Asha II

Asha's feet touched the solid stone of the street just beyond Drowned Town, and she sighed in relief. It had taken almost the whole of the previous night, but they'd finished all the discussions despite Lizabet being dragged away halfway through the auction. There had been grumbling, but in the end, the whole fleet seemed to be ready to head out for plunder.

'Only three days then,' Asha thought, stretching her legs, 'Until we make sail.'

It was what she was looking forward to the most. Drake and Lizabet always seemed to feel better on the sea. Lizabet firmed, the pleasures of her bed and cups no longer in her immediate reach. Drake would ease, the wind and the salt and sea bringing the girl who had planned the heist of Pyke back. And together, as their minds came closer together, their hearts would as well. In less than a fortnight, the two would be sisters once more, driving their sailors by day and drinking rum by night.

'Yes,' Asha thought as she marched through the crowds, 'Everything will be as it should be,' she couldn't help but smile, 'We'll be all together again.'

As she passed through the crowds, she noticed the stares. Every step she took, the entire crowd of citizens would look at her. The men and women, all dressed in fine clothes, all of the same old Valyrian Style, gave her a quick glance, saw she was a pirate, and then gave her all the hate they could without opening their mouths. The glares were part of her life on the stones of Braavos's streets, and were one of the reasons that these islands were not her home.

Home was the sea. Home was the salt spray crusting her hair and cooling her face. Home was the cut of rope along her palms and bunching of sail between her fingers. It was Salla, shouting at her for taking his last lemon cake. It was Asso, singing of how the king of the sea waited one day for a horse that could gallop upon the waves. It was Inneo, taking her out at the middle of the night, insisting she learn which star pointed north and which cloud meant a storm might be brewing. And it was Drake and Lizabet, two sides of a mirror, standing at the wheel, reading over some map or letter, inevitably leading to some new goal.

'If only,' she thought, 'If only we were already out there.'

Finally, she made it to the seventh street, past the Gate and two other playhouses, and only two streets off of Nabbo's Bridge. She turned right, south towards Ragman's and then began to look up along the top of the doorframes. She could never remember which building it was, why it had been chosen most like, but she knew by the doorframe. When she saw the small knot at the top, with a very small black tip, she nodded, and headed through the doorway.

She made her way up the stairs quickly, doing her best to be as little seen as possible. It was something she'd gotten better at these last five years or so, ever since she'd first learned of this place. It had been…shocking, that first time she'd made her way up here, but she had come to accept it by now. Even if she still thought this place was well beneath the captain of the Golden Stag.

Finally, on the third floor, she came to the plainest door she had ever seen. She placed her hand on the door, and knocked twice. She took a step back, and waited. On the other side, she heard the sound of feet shuffling across the floor, and could see the handle begin to turn. Then it stopped, and she listened as she heard a chain being slid across the door, and then, finally, the door opened. And staring up at her was a small boy, only just recently passed his fifth nameday.

With bright red hair.

"Mamma!" the boy shouted backward, and the great noise was enough to ensure to Asha that it was not just the flaming hairs that the boy had inherited from his mother, "Auntie Asha is here!"

"Hello Ferrego," the boy looked up, and gave her a smile half empty, the boy naturally missing half his teeth from their tendency to go crashing through life, "How have you been?"

"Very good Auntie," the boy bowed his head, his neck stiffly going down and then back up from memorization more than anything else, "Dorela got a puppy a few days ago. We played with it in the streets all yesterday."

"Dorela is the girl on the fourth floor, right?"

"Second floor next door Auntie," the boy said with absolute certainty, pointing toward the building like it was known to all, "Everyone knows that she lives next door."

"Clearly," Asha said, watching as from a different room, a woman suddenly appeared in a long woolen dress. A dress that looked no different from the dresses of half a hundred other small women across Braavos. It was too well made to be from those from Silt Town, and far too plain for the Purple harbor. But for the average woman, the fisherman's wives, the shopkeepers, the maids, it was perfectly suited.

"What are you doing here Asha?" which was why it seemed to so badly fit Drake. It certainly did not match her voice, which held the command that Asha had come to rely on so greatly while at sea, "Ferrego, stop wiping your nose with your sleeve," she then said, only for the boy to continue, "Ugh, what am I to do with you?"

"Sorry mamma," the boy said in a tone that meant he was not sorry in the least. Drake sighed, fell to her knee next to her son, pulled out a cloth from one of her sleeves, and then wiped under the boy's nose. And at the sight of the great pirate captain on one knee, Asha could only shake her head. How the child could be so obstinate against Drake of all people was beggar's belief, but it was true. It was just one of the many contradictions that this little bugger had brought to the life of this woman Asha so admired.

"Well?" Drake asked again, still working on her son's mucus. Asha snapped to attention, and then pushed her way into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Lizabet's finished off calming the other pirates," she said, and Drake nodded, her focus still on the boy in front of her, "He managed to get most of the captains to be happy with a bunch of new routes to raid," she then stood taller, and added, "And Tycho…"

"Did the raper live?'

"No," the Maesters and surgeons hadn't been able to save Illyno, who had died late last night, two days of horrible pain, "Tycho was bought off with a chest of treasure and a half rate of the split of what he get's for Volantis to Oldtown," she gripped her hand tighter than before, "Tycho…he wasn't…"

"He didn't seem quite as angry about the whole thing as you would have thought he would," Drake stated. When Asha nodded, the older woman sighed, "Tycho has never seemed to be the type to have anything approaching sentimentality for his family," she stood up, grabbing up her son and holding him in her arms, "Or love for his family for that matter. Really, I think the only reason he objected was that Illyno being castrated made him look weak. A plum route would be more than enough to satisfy him."

"Well he is a bandit isn't he?"

"Aren't we all," Asha could only give Drake a look at that. The older woman shook her head, before moving into another room. Asha followed her, and watched as Drake placed the boy on a small chair next to a table, in front of a plate with a mass of some kind of food, lightly steam coming off the top, "Eat Ferrego," she said firmly, and the boy grumbled, looking down at his plate. Asha looked down as well.

"You feed your son pig slop?"

Ferrego snorted, and Asha smiled, which only grew when she twisted to the left and allowed a small piece of bread to pass where she had been. She waved her finger at Drake, who glowered at her. The little boy only laughed more, only to stop when the firm hand of his mother clasped on his shoulder.

"Eat," she growled, and quickly the boy picked up his spoon and began to scoop the "Food" into his mouth. Drake then stood up to her full height, and motioned with her head for Asha to follow. Asha nodded back, and then Drake said, "Finish your supper Ferrego, Aunt Asha needs to speak to Momma about work," the boy looked up at her, the food clearly not being to his liking, before she added, "Finish it, or I'll get the belt," and the boy began to eat faster. Asha merely shook her head, before following Drake into the next room over.

"My, you've gotten soft," Asha commented, "You gave me the belt for simply calling your cooking shite."

"I didn't spend half a day on a table pushing you out," she grumbled. Drake leaned against the wall, and glared at her, "So, are you going to tell me why you decided to come here?" the look she gave was one she often had when being told that one of her and Lizabet's plans had run into some kind of obstacle they had not accounted for, "You know I have to sneak out here on my own so no one knows about Ferrego. You came out here in the middle of the day," she glared at Asha, "You are certa-"

"I was not followed," Asha snapped back. She knew how to go somewhere sneakily, "I'm not that little pimple covered brat from Pyke anymore."

"Yes, you are," Drake answered, "Just like I'm still the little salt-crusted brat from Silty Town," she sighed. Asha looked at Drake, and saw the deep ridges under her eyes. The older woman rubbed her hands beneath them, before saying, "You would only come here like this if it was something important, so get on with telling me what shit that Lizabet stepped in where you need to come running to me to fix."

"Is it that obvious?" Asha watched as a small smirk crawled up Drake's face. The two older women were the closest thing she had ever had to a mother, so it should not have been hard to guess that Drake would know almost immediately why Asha had come.

"If it was anyone else causing problems, you would have gone to Lizabet," and Asha could only nod at the reasoning, "Now tell me what matter of mischief she has caused where you need to come to me. DId she try and get into another fight with the Lord Baratheon," Drake seemed to scowl at that, "Moonsingers if she tried to have him threatened after the shit she and Bellegere pulled I-"

"No," Asha held up her hand, "No, it has nothing to do with the Baratheon," Drake seemed to relax a bit at that, "Well, it might, we have a meeting tonight with him and her father, but she did nothing to try and hurt him," Drake gave her a look, and Asha continued, "Well, it started when we were performing the splitti-"

"You what?" Drake stood up to her full height again, "you can't split the prizes yet. We don't even know if we'll have the Sealord's protection to go off raiding again," she reached up and cradled her forehead, "God, if Lord Antaryon agrees to ending piracy against the Seven Kingdoms, this entire thing will destroy us."

"It won't" Asha waved her hand, "After everything we've done, there is no way that Lizabet's father would go along with that bald bastard," Drake raised an eyebrow, which caused Asha to groan. Lizabet was right that this woman really needed to be able to let her worries go at times. The Sealord would be foolish to abandon them now. She and Lizabet would go to the Palace tonight, point out how much the pirates had given the Sealord, and then that would be that.

"I hope," Drake began, before shaking her head, and leaning back once more, "No, this isn't why you would come," Asha smiled, "Continue informing me what was so bad that it actually caused you to come to tell me."

"When we were handing them out," Asha continued, "We were interrupted by a band of mummers," Drake blinked at that. Asha could only shake her head, she'd been hoping that that alone would be enough for Drake to know what was happening, but it clearly wasn't, "They were a strange lot, most of them from the east, though one in particular happened to be a Ash Valyrian."

"Ash Valyrian," Drake's eyes widened at that, "Think it was the witch who kicked out ol' Mel from her cult in Volantis?"

"That was what I thought, and from what I could guess from Lizabet's words," Lizabet had been very quiet about all this.

"Well, then I suppose we told her it was too late to get her hands around Mel's neck," Drake chuckled, "Not that I'd object to the flaming bitch being dragged south to be burnt on one of her God's accursed pyres, but that monster's left to go west months ago," Drake tapped a finger to the rim of her jaw, "We could have offered a boat to send her over to White Harbour, Mel was supposedly going along the shore of the North last we-"

"They weren't after Mel," Asha said, not that she wouldn't have preferred if they were. None of their crew had fond memories of the Red Priestess. Lizabet had really only humored her for a fortnight or so after Mel had praised her as "Azor Ahai" or whatever she called her god. No, what they were looking for was far worse, "Really, they seemed to be after "Drake"."

"Drake," Drake said, getting the meaning immediately, "So they were looking for the captain and admiral of the fleet," after all, no one would be looking for the girl from Silty Town. But that didn't mean they were looking for the Sealord's daughter either.

"They were led by this boy," Asha thought to the boy, "Thin, black of hair. Blood of the east and west mixed," Drake continued to shake her head, and Asha could only sigh, "He demanded to speak to Lizabet in private, and she agreed to do so," Drake's eyes widened, "Yes, in front of the whole crowd, she let some boy at most seventeen name days past order her into a private discussion," Asha rubbed her temples, "It took a full throat to get the other captains to stand down after that."

Drake could only shake her head. This only made it clearer to Asha that this was something far more strange than she could understand. Drake had known Lizabet for longer than anyone alive, save her father of course, and yet she couldn't see where this was coming from. Something was truly wrong, yet she could not grasp what it was, and that was gnawing at Asha's belly. Drake twisted her mouth, before asking, "What happened next?"

"I worked with Salla to finish up handing out the routes," it had been difficult work. Many of the pirates took umbrage with being given their plunder by a woman. They would listen to Drake fine, but Asha was still just seen as a girl hanger on too most, and it had really taken the old sea dog to settle it all down, "After about an hour, I managed to leave Inneo to finish things, then took Inneo and Asso with me to go back Lizabet up," she stared down at the floor, "They were finishing up, but Lizabet's nose had been broken."

"No!"

"Yes," Asha said. Of every member of the crew, only Lizabet had never had a single injury. All the other members had taken a glancing scar, ripped their skin up on the ropes of the Stag, or had smashed some bone or other with a heavy thing. But Lizabet, she'd come through life as pristine as glass, "Gods, I was angry. And I could be angry because it seemed like Lizabet had sent them scurrying, mocking them as they fled."

"But…"

"But I'm scared Drake," Asha admitted, "I'm scared because despite smashing her face in, she didn't try and get any kind of retribution," she held her arms in a self embrace, "Gods, it was like she was glad she'd only gotten batted in the nose. Like if she had tried to attack back, we might have lost," Asha watched as Drake cupped her chin in her hand, "And it's only gotten worse. Lizabet's she's," Asha didn't want to admit it, but she finally opened her mouth, and spoke on why she'd come, "Lizabet has lost her moorings," Asha began to wave her hands in the air, "Lizabet got an entire barrel of rum from the cellar, ripped the top off of it with her bare hands," Asha held up her hands to show that, "Her bare hands Drake," she began to shake, "And then drank the whole thing bone dry before the sun set."

"Is sh-"

"She didn't even get drunk!" Asha cut Drake off, "She drank it like water, no, like air," even water would have eventually forced Lizabet to vomit, "And she's been bouncing around all night. Going back and forth, wandering around, having most of the men on watch looking for that group. Even a few outside the group," Asha stopped, "You've heard of the swordswoman?"

"The strange woman with a sword," Drake nodded, "I know they first reported something going on these past few weeks, that there has been a woman breaking up brawls. They say she is beautiful, and that her clothes and blade are strange, but for some reason no one knows what she exactly looks like" Drake sighed, "I actually heard that last night she was hanging around with two of those Westerosi and got nearly put the Broomhandle out of business," she paused for a moment, "I even think I met her yesterday."

"What?"

"I was coming here," Drake admitted. I had managed to change, but then," Drake stopped and blinked, "I can't even really remember what she looked like. She was beautiful," she shook her head, "But This woman, comes up, half into, well this," she held out the hem of her dress, "and calls me Drake," she sighed, "I nearly tried to strangle her, but she was out of my reach in a moment."

"She dodged you?"

"Said some strange things," Drake closed her eyes, "Did they mention something called Chaldea?"

Asha stopped, and thought on that, but, "Well, I didn't hear much of the talk. I didn't hear what they discussed," it was a strange name. Something that sounded foreign, but not explicitly from the east. Perhaps there was something in Old Valyrian.

"After a bit, she seemed to grow sad," Drake stopped, and rubbed her temples, "Moonsingers, I can't remember what she looks like, it was only two days ago," she shook her head, "Gods, well, she didn't threaten me after that. Just apologize for bothering me, said she must have mistook me for someone else."

"That hasn't happened before," Asha joked, which caused Drake to stare at her with half dead eyes. Asha coughed, and then continued, "Well Lizabet wanted us on the lookout for her," Asha groaned, "I don't know why, but something about the rumors set her on edge," Asha groaned, "I don't know what, but it seemed as though Lizabet was worried that they might come for her in the night. She's resting now, getting ready to go and speak with her father against Baratheon," Asha spat the last word, but continued, "But, she seems to have lost something, and I just…I just needed to talk to you before we go tonight."

Drake just rested against the wall, continuing to rub her chin. Finally, she sighed, and pushed herself to standing straight up. She then placed a hand on Asha's shoulder, and then said, "Asha, Lizabet has…been strange at times," Asha blinked, "No, even before time seemed to no longer have any wear on her, she would have strange dreams," Drake seemed to space off, "She would speak of names, and of places. Greenwich, Ascham, Wyatt, London," she stopped and winced, "Mary. The only name I recognized was Drake, and that was the one she repeated most," she sighed, "Whatever it was, she and I seemed close."

"None of those seemed to be the names of the people she was talking to."

"But they are connected," Drake continued, "THere is something in Lizabet, something," she shook her head, "I don't know what exactly. But that something is driving her. Maybe," she looked outside, "Maybe it's why she holds on to what I can't any longer."

"Drake?"

"Nothing, nothing," Drake sighed, "Just, be there with Lizabet, when I can't be," Drake place her hand on Asha's arm, "I haven't been there as much as Lizabet needs me, what with Ferrego," Drake sighed, "I had to pay fifty gold for two ladies to look after him these last four months. Going to put me out of house and home."

"Well that means it is good that we already have the routes divided," Asha smiled, "We managed to get the King's Landing to Myr," it was one of the most profitable of them all, "Imagine the amount of silk and lace we'll carry off. That should be more than enough for years of care for your brat."

"Yes," Drake pushed herself to her feet, and held her head outside the room, staring at the kitchen. Asha followed behind, and saw that Ferrego at least hadn't left his seat. Instead, the boy was a little over halfway done, but busy playing with it. Asha was about to comment once more on Drake's lifelong inability to cook well, but she looked over, and saw a sadness in the older woman's eyes, "Yes, that would be one way to handle this."

"...Drake?"

"...It's nothing," Drake sighed, before pulling back, and returning her gaze to the Asha, "I say, sneak back, and be ready to cover for Lizabet," she then flinched slightly, "You must make sure she doesn't let her furor disrupt negotiations. The fleet must have backing of the Sealord to remain operating as it has."

"Yes Drake," Asha bowed, and Drake smiled. The two gave one another a swift embrace, before Drake began to lead Asha out of the room, and towards the front door, "No, remember, be wary, but give Lizabet the support she requires," Asha continued to nod, as the door slowly began to close, "And if something goes wrong, come get me, but please do your best to do so with slyness as you can manage."

"Whatever you say Drake," she managed to get out, before the older woman closed the wooden door, and once again, Asha was left alone with her thoughts.


"To believe father is even having this man in his palace," Lizabet Antaryon whined, striding in front of Asha with her spine straight as steel, "Does he not remember that this man employs a rogue who struck the face of his only daughter and heir to the family?"

"I'm sure he does," Asha groaned, not bothering to even look up when Lizabet snapped back to glare at Asha's dismissal. Lizabet had somewhat calmed herself, but still, it was a bit worrying that she was going to the summit like this. She seemed to hold her anger chained back, but Asha could tell the chance of it coming free was probably too great for her liking.

They had just gone through the outer arch of the Palace. The thunderbolt atop the Palace's largest dome shined as the setting sun reflected off of its bronze surface. At every corner of the complex were guardsmen, either in pairs or groups of six, spears and shields at the ready. The Palace was the most secure place in all of Braavos, perhaps in all of Essos since the destruction of the Old Wall in Volantis. Over a thousand men, with walls on the outer face at least two feet thick, with a half dozen different layers to allow for tactical retreat. That it was also one of the most opulent residences in the world while being so secure in arms was a testament to the generations of masons and architects that had placed their hands on it.

"Halt," It was a group of six of the guards. Lizabet seemed to roll her eyes as she waited in front of them. The men looked both Lizabet and Asha over, before finally, the one in the lead waved his spear, "You may proceed to the Sealord."

"Waste of time," Lizabet spat, though if she was referring to the stop or to the meeting itself was something that Asha couldn't guess

Finally, they reached a great set of bronze doors. At the bottom, a dragon was tossed off a boat by men in chains. Then, a woman with the head of a moon waved her hands up, to the north. The ship then sailed up the wood, buffeted by storms, attacked by other dragons, until finally, it pushed through the fog, reaching a great lagoon. Then, above the lagoon, an image of two hands pulling apart a metal chain.

The Founding of Braavos was originally wood, said to have been carved from the hull of that ship the slaves had tossed their masters from those many centuries ago. Asha herself, no stranger to petrified wood older than any living man, wondered how long the doors could last. If the original wood was in there, it must have rotted away inside the bronze. And that would be eroding the metal from the inside out. That the doors were always opened and closed with care, all to prevent the weak structure of the doors from collapsing in upon themselves.

'Well,' Asha sighed, as Lizabet threw open one of the great doors, 'they are supposed to be opened carefully.'

"Ah," and then came the old familiar voice of the Sealord, "It is good you finally managed to arrive Lizabet," The old man was sitting in a chair along a round table, a small fire in the hearth to the side to keep the night air from giving him a chill, a great window on the other pointing west across the Purple Harbour. His hair only had wisps of red in it now, the rest having taken on a dull yellow in his aging. He had a little tuft of a red beard however, and that was the only thing that connected him to his daughter. Where she was thin, he was plump. Where she stood tall, he slumped forward. Where there was fire in her eyes, there was nothing but too much sweat pouring all over his body, "Any later, and our talks might have already begun."

"Well father," Lizabet said, striding next to her father, pulling out the chair covered in silk pillows, and seating herself lazily, "I am sure you would manage. You seem to do that quite well."

"Lizabet," Ferrego Antaryon warned, pointing his finger, "Why must you-," he continued to point at Lizabet's face, but as she kept her glare directly on him, he sighed, and shook his head, "Why my dear, must you make me regret even inviting you here?"

Asha winced, as Lizabet growled, "Because there is no reason to even be here," she pointed out the door, "We are Braavos. They are Land Fuckers," Ferrego's face turned down in frustration, "My fleet has been plundering their wealth for nearly five years now. They aren't worth giving your time," she leaned down, "My ships could sink the whole of their "Royal" fleet and you know it."

"Yes, well," the Sealord sighed, "Mayhaps you could," he then brought his hand up, "Mayhaps you couldn't. I only know that they likely believe they could overcome your fleet."

"They also believe themselves to be the height of wit and wisdom," Lizabet snarked. At that Ferrego snorted, "I know that even the smallest of them think that they could have the Black Pearl and the Poetess and the Merling Queen all lined outside their door, tearing off one another's robes so they take in the size of his member," Asha could only raise an eyebrow at that suggestion.

"I see you have been reading Sealord Metserys's Collections," and Asha could only guess it was some reference to a history she did not know, "Mushroom has been dead for a century. We best not sling arrows at the dead," the Sealord smiled, "After all, I'm not sure they'd reach him through all the fire."

Before Lizabet could respond, the sound of footsteps came from the side of the bronze doors. Asha wondered how the architects had designed the hall to funnel sound into this room, but it was useful, at least as much in telling what was coming. And what was coming was a small group, most likely three men.

'We would be too lucky if he brought Seaworth,' she grit her teeth. Part of her could not understand why Lizabet had allowed the old smuggler to lay her out at the party. Certainly it wasn't from a lack of a violence in her nature, Asha had seen Lizabet kill men in monstrous ways, 'Though we might get a second chance if Stannis actually brought a man who struck the Sealord's daughter into his palace again.'

But no, most likely, this was just going to be another set of nobles. So they would not be taking Davos Seaworth's head from his shoulders. But really, that wasn't too bad. These nobles would likely not be as well versed in Braavos as the old Smuggler had been. They would likely be too caught up in their titles and how things happened across the narrow sea. And, for all their differences, both Ferrego and Lizabet had minds as swift as the wind. They'd run circles around these over confident and unprepared fools.

Then, finally, came a knock on the bronze door. Ferrego gave his daughter one final look, of what emotion Asha could not say, before nodding.

"Come in," the Sealord called. The door first opened, and the shining crown of Stannis Baratheon's head led the way. His jaw was already set in frustration, likely from realizing just how isolated he was in this palace. Yet still he strode in strongly, and at that stride Ferrego continued with, "It is good to finally meet you face to face, Lord Baratheon."

"It is," Stannis seemed to consider his next words, before settling on, "An honor to meet you as well, Sealord Antaryon," the tall man's blue eyes were fixed on Lizabet, who simply smirked at the prince, "Though I must say, I had hoped that I would have had the chance to speak with you before this discussion to set our expectations…privately."

"It was an unfortunate line of events that kept me from being here to greet you myself," Ferrego answered, though every single person in the room knew it was bullshit. The Sealord had been "Bookdeep" with the Poetess that night, and while he may not have approved of Lizabet's gambit to Stannis off with visits to the Black Pearl, he hadn't seemed against it either. Stannis did his best to hide that he saw this lack of concern for Lizabet's actions, but he wasn't very good at hiding his anger, and Asha was only barely able to keep her laughter under control. Ferrego clasped his hands together, and then added, "Still, do consider this to be a private meeting as well. You are not making your case before the Palace of Truth, so you may be more free with what you are thinking."

"I'd rather not," Stannis snarled, "If I said that, then these talks might go quite poorly."

"At least you demonstrate some level of decorum," the old man snorted. Stannis furrowed his brow, held his stance, "Well come in," he waved his hands, podgy fingers rippling towards him, "Take a seat, it is improper for our honored guest to stand during this."

"Oh thank you," Asha recognized the voice. She felt her jaw come unhinged as a familiar looking boy arrived. The waves of black hair, the lithe frame, and the strange red inkings up along his arm. Though now, unlike before, he was in more formal clothing, a subdued black tunic…with a strange, ivy covered C on his breast, "It would be our honor to sit at your table, gracious Sealord."

Asha looked to her left, and saw that Lizabet's eyes had nearly popped out of her skull, with her fingers slowly drilling into the wood of the table. Ferrego was also surprised, but he mostly seemed curious. The Sealord looked over the boy, likely attempting to draw together all his knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms to understand who this boy could be. Certainly, there was no family of note in the Seven Kingdoms that looked like this boy.

'But that sigil,' Asha looked at the letter on his chest, 'That seems…strange,' she then thought for a moment, 'Wait…could that be Chaldea?'

"Oh, and we have one more member of our party," the boy continued, as Stannis's eyes had widened only slightly, as he had taken in just how affected Drake had been by the boy's arrival, "Cu, could you come in here."

'Fuck,' Asha hissed, as suddenly the tall frame of the Hound of Winterfell strolled in the room last. They likely kept him back to serve as a way to throw them all off. The Hound of Winterfell was a legend on both sides of the Narrow Sea. Any man who was said to have killed the legendary White Bull would be famous in Westeros. And here, among the Free Cities, there had been legends of a blue haired spearman cutting his way through the disputed lands during one of the many wars between the Three Daughters of Valyria. He had disappeared into the East some time ago, but recently-

"I just got done with some business in Pentos," Cu chuckled, walking up next to Stannis, and placing his hand on the prince's shoulder. The muscles along his arms bulged, and Asha could not help but follow the veins up Cu's arms, to the scene of death along his chest. The "business" in Pentos was the sudden and violent death of the last prince of the Targaryen Dynasty, Viserys the Third. He'd been allowed to remain in Pentos for sometime, where the Sealord of Braavos could offer him "refuge".

And by all accounts, Cu's statement confirmed what had been the rumors coming out of Braavos's prized jewel. That the legendary Hound of Winterfell had gone on a rampage during a wedding involving the Targaryen Prince. Whether it was Viserys marrying his younger sister, or some Pentosi Magister's daughter, or perhaps something with a Dothraki call, no one could get the whole truth. The only thing everyone agreed on was that Viserys was dead, and that his younger sister had disappeared.

'And now,' Asha nearly stepped back, 'We have one of the Baratheon's most legendary warriors arrive, from the same city,' she had to bite the inside of her cheek, 'mocking the Sealord for his inability to keep the barbs of the Stag from impaling the last dragon.'

"Oh, Ser Cu," if Ferrego had been caught off guard, however, he refused to show it. His placed his meaty fingers together, and slowly stretched them, before waving his hands at the chairs, "I think it would be best if the three of you sat down," he then raised his plump hands once more, and snapped his fingers together, and suddenly a hole appeared in the wall, with servants emerging, carrying pitchers and cups toward the table, "I will of course provide something to wet your dry throats as well."

"Your…graciousness is appreciated," Stannis finally said, taking his seat, while Cu and the strange boy took their places at his side. Cups were quickly placed in front of both they and Ferrego and Lizabet. Stannis glared down as a golden wine was poured into the cups, "There is no need," the Prince said, "I do not need any wine."

"Oh come now," Ferrego lifted his cup to his lips, and seemed to take the time to waft it in front of his nose as he took a sip, "Surely you can appreciate a vine Arbor Gold. One of the great vintages of your lands, is it not?"

"I have no doubt," Stannis said firmly, glaring over at the older man with a greater anger than before, "Yet, I try to limit my drink, I will not be having any of this wi-"

"FIne then," suddenly, a hand to Stannis's right reached out, and snatched the cup up. A second later, Cu had the Prince's cup to his lips, and proceeded to guzzle the whole cup down in one swig. He then slammed the cup down on the table, next to Cu's already empty one, and smiled. He then pointed at the boy, and said, "Ritsuka, you going to finish that one off?"

"Yes Cu," the flatness of the boy's voice told Asha he had dealt with this before, as he lifted the cup to his lips and took a far more reasonable sip. Stannis, on the other hand, looked somewhere between scandalized and humiliated. Ferrego had nearly lost control of his own cup, but had managed to hold onto it. Lizabet looked like a few of the veins on her neck might burst as she ground her teeth. And Cu, noticing this, gave Asha's captain a feral grin.

"Yes well," the Sealord coughed, before finally speaking up again, and drawing the conversation towards himself again, "Lord Stannis," attention again turned to the bald man at the opposite side of the table, who managed to regain his composure, "I believe that the Lord Seal, Jon Arryn," the lord of the East and Hand of the King, "Sent a Raven saying that you would be negotiating on behalf of Robert Baratheon."

"King Robert Baratheon," Stannis said.

"Robert Baratheon," the Sealord continued. Asha gave a flick of her eyes, and saw some of the anger leave Lizabet's face. At least for the moment, Lizabet's father was on their side, "Your brother has been sending me raven after raven, demanding many things that I am not sure I can give him," he then held out his hand, and twisted it around his wrist, "that I, say, hand over the head of every pirate captain to him personally, so he can mount them on their wall," Asha took one look at Lizabet's neck, but she seemed to smile, "But, we have no pirates."

"I suggest you look to your left," Stannis's teeth ground. Asha smirked at the crack of emotion.

"Why," Ferrego said, smiling as he reached out, and placed his hand on Lizabet's, "I do not understand what you are saying. This is my beloved daughter, and she is but," he twisted his head slightly to the side, "A sellsword captain," his smile got wider and fuller, "why, she is no different in profession than the man to your left."

"I don't go robbing merchants and murdering sailors," Cu growled.

"Oh, I think you've placed a few merchant's heads on pikes in your time Ser Cu," Lizabet shot back. Cu turned his red eyes toward her, and bared his teeth, massive sharp canines shining in the few rays of light still coming in from the window to the west..

"We are not here to discuss the merits of the life of a sellsword," Stannis declared, seeming about to stand up out of his chair, but taking a swift breath, and remaining in his seat, "We are here to discuss an end to you allowing these," he stopped, and took in another, larger breath, flaring his nostrils as he did so, "Sellswords to pillage and plunder the boats and ships of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Pillage," Ferrego chuckled, "Plunder," he shook his head, "They are simply taking what is needed to maintain their patrols," Stannis's cheeks began to grow redder, "Those ships they…interned, would have been allowed free travel had they simply had rights of trade from the Iron Bank," he then leaned back, "I have offer Robert Baratheon these rights for all ships sailing under the banner of your great houses, but-"

"We will not declare ourselves subservient to you," Stannis shouted, "You demanded that Robert, King of the Seven Kingdoms," he said, emphasizing the title, "must henceforward ask for the assent of the Sealord of Braavos on any negotiations with the other cities of Essos," this time, he actually stood to his full height, "Not only that, but that he must also pay yearly tribute of fifty thousand gold dragons."

"Quite a sum," the boy to Stannis's right finally spoke up once more. Yet, there was a question at the back of that statement, as the boy's eyes shot between both Stannis and Ferrego. He seemed…to be taking in all this without much question.

"Not only that," Stannis added, "But you have also said that we are to end the minting of our coins," he pointed directly into Ferrego's face, "And we are to make all our payments in Braavosi Coin. We would be exchanging our gold and our silver for little chips of iron," he then slammed his fist on the table, "You would then even forbid us to take any loans with the other banks of the Free Cities. To save our ships, you would have us be vassal in all but name."

At that, the Sealord merely shrugged, "If Robert Baratheon cannot protect his folk upon the sea, than what right does he have to be "King"?"

"You know," Ritsuka finally spoke up, and likely kept Stannis's crown from blowing off the top of his head. He was swirling the wine in his cup, before lifting it to his head, "You really must have a lot of faith in your "Sellswords"," he looked Lizabet in the face, "I can say that I know Drake is a fine captain, but you would be relying on, what, sixty pirate ships to protect you if King Robert Baratheon decides to come knocking."

"Sixty ships," the Sealord paused, before staring at the young boy, before laughing, "Your name is Ritsuka, correct," the boy nodded his head, "Why, I think you do not understand. I have over three hundred war galleys beyond my daughter's fleet to call into actions should the Master of Ships attempt to attack us by sea," he smiled, "And it is only by sea we may be attacked, as I am sure you have seen."

"I'd be a bit more worried about someone messing with your sweetwater river," Ritsuka said offhandedly, which caused the Sealord to raise an eyebrow, "though you are probably right, no army the Seven Kingdoms could field would actually be able to maintain itself on the southern edge of the lagoon long enough to permanently deprive you of freshwater. You'd be able to outlast them."

And then, he smiled. He sat up from his chair, and rubbed his arm. He walked over to fire place, pulled out the steel poker, and played with the logs in the fire, "Boy," the old man spoke up, his eyes carefully looking over Ritsuka, "What is it you are about to say."

"Nothing," Ritsuka smiled, "Just that, Stannis over there wouldn't need to cut off the Sweetwater. By landing an army on the mainland. If they really wanted to, the Seven Kingdoms would beat Braavos in a war at sea."

"Ha," the Sealord barked out a laugh, before lowering his eyes to glare directly at Ritsuka, who just continued to play in the fire place, "You are ignorant of much boy," he then raised his fat fingers, and pointed at the great bronze door, "My people were born of the sea, we sailed under threat of dragons, fought slavers and ravers for centuries through seamanship passed down the generations," he then looked over at Stannis, "This man couldn't take a single island without one of our ships commanded by a girl not yet twenty managed to sneak under his nose and steal the most prized symbols of that conquest," he then looked back at Ritsuka, "And you say that he and his boats filled with farmers and goat herders could match my galleys?"

"Let's put aside that most of the ships will be filled with fisherman and sailors pissed off at you all for letting pirates terrorize them for half a decade," Ritsuka's expression didn't even change, as he continued to play with the dying embers, "I will grant you, that man for man, ship for ship, your war fleets are probably better than the fleets of Westeros. I just don't think that will matter, and that," he then placed the poker to the side, and reached down, and grabbed something Asha could not see, "Is because of this."

A fire log was then placed on the negotiating table.

"Firewood?" Asha asked, and then looked at Ferrego, and saw the old man's eyes widen.

"Let me tell you, I have problems with this place," Ritsuka laughed, "So much of this place doesn't make sense, from the whole Iron Age civilization actually only having slave armies to the whole religion of setting our own adherents on fire constantly," he then smiled, "And, I sort of thought that your city was another example of that," he stopped, "And maybe it is, maybe somehow everything adjusted to add some kind of real-"

"Ritsuka," Cu seemed to rub the bridge of his nose, "You're rambling."

"Oh, right," Ritsuka laughed, "Well, anyway, I didn't get how Braavos could be the strongest naval power in the known world. So much didn't even add up when you looked on a map. And then," he patted the top of the piece of wood, "I had to pay a bronze coin from Pentos to get one of these things," he smiled, "If I'm correct Cu, one of those bronze coins is basically, worth about three of the Iron coins of Braavos?"

"Four," Cu answered, all the while Stannis's face became quite confused.

"But, four iron coins," he wondered aloud, "That's at least worth half a Silver Stag."

"Exactly," Ritsuka pointed at the Prince, "And about twenty or so Silver Stag's go into a Gold Dragon right," Stannis Baratheon nodded, "Anyway, what his means, is that, say, a single piece of firewood at a rather poor in is worth about as much as a full meal of meat, bread and ale. Which is insane," he then pointed at Stannis once more, "How much would this piece of firewood cost in the Seven Kingdoms?"

"I can not say for certain," Stannis looked at it, "But, should I take a guess, I'd say it would be a copper star at most?"

"Which is a twentieth of a silver stag, or about a tenth as much over there as here in Braavos," when Stannis nodded at Ritsuka's estimate, the young man smiled, "Now, I may be wrong, but firewood is almost always the lowest quality wood, I mean, it is meant to burn away during its use," he then smiled, "But if firewood costs that much, I wonder how much good, solid wood costs. Like, say, the wood you build a ship with."

"Well," Ferrego began, twisting in his seat for a moment, "That is-"

"I'll tell you, because I went around Ragman's and found quite a few former dockworkers and tradesman who were more than willing to talk about how much the amount of wood to build one of Braavos's war galleys costs," he slide back into his chair, crossing his arms and smirking at the Sealord, "I don't need to go into the specifics, but let's just say that the inflation of wood prices is just as true for wood of high quality as for low quality."

"What does that matter," Lizabet stood up. She had a redness around her neck, and her eyes bored into the young man, "So you make cheap ships our better, just like our sailors."
"Yes," Ritsuka said, "Your ships are better, that also means that losing them hurts more," he looked at Stannis, "In Westeros, how many War Galley's could you have for an assault on this harbor.?"

"Six Hundred," Stannis said, with such quickness, and a realization in his eye, that Asha guessed he knew that from memory. He was the Master of Ships, he'd probably have to know the numbers of galley's in not only the Royal Fleet, but the Lannisport Fleet and the Redwyne Fleet. Not to mention every other smaller set of galleys that individual lords might be able to bring together.

"So even if you are correct, about your sailors and your ships being worth twice as much as any of the Seven Kingdoms," Ritsuka tapped his finger, "You will still lose them."

At that, the whole table got quiet. The Sealord's hand began to tremble, his eyes wider. He himself had been a trader, a merchant. For all of the glory of Braavosi arms, he had not ever actually commanded his fleets, his soldiers, to engage in a massive campaign. The thought of those ships going down, their crews being dragged with them, was something he clearly did not enjoy. In comparison to Stannis, who seemed grim at the suggestion, but determined to see it through, Asha could not help but think were Ferrego Antaryon the only one speaking for Braavos, the Baratheon would have already won.

"So that maybe," which was why having Lizabet here was so important to their cause, "But let us say you even manage that," she pointed toward the wall, out to the West, "The Arsenal builds a War Galley a day-"

"Can build," Ritsuka said, "Like I said, I was asking around, and really, you only make about on every five or six days, depending on damages, raiding," Lizabet looked at Ritsuka dumbly, and then shrugged, "Again, I asked around. Enough of your retired ship-builders around Ragman's to tell us that you don't really build one of those things every day," he then leaned forward, "Because again, you can't afford to."

"So, what," Lizabet shot back, "We don't need them to produce one a day now, but should even you admit that we can if this horrific slaughter on the sea happened."

"You could as long as you can afford to."

"We are Braavos," Lizabet chuckled, "We have the Iron Bank. We can afford to rebuild our fleet."

"For a while," Ritsuka's face lost its humor, "But what happens when suddenly, Braavos can no longer defend its empire," Ferrego raised his hand, "Don't lie to me, Braavos is an empire. I was in Pentos, and let me tell you, they don't care for the arrangements down there," he stood up, "The moment your fleets can't respond to the governor there, the Prince there is going to throw every bit of control you have out. And they'll have plenty of help with the other Free Cities, the Daughters and Volantis," he slammed his fist into the wood of the table, "And then, what about your merchants and traders. Do you think that the Masters of Slavers Bay and Volantis will simply allow your ships free reign, after you've spat in their eyes for decades, or do you think they will sink you ships, enslave your sailors, and," he pointed directly at Stannis, "Offer gifts of treasure to him so he can build a new fleet, and take you on the second try."

"We'll sti-"

"And what happens, when all the trade dries up," Ritsuka asked, "How will you pay to import the wood? How will you pay your craftsmen and shipwrights?" He glared, "You won't, and even with your great Colossus, you won't win. Not when they can just cut down the windbreaks along your islands and let you all freeze to death," he was spitting now, "And even if you last through that, eventually the weight of numbers will overwhelm you," he stood up his full height, "You can't win."
"Ritsuka

The boy stopped, and looked over at Cu. The Hound was still glaring at Lizabet, but he was calmer than anyone else. Stannis looked at least mildly perturbed, Ferrego was shaking, and Lizabet's face was red. But Ritsuka was sweating, and he slowly reached up, touching his chest for a moment, before he sighed, and nodded. He slowly sat back down, before taking in a breath.

"Why would you do this?"

Stannis remained grim, and for a moment Asha wondered if he was speaking to Ritsuka. But quickly she saw that the bald stag was looking at Ferrego, "Why would you risk everything for this?" he waved his hand toward Lizabet, who appeared ready to speak, before Stannis continued with, "We are not your enemy. There has never been war between Braavos and Westeros. So why set these pirates against us?"

Ferrego looked up at him. Asha could see it there, the low opinion all of those of the Free Cities felt for the people of the Seven Kingdoms. A western backwater, with customs so much less advanced than the learned children of Valyria. Even Braavos, for all its hatreds for that slaving empire, could not help but look down on the Westerosi. That even ignored that not even a generation ago, the last bloodline of Valyria still ruled the Seven Kingdoms, and still had the accursed dragons as their sigil.

"Because you are already undermining their empire, only more slowly," Ritsuka's voice cut through the tension, and both Ferrego and Stannis looked over at the younger man, "I was wondering myself, actually. I at first thought he was merely doing this to indulge his daughter," again, Lizabet and Ritsuka's eyes met, anger clear in both of them, "But, your terms," he looked over, "Most of them were economic. So there is something going on in Westeros that is undermining Braavos's economy badly," he leaned forward, hands clasped in front of his face while his elbows rested on the table, "I'm guessing Westeros has been causing an inflation crisis."

Stannis's face scrunched, while Ferrego blanked. He then, slowly, nodded, before finally, with a shaking voice, "How did you figure that out?"

"The terms," Rtisuka shook his head, "Most of the demands don't make sense. Like the tribute," he looked over at Stannis, "Fifty thousand dragons…from how you are describing costs, that's a big sum, but not one that you'd expect from being forced into being a vassal, right?"

Stannis stopped, and looked down, as though he was counting the coins in his hand. Finally, he nodded, "That you make the point, that is a rather paltry sum," he gave a quick glance over toward Lizabet, "We lost more the last two years from the piracy."

"Thought so, and I'm betting you," he turned back to the Sealord, "Were planning on dropping that bit of the request the first chance you got. Hell, probably with a little wrangling, you were going to get offer to drop the demand about dealing with the other free cities too," the Sealord didn't make a motion to deny it at all, his eyes just seeming to sink inside his head, "No, what finally made all this make sense was about the coins."

"Coins," Stannis growled, "Why would coins be enough to risk open war?"

The Sealord seemed to scowl, his eyes nearly beginning to wrap into the back of his head. It was similar to how the Sealord's daughter look, though she showed less restraint. Stannis clearly noticed, and was about to respond to the looks, when Ritsuka raised his hand.

"Lord Baratheon," he said, "What do you know about inflation?"

Stannis stopped, looked at him, and then said flatly, "It is that, due to changes over time, money will buy less than it used to," he stopped, and then added, "For example, when I was reading of the Dance of the Dragons, I found in one story that it cost much less per bushel of hay for his army, even though it was during similar points during winter," he stopped, "It has many causes, the minting of more coins over time while old coins remain in pockets, bad harvests causing shortages," he then returned his steel blue eyes to Lizabet, "Blocked trade routes."

Ritsuka nodded, "You are right," he then pulled out a coin, "And I can assure you, that Braavos has had inflation for its coins too," he then smiled, "Small inflation is perfectly natural, and can be good if it shows that you are producing more goods, because it means more riches and wealth are being generated."

"The problem," finally, the Sealord spoke again, "Is that when inflation is too large, it can be disastrous."

"You have been contributing to it," Stannis spoke up, "Spices cost so much more now because half our traders have their goods ripped away!"

"Bu-"
"Lord Baratheon," Ritsuka cut of the Sealord, who now seemed to have regained his steel and seemed ready to strike the boy, but Ritsuka instead worked with Stannis, "That's not that inflation they are worried about," Ferrego stopped, however. Stannis looked at Ritsuka, before nodding, and Ritsuka began, "From how much they seem to want to handle the mint, I think…okay, I do not want to be rude," a snort from Lizabet caused Ritsuka to flinch, but he continued, "I do not want to be rude, but have you all been minting more money recently?"

Stannis looked at Ritsuka, and for a moment, they just sat there. Stannis then sighed, and placed his hands on his scalp, and seemed to rub them with a bit more vigor than before, "Ro-King Robert," Stannis had to correct himself, and Asha almost let out a chuckle, "Has been…profligate in his handling of money."

"An understatement," Ferrego spoke up, "Do you know how much that brother of your's spends?" the flinch in Stannis's shoulders seemed to indicate that he at least had some sort of idea of that, "I've heard how much that boar of a man consumes, how much he spends on his tournaments and his bouts of drinking."

"You do not need to remind me," Stannis began to grip his hands together more tightly, "He is far too loose with his money," he then sighed, "But most of the money is not owed to you, it's owe-"

"To House Lannister," Ferrego said, "I know. That's the problem," he sighed, "The crown takes loans from House Lannister, how are more than willing to support the crown with their money. Not only does this support the queen, but it also empowers their house. They are in charge of the minting of Dragons."

"Really?" Ritsuka looked over to Stannis, who nodded.

"Kevan Lannister was made Master of Coins around ten years ago," Stannis spoke, "It made it easier for coins to be printed," Stannis growled, "I am not happy about it, or about my brother's indulgences, but that does not explain why that would be such a concern."

"Because your brother was spending so much, and the Lannister's were minting so much, the Gold Dragon has lost almost a third of its worth in the last decade."

"It's that bad?" Ritsuka asked. The surprise was not just on his face. Stannis's eyes had widened, and Cu, who had seemed rather lost by the whole conversation, had perked up at that line, "Damn."

"Your brother and his wife's family are to mint so many coins that soon your gold will be worth less than my iron," there was a bite in the Sealord's words.

"And I'm guessing that's undercutting Braavos's interests," Ritsuka said, "LIke, I wouldn't be surprised if the Iron Bank and Braavosi merchants are very heavily invested in Westeros."

"Once again young man," Ferrego seemed quite exhausted by now, "You certainly seem to have a great deal of knowledge for one so young," Ritsuka closed his eyes and smiled, reaching his hand back and rubbing his head. The Sealord groaned, before leaning forward and, slowly, nodded, "Though you are correct. We are," he paused, before continuing, "Heavily invested in the Iron Throne," he stared ahead grimmly, "should the coin of the Seven Kingdoms become worthless, that would…well, your prophecy of the fall of my city might be true with or without a blade drawn between the Seven Kingdoms and Braavos."

Stannis and Ritsuka looked at one another, their eyes widened slightly, before they turned back, and the Lord of Storm's End asked, "How?"

"Well, as you said boy," the Sealord nodded his head to the youngest at the table, "It would start in Pentos. Should our investment in the Iron Throne fail, then we would no longer be able to afford things such as the bribes to Pentosi Magisters, or the pay for the Bravos under our employ," he sighed, "Half a year of failed payments, Pentos will descend into anarchy. The other daughters of Valyria would see our power falter, and they would do as you said. Seize our traders, enslave our sailors, and restore Pentos to its rancid power. And what could we do to stop that," he traced his fingers across the lines of his head, "As you say, we cannot replace our ships fast enough in a total war at sea. And with as much respect as I can offer you, Lord Baratheon, your ships are not the equal of the Volantis' war galleys. And I can assure you, after that fracas at their walls, the tigers are ready to bite something," Ritsuka seemed to go stiff for a minute, before looking shiftily side to side.

The Sealord then placed his hands on the edge of the table, and pushed. The seat beneath him moaned as it moved against the stone floor, that was followed by the clear sound of the wooden heels of the Sealord's boots hitting the ground. Ferrego Antaryon, an old man in but a few steps, walked to the window at the side of the room, and stared out of it. He brought his fingers up to the glass, and slowly dragged them down. Asha could see, when the fingers came to a stop at the bottom, that they had passed over the figure of the titan in the distance,

"My forbearers could not see," he began, "They could not see what misery they would leave me with. For three centuries now we have been fools," he banged his hand on the glass, "When the fires of Valyria finally consumed those monsters, those wretched slavers, did we praise the gods humbly, thanking them finally for delivering us from the beasts?" he slammed his palm once more, "No, we became like them. Scheming, slaughtering, conquering. Our eyes saw the world as a platter, and we never worried that some of the morsels might contain poison. We ate too much, spent too much, and now, it could come crashing down by a crisis of coin."

"The Iron Throne shall not mint any new coins for ten years."

And then everything stopped once more, and all the heads snapped to Stannis Baratheon. The bald man simply sat there, looking at them all, before saying, "Everything you both said leaves me to believe that the continued minting of new coins is one reason that the Throne is in debt," he raised his hand, and rubbed his chin, "I cannot offer a change in currency, or the permanent end of minting coins, but as a starting point, I can offer you ten years."

"Wha-ho-why?" the Sealord stammered. It almost looked like Lizabet was about to fall out of her chair, and Ritsuka seemed more stunned then all the rest.

"As you said," Stannis sat back in his chair, "tis a good policy for the Seven Kingdoms themselves if there is a period of no more printing coins from the gold of Casterly Rock," Asha was not sure, but she thought she saw the vaguest outline of a smile, "A kingdom that cannot trust it's coins is a kingdom that does not survive."

"That," Ferrego took a moment, trying to regain his footing, "That would be…a most prudent decision, Prince Baratheon."

"It is a wise policy," Stannis said simply, before his eyes went cold as he stared at the older man, "This is a night, I think, that both Westeros and Braavos should begin to…speak through what policies would be wise for the future, and how we might see them implemented in the ways that wisdom will bring about the best for all."

"...yes," Ferrego nodded, "Pirates are a…well they are just a natural nuisance," he ran his hand through his hair, and then added, "All they do is take our food and wine, and rough up poor girls along our streets," again, it seemed as though the very edges of Stannis Baratheon's mouth twitched upward, "And to trust them to listen to us out on the open sea. Why, Braavos cannot be sure that they won't go about raiding our own ships."

"Father!" Lizabet stood up from her seat. Asha could barely believe it, seeing now that somehow, the Sealord, the man they had come to support, had crossed the line and was now striking at them. Ferrego waved his hands at his daughter.

"Lizabet," he said, his voice firm once more, "Your rowdiness has caused too many problems among our people," Lizabet's mouth fell open, "I would say, that in the next few days you should prepare for your tenants to be evicted from the Drowned Town. Their services will no longer be required."

"But," Lizabet stammered, her eyes digging into her father, trying to see just what had happened, "But we've brought in grea-"

"You have done what was needed for a time," the Sealord said.

"Though, my great Lord Antaryon," Stannis spoke up, this time his eyes set over Asha's captain, "I would suggest you first put your foot down with the pirates. I have reports that they are already preparing to set sail for another round of reaving."

"WHAT?" Ferrego this time glared viciously at his daughter, "Are you really such a fool Lizabet," he pointed directly into her face, "You are to go and tell them to stand down now!" he shook his head, "Go tell them that they are to be delayed, until I have finished negotiations, such as we agreed when we spoke on this," he then turned to Stannis, and said, "Believe me, I had no idea that-

"Such things happen," Stannis raised a hand to calm the Sealord, "Do not worry yourself. Just a failure to speak with one another clearly."

"Go now, go and have your ships stand down!" Ferrego pointed at Lizabet, "And tomorrow, you will shall come here, and we shall have a talk about the latitude you have been acting with," he then stopped, "And you shall address me as my daughter, not this captain, am I understood."

"Fathe-"

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?"

"...yes," Lizabet could only bow her head. She waved at Asha. Asha gripped at the axe on her side, before nodding, and following behind her captain. Lizabet soon placed her hands on the bronze door, and slammed them open.

"What are we going to do?" Asha asked as quietly as they could. She looked around at the guards around them, all of them keeping a watchful eye on them. Lizabet kept her mouth shut, hunched forward, with her teeth grinding together.

Finally, they arrived outside the palace, and yet still, Lizabet still didn't speak. Instead, she turned around, and glared back toward the dome of the palace. Asha could only stare for a moment at her, then back at the palace. Finally, Lizabet snorted.

"Think you've won, Ritsuka Fujimaru," Asha blinked, "Oh, I bet you think you've won," she looked back at Asha, "We have less than a day, we must hurry back. Make sure my father thinks his words are being followed," she then smirked, "Before we can see if we might scupper up some kind of victory yet."