climbed out of the Moon Pool, soaked clothes dripping onto the cobblestones below. The crowd had formed a circle around the pool, stretching all the way down the three canals. Some had even managed to climb onto the Sweetwater. Arya gulped. All eyes were on her and Carl now.

Arya made to dance again, but Carl lifted his arm. On the timepiece on his wrist, the short ribbon was almost pointing straight north, and the longer one was just a little bit to its left. Nearly midnight. "It's time," he told Arya. Then he turned to the crowd and began to speak.

"People of Braavos," Carl shouted in broken Valyrian. "The Sunset Kingdoms send their greetings! Arry and I have yet to speak your tongue well, but we have a song for you on the anniversary of your victory." He gave Arya's hand a squeeze. On the count of three, they began to sing an Alexandrian tune, its lyrics changed from the original mummer's play.

Do you hear the Titan roar?
Over a lagoon of free men?
Roaring the war cry of a people
Who shall not be slaves again!
Men from every corner hail
The purple of Braavos' free sails
For they are the heralds of a
Time iron chains fail

And across the Narrow Sea
Both North and South stand guard with you!
A world where men are free
Is a world West'ros wants too!
So let's make a pact
Together we build this world anew!

Do you hear the Titan roar?
Over a lagoon of free men?
Roaring the war cry of a city
Ne'er to be enslaved again!
Now's the time! Take off your mask!
For free Braavos is but the start
Of a storm that shall blow till all
the world's free at last!

Far off in the distance, the Titan roared.

The roar boomed across Braavos' lagoon, over the ships and wharfs and all the houses that lined the city's crisscrossing canals. The Moon Pool rippled, drops of water flicking over the pool's edge. The Titan roared again, a triumphant cry for the Braavosi's ancestors in their struggle of blood and wit against their tyrannical overlords. Valyria was now gone, but free Braavos remained, rich and powerful over what remained of the Freehold's domains…

Just as the North will be, peaceful and prosperous amongst the lands that once made up the Seven Kingdoms. With Carl and the councillors of her kingdom, she would make the North into a realm that Father and Mother, Robb and Bran and Rickon, and all those who came before would have been proud to call home. And every New Year's Day, on the anniversary of the Grey Wedding...

The Titan roared for a third time, this time not so loud that Arya could finally hear the cheering crowds. Mask after mask fell from a sea of upturned faces, replaced by heartfelt smiles. Bravo! Bravo! Victory! Victory! The crowd chanted in Braavosi Valyrian, with a smidge of the Common Tongue here and there.

"You're supposed to take off your mask, boy, so that we can see your face." a man next to Carl said kindly. Arya's eyes darted to the ring on his finger. It was the Sealord of Braavos himself!

"I can't," Carl said softly when the Sealord motioned towards the eyepatch.
"Why? Because of your eye?" the Sealord asked. "Braavos has had its share of heroes over the centuries, many of whom proudly bear their scars as proof of service and sacrifice. Surely a boy brave enough to take down the Seven Kingdoms would be brave enough to take down an eyepatch."

"It's not an eye," Carl insisted. "It's a big fucking hole where an eye used to be. You Braavosi can take off their masks and go home after tonight, but if my eyepatch doesn't stay on, the whole world will be freaked out by just how ugly I am."

"You lie," accused Arya. Carl was anything but ugly. Sansa thought Carl was as handsome as Joffrey. Arya thought Joffrey couldn't hold a candle to Carl, with his silky black hair and that blue eye staring straight through one's soul.

"The hole… it's just gross, okay? Healed over bone and all that shit, grosser than anything you can ever imagine. You really don't want to see what's under it." However ugly that 'hole' may be, and it probably wouldn't be that bad anyway, it was the ugliness of Carl's old world which so cruelly took his eye right away from him. Even if Carl were ugly, what of it? There would be two ugly ducklings marrying each other in a few years, that's all.

"I do." Arya wrapped her fingers around the back of Carl's head and fumbled at the knot which held it up. Before long the knot came loose and down came the eyepatch. "You're beautiful," Arya whispered as she placed the piece of black cloth into his pocket. The exposed eye socket was exactly as Carl described it, but Arya didn't mind. If anything, he could take off the eyepatch during battle and scare the seven hells out of their foes.

"Her Grace speaks truly," the Sealord said as he stared straight at Carl. "But I shall leave you two… children to have some time alone. Come into the palace when you're ready, and we'll begin the feast."

"Just one more thing." Carl called after the Sealord. He pulled out a gun from his belt and shot into the air. A red ball of light arced over the expedition's ships. Seconds later, more balls of light shot upwards from some of the ships… and exploded.

Arya and Carl watched side by side, at the lovely flowers blooming above Braavos' skies.