Past experience at sea is a currency more valuable than gold dragons when the Narrow Sea turns temperamental. Among the myriad gods of the world, there surely existed a deity who favored the bold, for the Karstark fleet found the winds steady and the waves manageable. Under the colorful, flamboyant guidance of Salladhor Saan, the Riverlands fleet made a swift crossing, the silhouette of the Essosi coastline appearing on the horizon in record time.
As the sun caught the pale, towering stone walls of Pentos, Salladhor Saan leaned against the railing of the Sunray, his peacock-feathered hat fluttering in the breeze.
"Eddard, Pentos is a city of delights!" the Lyseni chirped, his rings glinting as he gestured toward the distant spires. "If you can spare the hours, I recommend a tour of the markets. Listen to the minstrels, sample the fire-wine, and perhaps purchase a piece of Myrish lace or two for your lady wife."
As he spoke, Saan's green eyes flickered upward toward the quarterdeck, where Marga stood like a monolith of iron. Even for a man who had sailed from the Stepstones to the Shivering Sea, the sight of a giant nearly four meters tall, clad in articulated steel plate and carrying a bow the size of a ballista, was enough to make his heart skip a beat.
Saan had heard the boasts of the Wise Masters in Yunkai, of how Yazan zo Qaggaz owned a "giant" slave but Marga was no pet. He was a soldier, his fierce gaze promising a violent end to anyone foolish enough to test the Marquis's patience.
"Give me the history, Salladhor," Eddard said, ignoring the flattery. He looked at the bustling port, his gaze analytical. He knew the Free Cities operated on a logic entirely alien to the North. There were no Kings or Dukes here; only the pyramid of gold.
"History? Pentos has more history than a Maester's library has dust," Saan replied, matching Eddard's serious tone. "It is a city-state of trade. Nominally, it is ruled by a Prince chosen from the forty most ancient families. He lives in a palace of ivory and gold, and when he tours the streets, heralds carry the golden scales of trade, the steel sword of war, and the silver whip of law."
Saan leaned in, his voice dropping. "But the Prince is a puppet raised for the slaughter. If the harvest fails or a war is lost, the Archons slit his throat to appease the gods. The real power belongs to men with deep purses and sharper minds. Men like Illyrio Mopatis."
"And their military?" Eddard asked, his eyes narrowing. "Does Pentos train its own, or is it a city of sellswords?"
Saan chuckled, a dry sound. "It is a city of lawyers and secrets, My Lord. A hundred years ago, after six disastrous wars with Braavos, Pentos signed a peace treaty. They are forbidden from having more than twenty warships. They cannot sign contracts with mercenary companies. They have all the gold in the world and no way to spend it on pikes. The Archons? They rely on household guards, mostly Unsullied and the fickle protection of the Dothraki Khals who accept their tribute."
"Then the defenses are hollow," Eddard mused. "My fleet and my giants could likely seize the city before the sun sets."
"You could," Saan agreed with a knowing smile. "But then you would own a city of angry merchants and no way to manage the trade routes. To rule Pentos, you need the Archons. And besides, the Dothraki would cross the Rhoyne the moment the tribute stopped flowing. No one has shaken the Archons in a century for a reason."
Eddard laughed. "Interesting. Handle the port officials, Salladhor. I'd rather not stumble over my High Valyrian in front of the harbormaster."
Half an hour later, Salladhor returned from the Pentosi galley that had intercepted them. He looked remarkably pleased with himself.
"Fortune favors the Sunburst!" Saan exclaimed. "The harbormaster is an old 'business associate.' He has agreed to allow your flagship, four escorts, and twenty of the largest cogs to dock. The rest of the fleet must remain at anchor in the bay."
Saan glanced at Eddard's expression, relieved to find it calm. "As for your veterans, they may take shore leave in shifts. Pentos has taverns and houses of pleasure that can accommodate five hundred at a time. And as a gesture of goodwill, the city will provide fresh water and basic provisions free of charge."
"Acceptable," Eddard said. He turned to Jason Mallister. "Admiral, coordinate with the Trout and the Running Wolf. Get the supplies loaded. I want us ready to move the moment the banquet ends."
"It shall be done, My Lord," Mallister replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"A banquet?" Eddard asked, turning back to Saan.
"Indeed!" Saan beamed. "My friend Illyrio Mopatis has already heard of the 'Winter Wizard' entering his waters. He has prepared a feast at his manse. He says his cook's pan-fried mushrooms in garlic butter are a revelation."
Eddard descended the gangplank of the Sunburst twenty minutes later. Waiting on the pier was a man who seemed to be made of equal parts silk and lard. Illyrio Mopatis was an immense figure, his wide red silk robe looking large enough to serve as a tent. His yellow handlebar mustache was meticulously oiled, and his fingers were encrusted with rings that held the ransom of a minor lord. Behind him stood a dozen Unsullied, their spiked helmets glinting in the afternoon sun.
"Lord Eddard Karstark, I presume?" Illyrio spoke in the Common Tongue, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that made his fat jiggle. "Varys's letters are always filled with your name. He calls you a monarch of rare decisiveness."
Eddard offered a sharp, wolfish grin. "Then Varys surely mentioned that I provided him with a very comfortable cage in the Red Keep."
Illyrio gave a jovial nod. "Indeed. He noted that his answer to your offer was the wisest move of his long career." He gestured for Eddard to follow. "Come, My Lord. You have crossed the Narrow Sea; you require a bath, a bed of down, and a table that groans with the weight of the East. You are Varys's master, and thus, I hope you will be my friend."
"In my home, we say 'More friends, more roads,'" Eddard replied. "I'm happy to walk yours for a day, Archon."
They walked through the streets of Pentos, a city that smelled of jasmine, cinnamon, and the underlying salt of the sea. It was a bustling, vibrant world. Minstrels played seven-stringed harps on every corner, their songs attracting crowds of men with dyed beards and silk doublets. It was a scene of prosperity that made the war-torn streets of King's Landing look like a graveyard.
But Eddard saw the rot beneath the silk. Pentos claimed to have abolished slavery to appease Braavos, but the city was built on debt. The laborers he saw, carrying heavy crates or scrubbing the stone steps, were "servants" who would never earn enough to pay back the cost of their own bread. It was a cleaner, more polite form of the same cruelty he would find in Slaver's Bay.
As they approached the massive red temple near the Archon's manse, a lavish procession blocked the street. Golden sedan chairs of gold and ivory were carried high, preceded by heralds holding the symbolic scales, sword, and whip of the Prince of Pentos.
Illyrio stopped, bowing his head slightly. "Forgive the delay, Eddard. The Prince is touring the districts. It would be unseemly for your noble self to be caught in the crush of the commoners."
Hypocrite, Eddard thought, though he maintained a polite smile. He watched the puppet Prince pass by, realizing that in this city, a man's worth was measured by the weight of his coin, not the strength of his soul.
[System Notification: Narrative Event: Arrival in Essos.]
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