The Dance of The Basilisk (HP x HOTD and F&B)

Cousins & Seers

x-X-x

Braavos

"Did he specify the quantity of what he needed?" a banker from Braavos asked his colleague.

He had a small crop of hair on the sides of his head in a dark brown shade, gold trimmed brown robes and a curious face.

There were three men in a luxurious, but small room, deep in the Bank's structure. A large candle in the middle of a gold encrusted table, two torches on opposite sides of the room that held nothing but a couple cushioned chairs and the dark brown wooden structure in the middle.

Glass chalices filled with pepperwine, scrolls of parchments flooded the moderate sized table from three sides, each with etchings and scribbles of notes and finance bookkeeping.

"No he did not. Prince Haedryn, I will take orders from, but Daemon..." another one of the bankers said, the name toned with venom.

"He is in Pentos, most assuredly sapping from the Prince of Pentos' coffers. How the Magisters allow it I'm not sure." He was a more unruly man who's black hair and beard reflected his personality, an air of superiority complimented his smug and irritated facial expression.

The irate man was dressed in a simple gold embroidered dark blue wavy tunic, the bottoms matching to even the golden crust.

"If we continually send our troops, ships, and sellswords to the Stepstones and elsewhere, then how will we defend against an attack from our own borders Irrys?" the frustrated man named Mayrio, acknowledged with a bit of heat.

"Braavos as a whole has kneeled, we have sent soldiers and women alike for six years. What makes the difference of who gives the order? And mind you, we do not send all of our ships, the Prince assists the construction of the joint fleet when he can, we are still two hundred strong on the sea," Irrys responded to his rebuttal, "You dare to make an enemy of the Kingdom that has single-handedly raised Braavos and the Bank itself to new a new reach," the balding man told the man across from him.

The space in the small room had erupted into a heated debate; Mayrio incorporated his own pride to argue that Braavos had fallen from a distinguished land into a lapdog for foreigners.

Irrys' idea was that Braavos has never been in such a position before, they have the dragons' protection and are as wealthy as they've ever been. Shipments of finance and goods, wood and the like were sent in mass to the cities under the Stepstones' rule that really should have presented no question of who they should support. Although not everyone's pride can handle not being the utmost power in their long lived region after wielding it for such a time.

A question rang through that caught the third man's attention, he was silent through the entire ordeal and was not conscious of their verbal spar. "Nilorys, what do you presume?" Mayrio asked their silent third. He was known to be a wise man who rarely spoke unless the situation arose, and if he had, one should take heed.

A man of chestnut skin who had a warrior's build, a scar across down his ear and to his neck, assuredly a story would come from that.

A brown simple doublet that might have been too warm on others in such a balmy environment. Brown eyes that held age and sights one might not wish themselves to witness, he took the question and stilled a few seconds before relaying his answer.

"I say you, Mayrio, are a fool." He announced slowly, not taking care of the blanched expression on his verbal victim's face as he picked up his goblet and took a minor sip before continuing.

"We have flourished remarkably under Prince Haedryn, and I intend to keep it that way. Your childish plight to incite dissonance with our gracious Lord will not be taken kindly with me or the rest of Braavos," the former silent, now berating man said to his peer with disgust just showing its head in his eyes.