The Sealord's Palace

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The Sealord's Palace is a massive, marble wonder, elegantly raised in the Valyrian fashion, with tall imposing columns, wide courtyards and gleaming plazas. The Sealord presides here over his court. In attendance are always the First Sword, the First and Second Naemyrs, the treasurer, the magisters, and the rest of his council. His courtiers are made up of the Braavosi nobility.

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Elane took her place on the dais, for she was now the Second Naemyr of Braavos, a high position in the Sealord's court. She wore a mauve silk gown with slashed sleeves in the Braavosi fashion, and her hair was swept back and braided with gold, which was the specific mark of a highborn who was a priestess of the Temple of Moonsingers.

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"High Lord," a Tyroshi envoy came forward. "Your friend the Archon of Tyrosh says that the sellswords fighting for Lys have put up a strong resistance on the Stepstones. He asks that you send reinforcements."

[The Smith]

The Sealord played with his iron puzzle. Looking up in apparant surprise, "Are we at war in the Stepstones?" Turning he looked at his First Sword who nods. "Well then yes we shall have to send reinforcements." Pausing to slip free an iron hook from an iron loop he adds. "Why don't he hire some new mercenaries to send. I hear the ones guarding the Stepstones are quite good."

Holding up the puzzle for all to see he giggles, "Look halfway done."

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OOC: OMG, Smith.

The Treasurer leaned forward and addressed the envoy. "How much are the Lyseni paying these sellswords?"

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"Twenty thousand gold mohurs, Lord Treasurer."

OOC: I'm making up the currency and the sum, but I think it's a good guess. Change it if you want.

"We can exceed that sum by five thousand," the Treasurer said. "What do you think, High Lord?"

[The Smith]

"Yes, Yes. I am genius I know." Turning the puzzle back and forth he sighs, "I have to move that piece back. That is an hour wasted. This is quite tricky."

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"High Lord," the Treasurer could barely conceal his impatience. Beside the Sealord, the now-recovered High Lady glanced urgently at Elane and nodded subtly towards the envoy.

"We could send them a secret offer to buy them off," Elane said. Her courtly Braavosi had much improved. "Who are these men?"

"They are led by one Jorah Lannister, Naemyr, one Constance Stone, a Dothraki savage, and a man who calls himself Bittersteel."

Elane raised her eyebrows. "Jorah Lannister? A Westerosi of Casterly Rock? Why haven't I heard this name before, when I have been so well acquainted with the Lannisters?" She glanced at the Sealord and his lady. "We will have to contact these sellswords immediately. Tell the Archon that."

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The Tyroshi envoy glanced at the Sealord.

"Do it," the High Lady said sharply.

[The Smith]

Turning his cold eyes on his wife the Sealord growls, "I hate it when you use that tone in my presence. If you are going to be shrill you must leave again. I need to concentrate. I am running the most powerful City in the World."

Looking back down at the puzzle, "Do you think these loops are the key. I am begining to think that. Make the offer to the Mercenaries. But do it quietly, This I command." The Sealord mumbles under his breath about hooks and loops.

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"I will tell the Archon at once, High Lord," The Tyroshi envoy bowed very low, then once again to the High Lady, Treasurer and Elane, and then left the court.

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Elane leaned over to the Sealord. "I think you loop it into this hook, High Lord," she said cheerfully.

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A hawk was carried into the court by the Sealord's spymaster, Vohaerys. "We have received word of the Captain Jorah's reply," Lord Vohaerys said smoothly, taking his seat at the council table. Court had ended, and the Sealord sat with his councillors.

"What did he say?" the Lord Treasurer asked eagerly.

"They sent our envoy back naked," Vohaerys replied. "We received the news from the Archon, who is livid. Apparently their reason was that they would only come over if Captain Bittersteel of the Golden Company joined them, and since they knew he wouldn't, they refused, in their vulgar sellsword way."

The First Naemyr, Matarys, looked disgusted, his little nose wrinkling. Elane leaned forward, her heavy gold-braided hair swinging over her shoulder. "I have an idea," she said, and then told them what it was. "But first," she added. "I will speak to this Jorah Lannister myself. And this...Bittersteel." She looked over at the Sealord. "If the High Lord consents, of course. May I travel to the Stepstones, High Lord, and carry this plan to the sellswords?"

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The Sealord nodded vaguely, but that might have been in time with the music. Minstrels and harpists and other musicians were up in the gallery, fluting sweetly. Nevertheless, Elane seized the Sealord's nod.

"I'll leave then," she said.

"A swift ship will be awaiting you in the Arsenal," the Lord Shipwright said. "And you'll need guards with you. They dishonored the messenger; the gods only know how they might dishonor a woman. Take the guards and take the ship, and leave at once."

Elane nodded and left. At her house, Tommen and Reed wished her a happy holiday (for they didn't know where she was going) and then Elane stopped by a certain other house, and made an arrangement to her satisfaction. She rode on to the Arsenal with her guards, and boarded a galley built for high speeds. The ship left Braavos.

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As the ship sailed, however, a Braavosi vessel fleeing the island met them. "It is lost," he growled. "Lys has the Stepstones. Our soldiers are slaughtered."

"Are any Lyseni in command there?" Elane's captain yelled.

"I don't know," the other captain shouted back. Then he sailed on swiftly.