It was a misty morning at sea when Steve heard a faint roar, far off in the distance. He sat in the prow, watching as the bow split the waves of the wine dark sea.

“What was that?” he asked a nearby sailor.

The man looked unconcerned as he coiled a length of rope. “The Titan’s roar, it was. Every hour it sounds, and sunrise and set.”

A seagull emerged from the mist to alight on the rigging. It spread its wings, cawing.

“The Titan?” Steve asked.

“You’ll see, Lord Rogers,” came the captain’s voice from behind. Irnar had gained a degree of interest in Steve and his companions after the incident with the leviathan, thankful for saving his man’s life even if the sailor was dosed to the gills on some kind of opiate to ward off the pain of multiple broken limbs. As Steve turned to face him, he continued, “we’re perhaps half an hour from Braavos. The entrance is a sight to behold.”

Word was spread amongst the passengers as the crew went about their final preparations. Steve was joined at the front of the ship by Naerys and Keladry, while Toby squeezed past them to get as far forward as he could a moment later. Any further forward and he’d be out on the bowsprit.

“We’re supposed to see the Titan soon,” Steve said.

Naerys’ eyes lit up. “I’ve read about it and seen pictures, but that’s all. It’s said to be one of the wonders of the world.”

“I saw it when I was young,” Keladry said. “Perhaps five years old. I remember it being a frightening sight.”

Glancing back, Steve found Robin and Lyanna by the starboard rail, the boy holding her hair back as she vomited over the side. He winced; she’d had a rough go of it and they still had to make the return trip. Maybe he’d buy her something nice as an apology.

More seagulls began to appear, some flying past the ship, others swooping down to inspect it. The mist started to thin, and in the distance, a great shadow loomed. A gust of wind swept over the sea, revealing the way, and the truth of what lay before them.

An enormous colossus stood over them, a titan of granite and bronze, broken sword raised into the sky. It straddled a passage that ran between two islands, and Steve’s eyes could pick out murder holes and arrow slits in its legs. This was no mere monument, it was a fortress.

“Magnificent, is he not?” Irnar asked.

“I wouldn’t want to have to assault it conventionally,” Steve said. “Is this the only entrance to Braavos?”

“The only one that won’t see a warship dashed upon rocks,” Irnar said. “My people founded this place fleeing from slavers, and we could not have asked for a better home.”

They were nearly passing under the Titan now, and if Steve had to guess he’d place it over two hundred feet tall. A memory flitted through his mind. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” he murmured.

Irnar gave him a quick look, but was distracted by his first mate calling for his attention.

Naerys was not so distracted. “That had the sound of a song,” she said.

“A poem,” Steve said. “My home has a Statue similar to this, only it was a monument to Liberty, not a fortress. The poem was about it.”

“A monument to rival the Titan, dedicated to liberty?” Keladry asked. “It must have been something.”

“‘Liberty and Justice for all’. It’s one of the core values of the nation,” Steve said, as the ship left the shade of the Titan. “You could say that everything good flows from that ideal.” He frowned. “Some of the bad, too.”

“It ain’t got any balls,” Toby said, breaking the moment.

“I’m sorry?” Keladry asked.

“The Titan,” Toby said. “There’s nothing under ‘is skirt.”

Steve hid a smile as Keladry began another unsuccessful attempt at drilling societal niceties into Toby’s head. The ship left the Titan behind, emerging into a large lagoon shielded by barrier islands. Within was a series of small islands, heavily built upon. Even from a distance, Steve could sense the teeming humanity, although it didn’t seem to be nearly as bad as King’s Landing.

They did not make for the central islands, however. The Swift Sow sailed instead for a small spit of land, built upon and expanded into a series of docks, that seemed to be the first port of call for any ship that entered. Off to the port side, there was another larger island that was hardly worth the name, but was similarly built up. Rather than civilian docks, it bore several strong towers, and a series of dry docks, the skeletons of hulls sitting within. Warships lined its quays and docks, and the towers bristled with ballistae and scorpions. He thought he caught a glimpse of the arm of a trebuchet atop the tallest tower.

“The Arsenal of Braavos,” Irnar boasted as he returned. “It can build a warship in a single day.”

“Impressive,” Steve said.

“There’s a reason the slaver cities have never dared to truly test us,” Irnar said. He spat over the side. “We will be docking at Chequy Port shortly for inspection. The customs officers will see to passengers first, and then my own goods,” he explained. “I have no authority over these men.”

Steve shrugged. “It is what it is.” Everything about this seemed on the up and up, so he didn’t think he had a need to worry.

Irnar hesitated, before giving Steve a nod and going about his business, calling out calm commands as they made their final approach to the port.

It didn’t take long for them to dock and make ready to receive inspectors, three men in understated clothing followed by a small swarm of scribes. After the fine threads and colours common to Westerosi nobles, it was a change to see wealth displayed in a more subtle manner.

The inspectors spoke quickly with Captain Irnar in their shared tongue, before two followed the first mate as he led them off. The third approached Steve, several scribes in his wake.

“Lord Rogers,” the man greeted. He was short, and had a finely trimmed moustache. “Welcome to Braavos. What brings you here, and what do you have to declare?”

“I’m here to open an account with the Iron Bank,” Steve said. “I have a decent amount of coin to deposit. And one dog,” he said. “That I’m declaring, I mean. I don’t want to deposit the dog.”

The inspector paused for a moment, digesting that. “I shall need to see it,” he said. His Westerosi was good, although he still had an accent.

Steve glanced at Naerys and Keladry, receiving a nod from both. “Follow me,” he said. Turning, he led the inspector and his scribes away from the main deck and below. He clapped Robin on the shoulder as he passed the two kids, Lyanna still pale but no longer vomiting. Given the way he was rubbing circles on her back, he might have to take the time to have a talk with them soon. That was a concern for later though.

To the room he shared with Naerys he led the customs officer, where four chests were already laid out on the limited floor space. Dodger was sprawled out across them, twisted into a shape that looked anything but comfortable. Despite that, he was snoring.

“Dodger, up,” Steve said. Dodger startled awake, falling off the chests, but bounded back up a moment later, standing on the chests so he could lay his paws against Steve’s stomach and lick at him. His crooked tail waved frantically, and Steve scratched him behind his single ear.

Naerys clicked her fingers, and Dodger shifted his attention to her, scrambling off the chests to let Steve at them. One by one, he unlatched the chests and opened them for the inspector, revealing the thousands of gold dragons to their sight. The light from the porthole lent a gleam to the coins, making the room almost glow.

The inspector swallowed, but his tone remained even. “Business for the Iron Bank, then.” One of his scribes made several notes on the clipboard looking thing he carried. “The dog is...not a concern.”

“You don’t control the import of animals?” Steve asked.

“Only if they’re sufficiently exotic,” the man said. “If that’s all…?”

“That’s all,” Naerys said. “Thank you for your discretion,” she said pointedly.

The inspector didn’t quite turn his nose up at the unspoken comment, but it was a near thing, and he left without further discussion. The chests were closed and locked back up.

“Dodger, guard,” Steve said. Dodger hopped back up on the chests and made himself comfortable, chewing on a piece of jerky Keladry had slipped him.

“We’ll likely be here for a time, as they inspect the ship’s cargo,” Keladry said. “What shall we do once we make port in Braavos proper?”

“Do you know where the Iron Bank is?” Steve asked.

Keladry shook her head. “Near the Moon Pool, which lays before the entrance to the Sealord’s Palace, but as to directions I could not say.”

“I spoke with the Captain, and he did say that we would be docking at the Purple Harbour, as is the right of every Braavosi ship,” Naerys said.

“That is closer to the bank than Ragman’s Harbour,” Keladry said, thinking. “We won’t need to cross the city with the gold.”

“We’ll see what our options are when we dock,” Steve said. “At the least, we’ll need a guide unless we want to stumble around on our own.”

The inspection of the ship ended up taking the better part of several hours, and it was close to midday when the inspectors finally departed. From the Chequy Port they departed, on the very final leg of their journey. A sense of near fevered excitement seemed to grip the sailors, as they could taste the shore leave they would soon have, in their home city to boot.

Purple Harbour was a tidy port, well maintained and clean as far as docks went. The Swift Sow eased into its berth, and the crew gave out a cheer as she was tied off. The smell of humanity and trade washed over them, mingling with the salt that had been ever present since they set out from Maidenpool. Crews unloaded their ships, hauling the bounty to one of the warehouses that lined the water’s edge, and a number of food stalls were squeezed in here and there, servicing the workers. Small boats, similar to gondolas, were tied off on the sides of canals that led deeper into the city, and narrow paths ran along them as well.

Steve surveyed it all, and came to a decision.

“We’ll head straight for the Iron Bank,” he said. “Hire as many of those gondoliers as we need. They ought to know the way.”

“I’ll arrange for our possessions to be brought ashore,” Naerys said. “Robin, is Lyanna well?”

“Ehhh,” Robin said from where he stood next to the girl. She was resting with her head on the ship rail, taking slow sips of water.

“Can you walk?” Steve asked her.

Without looking up, Lyanna nodded.

“I will speak with the gondoliers,” Keladry said. She was looking around, frowning. “Where is that boy?”

Steve looked up, and sighed. “The mast.”

Keladry followed his gaze and groaned. Toby was halfway up the mast, clinging to some rigging as he stared out over the city. “Toby!” her voice cracked like a whip, despite hardly being raised. The boy startled, and upon seeing Keladry’s expectant gaze, began to make his way back down to the deck.

“What impression do you wish to make?” Naerys asked. “We could wear our court dress, or go armed and armoured, or attempt to blend in as we go through the city.”

“Armed and armoured,” Steve said. “I think we got here well ahead of any actionable intelligence, but I don’t want to take the risk, and I just don’t have the patience for any who would try.”

“Very well,” Keladry said. “Toby, squire duties.”

As Naerys spoke with the crew, Steve and Keladry made for their rooms to gather their weapons and armour, donning them quickly. Their possessions were mostly packed away, those that they had brought with them, anyway. Steve left his cap hanging from his hip, and his shield on his back. He received a few looks from the crew as he waited on the deck, mostly at the strangeness of his attire.

When Keladry emerged, she received more looks, standing almost at attention with her glaive held before her life a staff. The metal of the blade shone in the midday sun, meticulously cared for. A few of the crew trailed up behind her, carrying the chests of gold, Naerys at their back.

“I will secure the gondoliers,” Keladry said. She made her way off the deck and to shore for the first time in over a week, those before her clearing way. They watched as she approached the gondolier closest to the docks, speaking with them for a moment. The man barely gave her time to finish speaking before he let out a shrill whistle, and another three nearby gondoliers pushed off from their berths to get to a spot more convenient for them to board.

In the hustle of the docks, they gained little attention, although their weapons did draw more eyes than they otherwise might have. Naerys wore her short sword, and while Robin didn’t have his bow, he did have a knife tucked away at his belt. With the aid of the sailors, the chests of gold were loaded into the gondolas, all but the lead carrying one.

“Captain,” Steve said to Irnar as he kept one eye on the proceedings. “Thank you for the passage.”

“No, thank you,” Irnar said. “Without you, I would have lost a man on the final stretch of my voyage, after not a single death throughout. Now he is only in crippling pain, with a long and difficult recovery ahead of him.” He seemed incredibly pleased.

“You’re welcome?” Steve said.

“Good luck with your dealing at the Bank,” Irnar said, offering his hand.

“Enjoy your time back in Braavos,” Steve said, shaking it.

“My beautiful wife awaits me, how could I not?” Laughing, Irnar departed, some other task drawing his eye.

The gondolas seemed ready to go, and Steve approached them.

“Keladry and Toby, you’re in the lead gondola,” Steve said. “Robin and Lyanna, second, Naerys, third, and I’ll bring up the rear. Stay as close together as you can,” he told one of the polemen.

The gondolier looked confused, but Keladry was able to get his words across in broken language. Soon, they were pushing off, heading deeper into the city.

As Steve was becoming accustomed to in this world, the city stank, and he wouldn’t fancy taking a swim in the canals, given what he was seeing in its murky depths. The buildings had a certain artistry to them that he hadn’t seen in Westeros, but then they were in the nicer part of the city. Those they passed walking by the canals were almost all dressed in darker colours, reminding Steve of the business district of New York City. As they drifted along, Steve kept an eye on the others. Each was on alert, some more comfortable than others. Keladry was sat in a crouch that would let her sweep her glaive out to bisect or beat any who attempted to board her boat, but Naerys was much more tense, one gripping the hilt of her sword. Lyanna was still miserable, even if she was worlds better than she had been at sea, and was curled into Robin’s side. They were still close together, as Steve had asked, enough that he could have a conversation with the person one boat over.

“Enjoying the sights?” he asked Naerys.

Naerys jumped slightly at his words. “Very much so,” she said. “Only…” she gestured towards the chest at her feet.

“Don’t stress,” Steve said. “At worst, the boat sinks, and I have to dive for it after we deal with whoever made the trouble.”

“I’m not sure if that’s helpful or not,” Naerys said, pursing her lips at him.

“We’ll have time to play tourist later, if you want,” Steve said.

“‘Tourist’?” Naerys asked, unfamiliar with the word.

“Someone who travels for pleasure, to see what they can see,” Steve said, realising he’d said the word in English.

“I think I would enjoy being a tourist,” Naerys said, considering.

“This place reminds me of Venice,” Steve said, gesturing to the building as they went. “City of canals, used to be the capital of a trading empire. Funny how things turn out.” For a moment, he pondered what it meant that he had been sent to what was apparently another planet, or even dimension, and yet found humans in a medieval society. He shook his head. It was probably better not to think about it. They spoke of unimportant matters, setting her at ease and taking her mind off the fortune she was guarding.

They had been following the straight of a canal for a short while now, after turning east after leaving the docks. Ahead, Steve could see a large fountain, and he could smell fresh water on the wind. The fountain was surrounded by a ring of water, and the canal they followed was one of several that fed into it. It was like a town square, only instead of cobblestones there was a waterway, and the dominant feature was the fountain. Between it and the waterway on all sides was a wide stretch of stone, and Steve thought he could see bloodstains on it.

On the far side, an imposing building sat. Tall stone walls rose some thirty metres high, inset with glass windows and topped with statues of various noble figures, man and woman. There was a door wide enough for four men to walk through on the side facing the fountain, but the gondoliers did not make for it. Instead, they rounded the fountain and continued on. For a moment, Steve thought he had been wrong in guessing it to be the Iron Bank, but as they took the next corner, he saw why.

White marble stretched along the canal, sweeping up into a shallow staircase that rose to meet the front of what could only be the Iron Bank. It could have been mistaken for a grand cathedral, with the domes that sat on top of three towers that rose from it, each capped with what looked like gold. The entrance was grand, a large arch that ten men could have walked through abreast, and the doors of nearly black wood seemed to close only rarely. At each side two halberdiers stood guard, but their uniforms of dark navy cloth made them seem more ceremonial than anything.

The procession of gondolas came to a gentle stop, their drivers tying off quickly and professionally. As the awe of the building faded, they climbed from the boats, setting the chests of gold on the shore.

“Well, we’re here,” Steve said. “Might as well do what we came for.”

As he considered the best way to get the chests into the bank, a man approached them, and Steve assessed him coolly. They had the build of a labourer, but he was well dressed in the sober fashion of the locals and neatly presented.

He spoke to them in Braavosi, their tone that of a question. Before Steve could do more than glance at Naerys or Keladry, they spoke again, this time in Westerosi. “Welcome. Do you have business with the Iron Bank this day?”

“We do,” Steve said evenly.

“Please, allow me to assist you,” the man offered. “I can have porters carry your burden for you.”

“...you’ll just carry my chests, out of the goodness of your heart,” Steve said.

Very faintly, the man smiled. “Any thief who attempted so brazen a theft on the steps of the Iron Bank would not make it across the canal.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think we’ll manage,” Steve said.

“As you say,” the man said. He gave a slight bow and departed, heading for a small building that extended from the side of the Bank proper that Steve hadn’t noticed before.

Steve stacked the four chests and lifted them easily, leading the way up the stairs and into the Bank. The entrance was busy, each man or woman passing through it wearing a slight frown and a distracted air, as if they were otherwise busy and didn’t mind the world knowing it. None so much as looked at one another. As Steve and his companions emerged into the entrance hall of the Iron Bank, they came to a pause, the sheer wealth on display setting them back.

Two dozen different types of marble could be seen decorating the floor, walls, and ceiling, all tastefully blended together by colour and natural pattern. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting light throughout the hall, and what wood there was, used for doors and panelling, just screamed opulence. Tall, narrow windows in every wall and a row of windows ringing just below the ceiling allowed natural light to stream through. Most of the hall was empty space, something that even Steve could see was another boast of wealth in a city state so limited in space as Braavos. One side of the hall was given over to plush waiting areas, with leather couches and high backed chairs arranged in sections. The other side held a row of large desks, behind which a small number of men and women sat, speaking with those that queued before them.

As Steve joined one of the lines more or less at random, he realised that quite a number of people were very much not looking at his motley group. Even without taking into account their weapons on blatant display, the only three kids in the entire building had entered with him, to say nothing of the dog sitting at his heels. He ignored the unobtrusive pair of men who seemed to have taken up a position behind the table they were lined up for.

“Kids,” Steve said quietly. “Why don’t you go and sit in the waiting area. Take Dodger with you.”

Robin, Toby, and Lyanna went without complaint, each happy to avoid what looked to be a long wait in line, but Dodger gave a plaintive whine that rose above the low murmur of business, staring at Steve with begging eyes. He ignored the looks that came their way, nudging the dog on his way with his foot.

“I’m reminded of our time in the Red Keep,” Naerys said quietly.

“How so?” Steve asked.

“Blatantly out of place, but no one wants to be the one to ask what we’re doing here,” Naerys said.

Steve pursed his lips to hide a grin. “What do you mean? I think we’re blending in quite well.”

“I think I’ve heard this joke before,” Keladry said from his other side. “A barbarian, a smallfolk, and a foreigner walk into the Iron Bank, and he says…”

If Steve’s hands were free he would’ve elbowed Keladry, but they weren’t so he had to settle for rolling his eyes at her. The line moved slowly but surely, and in time they reached the front.

A young woman stared up at the three of them. “How may the Bank assist you?” She took in the four chests he held easily.

“I’d like to open an account,” Steve said. He set the chests on the table with a heavy thunk.

“Have you a reference?” the woman asked after a moment.

Steve opened the topmost chest, and he saw the glow of the gold reflected in her eyes. “I will summon a keyholder to speak with you. Please, make yourself comfortable in the meantime,” she said, indicating the waiting area.

Closing the chest, Steve took up his burden once more, and they joined the kids in the small area they’d claimed by dint of no one wanting to sit near them.

“I won’t have the answers for you here, Steve,” Naerys said abruptly. “This is well and far beyond my experience.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve said, shrugging.

Naerys seemed unconvinced, but spoke no more on it. She seemed ill at ease, even more so than during their visit to the Red Keep.

Time passed, and a steady stream of people came and went, going about their business with the Iron Bank. Most were locals, but Steve saw men with dyed beards, others in flowing robes and turbans, even a few who had the look of a Westerosi about them. He settled in to people watch, one eye on the chests that sat by his feet.

Some time later, Dodger began to whine.

“Who wants to take Dodger out for a walk?” Naerys asked.

Robin and Toby jumped at the chance, while Lyanna stayed curled up in the cushioned chair she had claimed, although she looked much improved.

“How’re you feeling, Lyanna?” Steve asked.

“I never want to go to sea again,” Lyanna said. Her voice was raspy.

“We do have to get back somehow,” he said apologetically. “We’ll have to find something for sea sickness before we go.”

Lyanna groaned. “At least I can keep a meal down while we’re here,” she said.

The boys returned with Dodger, and again, they settled in to wait.

At length, they were approached by a man in the same sober clothes that the porter outside had worn.

“If you will follow me, Keyholder Stassos is ready to see you now,” the man told them. He hesitated for a moment. “Will you all be participating in the meeting?”

Steve looked over his companions for a moment. The kids looked bored out of their minds already, although Toby was the only one not bothering to hide it. “Keladry, can you keep an eye on the kids?” he asked.

Keladry nodded, glaive still in hand. It was the middle of the Iron Bank, but Steve would rather not leave them unattended.

“We’ve been waiting for a while, can you have something brought for them?” Steve asked the servant. “Something to drink or snack on.”

“Of course,” the servant murmured. He made some gesture to another servant, and they began to approach. “This way please.”

Steve took up the chests once more, he and Naerys following the man deeper into the Bank, passing through another set of heavy wooden doors and down a series of hallways, bedecked with the same understated but expensive marble as the lobby. They passed a number of men and women dressed in the conservative manner that seemed to be the mode in Braavos. Most at least pretended to ignore them, but the shield on Steve’s back and the sword at Naerys’ hip had a way of drawing the eye.

In time, they came to a hall with a series of doors spaced along it on both sides. This deep into the Bank, behind so many stone walls and away from the bustle and business, the building felt and sounded almost like a tomb. The servant led them to a door at the far end, their footsteps loud against the stone floor. They rapped on the door twice, waiting for a muffled response before opening it and gesturing them onwards.

Entering the room, they were met with a somewhat cramped office, luxurious in build like everyone else they had seen, but obviously as a matter of course, and not because of the stature of the owner. A broad stone desk, dividing and taking up much of the room, was covered in scrolls and other miscellany, although none of it was in a position to be read. Behind it was a tall chair, more of a throne, in which sat a young man, baby faced and nearly dwarfed by his seat. There were ink splots on his cheek, and brown hair curled around his face, hanging to near his shoulders.

“I am Stalleo Stassos, keyholder of the Iron Bank,” the man said. Even his voice betrayed his youth. “Please, sit.” He gestured to what appeared to serve as chairs for customers, backless stone benches devoid of comfort, spaced apart before the table.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said, setting the chests down and taking a seat at one of the awkward stone benches. “This is my seneschal, Naerys Waters.”

Naerys gave Stalleo a nod, taking a seat of her own. It was far enough away for them to feel separated, and to make a murmured discussion all but impossible.

“What can the Iron Bank do for you today?” Stalleo asked.

“I have twenty thousand gold dragons I’d like to open an account for,” Steve said.

“..we can certainly aid you in that,” Stalleo said. “Do the chests contain the sum?”

“And then some, but I won’t be depositing it all.”

“Of course.” Stalleo dug through some documents, pulling a small silver bell from the pile. He rang it, and the door opened a few moments later, the servant from before sticking their head in. “Scales, and two counters, please,” he said without looking, gaze lingering on the chests of gold. The servant ducked back out and closed the door behind him. “Allow me to reassure you that your money is in the safest of hands here at the Iron Bank, and that our reputation is well earned,” he said, words all a rush.

“The Iron Bank is renowned,” Naerys said. “How long have you been working here?”

“One month as of yesterday,” Stalleo answered proudly, before he faltered. “But as a Keyholder, I trace my lineage back to the original founders. I was raised amongst the Bank’s business.”

Naerys smiled, but only nodded, saying nothing.

“I did have a few questions while we wait,” Steve said.

“Of course,” Stalleo said again. “I am well versed in all facets of the Iron Bank’s workings.”

“What sort of interest rate am I looking at here? It’s compound, right? Monthly, annually?”

“Yes, compound,” Stalleo said. “A deposit of this size will entitle you to a rate of one point five percent quarterly, calculated from the lowest value of your account in that quarter.” He grew surer as he spoke.

“And how easy is it for me to access my money?” Steve asked.

“The Bank has factors in every city worth the name,” Stalleo said. “Excluding the more...intolerable slaver cities.” He coughed. “By your accent, you are Westerosi?”

“Close enough,” Steve said.

“You will find our agents in White Harbor, Gulltown, Lannisport, Oldtown, and of course, King’s Landing,” the keyholder said, warming to his subject.

“So I can access my funds from any of these factors,” Steve said.

“Correct.”

“How do you prevent someone from impersonating me to access my funds?”

“A popular method amongst your fellows is the use of a seal,” Stalleo said.

Naerys made a disapproving sound, frowning.

“The Bank is most vigorous in responding to any fraud, attempted or successful,” Stalleo hurried to say. “The last ‘successful’ fraud of this manner occurred over sixty years ago. And of course, the account holder was reimbursed by the Bank.”

“That seems reasonable,” Steve said, sharing a look with Naerys and receiving a nod. “What about investment opportunities?”

“A simple matter with any enterprise that conducts business with the Bank,” Stalleo said.

“Does the Bank offer any, I mean,” Steve said.

“Ah, unfortunately the Bank does not offer that service,” Stalleo said, apologetically. “The Bank’s business is banking.”

Steve hummed to himself. “That’s not a dealbreaker. You mentioned more ‘intolerable’ slaver cities. Does that mean that some are tolerable?”

A look of distaste grew over Stalleo’s face. “Money has a way of making certain trade partners more palatable than they ought to be.”

The door to the office opened once more, and two men entered, carrying a set of scales between them.

“Just there, if you please,” Stalleo called out. “My table is not up to the task, I’m afraid.”

The scales, a large brass device, were set at the rear of the room. The servants then approached the chest before pausing, silently asking permission to begin counting them. Steve waved them on, and the two heaved one chest over to the scales to begin counting. The clink of coin on coin filled the room as it was stacked and weighed.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Steve turned back to Stalleo, even as Naerys kept one eye on the counters. “The Bank makes use of funds it holds in its lending, yes?” he asked.

“It does, but it holds a very healthy reserve and knows far better than to make the mistakes of its failed competitors,” Stalleo said.

Steve shook his head. “I’m more concerned with the type of people my money might be used to finance. If it has a chance of being lent to slavers, I will not be keeping it here.”

“The Iron Bank does not lend to slavers,” Stalleo said, his words having more steel in them than anything he’d said so far. But a moment later, he sagged. “It does not dictate with whom its customers in turn do business with, however.”

“You don’t approve,” Steve said.

Stalleo glanced at the men counting coin. “It is far beyond my place to question the decisions of senior Keyholders.”

“The Iron Bank was founded by escaped slaves,” Naerys murmured to him, “but ideals can change over time.”

“Say, Stalleo,” Steve said, “I was told that Braavos is the most powerful city-state in Essos. Is that true?”

“There are some who would say Volantis might contest us, but they are biased,” Stalleo said.

“So why did Braavos stop at Pentos? I’d have thought a city of freed slaves would be pretty eager to spread the freedom.”

“We might be the strongest,” Stalleo said, “but we’re not stronger than all of them. If Braavos began a conquest with the aim of freeing all the slaves…” he shook his head. “We would be overcome. So my grandfather says, anyway.”

“So nothing is done? Nothing at all?” Steve asked.

“There are rumours that a plan has been passed down from Sealord to Sealord to slowly erode slavery, but that’s just wishful thinking,” Stalleo said. He leaned forward, sounding more like a man sharing tales at a tavern than a banker in that moment. “The real work is being done by --” he cut himself off. “Well, perhaps that is not an appropriate topic for here and now.”

“You’re just answering a customer’s questions about your home,” Steve said.

“Yes, of course,” Stalleo said. “Now, the coin counting will take a short while, but that provides us with the opportunity to create your account…”

They moved away from ethical matters and back to banking pursuits, Stalleo querying Steve for what information he needed to create an account in his name. They even went about creating a seal for Steve to use in his transactions with the Bank, a quick sketch sent off to be etched by an in-house artisan while they worked. He was pretty happy with it for coming up with it on the spot: the star that had long been his symbol, ringed by the words ‘E pluribus unum’ - Out of Many, One. The process wasn’t as mind numbing as it had been setting up his financials in New York after he woke up, but it wasn’t over quickly, either. Eventually, they were almost done.

“If I wanted to hear the latest news, where should I go?” Steve asked, as they were finalising things.

“The Sealord’s dinners,” Stalleo said, smiling now that the work was almost done. “Barring that, any tavern that sailors spend time in.”

“I figure one is more reputable than the other,” Steve said.

“Knowledge is coin,” Stalleo said, shrugging. “If you don’t have to pay for it, you don’t know its worth.”

As the last of the coin was counted, Steve’s new seal was delivered. A ring of iron, and on its face his star. A bar of wax was produced, and the seal used for the first time with the aid of a candle, confirming the creation of an account with the Iron Bank in Steve’s name, with Naerys and Keladry granted access to it as well, although Naerys had considerably more authority. As he pressed it into the wax, he took a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the writing. No rogue with a potato and a knife would be able to make a credible replica, that was for sure.

“Thanks for your help, Keyholder Stassos,” Steve said.

“It was my pleasure, Lord Rogers,” Stalleo said. He was fighting to remain professional, but the corners of his lips kept turning up. “On your next visit, please, do not hesitate to ask for my assistance.”

Considerably lighter now, Steve took up the now empty chests, the 930 gold coins that remained of his loot held spread amongst a sizeable pouch fastened securely to his belt, tucked away in several belt pockets, and in Naerys’ own coin pouch.

As they were led back towards the main lobby, Steve heard a restrained cheer through the door after it closed behind them. By Naerys’ amused expression and the smile on their guide’s face, he wasn’t the only one. It seems like they’d made Stalleo’s day. For now though, they had other things to do, like find a place to sleep.

With Keladry’s rusty Valyrian, they were able to gain directions to a modest inn that wasn’t too far away, but not so close to the Bank that the prices were unreasonable. The owner was pleased to see them, and even more pleased to rent them his last four rooms. They were comfortable affairs, fully furnished and with windows looking over the canal. He even volunteered to send a runner to the Swift Sow to fetch their belongings and bring them to the inn.

“Shall we keep the usual arrangements?” Naerys asked, as they took stock of the rooms, wandering from one to another. Like the majority of the city, it was made of stone. The others were downstairs, making use of the common room, although Dodger was already twisted into a pretzel on what would be Steve’s bed, sleeping.

“Actually, would you mind sharing with Lyanna?” Steve asked.

“Oh - yes, of course,” Naerys said. “I should have suggested that myself.” Her brow furrowed minutely, disappointed.

“It’s just, I’d rather not leave Robin or Lyanna with a room of their own to themselves,” Steve said, “and it’d be cruel to force the three of them into one room.”

“Oh. Oh,” Naerys said. “Yes, I see.”

“Sorry you still won’t get a room to yourself,” Steve said. “Although we could ask Keladry if she’d mind sharing with Toby, and I-”

“No, Steve,” Naerys said, “that’s quite alright. You can’t take anything but the best room, we’ve talked about this.”

“We’re in Braavos now,” Steve argued.

“And you’re still the lord we’re sworn to,” Naerys said.

“I don’t remember any oaths being sworn,” Steve muttered.

“Would you like me to go down on my knees?” Naerys asked. Her ears pinked, but her face was serious.

Steve was just glad Bucky wasn’t around. He wouldn’t have been able to resist a straight line like that, and Naerys didn’t deserve that. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said.

Naerys nodded, satisfied. Further conversation was derailed by three hellions scurrying up the stairs, coming to a halt before the two of them.

“What’re we gonna do today?” Toby asked. “It’s past lunch already.”

“Well, I was thinking we’d take it easy for the rest of today,” Steve said. “The voyage was trouble enough, and we could use the rest before we start running around the city.”

“Tomorrow then?” Robin asked. “How long are we staying here?”

“Another six days, maybe?” Steve said. “Then we’ll find passage back to Gulltown, if we want to make it to Riverrun in time for the weddings. As for tomorrow…”

“I’m going to spend the day running down rumours and seeing what information I can gather,” Steve said.

“What do you need us to do?” Robin asked.

“Your day is yours,” Steve said, as Keladry climbed the stairs from the common room, joining them.

“What are you searching for?” Lyanna asked. “We could keep an ear out too. I’m good at that.”

Steve chewed his lip for a moment, before gesturing for them to follow him into one of their rooms. He closed the door behind them, and listened for a moment for any other guests or workers who might be passing by.

“Before I came to be here,” he said, “I had a hammer.”

“Like your shield?” Toby asked, eyes bright.

“Different,” Steve said, after thinking it over. “Greater in a lot of ways. It belonged to one of my friends, Thor. I took it up to save his life.”

“Better than your shield?” Robin asked, impressed. “How?”

“It was enchanted,” Steve said. “One blow could shatter boulders, and leave thunder in its wake.”

“How come you’ve got your shield and not that then?” Toby asked.

“My shield could block a blow from it and not even budge,” Steve said. “Look, the important thing is that I think it’s here, and if it is, I need to find it.”

“It could do great harm in the wrong hands,” Keladry said, having listened quietly until now.

“That’s not a-” Steve broke off, considering. He wanted to say it wouldn’t be a problem, but with the way Mjolnir had reacted when he tried to call it, he wasn’t feeling as sure as he’d like to be. “It could, if someone knew what they had. That’s why I’m keeping an eye out for any tales of unusual hammers.”

“We’ll listen for any whispers of a magical hammer,” Naerys said.

“I don’t expect you to spend the day looking for rumours,” Steve said, looking at his companions in turn. “Treat it like a day off. We’ll do something as a group before we leave, but tomorrow is your own.”

“We can listen for rumours as we pursue our own goals,” Keladry said.

“Rumour mongering is fun,” Lyanna added.

Robin and Toby just nodded, while Naerys gave him a challenging look.

He sighed. “Fine,” Steve said. “But today, we’re relaxing. Deal?”

They nodded, allowing Steve to feel like he had some level of authority over his retinue. He could smell pork wafting up from the kitchen. At least dinner promised to be good.

X x X

The next day, Steve walked the length of the city thrice over. He ate breakfast amongst bankers and scribes, walked the Purple Harbor with the morning tide, sat near nobles as they took their lunch, wandered Ragman’s Harbor in the afternoon, listened to the priests preach on the Isle of the Gods in the evening, and bought drinks for sailors and workers as night fell. As he did these things, he listened, and as he listened, he learned.

Much of what he learned was useless, or so distorted by time and distance to be nearly so, but that was what you got when panning a city for information like this. This merchant was overcharging that tradesman because his son had slept with his niece, some crew was insisting that they had been attacked by a leviathan only to fight it off, the Sealord’s cousin was financing yet another galley for reasons unknown but involved a lot of travel to the Free Cities, the Red Priests of Volantis had been censured by the Triarchs, trade between Lys and Myr was being disrupted by rising piracy, the Black Pearl had tired of another lover and many bravos were vying to impress her, leading to nine of them dragging themselves to the House of Black and White to die in peace in one night…

The trick with rumour mongering wasn’t to magically pick the truth from the dross by instinct, it was to see which rumours kept popping up, and then follow up on them. Sometimes the rumours that kept appearing would be suspiciously similar, which could mean they were well known fact, or were being planted deliberately.

Near on any of the rumours would have been worth taking at least a second look at, but there was one that caught his eye over the rest.

Whatever the Sealord’s cousin was doing in the Free Cities had caught his eye, especially given his own intent in the region, but his gut told him to seek out more whispers about the goings on of Volantis. With some lubrication, several sailors had shared a story about the doors to the great temple to some Red God having been barred shut by the city leaders in the far off city. Some men claimed that it was after the Head Priest had stormed past some black walls into a restricted part of the city, others said that the city leaders, the Triarchs, had gone to the temple. All had agreed though, that the red priests hadn’t been seen outside of their temple afterwards, and the local branch was being tightlipped on the subject.

“They a strange sort, to be sure,” one sailor slurred, alcohol wiping any recognisable accent clean. “Them ones in Braavos are quieter about it, but anywhere else and they be quick to tell you how we all be slaves to their god.”

“They support slavery, do they?” Steve asked.

“It sure supports them, those fiery fucks, even if slaves seem to love their Red God,” the sailor said, before staggering off to rejoin his friends, tankard clutched tight.

Others that Steve talked to mostly agreed, even if only in broad strokes. Whatever was going on in Volantis suggested trouble was on the horizon for the city.

As he had searched out more information on Volantis, he had found more on the issues closer to home for the Braavosi as well, with mutterings of a growing pirate band in the Stepstones and a dark accusation that the Sealord’s cousin was purchasing slaves, on account of his ships always returning with more crew than they left with. The man to suggest that had been slapped upside the head by a companion however, and all involved had gone quiet, with the look of people who knew more than they would say.

When Steve returned to the inn come late evening, it was with plenty to consider.

X x X

Morning came, and with it their third day in Braavos. As Steve left his room, thinking over his plans for the day, he found his arm grabbed by a small blond missile. Toby pulled him downstairs, brushing past another guest who stumbled with a frown, only to give them an amused look after seeing them.

“Toby?” Steve asked.

“You’ll see,” Toby said, refusing to explain.

At the rear of the building on the ground floor there was a large common room for guests, and it was to here that Toby led him. A number of round tables dotted the room, the centre of which held a long table laden with food. Fruits, pastries, loaves of bread, jams, and more were on offer to guests.

“You left early yesterday, so you didn’t see it,” Toby informed him. He was already taking a plate and loading it up. “They do this every morn’. You can take as much as you want and everything.”

Steve quickly joined him, making a considerable dent in the bounty as he piled up his own plate. The others had already claimed a round table for themselves, and they joined the four of them.

“Steve, good morning,” Naerys said, smiling as he joined them.

“Morning everyone,” Steve said, returning the smile.

A chorus of replies came, and Steve focused on his food. Keladry had finished eating, and was keeping Toby’s manners under control with a flat stare, while Naerys was reading a book, one that Steve didn’t recognise. Robin and Lyanna were seated next to each other, shoulders almost touching. Steve made a mental note to keep a closer eye on them. He had a responsibility to the two of them, after all.

“What’re you reading there, Naerys?” Steve asked.

Naerys looked up, startled. Her plate had hardly been touched, and she held a half eaten pastry in one hand. “Oh, it’s a story about the founding of Braavos. It tells the tales of ten different escaped slaves. I don’t think it’s very historical, but…” she shrugged, already looking back to its pages.

Steve let her be. He’d long since learnt his lesson about interrupting readers.

“She spent hours in the shop yesterday,” Robin said. “We went and came back and she was still there.”

“It’s an entire shop just for books, Robin,” Naerys argued, not looking up. “I had to make sure I got the right one.”

“Why not buy a few for the road?” Steve asked.

“Far too expensive,” Naerys said. “This is the second book I’ve purchased since we left King’s Landing; that’s luxury enough.”

Steve considered reminding her about the thousands of gold coins sitting in a vault, but he already knew she’d knock him back. “Is there much money in writing books?” he asked.

“More in the scribing and binding,” Keladry said. “Essos has a greater market for them, and cheaper production. Books are a specialty item in Westeros.”

“Do they have better methods here?” Steve asked, thinking about a printing press or something similar.

“They have slaves here,” Keladry said. “Essos, that is, not Braavos, but Braavos is a centre of trade.”

The grapes that he was eating soured in Steve’s mouth. Pity he had no idea how a printing press was made. See how the slavers liked it when their industry fell out from under them.

“I do not care for slavery,” he said at length.

“Those who practice it will burn in the Seven Hells,” Keladry said. There was an undertone of vicious hatred in her words.

Steve looked up, surprised at the depth of emotion she had let leak through.

Keladry saw his unspoken question in his face. “When I was young, and my parents were still voyaging, I had a friend. I did not realise she was a slave until after she was gone.”

Rather than poke at an old, deep wound at the breakfast table, Steve simply nodded. “What else did everyone end up doing yesterday?”

“We examined several markets and stores, to search for possible wedding gifts,” Keladry said, accepting the change of subject.

“I found some good rumours,” Lyanna said.

“I almost died after I tried a Dornish pepper,” Robin said.

“You’re being dramatic,” Lyanna said, rolling her eyes and dispelling any worry Steve had that his ward had been poisoned.

“You didn’t try them, you don’t understand,” Robin said. “It was like licking a fire.”

“Cause I’m not an idiot,” Lyanna said, unimpressed. “How’d you live in King’s Landing and not know Dornish peppers are spicy?”

“It’s King’s Landing, not Dorne,” Robin said. “How did you know they were spicy, living in the Riverlands?”

“Cause I’m not an idiot,” Lyanna said again, poking her tongue out at him.

Robin seemed to forget whatever he was going to say as his gaze flicked between her tongue and her eyes.

“What kind of rumours did you find Lyanna?” Steve asked, interrupting.

Lyanna looked away from Robin. “M’ favourite is about the Sealord’s cousin, Varago Antaryon,” she said. “He’s either a traitor to Braavos dealing in flesh, or a part of the Freedom Fleet, helping slaves escape.”

“Freedom Fleet?” Steve asked.

“Supposed to be a group of captains that have agreed to hide escaped slaves in their ships whenever they stop at the Free Cities,” Lyanna said. “Dunno how real it is.”

“Like the Underground Railroad,” Steve mused. It could be worth looking into.

“The underground what?” Robin asked.

“Just what something similar was called back home,” Steve said, waving it off. He returned to his meal, watching as Toby finished inhaling his plate.

“What’re we gonna do today anyway?” Toby asked, putting his cutlery on his plate with a ‘There, you happy?’ look to Keladry.

“We should probably get the shopping done with, so we’re not rushing at the end of our stay here,” Steve said. “What kind of things did you find yesterday?”

“Braavos has almost anything you could think of,” Keladry said, “some more expensive than others. Myrish Eyes, rare goods from Yi Ti, Summer Island luxuries, glasswork from Myr, Tyroshi dyes...many of their gifts will be Westerosi made, so buying here gives you an advantage.”

“More exotic?” Steve asked.

“For a part,” Keladry said. “Westeros does not have much in the way of luxury items when compared to Essos.”

“No chance I’ll show anyone up, handing out gifts from Braavos?” Steve asked.

Naerys looked up from her book, placing a colourful feather to mark her page. “There is little chance of that at the wedding of the heir to a kingdom,” she said. “You should consider the message sent by your choice of gift, however.”

“Right,” Steve said. “Any thoughts?” he asked his companions.

“Something they’d find useful?” Robin said, shrugging.

“Silk clothes,” Lyanna said. “I used a silk handkerchief once, and it was…”

“A real shiny knife,” Toby said.

“Something personal rather than extravagant,” Keladry said. “Your invitation came due to friendship, not politics, so your gift should reflect that.”

“I had thought about drawing or painting them something,” Steve said.

“That would be unusual,” Naerys said, considering it. “But I think they would appreciate it for the fact.”

An image was already appearing in his mind’s eye. “I’d need some paints,” Steve said. “Brushes, too, and a canvas. Did you see anything like that?”

“I believe so, but we did not browse their wares,” Keladry said.

“Westeros is fairly martial, so maybe something related to war for the guys,” Steve said, continuing to think aloud. He snorted. “Pity I can’t just buy mercenaries and tell them to free slaves.”

“No sellsword company worth their coin would accept such a contract,” Keladry said.

“Figures,” Steve said.

“You would have to create such a group yourself,” she continued.

Steve paused. “...huh.” He shook his head, focusing on the topic at hand. “Who’s coming with me to shop?”

“I spent most of my time yesterday in the book store, so I’ll come,” Naerys said.

Keladry nodded, and Toby followed after seeing her, but Robin and Lyanna hesitated.

“I already saw a lot of it yesterday,” Robin said. “I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m still a bit out of sorts from the voyage,” Lyanna said.

Steve narrowed his eyes at the pair, as they studiously avoided looking at one another.

“That’s fine, I trust you to behave,” he said, hopefully ensuring their good behaviour through guilt. He tucked back into his breakfast, now reduced to the last scraps. He glanced at the table, still with a decent amount of food on it. Every other guest in the common room had a plate, so he wouldn’t be depriving anyone. “I’m going to get another plate, and we’ll head out after breakfast.”

The others agreed, and Steve put words into action. Half an hour later, after he had finished properly decimating the breakfast table and prepared themselves for the day, they met in the entrance room, a smaller and more formal seating area than the common room. He took a moment to take them all in. They had come a fair ways from rough homespun clothing and overly mended outfits. Now they wore well tailored clothes of fine cloth, less colourful than typical Westerosi fare, but more so than the average Braavosi. On each of them was a small white star, easily seen without being ostentatious. Even Toby looked comfortable in the finery.

“Lead the way, Keladry,” Steve said. He checked his belt for his pouch of gold, finding it resting comfortably at his hip.

Out into the city they went, threading their way through the maze of streets and alleys that had sprung up on the islands that Braavos rested upon. As he had noticed yesterday as he crossed the city in search of rumours, it was a completely different beast than doing so in a gondola. He was reminded of a smaller New York, everyone rubbing elbows as they went about their business.

They talked as they walked, crowds and volume permitting. Twice, Steve noticed dried bloodstains on the cobblestones, which wasn’t many but was strange to see even that often in a busy merchant district like the one they were in. When he mentioned it to Naerys, she laughed.

“The bravos, they duel each other in the streets,” she said.

“That was a fatal amount of bloodloss,” Steve said. “They really kill each other over courtesans?” He had thought that rumour an exaggeration.

“They kill each other over matters far pettier than who the most beautiful courtesan in the city is,” Naerys said. “It’s about the fight, not the reason.”

“Is that something we have to worry about?” he asked. “Being challenged by bravos?”

“Not unless you wear a sword after nightfall,” Naerys said.

“We’re here,” Keladry said, as they emerged from a narrow lane into a long market square, paved with dark cobblestones. It was like emerging from a forest onto a plain, with how tall the buildings were. Covered stalls occupied every spare bit of space, leaving narrow paths amongst them. They seemed to sell everything under the sun, with a wealth of options on display. It wasn’t just locals selling their wares either; Steve could see the odd man or woman with dark skin or brightly dyed hair doing business too. In the buildings surrounding the square were shops selling more expensive goods, some with guards at their front.

“Right,” Steve said. “Let’s get to it.”

They prowled through the stalls first, mostly browsing, but Steve did find some gems. The first was a woman selling children’s toys, mostly carved, but some stitched and fluffy. From her he bought a pair of plush wolves, the kind a child would grasp and trundle around until it was thinning and falling apart. He was pretty sure the Stark symbol was a wolf, and they seemed a good gift for any kids the happy couples might have. The second was more of a personal nature: a kit ostensibly for the removal of a lady’s makeup, but the gifting of it to Ned would remind him of a joke he had played on him. It would make Ashara laugh if nothing else, he was sure.

The art supply store had everything that Steve had hoped for, although it was probably called something else by the locals. He left with three rolls of blank canvas, a set of brushes made from all sorts of animal hair, from hog to sable, and a variety of paints. The cost would have been eye watering to someone who hadn’t just waltzed their way into a major prize at a rich tournament.

A short, swarthy man from a place called Ib was selling delicate perfumes in even more delicate bottles made of glass, and he was quick to buy two different types for the brides, one in a bottle of light purple, and the other styled to look like a fish. For a moment, he thought about getting one for Naerys, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to send any mixed signals.

For the grooms, they struck gold in a store that was made to look like what someone who had never seen the inside of an armoury imagined one might look like, bearing all manner of items related to war, but marketed at those who were probably more interested in putting them on a wall somewhere. Still, they found a goldenheart bow for Ned, pointed out by Keladry, and apparently the envy of archers everywhere. What one was doing in that store she didn't know, but they didn't question their good fortune. For Brandon, they found what Steve recognised as a telescope, lightly decorated with golden filigree. The seller assured him it was comparable to a Myrish Eye, but Steve knew that tone and spiel. Still, it looked like a decent gift.

Happy with his purchases, they were making to leave, when another stall caught Steve’s eye. He knew Lyanna hadn’t had the same opportunity to generate wealth from the book keeper’s of Harrenhal, and he took the chance to buy her a silk handkerchief. At Naerys’ questioning, the merchant’s daughter was able to stitch a star into the silk in no time at all. They made their escape before anything else could catch Steve’s eye, heading back to the inn.

They made good time on their return, weighed down by their purchases as they were. Every merchant had offered to have them carried for them, but given they had nowhere else to go, Steve had decided against. By the time they passed through the inn doors, it was almost time for lunch.

“I’m going to give Lyanna her gift,” Steve said to the others.

Toby was already making for the common room where he could smell lunch being served, but Keladry and Naerys nodded.

“We should put your purchases somewhere safe, regardless,” Keladry said.

Up the stairs they went, heading for the room Lyanna shared with Naerys. His hands full, Naerys opened the door for him, and he stepped through.

“Hey, Lyanna, I got - oh,” he said.

Standing in the middle of the room, Robin and Lyanna sprang apart, lips swollen and blushing furiously. Behind him, Naerys and Keladry joined him in staring.

Robin’s mouth worked like a fish, and Lyanna couldn’t meet his eyes.

Steve sighed. He knew something like this would happen sooner or later. Well, there was only one thing to do.

Crossing the room, Steve deposited his gifts on one of the beds, before taking the chair that sat unused at a desk and returning to block the exit.

“So,” Steve said. “You’re at that age.” He reversed the chair, crossing his arms over the backrest as he sat in it. “You’ve started noticing things you never did before. Strange new feelings about things you hadn’t considered.”

“Stranger take me now,” Robin said to himself.

“What you need to remember though, is that actions have consequences, and you might end up in a situation that you’re not ready for,” Steve continued, warming to the subject. The key was to keep rolling, and the audience wouldn’t realise how much he was talking out of his ass. “Parenthood can be a wonderful thing, but it’s not a responsibility to take on lightly - or by accident.”

“Should we leave…?” Naerys muttered to Keladry behind him.

“No, I think you should stay here in case Lyanna has any questions,” Steve said. “The perspective of both sexes is very important.” He glanced at Lyanna; she seemed to be in a state of denial.

After a moment, there was the sound of a door closing, and they divested themselves of gifts before taking a seat on the bed, off to the side but between the teens and Steve.

“Now, you might have heard all sorts of things about sex from your friends,” Steve said, “but they probably know just as much about it as you do, if not less.” He really shouldn’t enjoy the growing looks of horror on their faces, but he was a good man, not a great one. “The most important part of sex is consent. The second most important part is your health. If you’re worried, it’s perfectly reasonable to ask your partner to see a doctor or maester before having sexual intercourse. You don’t want to be left with more than memories, and there’s little worse than strange itchy bumps or a burning sensation when you urinate.”

The kids looked disgusted now, and Naerys looked like she wasn’t sure if she was of the same mind or if she was too amused at their plight. Keladry’s poker face was as strong as ever.

“As bad as that might sound, they’re not the longest term problem you can face from sex. Can either of you tell me what it is?” Steve said. He waited patiently for several long moments, but no answer was forthcoming. “It’s pregnancy. Unplanned pregnancy can be a problem for decades to come. It isn’t just a threat to your health should you fall pregnant at a young age,” he said, looking pointedly at Lyanna, “it can also dominate your life for decades to come.”

“I really don’t think we need this,” Lyanna said. “I already know all this.” At her side, Robin nodded rapidly.

“You know what you’ve overheard gossiped about,” Steve said. “But you don’t know what you don’t know to ask about. Has anyone ever sat down with you to answer questions?”

Reluctantly, both teens shook their heads, wishing they could just lie.

“When a man’s penis enters a woman’s vagina, you run the risk of pregnancy,” Steve said. “Despite what you might have heard, there’s no trick or technique you can use to get around this. Pulling out before you ejaculate is in no way reliable, and gravity has little bearing on the ability of sperm to fertilise an egg.”

Robin and Lyanna moved through the remaining stages of grief before his eyes, swiftly reaching acceptance. They stared at him with dead eyes as he continued to speak.

“If you choose to pursue a relationship, it is very important that you make safe and responsible choices. There are a variety of contraception options that you can approach a responsible adult about, and as I’m responsible for you both, I’d be happy to help you with anything you need,” Steve said. If he was a betting man, he’d say there was nothing they’d currently prefer to talk to him about less, but still. “The only one hundred percent safe method is abstinence, but that’s unrealistic. Teenagers will be teenagers.”

Lyanna’s blush covered her from ear to neck, and it didn’t look to be fading.

“Robin, if you have any questions about the act, you can approach me when you’re comfortable. Lyanna, I’m sure Naerys and Keladry would be happy to do the same for you,” Steve said, looking to the women. They both nodded. “If either of you would rather speak with a stranger about this, we can arrange for you to talk with a courtesan.”

There was a long pause as Steve surveyed his captive audience. They were still standing where they had sprung apart after being interrupted in their embrace, almost frozen to the spot.

“Did either of you have any questions?” Steve asked.

They both shook their heads.

“Ok then,” Steve said. “If that’s--” He was interrupted by a bark, and Dodger crawled out from under the bed.

“The dog was here the entire time?” Lyanna said to herself, reaching new levels of horror.

“Good boy, Dodger,” Steve said, scratching him behind the ear. “If that’s all, you can go now.”

The pair of them practically rushed the door, unable to look at anyone in the room as they made their escape. Their footsteps pounded down the stairs before fading.

“Too much?” Steve asked.

“Maybe,” Naerys said. “Amusing, though.”

“It was a better talk than the one I received from my Septa,” Keladry said. “I hadn’t thought about talking to a courtesan. I may have to.”

“I got my education from a prostitute during the War,” Steve said, shrugging. He saw Naerys’ eyebrows shoot upwards. “Uh, not like that. I ended up drawing her, and she told me a few things.” He looked out the door the kids had left open behind them. “Do you think they’ll think twice before fooling around next time?”

“Steve,” Naerys said, “I don’t think they’ll be able to hold hands without thinking about this until we’re back in Westeros.”

“Job well done then,” Steve said.

“Yes, job well done,” Naerys said, rolling her eyes. “Now, we need somewhere to stow all this and Lyanna still needs to be given her gift, although I don’t think she’ll wish to look you in the eye for days…”

Lyanna did eventually get her gift, and she even managed to thank him for it before fleeing again. At dinner he saw it tucked into her sleeve, and she always kept it close to her skin. It seemed he’d made a good choice.

X x X

The afternoon of the next day found Steve walking into the dark interior of a nameless tavern. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he took the place in with a glance. It was dirty, and the few torches had left black streaks on the walls. The fireplace was long overdue to be swept of ash, and the less said about the state of the floor and tables the better.

With the sun yet to set, the place was almost empty, only a few old men nursing drinks around the room. They stared at him with unfriendly expressions as he crossed the room to the bar, allowing the doors to creak closed behind him. He took a seat on a stool, the barkeep grunting at him but making no move to serve, steadily working at a wooden cup with a dirty rag. It was a good thing he wasn’t here for a drink.

Throughout the morning, he had hopped from tavern to tavern, following the trail of rumours that Lyanna had first sniffed out about the Freedom Fleet. From drunk sailor to busy server to surly barkeep he had gone, asking questions and dropping hints. Eventually it had led him here, to a tavern so unappealing it didn’t even have a name, on the edge of Drowned Town.

The man at the bar finally said something, but it was in the local dialect.

“Sorry, I don’t speak that language,” Steve said.

“Yeh want sommat,” the man repeated himself.

“No, I’m good thanks,” Steve said. “It doesn’t look like you have any clean cups anyway.” He glanced at the row of dusty and dirty wooden cups behind the bar.

There was another long pause. “No pay, no stay.”

“I’ll leave when you need the space,” Steve said.

There was a rumble of discontent, and when he looked, one of the grey whiskered men took out a knife and began to clean his nails with it, making eye contact.

“Careful you don’t slip and cut yourself,” Steve said to him. “Be a shame to get the floors dirty.” He turned away, ignoring him.

Steve was left alone in turn, save for the stares at his back, and the barkeep returned to dirtying cups with his rag. Ten minutes passed, then another thirty, then an hour. Still, Steve sat at the bar, entering the kind of alert dozing that anyone on guard watch had to master to stay sane. Another hour passed, and what light that made it through the few dirty windows of the tavern started to fade. A few more men entered the tavern, younger this time, and they took seats around the place, but didn’t order anything. They simply sat and watched in silence. The barkeep was the only one to move, going about his business. He disappeared into the back from time to time, always bringing something or taking it away, but never for long.

Slowly, Steve drummed his fingers on the bartop. The sound was loud in the tavern, and he heard someone startle at it. He hid a smirk. He was far too stubborn for someone to win this kind of waiting game with him.

Finally, around about when he judged the sun to be setting, the doors opened once more, and a single man entered the tavern. Slowly, evenly, he approached Steve from behind, taking no pains to hide the sound of his scraping footsteps. For a moment, he stopped there, before finally sliding into the seat to Steve’s right.

“Don’t see many new faces ‘round here,” the newcomer said. He was younger than he looked, grizzled cheeks and a cloth wrapped around his head and covering one eye adding to the appearance of age.

“Well, it’s not the most welcoming place,” Steve said, breaking his silence of nearly three hours. “Could do with a bit of a clean too.”

“You sure you want to talk shit about my watering hole?” the man asked. There was a promise of violence in his tone.

“I appreciate you speaking my language,” Steve said. “Your watering hole has a barkeep that speaks Westerosi like a local.” He turned to face the man. “He speaks Braavosi like a local too.”

“That’s a strange thing to say, boy,” the man said, visible eye narrowing.

“No one had a refill, either,” Steve said, gesturing around the tavern at the other ‘customers’. “You’ve really got to pay attention to the details with something like this.”

“Maybe they’re not comfortable with some foreigner intrudin’ on their tavern.”

“Also, I heard your friend giving instructions to a young kid out back after I first came in,” Steve continued. “Not sure what they were, but I know he opened a hatch and climbed down for at least two metres before crawling along a tunnel rather than use the front door, and he never came back. Figure that’s how you knew to talk to me in Westerosi.”

The man pulled a face. “What do you want?”

“I want to know about the Freedom Fleet.”

Steve heard the other men in the room shift and shuffle, but kept his eyes on the stranger to his right.

The man scoffed, scratching at his cheek. “That’s just a rumour.”

“That’s why asking about it across the city for half a day led me to this reception in this tavern,” Steve said dryly.

“Why do you want to know?” the man asked, dropping whatever pretence at subterfuge he still had left.

“Because slavery is an unacceptable moral failing and a sign of an outdated barbaric past,” Steve said flatly. “Because slavers are nothing but bullies with too much power, and I really hate bullies.”

“You had family taken?” the man asked, considering him.

Steve thought of Bucky, taken and used as an unthinking weapon for decades. “Close enough.”

“You must know, that if something like the Freedom Fleet actually existed, they wouldn’t just trust every foreigner to approach them,” the man said. “How would they know you’re not an agent of the Slaver Cities sent to root them out?”

“I guess I’d have to prove myself,” Steve said.

“And how would you do that, hmm? There are those who would go to great lengths to strike at a group like that.”

“What do you propose?” Steve asked. “If you spoke for a group like that, I mean.”

“An easy question to ask, but a hard one to answer, I think,” the man said, smiling slowly. “Many things could be written off as an acceptable cost to insert a spy into an organisation responsible for so much loss of face.”

“I could burn a Free City to the ground.”

There was some snorted laughter, but it quickly trailed off as it became clear that he wasn’t joking.

“I think that many innocent people would die,” he said, staring at Steve intently. “I think that not all living in the Slaver Cities are evil. I think that for every ten evil masters, there is someone trapped in a system that wishes it were not so. What do you say to that?”

“I say that the only way to end slavery is to end the Slaver Cities,” Steve said. “They need to be destroyed, not necessarily in form but in spirit.”

“How do you propose to do such a thing?” the man asked. “Braavos herself overcame Pentos, but at great cost, and with...middling results.”

“A dedicated group could target specific members of their leadership,” Steve said. “With the worst offenders removed, maybe some of these people only trapped in the system could do more.”

The man raised his eyebrows, leaning back. “That is somewhat more active than what many members of this Freedom Fleet might be comfortable with.”

“Would they say no to carrying those rescued by such a group to safety?” Steve asked. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about one or two slaves here and there being smuggled to safety, but never any major actions.”

“What would you call a ‘major action’?” the man said dubiously.

“A sudden raid,” Steve said. “Carry off every freed slave you can.”

“Braavos would face a united coalition of Slaver Cities should it ever even contemplate such a thing,” the man said flatly.

“What if it wasn’t Braavos carrying it out?” Steve asked.

“You cannot simply ‘raid’ a Slaver City. It cannot be done.”

“What if it could?”

“Even the Golden Company only sacked Qohor due to the men they had inside.” The man laughed suddenly. “Why I am discussing this with you, I do not know. You are young. Men have dreamed for centuries of the wealth hidden by the walls of the Slaver Cities. It cannot be done.”

“Those men were not me.”

Something about the way Steve said it doused the man’s humour. “That may be,” he said, “but I do not know you.”

“Give it time,” Steve said. “You will.”

The man tapped the bar as he thought. “Perhaps,” he said at length. “But even the Dothraki are paid because it would simply cost more to drive them off.” He observed Steve for a long moment. “Why are you here, speaking to me now? Truely.”

“This isn’t a job someone can do alone,” Steve said. “But it’s worth doing, and I’m going to do it.”

Slowly, the man nodded. “Perhaps I will see you again. Perhaps you will be killed by a bravo tonight. We will see.”

Steve nodded. “We’ll see.” He rose from his chair and made to leave, but paused. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Should we meet again I’ll tell you, Steve Rogers,” the man said, grinning. White teeth shone in the gloom of the tavern.

Steve gave the tavern and its occupants one final look, before going on his way. He had much to think about.

X x X

Dodger panted happily as he sniffed at the stall, investigating some scent apparent only to him. He hardly strained at the braided leash that Steve held, and even when he did he would stop at a quick word from someone.

“What do you think of these?” Naerys asked him.

Steve looked away from Dodger and up at Naerys, as she turned away from the stall she was examining. She held a cloth bag of something up to him. “What are they?”

“Grape seeds. They’re supposed to be hardy enough for cold climates. I thought they might make a nice gift for Brandon’s betrothed.”

“Would they survive that far north?” Steve asked.

“Likely not,” Naerys said. “The Starks would certainly have glasshouses though.” She handed the cloth bag back to the merchant with a regretful smile. “Perhaps if we knew better what she would like.”

“Hope she doesn’t dislike the perfume,” Steve said.

“Everyone wants to feel pretty, Steve,” Naerys said. “For women that means fine silk dresses and perfume. For men, it’s shiny armour and named swords.”

“I dare you to tell someone they look very pretty in their armour at the wedding,” Steve said, as they left the stall, taking in the city.

“I’d rather not cause us to be evicted from the castle,” Naerys said with a laugh. Her hair was done up in a single braid, laying over one shoulder, and she teased it as they walked.

The morning sun was almost directly overhead. They had been wandering through the city for a few hours now without any particular goal, following whatever took their fancy, buying small trinkets that caught their eye. A carved antler chew toy for Dodger, a dark leather roll up satchel for Keladry’s armour maintenance tools, a supple finger guard for Robin, small luxuries for themselves. Steve had bought her a nice ribbon for her hair, the same blue tinged with purple of her eyes, and Naerys had retaliated with an unfolding shaving razor that came with a small mirror on a stand.

“I can’t believe you traded Hayford’s codpiece for Dodger’s chew toy,” Steve said. A gaggle of children ran past, flowing around them.

“It was a generous trade,” Naerys said, smirking.

They took their lunch at a small eatery, not quite what Steve would call a cafe, sitting in the warmth of the sun.

“My father told me he’d bring me here one day, before he fell ill,” Naerys said, nibbling on a tart. “He bought me a book written by a maester who had lived here, telling of the city.” She looked out over the canal, gaze distant.

“Is it everything you’d hoped?” Steve asked.

“It would have been something to see at his side,” she said. “He had a way of making tales come alive. I used to pester him constantly to tell me the tales of the Seasnake.”

“He sounds like he was a good man,” Steve said.

“He was.” She was quiet for a moment. “I am glad to have seen the city with you.”

“Glad I could make it happen,” Steve said. “It’s always good to tick things off your bucket list with good friends.”

“Yes, good friends,” Naerys said. Then she frowned. “Bucket list?”

“A list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket,” Steve said.

Naerys barely held in a snort. “That’s a fine way of looking at it. Do you have such a list?”

“I never really made one, not seriously,” Steve said. “The way things went with my life kind of overshadowed anything people normally did.”

“You should make one for here,” Naerys said.

“What, Braavos?”

“No, here. You were a legend in your home, yes?” Naerys asked.

Reluctantly, Steve nodded.

“So you should make one for here. Normal things.”

“I could avoid singing in public ever again,” Steve mused.

“No.”

Steve laughed. “I suppose seeing the man made wonders of the world would be worth it. I’ve seen most of the ones back home.”

“You’ve already marked the Titan off,” Naerys said.

“What others are there?”

“The Hightower of Oldtown, the Wall, the Long Bridge of Volantis,” Naerys listed. “Lomas Longstrider wrote a book about them.” She seemed sad, and said no more.

“I could sketch them as we visited,” Steve said. “Collect ‘em all.”

“That would be something,” Naerys said, shaking whatever melancholy had held her. “Longstrider described them, but he had no artist in his party.”

“What about you?” Steve asked. “What would you put on your bucket list?”

“I, I don’t know,” Naerys said. She fiddled with her hair. “This is harder than it seems.”

“Why don’t you become richer than god,” Steve suggested.

“Excuse me?”

“Build a trade empire. You’re smart. Put your mind to work and write your name in the history books.”

“Are we not supposed to pick something feasible?” Naerys asked, mouth quirked.

“Is it not?”

“I’ll just write that down then shall I,” she said.

“Yeah, put it right after writing a book of our adventures,” Steve said. “You could be the new Lomas on top of it.”

“You don’t think small, do you.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Steve said. He finished his small meal, noting that Naerys had done the same. “Ready to go?”

Naerys seemed distracted, but nodded, and they collected their things. Dodger’s tail wagged with excitement.

As they left the eatery behind, an approaching figure caught Steve’s eye. Not in a way that put him on guard, but something about the man with short cropped hair and the way he walked stood out to him. As the older man likewise caught sight of Steve, he froze.

Without the need to hide his identity, it seemed that Fletcher Dick had allowed his hair to grow back. He looked well, dressing in the style of the locals and walking with a cane. The hilt was gilded. Slowly, Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

Just as slowly, the ex bandit turned around and went back the way he came, cane tapping on the cobblestones.

Steve decided to ignore it. At least it seemed that he and Wenda were doing well for themselves. He returned his attention to his friend, as they sought out more sights of the city. He felt at ease in a way he hadn’t for a while.

X

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Naerys said.

‘This’ was walking along a canal as the full moon rose above them. Lanterns were lit by workers throughout the city, illuminating the main paths and squares. Naerys wore her short sword at her hip, and had left her usual dresses at the inn in favour of form fitting leather pants and a white blouse with billowing sleeves.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Steve said. “We can go back to the inn.”

“No, not like that,” Naerys said. “Strolling the canals to duel a bravo, it sounds like something out of my books.”

“It will be good practice,” Keladry said. Like Naerys, Keladry also wore her sword at her hip, but unlike her, she wore a navy gambeson and quilted breeches.

“We’ll establish the rules before any duelling,” Steve said. “No one is duelling to the death tonight.” He did not carry a sword himself, but he did have a dagger and a small injury kit he’d put together.

They had passed several bravos so far as they made their way towards the Moon Pool near the Iron Bank, but none had challenged them, although some had looked interested until they saw the lack of a sword at Steve’s hip. When they made it to their destination, they saw they were far from the only ones. The large square was littered with both bravos and spectators, and a number of restaurants around the square were set up so their patrons might observe the duels.

The Moon Pool itself was quite sizeable, a freshwater fountain at its centre. Around it was a paved square, and ringing it was a canal. Connecting the central square to the surrounding wide walkways were several bridges, and bravos fought on both sides. In the middle, Steve could already see a still corpse.

“I think we’ll stay to the outside tonight,” he said.

The two women agreed, Keladry looking around and assessing the few fights they could see, while Naerys stared with excitement.

It did not take long for a likely challenger to approach. A group of five young men began to drift in their direction, one of them almost shielded by the others. As they neared, the leader said something in the local tongue to Steve.

Keladry responded in kind, slowly, and the man grinned. He had an incredibly curly moustache.

“My cousin, we introduce him to the way of the bravo this eve. I think you do the same, yes?” the moustached man said.

The man - boy, really - in question wore the same look of excitement that Naerys did, and he wore what Steve would call a rapier at his waist. He wasn’t any more armoured than she was.

“First blood?” Steve asked.

“I think two?” the man said.

“Naerys?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” she said, near on bouncing on her heels.

The leader of the group and the kid spoke to each other quickly in their own language. It had the sound of a pep talk. As they stepped back to give them space, the moustached man gave one last piece of advice that made Keladry shake her head.

“Your blouse is uninspired, and hides a mannish figure,” the boy said.

Naerys drew back, offended, but still fought to keep a smile off her face. “Your weapon clearly has greater girth than your manhood.”

A nearby spectator hooted, several having drawn in at the promise of a duel. It seemed that some were more interested in what promised to be a friendly fight rather than the lethal duels in the centre of the square. The noise served as a signal to start, and steel rang on steel.

Steve watched critically. Naerys was disadvantaged by her shorter and less nimble blade, but her opponent had less experience. It might have only been one fight, but Naerys had still killed a foe in the heat of battle.

The kid made several probing thrusts, all warded off by Naerys, but the opportunity to counter didn’t come. Naerys kept her head, just as she had been taught, waiting for a true opportunity.

Perhaps frustrated with his lack of success, and with his friends watching, the kid made a great lunge, attempting to leverage his reach and speed. The tip of his rapier took Naerys in the sleeve, the fabric tearing, but there was no blood. Spinning out of the way, she brought her blade around to whack him in the arm with the flat of her sword before he could recover.

“Ozay!” cried the kid’s group, mocking him as only friends could.

“Point to the lady!” said the moustached man.

“Well done Naerys,” Steve said. “Keep your head.”

The kid shook his arm out, but rather than make him more anxious, the blow seemed to have settled him. He was cautious now, seeking more to annoy Naerys into attacking with light blows than trying to get past her guard. To her credit, she held her eagerness well, but then she fell for a false opening. Instead of slapping the rapier out of the way for another point, a twist of the wrist saw it bend around her blade to catch her in the shoulder, cutting her lightly.

Naerys let out a short gasp of pain, stepping back. Her blouse began to stain. The bravos cheered.

Steve grimaced, concerned, even though he knew the cut was hardly a scratch.

“Final point!” came the call.

“Don’t play his game,” Steve said to Naerys.

Her gaze flicked towards him, before returning to her foe’s blade. She set herself, taking up a stance that Steve had taught her in the Kingswood forest.

There was no drawn out exchange this time. As soon as they were ready, Naerys darted forward, attacking him directly rather than attempting to beat his bladework. The kid was forced to dance back, shifting and twisting, well-practiced footwork keeping him away from Naerys’ seeking blade. He seemed content to wait for her to tire before striking back.

The problem with his plan was that Naerys did not seem to be tiring. Spectators were forced to spring out of the way as she pursued him down the street, restaurant patrons raising their drinks with a cry as they passed. The friends of each duellist hurried after them, intent on seeing the end.

The kid was beginning to be overwhelmed, each redirect coming a little slower. His footwork was good, and his reflexes quick, but Steve would bet that whoever had trained him hadn’t forced him to do suicide runs like he had with Naerys.

When the end came, it was quick. Intentionally or not, Steve wasn’t sure, but Naerys stepped on the kid’s foot, preventing him from stepping back easily. A split second later, and the kid had a cut on his arm to match Naerys.

The other bravos groaned, but without ill feeling. They crowded their friend, even as Steve and Keladry approached Naerys.

“Well done Naerys,” Keladry said, clapping her on the back. She froze when Naerys threw her arms around her, but it was only for a moment. The next, Naerys moved on to Steve, beaming as she trapped him in a hug.

Steve returned the hug, her head pressed into his shoulder. “You did good,” he said.

“I actually won!” Naerys said, releasing him.

“You worked hard,” Keladry said.

“Had good teachers, too,” Steve added, smirking.

Naerys was too exhilarated to respond to his teasing, instead choosing to thank her opponent for the duel, clasping his hand.

“A good fight,” the leader of the bravos said, stroking his moustache. His other hand was on the basket hilt of his blade as he stared at Keladry. “Perhaps we have another?”

Keladry said something in Braavosi to him, and the man grinned. Both drew their weapons, and they began to circle.

“Here, give me your arm,” Steve said to Naerys. She obeyed as he began to dig about in his injury kit. He focused on seeing to the cut on her shoulder as the duellists began to close, first making sure no threads were caught within it before cleaning it out. He wrapped a light bandage around her arm, more out of caution than any real need.

Three distinct clashes of steel rang out in half as many seconds, as the duel began in earnest. This fight was clearly a step above the beginners who had come before, and more interest came their way from the spectators.

The bravo was clearly skilled, and he bore the signs of many duels on his skin. His form was much more polished than that of his cousin’s, but Steve could see how it would be popular in this kind of fight. Against a warrior in heavy armour, they would need a dirk or stiletto in their off hand to remain a threat, and they had no place on a battlefield, but he could appreciate the skill involved.

Keladry duelled much like she jousted - with machine-like precision and deadly focus. An opponent trying to read her moves from her face would have been left with nothing, and she controlled her blade like it was half its weight.

The first point was a double, both duellists striking each other at the same time. Keladry was left unscathed, her gambeson protecting her, but her foe would have a nasty bruise on his ribs in the morning from the flat of her sword.

“Keladry is much better than I would have thought,” Naerys said. At his questioning look, she added, “from a minor house, I mean. The knight to train her must have been skilled.”

“You can go far when you have a dream,” Steve said. “No matter the obstacles.”

The duel ended when Keladry grasped the blade of her sword to make an unusual strike. The first blow was avoided, but not the second, where she released the hilt and put both hands on the blade to use the hilt as a club, the move taking her foe completely off guard.

The man said something to himself in his own language, before switching to Westerosi. “Another good fight,” he said, shaking his head at himself. “I did not expect that of you, Andal.”

“You are very quick,” Keladry said. “If you had a rondel knife you could threaten an armoured knight.”

“The water dance has its time and place, but there are many in your home who are quick to dismiss it,” he said.

Keladry offered her arm in thanks for the fight, and he accepted.

“And you, my tall friend?” he asked of Steve. “Will you duel tonight?”

“I’m just here to look after my friends,” Steve said.

“As you say,” he said. “We bid you farewell, my cousin needs more practice!”

“They seemed nice enough,” Steve said, as the small crowd around them melted away now that the spectacle was done, moving off to observe other likely fights.

“Some bravos are more honourable than others,” Keladry said.

“I’d like to fight again, if we can find another like that,” Naerys said. She seemed to be almost alight with excitement.

“As the lady commands,” Steve said, and she didn’t do more than nudge him in response, already searching for another likely foe.

Naerys fought twice more that night, scraping out a win in one and losing the other convincingly, picking up three more cuts in the process, although none were more than cosmetic. Keladry fought only once more, sending her opponent on his way with a deep cut to his bicep when he proved to be less interested in a friendly spar than he first claimed. After that, they decided to call it a night, leaving the Moon Pool behind and making for their inn, satisfied with the evening’s excursion.

It was not to be the last excitement of the night, however. They may have left the square behind, but there were still bravos out on the streets eager to duel. The first pair they crossed were gracious enough, accepting Steve’s apologetic smile and shake of the head, but the next three were not.

“Not tonight fellas,” Steve said to the three blocking their path as they neared them, Naerys and Keladry at his back. “We’re done for the evening.”

“You bear steel,” the leader of the three said, a swarthy man with a deep scar across his nose. “Your choice has already been made.”

“I’m being polite,” Steve said. They came to a halt. “Find someone who wants to fight, or I’ll be less polite.”

The path was narrow where they met, and the canal flowed sluggishly to their left. The only light came from the moon above, and an oil lamp some distance away.

“Your rudeness would suit me just fine,” the leader said, and he drew his rapier. On either side, so did his fellows.

Steve sighed. Then he stepped forward and slapped the man on the left with great force, sending him flying into the canal. A backhand accounted for the leader as he attempted to take advantage, his swiftness not enough to measure up to Steve’s, knocking him into the man on the right. Both were seized by their shirts, hefted, and thrown into the canal to join their friend.

“No means no,” he said as they struggled in the water. “Next time, mind your manners.”

They went on their way, and all was quiet for a moment. Then, Naerys snorted, unable to contain her humour. A quick glance showed Keladry to be wearing a small smile.

“What excuse do you think they’ll give for their soaked clothing?” Naerys asked.

“They were jumped by an entire street gang, clearly,” Steve said.

“Perhaps they jumped in to rescue a fair maiden,” Keladry said.

The rest of the journey to the inn was without incident, passed thinking up more and more outrageous explanations for ending up in the canals. By the time they returned, it was close to ten, and their beds a welcome sight. On the morrow, they would plan their departure from the city, sad to leave, but eager to turn back to Westeros and Riverrun.