The fleet had been sailing for over half a month.
During this entire voyage, Viserys had not drunk a single drop of water—only weak ale.
As the ships neared the eastern shores of the Narrow Sea, the number of vessels around them increased dramatically.
It was clear that maritime trade was the backbone of the Free Cities' prosperity. The closer they got to Braavos, the more ships they saw bearing the iconic purple sails.
Viserys summoned Davos to ask a few questions about commerce.
"The Valyrians built so many ancient trade roads, and I hear they're still in good condition. Why is sea trade still so dominant?"
Davos replied, "Your Grace, I believe it's because of the Dothraki."
"Explain."
"The grasslands where they roam—the Dothraki Sea—pose a constant threat to merchants. Trade caravans that pass through are often attacked.
Those who survive lose everything. And worse, the Dothraki enslave the merchants and sell them off.
I suppose merchants think pirates and storms are safer than the horse-lords."
Viserys was silent.
The original text didn't go into much detail about the Dothraki, so his knowledge was limited. Still, he didn't want to arrogantly compare the Dothraki to mere nomadic kingdoms, so he pressed further.
"Don't the horse-lords understand moderation? Couldn't they trade with the merchants instead?"
Davos shook his head. "I'm sorry, Your Grace. I don't know much about them either."
Viserys nodded. He would gather intelligence once they reached the continent. If he planned to establish a stronghold in Gohor, he'd have to deal with the Dothraki eventually.
So far, his understanding of them was limited to names like Drogo, khal, and screamers. He knew little about their daily life, military strength, or ideology.
That would have to change.
As Viserys was still pondering, Davos suddenly spoke up.
"Your Grace, we've arrived."
He pointed toward a statue on the horizon, no larger than a thumb at first glance, his eyes shining with excitement.
As they approached, the statue grew larger. The sails flapped in the wind with a rhythmic rustling. A great mountain ridge rose from the sea, and the statue stood at its narrowest pass.
The statue's eyes burned with yellow flames, serving as beacons.
It was the Titan of Braavos—one of the Nine Wonders of the World.
The entire statue formed an arch-like structure. Perhaps to preserve it, the Braavosi had clad it in bronze armor. It was both the tallest, brightest lighthouse of Braavos and the maritime gate into the city.
According to legend, the Titan's interior held an armory.
Viserys guessed its height matched that of a forty- to fifty-story tower.
The only irksome part was that, to enter Braavos by sea, one had to sail between the Titan's legs—an indignity he did not appreciate.
As their ships drew nearer, they could make out the slits and murder holes on the Titan's thighs and waist.
*ROAR————!*
The Titan let out a thunderous roar, as if it might come alive.
"Your Grace, the Iron Bank's men say they will take over as pilots from here," said Davos's eldest son, Dale, reporting to Viserys.
Viserys looked over to see the Iron Bank's ship picking up speed, moving to take the lead. He pulled his hood down, hiding his identity once more.
If the Sealord could operate behind the scenes using the Iron Bank, then Viserys would use surprise to his advantage—throwing off their plans.
He would not be led around by the nose.
Following the Iron Bank's ship, Viserys's fleet docked at a private harbor reserved only for Braavosi locals and the nobility—the Purple Harbor.
It wasn't large, but it lay directly beneath the domes of the Sealord's Palace.
Braavos had a thriving textile industry, and the harbor was named for the deep purple dye extracted from sea snails. Many of the buildings in the harbor were painted with this rare pigment.
Viserys, wearing his hood, blended in among the boys he had brought with him.
"No whispering! No looking around! Everyone in the back keeps their eyes on the person in front of them, and the first person watches Ser Arthur!"
Hidden in their midst, Viserys gave the order.
It was their first time in a prosperous city like Braavos. These boys from the remote Crab Claw Peninsula couldn't stop their eyes from darting around in wonder.
Fortunately, Viserys's presence kept them mostly in line—though several still looked around, wide-eyed.
The domes of the Sealord's Palace were painted in shades of blue. Before it stretched a grand plaza with a fountain, flanked by guards in blue armor wielding long spears.
At the center of the plaza stood a statue—part fish, part dragon.
It had a fish tail, a dragon's head, and wings.
Considering Braavos styled itself the "bastard daughter of Valyria," the symbolism felt apt.
Greeting them was a swordsman in a blue cloak. He appeared to be just under forty, younger than Ser Gerold.
His brown hair was stiff and brush-like, his eyes sharp and brown.
This was Quairo Valentyn, First Sword of Braavos and chief bodyguard to Sealord Freygo Antaryon.
The moment he saw Arthur Dayne, a glint of challenge lit up his eyes.
One was the First Sword of Braavos, the other the legendary Sword of the Morning from Westeros.
Both were eager to measure each other's strength.
But Quairo knew his duty and spoke first.
"Ser Arthur Dayne, I am Quairo Valentyn, First Sword of Braavos. I welcome you on behalf of the Sealord.
You have nothing to fear—there is ample security within the Sealord's Palace. You need bring only fifty men."
Arthur immediately recognized that this man was cut from the same cloth as himself. And since Viserys had given him full authority to act, he replied readily.
"Very well. We are grateful for your guidance, Lord Valentyn."
Arthur selected forty guards, and among the ten boys chosen to accompany him was Viserys himself.
As they passed through the plaza, they caught glimpses of gardens, courtyards, and even a glimmering lake.
Eventually, the First Sword led them into a side chamber.
"Ser Arthur, please wait here. The Sealord will arrive shortly."
Arthur left the others outside and entered the chamber with Viserys.
The interior showcased the wealth and taste of Braavos. The stained glass windows told stories like a series of murals.
The floors were covered with ornate rugs, and even the dome overhead was tiled with glass, filling the room with light.
They waited for nearly an hour, their stomachs beginning to grumble, but the Sealord still hadn't appeared.
"Your Grace, it seems they did not expect you to come in person," Arthur said.
"If they had known, I imagine they would have prepared a more elaborate reception. Ser Arthur, I may need to trouble you to spar with that First Sword later.
Do you think you can beat him?"
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