The Titan of Braavos rose from the sea mist like some ancient god of bronze and stone, its sword raised toward the grey sky. I stood at the ship's rail, one hand resting on Ghost's massive head, and watched as we passed beneath those tremendous legs. The statue's hollow eyes seemed to follow us.
This is what men can build when they're free, I thought. No kings. No lords. Just coin and will.
The harbor opened before us—a forest of masts and rigging, ships from every corner of the known world crowding the docks. Braavosi merchantmen with their purple sails. Lyseni pleasure barges painted in garish colors. Even a Summer Islander swan ship, its hull carved and gilded to catch the morning light.
Captain came to stand beside me. He'd been glancing at Ghost throughout the voyage, never quite comfortable with a direwolf the size of a war horse sleeping on his deck. Now he cleared his throat.
"My lord," he said in his thick Braavosi accent. "We'll be docking within the hour. About your companion—"
"I know," I said. "He'll need somewhere private. Away from crowds."
He nodded, "If I may suggest, my lord—your first stop should be the Iron Bank. they can help with... other arrangements. Housing. Documentation. The sort of things that smooth a foreigner's path in Braavos."
"Sound advice," I said. "Thank you, Captain."
…
The docking took longer than I'd hoped. Harbor officials boarded to inspect the cargo, collect fees, ask tedious questions about where we'd sailed from and what business we had in Braavos.
When we finally received clearance to disembark, the sun was climbing toward noon.
I'd arranged for my heavy chest—the one containing the bulk of my fortune—to be loaded onto a sturdy cart. Four dock workers strained under its weight, cursing in Braavosi and what sounded like Volantene. I'd kept back a purse of gold for immediate needs, but the rest needed to be secured properly.
Getting Ghost off the ship proved to be the most delicate operation. I waited until the midday crowd had thinned slightly, then led him down the gangplank.
The effect was immediate. Conversations stopped. People backed away. A woman crossing the dock with a basket of fish dropped it, the contents spilling across the weathered planks. A city watchman's hand went to his sword, then froze when Ghost's gaze fixed on him.
"Easy," I murmured, keeping my hand on Ghost's head. Through our bond, I felt his unease. Too many people. Too many smells. Too much noise pressing in from all sides.
I'd hired two guards to accompany the cart carrying my gold. They looked at Ghost, looked at each other, then took up positions flanking the cart without comment.
We made our way through the docks slowly. Ghost drew stares wherever we went—of course he did. But the Braavosi were a practical people. They looked, they whispered, but they kept their distance. A young man with a fortune and a monster at his side was clearly not someone to trifle with.
The Iron Bank stood in the heart of the city, an enormous building of dark bronze and black marble. It dominated the square around it, making even the grand temples and guild halls look small.
This was the true power in Braavos—not the Sealord in his palace.
I stopped at the base of the broad marble steps leading up to the entrance. Ghost couldn't come inside—that much was obvious. But leaving him alone in the square was equally impossible.
"Stay here boy," I told him, kneeling to look into his red eyes. " I'll be as quick as I can."
He settled onto his haunches at the base of the steps, as immovable as a statue. People gave him a wide berth, crossing to the far side of the square rather than pass too close.
The two guards remained with the cart. I took only my purse of gold and climbed the steps alone.
The interior of the Iron Bank was as imposing as its exterior. The entrance hall soared three stories high, its walls lined with bronze columns that gleamed dully in the light from high windows.
A functionary approached—a thin man in dark robes. He looked me up and down, taking in my Northern clothes.
"How may the Iron Bank serve you?" he asked in perfect Common Tongue.
"I wish to open an account," I said. "And to make a deposit."
"Of course. If you'll follow me."
He led me through a maze of corridors, until we reached a private chamber.
The chamber was small, a ironwood desk dominated the space, and behind it sat a woman of perhaps forty years.
"Serah Ternesio," the functionary said, bowing slightly to her. "A potential client who wishes to establish an account."
"Leave us," Ternesio said to the functionary, who bowed and departed, closing the door behind him.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to a chair across from her desk. "Wine?"
"No, thank you."
"Wise. Never drink when discussing money." She folded her hands on the desk. "I am Serah Ternesio, a keeper of accounts at the Iron Bank. You wish to deposit gold?"
"One hundred thousand gold dragons," I said, watching her reaction carefully.
To her credit, she barely blinked. "A significant sum. May I ask the source of these funds?"
"Payment for services rendered to House Lannister." I pulled out the letters I'd carefully preserved—sealed documents from Tywin Lannister and King Robert, each one confirming payment for my work. I'd made sure to get them in writing, knowing I'd need proof eventually.
Ternesio read both letters slowly, her eyes moving over the seals, the signatures, the precise wording. Finally, she set them down.
"Jon Stark," she said, reading my name from the documents. "Legitimized by royal decree. A healer of... unusual skill." She looked up at me. "The Iron Bank has received reports from Westeros. About a boy who brought a man back from death. That was you?"
"Yes."
"And that beast currently frightening merchants in our square—that would be yours as well?"
"Yes."
She leaned back in her chair, studying me anew. "You're Very young to have such powerful enemies."
My stomach tightened. "Enemies?"
"The Faith of the Seven has declared you an abomination. The Citadel considers you a threat to the natural order. Both institutions have considerable reach, even here in Braavos." She tapped one finger on her desk.
"The Iron Bank does not normally concern itself with religious or philosophical disputes. So you don't have to worry about them."
"I'm looking for more than just a place to store gold," I said carefully. "I need... legitimacy. Documentation that establishes me as a legal resident of Braavos. Property where I can live and work without interference. Staff who can be trusted to be discreet."
"In other words, you want to become a Braavosi."
"Yes."
Ternesio was quiet for a long moment, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. I could almost see her mind working, calculating risks and rewards, weighing possibilities.
"The Iron Bank can provide all of that," she said finally. "For the right price."
"Name it."
"Five percent of your initial deposit. Five thousand gold dragons. In exchange, we will establish you as a legal resident of Braavos, with all the rights and protections that entails.
We will assist in finding suitable property—private, defensible, away from prying eyes. We will provide servants who understand the value of silence."
Five thousand dragons. A fortune by most standards, but a small price for safety and legitimacy.
"Done," I said.
Ternesio allowed herself a small smile. "Excellent. Now, let us discuss the particulars of your account..."
The process took hours. Documents were prepared and signed, each one in triplicate, each seal carefully applied. My gold was counted, weighed, verified. Ninety-five thousand dragons went into the Bank's vaults, secured behind walls of iron and bronze and watched by guards who would kill without hesitation. The remaining five thousand were noted as the Bank's fee, recorded in their meticulous ledgers.
When the financial arrangements were complete, Ternesio called in another functionary—a younger man named Qorro who spoke Common Tongue with barely an accent.
"Qorro handles property acquisitions for our foreign clients," Ternesio explained. "He will help you find suitable accommodation."
Qorro bowed. "My lord Stark. Serah Ternesio has briefed me on your requirements. I believe I have several properties that might suit. Would you prefer to view them today, or—"
"Today," I said. "The sooner I have somewhere private, the better."
"Of course. I'll arrange for a litter—"
"No litter. I have a cart, and I'll be bringing my companion."
Qorro glanced at Ternesio, who nodded slightly. "As you wish, my lord. Shall we?"
…