13

Chapter 13: Braavos and trouble

It must have been quite the odd sight for Tomo Amarys , seeing a pirate ship being towed by a large odd looking carrack. The large ship sported green sails with the great black Bear of house Mormont.

That, more than anything else, was the oddest part of his year. He had heard of House Mormont. I believed most people had at this point. The poor house from the North of Westeros had been the centre of gossip across the Narrow Sea ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion. More specifically, gossip about one Beor Mormont.

The upstart was said to be touched by the gods, who ever they were. And the man could understand why it would be so. Ever since the boy fell out of his mother's snatch, all he had done was great things after great things. From winning a war, to becoming the youngest knight in Westerosi history. He was said to be as bright as the sun and as strong as a bear.

So he was quite interested as to what a Mormont ship, allegedly, was doing in Pentos.

He did not have to wait long. Soon, one of the dock workers came to him informing him that a Mormont delegation had come for trade. To say that he was taken aback was an understatement. Besides the Lannisters and some Reach houses, Pentos didn't have much trade relationship with the West of Westeros, even less so the North. And what valuable things could an island in bumfuck nowhere had to offer to the great city of Pentos, anyway?

Sipping on his Myrish tea, he motioned the man to invite them in. A scant few minutes later, three Westerosi entered the room, two men and a woman. They were all very tall, and nicely dressed.

The woman wasn't the fairest he'd seen, but she was quite comely. The older man was obviously a warrior if the sword at his hip was any indication. He also wore the white sun of house Karstark in the North, how curious. They were standing very close to each other, as young lovers were wont to do, but not far away from the other member. Maybe a family member?

The last member of the group was also the youngest, perhaps ten and six or seven. He was also the tallest. He was built like an ox, with wide arms and a wider back, legs like tree trunks all of it contrasting with his facial features. At some point in his life some will call him handsome, but he still had to grow into his own.

'A young couple, and a Mormont boy, sounds like the beginning of a good joke", he thought wryly.

"Greetings, visitors!" he said grandiousely, becoming Tomo the shwred, "And welcome to the city of Pentos. I trust your travel was well. It is quite way from Bear Island, after all."

"Thank you Master Tomo, said the youngest man, for receiving us so quickly, I know you're a busy man."

"Think nothing of it, my Lord. Though you have me at a disadvantage. I know you are Mormont, but I have not have the pleasure to learn your name" Tomo replied, suave as ever.

" Of course, my deepest apologies", the young man said again. "My name is Beor Mormont, and this two are my sister Dacey and her husband Harrion Karstark.

Almost sputtering a bit on his beverage, the merchant quickly regained his composition, clearing his throat. "It is a pleasure, my lords and lady. I have heard quite a lot from Lord Mormont. I hope celebrity is treating you well." He responded, amiably.

"It's certainly a burden I don't mind carrying at all, though it comes with it downsides.", Beor said.

" Yes, yes, I'm sure it does, my lord? But tell me, of what help can this humble merchant be to you? I'd be flattered, but surely you haven't travelled all the way from Bear Island to pay me a visit of courtesy."

"Indeed, we are here to establish trade between your great city and Bear Island." Beor answered.

"Trade? with Bear Island?, Tomo Amarys answered, curious. 'What could this froxen hellhole have to offer that I would possibly want?"

"That is correct", Dacey joined in. "Bear Island has risen to be the largest supplier of foodstuff to the North. We also trade in textiles, such as linen and wool. The best quality you can hope for."

"And I'm sure you've heard of our spirits as well? Kingslanding is probably the greatest consumer of sweetfire in the whole of Westeros."

"Ah yes, the sweetfire", Tomo said rather dismissively. "A wonderful drink, I hear it is. Vey scarce on this side of the Narrow Sea. I have a supplier from the Vale with whom I trade from time to time. I habe to admit, I don't see the appeal", He finished entertwining his fingers over his fat belly.

Beor frowned at that. 'A supplier from the Vale? The Vale wasn't a big buyer of whiskey. How did one man manage to.. Oh'. The realization hit him like a freight train.

"Master Tomo, I assure you, the true sweetfire is only brewed on Bear Island. Anyone else saying they sell the real thing is either a liar or a thief.", Dacey said, with great conviction in her voice.

"Now, now, sister", Beor interjected, "I'm sure the good master had not intended to be swindled. Many unsavory characters will always try to take advantage of the good will of men around."

"Swindled me, you say?", The fat man asked, his chubby cheeks reddening, leaning forward, towards his guests. " How so?"

"Well you see, we don't trade much with the Vale, besides in textile and fruits. So for them to resell Sweetfire, it 'd have to be stolen or counterfeited. I lean more towards the first option. Some villain, knowing the value of the drink, seemed to have believed you gullible enough. I'm appalled, I must say." Beor explained.

The merchant's fists were shaking at that. Reining in his anger, he said " This is quite...unfortunate, I must say. Thank you my lords for warning me. I am in your debt." , bowing his head slightly.

"Think nothing of it. From a trader to another, I know what it feels to be taken advantage of. We just learn and make it so it never happens again, don't we? Beor said, looking at Tomo pointedly, who smiled back at him maliciously.

"Yes, my lord, that is right. No point weeping over spilt milk."

They continued conversing for the better part of two hours, hashing over the agrewments. The merchant was surprised at the quality of the textiles of Bear Island. Never before had he felt such fine linen or wool. He was even more delighted when he tasted the real Mormont Sweetfire, and their other products.

The man seemed quite delighted at what he was getting out of the trade. The Mormont lad drove a hard bargain, speaking like a seasoned merchant, but on the bright side, the benefits he will get for being their main trade point in Pentos far outweighed amy cost he was taking upon himself.

The two parties separated quite satisfied, it seemed. When relaying the story to one of his friends, he was asked: "But isn't it a loss for you? These products are of high quality indeed, but you could find better prices even if the quality suffers a bit."

Tomo had laughed at that, "Yes that is correct, I am taking a great loss for now, but it's not a purchase, my friend. It's an investment. In a few years, the name Mormont will equate luxury and high quality items, and I will be their first line of contact whne it comes to this city. With their ascension, I will be catapuled to the highest levels. Who knows? I could even become a magister, the gods willing."

Beor was quite happy with the deal he got from Tomo Amarys. He had understood the man to be quite driven, despite just being a merchant that had recently become successful. That made him hungry and eager for success, which in turn made him a perfect ally to groom. Nothing breeds loyalty more than getting rich together,especially between traders.

He sadly was having trouble finding high class craftsmen that were willing to uproot their whole life to ressetle in a foreign land. So he turned towards the apprentices, the talented ones, promising them glory and honour or whatever else it'd take to get them to get on his bloody ship.

At the end of it all, he ended up with two young glassmakers, both slaves from Myr, whom he bought off the master glassmaker for a veey hefty price. He promised the freedom, food and shelter if they agreed to teach others their craft once back on Bear Island. The eagerness with which they accepted was quite sobering to the young lord. Slavery had stopped being a reality in his world for centuries, at least in the developped world. In this one, slavery was ubiquitous, and only really illegal

He also managed to find an architect, a young woman by the name of Ayla Walton, daughter of a disgraced builder from Tyrosh. She seemed to be quite talented based on what she showed Beor, but had issues being hired in the new city both because of her lack of experience and the fact that she was a woman. No one to be too picky, he said convinced her to come back with him on Bear Island.

Two days later- Harrion and Dacey were dying to see more of the city- they left Pentos for Braavos. He had been in awe when he saw Casterly Rock, Old Town took his breath away, but nothing could ever prepare him to the shock he would feel when hisbeyes fell upon the Titan of Braavos.

At four hundred feet tall, the statue was colossal, powerful. The titan stood above the lagoon of Braavos, an ever vigilant watcher, welcoming ships from the foaming sea. Its bottom half was of black granite, carved into the natural rocky formation, its leg forming a natural archway. From the waist up, it was made of bronze, with blazing pyres burning in its eyes. As the ship was entering the lagoon, a deep roar came from the statue, scaring the everliving snot out of the young Mormont.

The Titan was colossal. Braavos herself was majestic with a clear flair of Renaissance Venice, with canals. crisscrossing the city proper. It even had the venitian rounded domes popularized in the era. The hidden city was colorful, with bustling markets and busy bazaars, with people of all shapes and colours going abou their business.

As it is done for foreign ships entering the city, they moored at the Chequy Port, where their ship and cargo were to be inspected by Sealord's customs officers.

The man that came to meet them was named Jaquo Dhaari. He had the dusky complexion common in the region and spoke the Common Tongue perfectly albeit with a slighy accent.

"Greetings, my lords", he said with a flourish he probably thought was charming. "I the name of the Sealord of Braavos, I, Jaquo Dhaari, welcome you to the great city of Braavos."

"Thank you, my good man." Harrion said, smiling at the man courteously.

After nodding as a salute, Dhaari continued. "As per the law of the city, we have to inspect your cargo before it can enter the city."

"Oh", Dacey piped, "how long will that take?"

Dhaari hesitated for a second, a thoughtful look on his face, "For a ship as large as your, depending on the size of your cargo, maybe five or six hours.", he finally answered.

"Uh, well, I suppose we can take a stroll in the city in the meanwhile, what do you say, my dear lady wife? Harrion asked with a coy smile, mustering all the suave iof his soul.

Dacey tittered. It was a sound Beor had never thought her capable of. She usually was a hardass, even more so then Alysanne, so it struck him as odd to see this side of her.

"If my lord husband makes so kind an offer, I would be remiss to refuse." She answered, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Ah, young love", said a chuckling Jaquo.

"You hate to see it, don't you?" retorted Beor, rolling his eyes.

As they departed the boat, Jaquo said to the group, you might want to head to the Moon Pool, at this time of the day, young men and women gather there to watch singers perform. It can be quite romantic, my lords." he finished, wiggling his bushy eyebrows.

Dacey gave a longful look to her husband, who eagerly aquiesced to her silent demand. Smiling at the young kids all in love, he flipped a gold coin at Jaquo.

"For your troubles, my good man. Take care of my Lady, I'd be quite agitated if misfortune came upon." he said to the Braavosi, who nodded back at him, a smile on his face at the generous tip. "I will treat her as if she were the apple of my eye."

Beor nodded at that, satisfied with the answer.

"Jon!", he yelled, adressing his first mate, fetch my guitar."

"At once my lord."

The moon pool was as the customs officer described it: Romantic.

It was surrounded by tall granite buildings with a signature greek style with round domes or slanted roof, all very reminiscent of the Agora in ancient Athens, except with a great absence of trees snd a lot more water.

The pool itself was a large fountain sproiting clear water into four canals, each pointed towards a cardinal direction. The square in which it was situated seemed really well maintained, with bustling inns and brothrels, all more entincing than the others.

Merchants could be seen peddling their wares, big and small, as street urchins were doing their best to look unconspicuous, bleeding dry any unsuspecting passersby they could. Couples could be seen by the edge of the foutain itself, young men serenading their Dulcinea, in the warm light of the evening.

Most were competent singers, with suave and lilting voices. Dacey seemed to be enthralled by the songs, the way she was swaying, holding Harrion's arm tight into her bosom.

Beor cleared his throat before saying out loud: "This song goes to all loves, young and old, and especially to the young couple besides me. May your love be as warm as the summer and as deep as the ocean. This one is for you, kids"

"Beor, wha...", began a laughing but embarrassed Harrion.

"Shhhh", Beor said coyly, "just let it happen."

Closing his eyes, and lightly strumming guitar, he remembered a simple tune that played on his wedding day. He tried to convey the happiness he felt that day into his voice, reminiscing of past loves.

Wise men say

Only fools, only fools rush in

Oh, but I, but I, I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay?

Would it be, would it be a sin?

If I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things, you know, are meant to be

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can"t help falling in love with you

For I can"t help falling in love with you

When he opened his eyes, he saw the couples slowly swaying to the tune je was still playing on his guitar. When he was done, they small crowd that was gathered there clapped, some flicking coins at him, maybe taking him for a wandering mummer.

He was happy to see Harrion and Dacey gazing at each other, the way he used to his Emma. God he missed her, it'd been more than a decade, but he never allowed himself to grieve for James Mohigan, the man he used to be. He'd never given himself the chance to move on from his old life, dreaming to see his wife, children and grandchildren once more.

He was scared that if he did, he wouldn't be who he was before, that he would lose sight of his principles and values. Now, however, he realized how foolish he was. He wasn't James Mohigan anymore, that man was dead, taken by the cancer. His essence still stayed within Beor, but no longer will it stop him from loving his new life and cherishing those dear to him. James Mohigan who had read the books and watched the TV show could only saw those people as characters in a story.

But Harrion's smile was real. The small blush on Dacey's face did truly exist. Jorah would never come back.

Maybe it was time to let the old man die. Take the best parts of him and move on. He would always carry the love he had for his other family, for his wife. But it was time to put James Mohigan to rest.

He thought of the song he had chosen to be sung at his funeral, back in the other world. The song offered a proper send off to his family and to the man he was. A chance was given to him, a blessing of sorts. It was time he made peace with that.

Lay down

Your sweet and weary head

The night is falling

You have come to journey's end

Sleep now

And dream of the ones who came before

They are calling

From across the distant shore

Why do you weep?

What are these tears upon your face?

Soon you will see

All of your fears will pass away

Safe in my arms

You're only sleeping

What can you see

On the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea

A pale moon rises

The ships have come to carry you home

And all will turn

To silver glass

A light on the water

Grey ships pass

Into the West

A hand on his shoulder broke him out of his thoughts. "Are you alright, Beor?", asked a concerned Dacey.

It was then that he felt the wetness on his cheeks. Tears were openly streaming from his eyes.

"Yes, I'm alright, sister, just got caught up in the music", he answered, hastily wiping his cheeks.

"It was a pretty song, this one", said Harrion, "I've never heard it before."

"Beor sings a lot of songs that he makes himself, one of his numerous talents, I assume", Dacey opined, cheekily.

"It's not a new song", Beor said, his gaze distant, " It's a song I've heard many times in my dreams."

"Any plans for today, then lovebirds?" Beor asked the couple, as they joined for their breakfast, the next day.

Dacey and Harrion looked very disheveled, as if they had scarcely slept the night before. Despite their state, they seem to be in quite the good mood.

"Hmm?" the two of them answered, snapping out of their thoughts.

Do you have plans for today?Beor repeated, enunciating the words slowly for them.

"Oh, well..." Dacey began, blushing.

"We erm... We" Harrion tried, stuttering.

" By the gods, I can taste honey in the air, you two are too sweet." Beor said, smiling wryly at the couple. " I will leave you to your devices to do whatever it is you and you people do."

"Your people?" Harrion asked, curious.

"You know, married people", Beor said, faking a retch.

"Wait, Beor" Dacey piped up. "I can't let you go wandering in a strange city on your onw. What kind of sister would I be?"

"The kind that is madly in love with her new husband. It's high time you two get some privacy. And besides, I won a war, I don't think Braavos could be any more dangerous."

That deflated her a bit, but she still showed worry in her eyes.

"I'll be alright, sister. Enjoy your day with Harrion. I'll be back before supper." He said squeezing her hand, and ruffling Harion's hair like he would a child, before departing fron the table.

"What does it feel like he's the adult, and us the children?" Harrion asked, smoothing out his already messy hair.

"Funny you say that" Dacey said, looking at the back of his brother. "Mother asked the same thing all the time.

The fancy little gondola made its way across the city, gliding upon the water canal. It was bizarre seeing the levels of influence Venice had on the city, yet no one in the history of this world had ever heard of the city-state.

"We are here, my lord", said the conductor, pointing at the large building to his left.

The Iron Bank was a magnificent building, a fortress made to look like a palace. the building was s of a pristine white with metallic highlights, standing about four stories tall.

This was the ultimate goal of this trip. This world centre of power. The Iron Bank made and break Empires, built the powerful as they ruined their enemies. They only had one rule, they don't partake in slavery, which Beor thought was quite admirable.

"Good morning, my good man, I would like to talk to a representative, if possible", Beor said addressing a small man that was sitting behind one of the multiple counters.

"But of course, dear costumer, and my I have a name? The man answered, giving Beor a toothy smile.

"My name is Mormont. Beor Mormont." he answered, an affable smile on his face, channeling his inner spy.

A slight eyebrow raise was the only sign of surprise that the bank teller gave. "Yes, of course my lord, the Iron Bank is honoured to have you within its wall," he said nodding, right this way", he said, ushering Beor into a large antechambre with a beautifully marbled floors that led to a door. 'An office', Beor surmised.

He offered Beor a cushy seat by the door. "Please have seat, my lord. The representative will be here shortly", he said, the shuffled away after recieving a quick nod from the Mormont.

No more than two or so minutes later the opened and revealed a large rotund man dressed in dully coloured silks. His head was smoothly, making his pig eyes seem larger than they actually were, and his recessed chin was covered with an admirable forked beard.

He did quick once over of Beor before speaking.

"Apologies, lord Mormont for the wait. My name is Benero Reyaan, humble representative of the Iron Bank.", he said, offeringa seat in the large office.

"All is forgiven, Representative Renyaan, I'm certain you're a busy man."

"Indeed, our institution has been blessed with great posperity, but as one might know, success comes with plenty of work."

"Yes, indeed. Most can't see it, but the role of finance is getting more and more crucial in this world of ours. You are doing the gods' work here, my friend."

" Why, thank you, my lord. It is delightful to hear such praise from one such as you. The... military minded usually don't seem to appreciate the importance of our work, unless they need money for one of their wars. Such a wasteful use of gold, if you ask me." He said, his disdain for the warring nobles as clear as day.

"Then you and I agree on something. The power of gold resides in its power to produce more gold, and that production is impossible without minds like yours to steer it in the right direction. So I thank you for that."

"You flatter me, my lord. Though you're being humble. The Iron Bank has been keeping an eye on you ever since you started making waves during the Greyjoy's Rebellion.

I've got to admit, you look very different from what I imagine you to be. From what others had said about you, I imagine you to be much much older." he finished with a smile.

"What can I say?", Beor answered, "I have the soul of an old man.", his lips quirking up.

"Now," said Benero, clearing his throat, " How can I be of service Lord Mormont."

"It's quite simple", Beor said, "I am here to become non insignificant minority shareholder of the Iron Bank." Beor said, the easy smile not leaving his lips.

For a long moment, the banker did not say anything, his brain refusing to register what he had just heard. Eventually though, he shook himself out of his trance. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his contenance.

" My lord, this is a big demand. The Iron Bank is a private bank and tightly controlled by its owners. I don't know if I could even help you if I desired to do so."

"Yes, I know, mister banker. Which is why I plan to talk to Benero Reyaan, the keyholder instead of the bank representative." Beor said, leaning towards the fat man.

"Do you understand what you're asking, Lord Mormont?"

"Please, call me Beor."

The banker shook his head. "Why even would you want to own shares of our bank? You're already obscenely rich by all accounts."

"Very soon, I will be the richest man in Westeros", Beor began, entertwining his fingers under his chin. "I'm not bragging, you know this just as much as I do. The superiority of the Mormont products will be undubitable. And that is worth more than the Lannister gold.

Because of this, a lot of lords will be looking at me to take large loans. Last time that happened with a Westerosi lord, you, as in the Iron Bank, got really put out. And when the Rogare house opened their own bank, well, let's say accidents happened."

Benero frowned at that. "Tarnishing the reputation of the Iron Bank is a most bizzare way to get into its good graces, my lord." he said, glaring at the Mormont.

Unperturbed, Beor continued, " We will make steel ubiquitous. House Mormont's ships will cut the travel time by more than half. My green sails will be as renowned as the purple sails of Braavos. That obviously means that conflict will be inevitable. After all, I will be the trading name of Westeros and the main lender to the great houses."

Benero rose up at that, insulted. "You come here asking to be part of this, and you threathen the Iron bank? You think you can stand against us? I have seen hundreds of upstart like you rise and fly to the sun, only to be burnt to a crisp in their arrogance. Please, rethink your words, Beor Mormont."

"These aren't threats, Reyaan." Beor said, looking at the man, gaze unfaltering. "I'm telling you the future, as it will be. As a member of a keyholder house, you understand the idea if an investment. In the future, House Mormont could be your worst nightmare or your most cherished ally. Not by choice, but because of the nature of the business in which we find ourselves involved.

You could try to nip it in the bud, but it would cost you a lot more to destroy my house. I could try to muscle my way into your terf, but in the long term, it'd would stunt the growth expected. But the scenario in which we ally ourselves and work together is the most fortuitous of them all. We both have everything to gain, and a lot more to lose. Tell your superiors. It is a good proposal. You know it. They know it. I will be in Braavos for two more days. hopefully I get an answer by then."

He stood up at that, making to leave the room.

"Don't get up, I'll see myself out." He left without looking back at the bewildered banker.

It was a gambit. A powerplay he wouldn't have the balls to go through with in his past life. If it failed, he will have the most powerful entity in the known world at his throat. But if it worked, he would be backed by said entity. A powerful partnership, that he didn't really require to succeed, but needed in the fold to insure the safe of his family and business.

The Rogare had tried encroaching on the banking business, and coincidentally its creators, Lysandro and Drazenko Rogare, met brutal and horrific ends. Faceless men employed by the Iron Bank itself. Beor didn't want that. He could not beat the Iron bank, not now at least.

But he could a big enough threat to want to make them parlay with him isntead of insuring their mutual destruction.

He spent the whole day. roaming the city lost in thought, replaying the conversation in his head, trying to catch any mistakes or blunders. Several he had to wipe the cold sweat forming on his brow, even in the relatively cool day the city was having. He was beginning to doubt his good sense. What was he thinking? He might have doomed his family just because of his impatience. 'No', he thought. ' It had to be done. The end of the world is soon enough. Time is not on our side.'

He was walking back towards his inn, to rejoin his little group when a group of well armed men entered his field of view. They were directly looking at him, not even attempting to be conspicuous.

'About a dozen of them', Beor thought. 'That makes it almost fair', he finished a blood thirsty smile twisting his features.

As if they realized the danger in which they now found themselves, one of them, a tall man with greying hair, said " Peace, lord Mormont, we mean no harm."

Beor looked at the group suspiciously, still on high alert. "What do you want?", he asked, hand still on the pommel of the bastard sword on his hip.

"We've been sent to escort you to the Sea Lord's palace. The representatives of the Iron Bank are ready to see you.", the man answered respectfully. "If you would please follow us.", he added showing Beor the way.

'Well, I made my bed, I suppose. I just have to not die in it.'

"Lead the way, my good man." He answered simply.

"Of course, my lord. Right this way."

They went across the city in a large barge, him and the guards, in eerie silence. The sun had long dipped under the horizon, and only torches in the streets provided light to the dark streets.

Soon, they arrived to the Sea Lord's palace. It was right by the Moon Pool where he had had such a good time with Harrion and Dacey. At that thought, his eyes widened. ' Oh no! Dacey and Harrion! What have I done?'

He could feel the sweat building on his brow. If he were alone, he wouldn't have been as worried. Dacey and Harrion were competent fighters but they were human, fragile. a lucky strike or a stray arrow would mean the end for them.

He wanted to punch himself in the face for his blunder. It was too soon. Try as he might to convince himself that it was necessary, he could not. He had no leverage besides the promise of pain and fear, but the Iron Bank had the power now.

He made a mistake in thinking that they would be strict businessmen like he was, more civilized. But he lived in a world where might made right. And the Iron Bank had all the might in this equation.

"I told you to be patient, son", he heard Maege's voice, admonishing him. " You said you'd be careful. Why must you worry your mother so?

The barge finally made it to a small dock by the palace. It was a magnificent construction, as one would expect from the leader of Braavos. It was grandiose, almoat obscenely so, with large ornate domes and towers and spires standing tall in the darkest of nights. A large bolt shaped weather vane, was lazily turning atop the highest spire.

As they climbed the stairs to enter the palace, a tall, wiry man, bald of head with a square jaw came to meet them.

"Lord Mormont", he said, his voice deep, with the lilting braavosi accent, "Welcome to the Sealord's palace. I wish we had met in more auspicious time." he added, his mood somber. Beor gulped at that.

"Please follow me", he said, turning to walk back inside the palace, the other guards staying behind. Beor hurried to catch up with him.

They walked in silence in the empty alleys of the palace, lit up by fancy lanterns.

"You have made yourself a powerful enemy, young Mormont", the man said, his eyes facing forward, not looking at his companion.

"Yes", Beor admitted. "I seem to have overplayed my hand, this time."

The man hmm'ed and nodded at that. "At least you have to humility to admit your wrongs."

Beor scoffed at that. "It is not humility, good man. I'm just too proud to ignore my stupidity."

The man stopped at that, and turned towards Beor, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You are a strange boy, Beor Mormont." he said simply, before resuming his walk.

"Indeed. I am told so very often."

"Of that, I'm sure.", his guide said, opening a large set of double doors and ushering Beor in.

The room was well lit, shaped like an amphitheater, with rows of wood carved benches, covered with luxurios pillows and silks. Twenty three people were sitting in the room, mostly men with fewer women added to the mix; They were descendants of the keyholders, the creators of the Iron Bank.

As he entered, other men and women trickled in the room, most wearing dull coloured clothings. a sign of wealth in Braavos. A sickly man in his mid to late forties was sitted in a throne like chair, elevated above the others. His former guide was standing next to him, ever stoic.

In total, a little less than forty men an women sat in the room, looking down to were Beor was.

Movement by the sickly man attracted his attention. He felt the blood leave his face, and had to physically stop himself from shaking.

Dacey and Harrion were led in, looking bewildered. They seem unarmed, though they were now wearing clothes of a braavosi cut instead of their normal ones. His eyes met Dacey's, who looked relieved. His heart sank at that. Even in this predicament, she still played the big sister role, looking out for a little brother.

The room turned quiet at a motion of the frail man.

" Lord Beor Mormont", he said in a strong voice, belying his outward appearance. "Welcome. I am Ferrego Antaryon, Sealord of Braavos." He had no accent, speaking the common tongue perfectly.

" What is the meaning of this?" Beor asked, slightly exasperated.

Hushed conversations could be heard, the audience looking at Beor with disdain.

"You wanted to speak to the Iron Bank, I heard." Ferrego said. "Well, here we are. You mean to threaten us, I was told?"

"My lord," Beor began, "You are mistaken. I never threatened anyone with anything. If anything, I am actively trying to avoid conflict, by coming to you, before it becomes an issue."

"Is that so?" said a man from the benches. He was stocky man, full of blubber over his mucly body. "You come to our city demanding power, and you say it is not threat?" he added in a thick accent.

"Aye, I demanded power, but I offered just as much if not more in return. I'm a trader, not a thief." Beor retorted, a sneer on his face.

"And you speak of threat, when you keep my family captive?" Beor growled, reeling in his anger and frustration. " I came to you in peace, to trade. And you threaten my family, how dare you?"

"It is exactly as it is", the Sealord said. "The greatest power of the Iron Bank is the unseen one, the soft power of a name, or the jingling of coins. But do not forget who that we are powerful. You ought to be scared, my little lord"

"So is this it? You are punishing me for having the gall to look at my betters in the eyes? For daring to raise my head? I could swear I was talking to the Good Masters further South."

The audience gasped at that. Slavery was abhorred in Braavos, and the slavers even more so. This was a grave insult, but Beor did not care one bit. How dare they touch what was his? Those puny things drunk on gold mascarading as nobles.

He could just reach forward and extinguish them like fireflies, and they're be nothing they could do about it. They could kick and scream and plead, but if he wanted to, his will would be done.

A laugh from the Sea Lord tore him out of his thoughts of blood and horror. Where had that come from? He knew he had agression issues before, but this? This was different. For a second he had stopped seeing them as humans, just like he had on Pyke, where he had relished in taking lives he considered wretched. But these were just bullies, not yet guilty of crimes against him.

He frowned pushing the dark thoughts away. He needed a clear head to ensure Harrion and Dacey's safety.

" Marvelous!", the Sealord exclaimed. " You are every bit as insane as I heard you were. You wanted to trade, then? Let's trade, little lord. Beat ten of our best, and you can keep your life, your dear sister's and all honours you wish. Fail and you die, she dies, and the little Karstark will be kept for ransom.

Either way, the threat of which you spoke to the poor banker will be gone. You will be dead, or you will be one of us. Now how's that for a trade, Lord Trader?"

The peanut gallery laughed at that, jeering and cackling at Beor. This was obviously a ploy to kill him. This was as unfair a deal as possible.

Beor was shaking, his knuckles white from squeezing his fists. " Is violence the only way to solve this?" he asked, seething. I offer you gold, food, and you refuse, but instead offer me violence? Is that how the powerful Iron Bank deals in the shadows? Like bullies and thugs?"

The Sealord motion to one of the guards with his head. Wordlessly, the man walked towards Dacey, and slapped her with his gloved hand, sending her sprawling to the floor. Harrion roared at that, and lunged towards the man, only to be restrained by two other guards.

"Have you no honour?" Harrion yelled.

"My dear lord", one of the member of the audience said, "We are merchants. There is no place for honour here. Isn't that what you savages always say?", earning a chuckle from the crowd.

"Stop this madness!" Beor yelled. "You touch her again, and I promise there will be no place on this Earth that could hide you from my wrath. Bring your champions to me, Sealord." He said, taking off his tunic, leaving himself bare chested, the air cool on his rippling muscles, with only his breeches and steel toed boots.

"I accept your trade!" he roared, beating his chest, anger coursing through his veins.

"Excellent!" Ferrego said, clapping gently, not in the least intimitated." Then shall we begin?"

The most peculiar thing then happened. A scribe came in, with quill, ink and paper, all held on a small pulpit. He stood there, reading out loud a document with terms as stated by the Sealord. Beor was seething. After all that, they were still maintaining the veil of civility.

The man rambled on, seemingly unperturbed by the angry large man next to him.

"Do you agree to these terms?" the man said, addressing Beor.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Beor nodded. He walked towards the man and read over the document. Everything was in order. He had to fight ten champions from the Iron Bank in order to get Dacey and Harrion back. They even agreed to give him shares and a trade agreement as compensation. The fact that they were so generous meant one thing. The Iron Bank thought the wager was safe.

They didn't need to do any of that, beyond a sick powerplay. But in any case, they had nothing to lose. Not personally anyways. Beor smiled maliciously. They had committed a grave error, however. Where the Iron Bank had political and economic power, he had power that ultimately trumps all it. Sheer fucking brute strength and raw savagery. The things upon which all civilizations are built.

Beor bent over and signed the contract. Dacey was yelling something at him, probably telling to not be stupid and refuse to sign. But he was too far gone. He had to kill somebody tonight.

The crowd hooted and whistled at that. A door to the side of him opened, letting in a Dothraki with a very long hair, braided with bells, reaching the small of his back, looking at Beor like he was his next meal.

"I hope you entertain us, Lord Mormont." Ferrego said dismissively.

The Dothraki pulled out his arrakh, a curved blade, made for slashing, perfect against lightly armoured opponents. He said something to Beor, which he didn't understand before lunging towards him, teeth gritted.

From his perspective, the man was moving sluggishly, his swing wide and telegraphed. Beor stepped in and grabbed the wrist holding the sword and squeezed, turning it into mush. The man screamed in pain, letting go of the sword, but Beor was already on him. Taking his back, he grabbed him, and in a swift, fluid motion, snapped his neck like a toothpick. The crowd looked on quietly, as the body fell to the floor, lifeless.

"Come now, Sealord, I don't have all night", Beor said. looking at the man, squeezing his hands into fists periodically.

The Sealord cliked his teeth, slightly amused. "Very well".

Another man, entered the grounds, as tall as Beor, and twice as big, with dusky skin and scarred body.

My apologies for what I am about to do." he said politely to Beor in a deep smooth voice.

The Mormont nodded at him. The man walked towards Beor, hands wrapped in cloth. He swung at Beor with a right hook, which was quickly parried by him before returning a few strikes of his own. They exchanged a few more punches and kicks, before Beor aimed his shin at his opponent's left calf, on which he had all his weight. The kick connected, sweeping the man's legs from under him, and sending him stumbling to the floor. Loud groans could be heard from the dark skinned man, who was attempting to stand up, in vain.

Beor walked over to the man, eyes void of emotions, before straddling him, wailing a rain of fists and elbows at his head and chest until he stopped moving, either dead or severely brain damaged.

The crowd was stunned now. The young lord in front of them had jusy dispatched two great fighters, members of the sealords personal guards, some of the most well trained men in the known world. And he had not even broken a sweat.

All Beor could feel, however, was an all consuming anger. He had made the stupid mistakes to assume the Iron Bank to be more enlightened than the nobles in Westeros. And in doing so had put his sister and his good brother in danger.

"Nevermore, nevermore" he was mumbling, as if it was a mantra. He felt his skin ripple, an itchy feeling spreading from his chest outwards

Two other man walked in this time, each looking like the reflection of the other, wearing boiled leather armour and both bearing bastard swords.

Beor picked up the discarded arrakh from the fallen Dothraki, kicking his body to the side.

The two men saluted Beor before methodically walking towards attempting to get on both sides of him. Knowlingly, Beor maneuvered accordingly, keeping them both in his field of vision.

They started a steel dance, both attempting to skewer Beor to the best of their ability. The Mormont was doing a good job surviving so far, only suffering a few superficial nicks, slashing, and parrying with the curve blade, which was woefully inadequate for the type of battle he was in. He was still faster than the two of them, and was keeping them at bay with proper technique.

One of them overextended, however. Beor seizing his chance sidestepped and proceded to lop off the arm of his assailant, who fell to the ground holding his newly acquired stump, yelling to high heavens.

His twin, seeing this grew angered swung wide at Beor who slipped the attack before taking a swing of his own, splitting the man in two.

The other brother was still yelling on the ground, only to be silenced by a quick slash in the throat.

"That's four men already", Beor said, turning to the Sealord. Shall we put an end to this charade?"

The man didn't seem to care one way or the other, simply looking impassively.

Other men came in, three of them this time, only to be met with the same fate as their predecessors. Beor was an unstoppable force, cutting through anything that stood in his way. He hated himself that he was enjoying killing those men, but this was the only language they understood.

The last of the three fell to the ground, his brain leaking from his skull, his head having been bashed against a wall by the Bearman. He stood tall, covered in blood and grime, hatred wafting off of him, the Red Bear in all of his gory glory.

The audience was watching, this time, filled with dread. Against all odds, it seemed the Mormont lord was on the cusp of seizing victory, having dispatched seven out of the ten so far.

The sea lord sighed coyly, turning to his forst sword, who acted as Beor's guard earlier. " Go on, Volentin, do you duty and bring me his head."

"As my lord wishes" he said, walking down the stairs towards the Westerosi. The man was impassive, his face blank, eyes fixed on his opponent. He reminded him of the same feeling he had when he face Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard more than a year ago at the melee of Lannisport. 'It feels like an eternity since then.', he thought, wistful.

"My name is Quarro Volentin, First Sword of Braavos, champion of the Sealord Ferrego Antaryon. It is an honour to kill you, Beor Mormont." He said, with no malice and mirth, as if it were a done deal already.

Beor popped his neck and rolled his shoulders, ready for the showdown. Something in the back of his mind was bothering him. The First lord was presumably the best fighter in the whole city-state, yet he was here, fighting him with two champions left. Something is afoot, he could smell it.

Bringing the pommel of his sword to his heart as a salute, Volentin settled in a traditional traditional Water dance guard. Beor was not familiar with the style at all, besides the two twins he fought earlier, but he figured they wouldn't be nearly as skilled as this one.

The First Sword moved towards him, gliding smoothly, his feet barely touching the ground. He made some prodding thrusts, gauging the young lord for openings. Beor didn't react to much, either slowly retreating or slipping the attack. The swordsman was fast, insanely so. Faster than Moore, that is for sure, and his style was tailor made for duels. This was going to be hard.

The fight proper started when Beor feinted the Bravo, aiming for the left hip before quickly switching his sight to the right side of his head. The blow was fast and seemed to catch the champion by surprise, blocking the slash just as it was about to scalp him.

He smiled at that, like a proud father would at his child. He then proceeded to unleash a flurry of attacks towards his younger opponents. The experience gap was clearly showing, but Beor managed to keep up due to his speed, but all he could do was defend as he was not given a second to breathe and mount a riposte.

A few cuts when through his guard, receiving a few shallow cuts on his chest and arms. Beor managed to sneak in a trip, throwing the man off balance a a brief moment, but it was enough for him to finally create distance between them. He picked up the twin bastard sword, now duel wielding the trophies of his fallen foes.

"Such talent", Quarro said, as he spat on the ground. " A shame it will be wasted. I regret to have to kill you tonight, truly." He almost sounded pained at the notion.

"You have my thanks, Beor said, bowing slightly. "However, you said that already, yet here I stand still, alive and very not dead."

"Allow me to rectify my mistake then, lord Mormont." the bravo retorted, preparing to unleash another assault. But Beor was ready. He blocked and attacked back, having gottten the timing of his opponent. He also favoured his right knee, probably due and old injury. Small details such as these, piling on as the fight went on, wer slowly evening the odds.

Beor was not tiring despite his cuts, despite his opponent's overwhelming experience advantage, despite having fought seven people beforehand. He did not falter, because as good as Volentin was, he could not hold a candle to Barristan Selmy. His movements were as fluid, but he lacked the strength of the old knight. Where Volentin was excellent, Barristan was godly. And he had survived that. "I will fall one", he thought at that moment, his confidence returning, "but today is not the day."

The Bravoosi was impressed. His hands were throbbing from the clashing of swords with the young man. Truly, such strength should not be possible. He had thrown everything at him, all his tricks. They seemed to almost get him, only to be parried at the last moment, as if he was seeing the actions under water, where everything was slowed.

As the fight went on, Quarro Volentin knew he would lose. He was happy that it was to a monster such as this one.

Beor swung overhead after deflecting the man's sword to the side. The bravo managed to bring his sword back in front of him, only for it to be break when he impacted with Beor's larger sword. It shattered at the hilt, leaving him disarmed. The swordsman closed his eyes, inviting death. Blood splattered on his face, but the pain never came.

Slowly he opened his eyes to see the young lord with a arrow sticking out of his chest. The Mormont was looking at him, not quite understanding what was happening. He slowly stared at his chest, lifting a finger and dipping it in the small trickle of blood that was escaping from the wound.

"My lord! This is treachery!" Quarro yelled, incensed at the world for having stolen such a prideful death from him.

Dacey let out a cry of anguish at seeing her brother bleeding. He had always felt invincible, always going against the odds. Yet here he was shot through the back by a coward.

Two more men had entered the arena, armed with bow and arrows, preparing to loose more into the Westerosi.

Quarro stood in the way, blocking the Westerosi from harm. "I will not let you", he said, "this is dishonourable!"

"Indeed", the Sealord said. "That seems quite unfair to me. Is that allowed?" He asked and older chap next to him.

"It is my lord. No one ever specified weapons, so technically ranged weapons should aslo be acceptable."

The frail man hummed noncommittly. "Proceed then", he said with a wave of his hand.

"My lord, I beg you, p..." he started before dropping like a sack of potatoes, knocked out by Beor,in front of whom he was standing.

"That's eight", he rasped, blood forming rivulets from hi s wounds.

The Sealord laughed at that. "Marvelous" he said. "You bested my First sword, and yet you still stand. It's a shame you will die. But do so with the knowledge that I admire you, Beor Mormont." He finished, leaning back in his seat.

The bowmen were about thirty yards from Beor. The pain was numbing his senses and he felt like he was slowly losing control over his anger. Seeing Dacey and Harrion so distraught because of him pushed him to the edge.

He roared, sounding like a bear, challenging the archers to kill him. One arrow was loosed, aimed towards his heart, deflected by Beor. Another one, deflected. The third one embedded itself in his shoulder, but th man barely flinched, slowly making his way towards the archers. je suddenly broke into a sprint dodging a few arrows before receiving another one to the thigh, not even slowing him down.

He finally reached the first archer, and proceded to break his arms like twigs, roaring like a wild beast. He heard the now familiar arrow racing towards him. He grabbed his victim by the throat, putting him between the arrow and himself, effectivelt turning him into a meatshield. He walked calmly towards the other archer, still holding the other man who was screaming bloody murder.

He flung the man at him, sending them both sprawling on the floor. One man was moaning in pain, the other was stunned, attempting to regain his bearings. The Mormont advanced towards them, like a predator stalking his prey, sniffing the air, relishing in the smell of their fear.

He felt strong, despite the three arrows sticking out of him. He could not see it, but his amber eyes were glowing in the penumbra., his canines longer and more pronounced. His muscles, which were already quite impressive were jutting out of his body, especially his back's musculature, giving him a slightly hunched look.

He roared again, pulling the arrows out, thrpwimg them asunder. He grabbed the first archer, who had devolced into a babbling mess, calling for his mother. He was sobbing quietly, his arms bent unaturally, and two arrows sticking out of his chest and abdomen. With a slash of his hand, Beor sent his bowels flying everywhere, before discarding him, lifeless.

The other archer seeing this, tried to scramble of his feet, stumbling along the way, but Beor literally jumped at it, pinning him to ground by his head, and then went on mauling him alive with his hands, his victim kicking and screaming for a good thirty seconds. And then it was quiet.

The audience had long turned away from the stomach churning sight, some even fleeing the room, to frightful to remain anywhere near the man they had attempted to condemn to death for their entertainment.

Beor stood up, arms crimson red to the elbows, a his right pectoral leeking blood, as were his left arm and leg. He walked towards the Sealord, climbing the stairs with a small limp, the guards not even attempting to stop him.

He stood in front of the small quivering man. Leaning towards hims until their noses almost touched, he asked him, his voice much deeper than it was before, " Do we have a deal?"

The man nodded quickly for two or three seconds, entranced by the glowing golden orbs staring back at him. He turned towards the nearest Iron Banker, and said, "I will be back in the morning to finalize the transaction. Is that acceptable?"

"Y-yes m-m-m- my l-l-lord!" he screamed more than said, sturrering the whole time.

"Very well, then", he said retrieving his discarded tunic in the pile of dead or dying men in the sandy floor. It had a bit of blood on it, but that would have to do.

"Dacey, Harrion, with me." he said simply, the two immediately running by his sides like dogs to their master. They looked bewildered, but not hurt, besides the red mark in Dacey's face.

"What are you?" some member of the crowd asked, voice shaky with fear, as they were about to leave the room.

" Your new business partner. I am Lord Beor Mormont of Bear Island and Sea Dragon Point. It is a pleasure to meet you, he answered, with glowing golden eyes and a toothy grin, more of a challenge then a smile.

Yay, long chapter. Not sure if I like it or not. But it is what it is, so yep. hope you enjoy it. I'm trying to catch mistakes, as I go, so sorry for typos.

Beor's arrogance got him in deep doodoo, and he put Harrion and Dacey's life in danger. But he got something in return. How will those events impact the future? Find out next week in DBZ on adult swim.

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