Viserys VI

Viserys

Braavos

Viserys barely got any sleep last night; his rest was marred by the clamor and bustle of the inn, which resonated through the thin walls all night. He rubbed his eyes, the lack of sleep evident in his groggy movements as he sat up in the unfamiliar bed.

They had arrived in Braavos yesterday afternoon, docking at the Chequy Port. It was where all ships entering Braavos docked first, and only after being inspected by the Sealord's men were they allowed to proceed.They barely made it past there as the officials who inspected the ship grew suspicious of Willem, leading to a longer holdup than usual; they could only leave after the Braavosi officials further investigated them.

Despite his annoyance at the whole situation, he was excited to get a nice and close-up look at the famed Arsenal. It was a massive complex sitting on a rocky island, fortified to the teeth with all sorts of weapons. The structure was imposing, with towering walls and wide gates that opened to reveal rows upon rows of ships in various stages of construction and repair. He could almost hear the sounds of hammers and saws in his head just by looking at it. If what he had read was correct, the shipyard could outfit a war fleet in a matter of days.

He had a feeling he would be visiting the Arsenal sometime in the future.

After being cleared by the officials, they were allowed to leave Chequy Port. Their next stop was Ragman's Harbor, which, to his disappointment, was not as grand as he had imagined. He had expected to dock at one of the nicer ports he had read about, which he learned from the captain was reserved exclusively for Braavosi ships. Ragman's Harbor was more functional than picturesque, crowded with trading vessels from across the Narrow Sea, its waters murky, and its quays lined with merchants and sailors teeming about their business.

As they disembarked and began their journey to the inn, he took in the sights of the city. His first impression of Braavos left him both intrigued and overwhelmed; it was, in his opinion, Venice on steroids. Their late arrival didn't give much time for exploration, and the darkness had shrouded much of the city's famed buildings, so he was eager to see the city in daylight.

The Inn of the Green Eel, where they had spent the night, was modest. The rooms were cramped, and the beds hard. Ser Willem, ever cautious, had insisted it was too risky to seek out more luxurious accommodations, given their late arrival and since he felt it was too dangerous to travel at night.

He saw Alton approach him with a pitcher of water; he looked well-rested. "How did you sleep last night?" he asked, looking at his friend and guard with envy.

"I slept well enough," Alton replied, passing the pitcher to him. "The beds aren't the softest, but after the day we had, I could've slept on a rock."

Viserys took the pitcher and splashed cool water on his face; the water fully awakened him. He was still tired but could go about the day.

"When are we leaving?" he asked, drying off his face.

"The others are breaking fast; we should join them," Alton said, putting the pitcher down.

He nodded and stood up, stretching his body; his back still ached from the bed he had slept on.

The importance of today's meeting with the Iron Bank was not lost on him. While Ser Willem was here to make sure their finances were secure, he had a broader agenda. He wanted to explore the city and understand the dynamics of trade and commerce here.

He wanted to know the locations of the major guilds, something he knew he would have to deal with in this world if he was set on the path he had chosen. He wanted to know the variety of products sold in the markets, what commodities Braavos lacked, and crucially, how items were priced. He hoped Ser Willem would entertain this, though he was sure the old knight would want to leave as quickly as possible.

Something that had caught him off guard was how Ser Willem and other nobles looked down on merchants and commerce, viewing it as a lower pursuit—'copper counting,' as Willem called it when they talked on the ship.The old knight's initial resistance had been a challenge, but he had managed to navigate the conversation carefully, guiding Willem to see the necessity of their 'masquerade'.

Lucerys was becoming useful even when he wasn't around; perhaps this was why Aerys kept him around.

As he descended the narrow stairs, he saw that the inn was packed with patrons. The air was thick with the aroma of salted fish, garlic, and the tang of cheap wine, mixing with the scent of damp cloth and leather worn by the crowd.

The inn's interior was rustic. Long, sturdy tables, scarred by countless tankards and knife marks, were crammed into every available space. At these tables, sailors, traders, and locals jostled for room, their voices rising in a cacophony of Braavosi and various other tongues.

As they approached the table where the others sat, he saw Willem sternly lecturing his knights. As they walked closer, he could hear snippets of the conversation.

"...and Mathos, don't get distracted by the whores." Willem stopped as he saw him coming.

"What was Ser Mathos distracted by,ser?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing, my lord," Willem replied quickly.

The knights looked relieved at his arrival; Willem must have been giving them a stern talking-to.

He took a bite of the dry bread, his face contorting as he struggled to chew it. The texture was like sawdust, far from the fine breads of King's Landing or even Dragonstone.

"Remember, stay with Alton at all times when we head to the Iron Bank," Willem said, looking at him.

He swallowed the tough bite, washing it down with a gulp of water. "Understood, Ser," he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Willem then began explaining the path they would take on foot to the bank, but he quickly interjected.

"Why not take a boat, Ser Willem? They're faster," he suggested, looking expectantly at the older knight.

Willem frowned. "They are too exposed. I don't like it."

He sighed. "Ser, we are taking a boat. I doubt anyone here even knows who I am," he insisted.

The knights around the table nodded in agreement with him, and murmurs of approval echoed his sentiment.

Willem surveyed the faces around him, and with a reluctant nod, he conceded. "Very well, we'll take a boat to the bank," he announced.

Viserys left the inn, excited to see the city in daylight. Alton walked beside him, and the other knights positioned themselves strategically, some walking ahead and others trailing behind, ensuring his safety.

As they walked, he saw people from all over the world; Braavos was truly a city that attracted folk from all corners of the world.

He noticed a group of Summer Islanders, their dark skin contrasting with the bright, colorful feathers adorning their clothing and headpieces. They were arguing among themselves in their language, which he found strangely pleasant to hear.

As he walked, he saw two women of Valyrian descent walking in his direction. Their flowing, gauzy garments were scandalously revealing by Westerosi standards.

"Don't stare," he heard Alton say from his side.

"I wasn't," he replied quickly, turning his gaze away.

A Westerosi merchant caught his eye and Ser Willem's as well. He saw the old knight cover his face. The man was speaking loudly in the familiar Common Tongue, arguing about the price of spices with a Braavosi.

As they climbed down the steps to the canal, he saw a small group of Ibbenese sailors. Their squat, broad-shouldered figures and heavy furs stood out among the crowd. They were speaking in a guttural, harsh language.

Beside them, he spotted another man who looked out of place. He had a long mustache and was wearing an ornate embroidered vest. He was also speaking in a rapid, flowing language to a Braavosi woman who seemed to understand him perfectly.

"Where do you think he is from?" he asked Alton, who followed his gaze to the said man.

A look of recognition crossed the squire's face. "Ah…that, I believe, is a man from Sarnor. Saw one of them once in King's Landing."

"Sarnor? I thought the Dothraki killed them all," he said, remembering reading the fact from a book during his time in Dragonstone.

"Well, there's one over there," Alton said, motioning over to the man who was now running away from the woman.

Turning his gaze away from the supposed Sarnori, he turned his attention to the canal where he saw a line of boats, their sleek black hulls bobbing gently in the water.They boarded a boat with Ser Willem paying the helmsman extra so they could be the only ones to use it. The helmsman pushed off, and they glided smoothly into the canal. The narrow canals twisted and turned, taking them deeper into the city.

He saw market stalls lining the edges of the canal where vendors sold their wares. The air was filled with the calls of merchants in various languages, each trying to outdo the other. He even saw a fight break out.

Entering the Canal of Heroes, one of the largest in the city, he saw several bridges flanked by statues, which he was told were former Sealords. The helmsman pointed out a few of the more notable statues, sharing brief tales of their exploits. He could understand some of it as he was still learning Braavosi.

"That one," the helmsman said, pointing to a statue of a man with a stern expression and a raised sword, "is Sealord Cesare. He led a great fleet against the pirates of the Stepstones and returned victorious."

Hearing about fleets he wondered what the fleet he had sent out into the Stepstones was doing; he expected some of them to go their separate ways and become pirate lords of the islands, something like that would make things difficult for him in the future.

As the boat sailed along the Temple of Moonsingers came into view with its gleaming silver domes. Further along, they approached the Isle of Gods, where the temples of various deities coexisted. The Temple of the Lord of Light stood out prominently. Adjacent to it was the Sept Beyond-the-Sea, its elegant white marble walls adorned with seven-pointed stars and intricate stained glass windows. The most enigmatic structure on the isle was the House of Black and White. The building was stark and simple, its facade devoid of the ornate decorations that adorned the other temples.

'I hope I don't have to deal with them,' he thought, casting a wary glance at the building.

The boat gently bumped against the dock, and they disembarked. They were let off near the bridge to the Isle of Gods as Ser Willem decided that they could walk from there. He noted how different this part of the city was—definitely the wealthier part of town.

As they walked, he saw increasingly opulent buildings. The structures here were not only grand but also meticulously maintained, their facades adorned with gold, precious stones, and vibrant murals. Ornate ironwork graced balconies and window frames, while lush gardens filled with exotic plants and fountains adorned the courtyards. The streets were cleaner, and the air carried the scent of blooming flowers.

He also observed the attire of the people in this district. The wealthy Braavosi wore clothes in subdued colors—charcoal gray, deep purples, and dark blues and some almost black. Their group stood out among them, attracting stares from those who passed by.

As they walked, they eventually reached the Moon Pool, a large, serene body of water where the water from the aqueduct named sweetwater river ended. The Iron Bank was situated at one end of the Moon Pool.

The Iron Bank was an imposing structure. It stood out even among the wealth and beauty of the surrounding buildings. The bank's facade was austere and commanding, with large pillars reminiscent of ancient Greek buildings from his previous life.

Willem led them up the stairs to the bank. Inside, he saw the old knight show one of the officials a token with the symbol of a seahorse. The official nodded and quickly made his way inside.

"The king will come with me," Willem said in a low voice to the others. "The rest of you stay here."

The official returned and bade them to follow. They were led into an ornate waiting room where they were instructed to wait.

"Your Grace, what should we expect here? Other than making sure the treasury is secure" Willem asked.

"I asked Lord Lucerys to make sure no one would suspect that we are merchants from Tyrosh. He assured me that he knew someone in the bank who could ensure our new identities would not be questioned," he replied.

"I see," Willem said. "So the bank knows..."

"Of course they do. Even if Lord Lucerys didn't outright tell them, they would have known."

A man in gray clothes entered the room. "Master Sereno" he said addressing Viserys "Keyholder Bessaro will see you now."

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Viserys and Willem were led through the cold corridors of the Iron Bank into an imposing room with tall pillars. The walls and floor were smooth, shiny marble, reflecting the dim light from the ornate chandeliers hanging overhead. A large, ornate table was at the end of the room with three large chairs on each side. A large sigil of the Iron Bank dominated the wall behind the table. The room exuded an atmosphere of authority and power, fitting for a place where important financial or political decisions were made.

Sitting on one of the chairs was a man in a drab coat of brown, with a large belly, a stylized mustache, and a bald head. He rose to greet them as they entered.

"Welcome, Master Sereno," he said, looking directly at Viserys. Willem looked confused by the greeting.

'Ha... Already playing the part. Willem and the others could learn something from this man,' he thought.

"My name is Bessaro Dandalo, esteemed keyholder of the Iron Bank," the man continued, bowing slightly.

"Well met, Keyholder Bessaro," Willem said. As he was about to introduce himself further, Bessaro interrupted.

"I have been waiting for months for your arrival. Lord Velaryon did say that you would be late, but not this late."

"You know Lord Velaryon very well, then?" Willem asked.

"Oh, our families have had dealings for centuries," Bessaro replied. "Do you want something to drink? Wine perhaps, or something sweet for the young master?" he asked.

He was about to say yes when Willem shook his head and said, "No."

"Straight to business then," Bessaro said, pulling out some documents. "These are for you. One copy will be kept in the bank, and this one is for you."

"What is this?" he asked.

"The history of the business the Sereno family has with the bank, of course," Bessaro said with a knowing smile.

"Ah, good," Viserys responded.

'He actually managed to do it. Lucerys, you magnificent bastard,' he thought with a smile, but then he realized something. 'Why would a bank do something like this? There has to be a catch.'

"If anyone in Braavos is suspicious of you, Master Sereno, we will provide evidence of your family's extensive history with us," Bessaro assured.

"How far did Lucerys go?" Willem muttered, taking the documents from him.

Bessaro then provided them with other documents pertaining to the money they had deposited under the Sereno name.

"It is strange for the bank to help with something like this," Willem noted.

'Ah, thank you, Willem, for asking the right questions,' he thought.

"Oh, but you are not just someone, are you, Your Grace?" Bessaro said, dropping all pretense.

'And here we go,' he knew there was a catch.

"I like making friends, Your Grace. I like making powerful friends. You may be powerless now, but anything can happen in the future."

"Like what?" Willem asked, now deeply interested in the conversation.

"Ser Willem, I think you and I know what the Iron Bank does if it does not get its due," Bessaro replied with a sly smile.

Willem couldn't help but grin.

"You are an investment, Your Grace. If the new regime comes into conflict with us, we know who to call upon."

Willem looked delighted at the prospect.

'Oh, fuck,' Viserys thought, realizing the weight of Bessaro's words and the implications of their new ally's ambitions.

Bessaro then placed a document in front of Viserys, the one Willem had just finished reading. Willem seemed very happy with it, which he did not like one bit.

Bessaro handed him a quill. "Sign here," he said.

He looked at the document, feeling like he was signing his life away, making a deal with the devil. But he had no choice. He could feel Willem's gaze upon him as he stared at the document.

"Your Grace?" Willem asked.

"Oh, sorry, I was thinking of something," he replied quickly.

"Children this age can be absent-minded," Bessaro jested to Willem.

Willem let out a polite laugh.

He looked at the document again. 'Oh right, what first name should I use?' he thought. Feeling pressured to sign quickly, he simply wrote "Vys Sereno," remembering what Rhaenys calls him.

Bessaro looked at the parchment. "Great. Welcome to Braavos... Vys Sereno," he turned to Willem, "and his guardians."

"Anything else the bank can provide for you?" Bessaro asked, smiling widely.

'The bank or you?' he wondered.

He was silent for a moment and then asked, "There is something you can do for us, Keyholder..."

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Viserys had asked the keyholder if he could arrange for someone to show him around Braavos. Bessaro, hearing such a simple request from his new 'investment,' was only too happy to acquiesce.

He even managed to convince Ser Willem to agree to the tour, despite Willem's desire to leave the city as quickly as possible.

They spent the entire day touring the city. His guide, a knowledgeable Braavosi named Darius, proved invaluable, not just in showing him the sights but also in providing detailed information about the various guilds that existed in Braavos—one of his goals that he wanted to accomplish while he was here.

"Ah, Master Sereno, look," Darius said, pointing to a grand building adorned with intricate carvings. "That is the guildhall of the Guild of Smiths."

He nodded, taking in the information. He was already aware of the significance of guilds. These associations of artisans and merchants oversaw the practice of their craft or trade within the city, functioning much like business associations or trade unions. They played a huge role in the economic life in the Middle Ages on Earth, shaping industries by controlling crafts and trade in urban areas.

It was like that here as well.

"Are there any guilds for ships?" he asked with the innocence of an eight-year-old.

Darius then pointed to the Arsenal. "Over there is the Guild of Shipwrights."

'Ah, just as I thought,' he mused.

Most merchants, he knew, couldn't afford to own ships outright due to the high costs of building and maintaining them. Instead, they would lease vessels from shipowners or wealthy investors who controlled fleets.

In a trade-focused city like Braavos, some merchants often formed partnerships or syndicates to pool resources for ship ownership. Then there was the guild involvement. The guild maintained registries of available ships, standardized contract terms, and offered dispute resolution services for conflicts arising from charter agreements. This centralized system ensured that trade flowed smoothly, but it also meant that the guild wielded considerable power over maritime commerce.

At first, he contemplated starting a shipping company of sorts, using the compass to secure new, faster trade routes. By leveraging this technological advantage, he could attract the services of merchants who were not part of the established partnerships or syndicates. But as he learned more about the guilds, he realized such an endeavor would likely face opposition from them, who might fear it would disrupt existing trade balances and reduce their members' profits.

He could start small; the ships he had sent north could already be licensed to work in Braavos. He could use these vessels to begin his operations, working within the guild's rules at first. If he could find a powerful ally within the guild, it would make the process significantly easier.

'But not now,' he thought. Perhaps in a few years, when he was older and had more experience and resources at his disposal.

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"Barley flour, copper ingots, and even copper ore as well," Viserys listed off, inspecting the various goods brought before him. "Well done," he said to the servant he had tasked with acquiring them.

"Thank you, my prin... my lord," the servant corrected himself quickly.

"Load them with the rest of the cargo," he ordered.

The servant bowed and left. He was at the docks. Alton, who was standing behind him, asked, "What are these for?"

"Oh, these are for Gerald," he replied, boarding the ship.

He was exhausted from the day's events. They had toured the city all day, and all he wanted to do now was sleep.

Willem and two others had left when the captain of their ship informed them that he had seen one of the ships from their fleet in the harbor. So he had sent Willem to talk to the captain of that ship to learn the current whereabouts of the fleet in the north.

Sitting on the railing of the ship, he thought about the events of the day. He may have signed his life away to an ambitious keyholder. He hid his face in his hands, feeling the weight of his decisions press down on him.

"At least I got to see the city," he muttered to himself, trying to find a silver lining. As the sun set Alton led him back to the inn where they waited for Ser Willem to arrive.

Willem returned after the sun had set. They met in the rooms they had paid for. He immediately asked Willem about the state of the fleet, noting the serious expression on the knight's face.

"Start with the good news, then. It can't be all bad," he urged.

The knights who accompanied Willem, Maekar, and Mathos exchanged uneasy glances with the elder knight.

"Is it all bad?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Willem took a deep breath and began, "Thirty-three ships are operating in and near Braavos. Some were able to get licensed to trade here, and others are waiting."

"That's great," he said.

Willem continued, "Twenty-three ships are in Lorath. Apparently, there was a shortage of ships due to some being lost at sea. Fourteen are in Pentos."

"Good, good," he said, nodding.

Willem's expression darkened as he continued, "Thirteen have mutinied and did not reach these seas with the fleet."

"Well, we expected that," he said, trying to stay composed. "What of the rest?" he asked.

"The remaining ones decided to sail into the Shivering Sea to Bitterweed Bay and even beyond to the Sarne," Willem explained.

"Well, that is fine, isn't it?" he asked.

Willem sighed. "We," he said, looking to the other knights, "and the captain believe that they have also mutinied. We might never hear from them again."

"Oh."

"That's fine, that's fine," he repeated with a forced smile. "We expected this. At least we have some ships, yes?" he asked, looking around for reassurance.

"Even with the losses, we still have a large number of ships operating in key areas," Alton said.

"How many will break away from them in the coming months?" Mathos retorted.

This turned into a small argument until Ser Willem stepped in. As the knights left the room to have dinner, he had only one thought in his head:

'What the hell is happening in the south, then?'

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