(Another collab with [@MrDidact] . What a pal, amirite?)

[hider=Lions dock at Lys]

Lys loomed over the little ship, its spires soaring high above the dinky mast. The sun glinted off the lapping waves, as they washed in and out on its shores of white sand. "This is a waste of time," Artur groaned, scowling at the majestic island. "I should be cleaving the heads of Stone Men, Brightroar in my hands right at this moment. We have no reason to stop here, and neither did we have one at the Arbor nor Planky Town." He stormed over to the far end of the deck and rested his hands on the railing, gazing out to sea with a look of regret.

Clayton stomped up to the railing and scoffed, spitting over the side of the ship, "If we didn't stop in the Arbor or Planky Town, we wouldn't have food and water. And I'd have to eat you. As bitter and unsavory as you probably taste." 

He popped the top on the wineskin and drank, "I wouldn't have had this to help me get through all of your whinging too." Clayton passed the wineskin to his friend, offering it brusquely, "And we're stopping here because we need more food and water. And I need a damned woman. A pretty one, unlike you. You can get to killing Stone Men after I get my sword sheathed." 

Artur thought about slapping the wineskin from Clayton's hand for a few seconds, but decided against it. Reluctantly, he took the skin and raised it to his own lips. "This will be the last stop," he declared, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "This, and Volantis. My ancestor Tommen was confirmed to be there last. I must know what he saw." His hands gripped the wooden bar separating him from the open water, as if the legendary sword were right there in his hands.

His friend laughed, "I'll tell you what he saw, a whorehouse, before the big trip. That's what I would've done. After getting some food of course." Clayton leaned on the railing and took the skin, back for another drink, "I don't know why I let you drag me into this, Lannister. I could be at home right now, fucking the blacksmith's wife. Or if I did go with you, we could have gone on one of those big crimson-sailed, gold-flaked war galleys your father loves. With a company of armed and armored men. Now it's just you, me, some sea rats, a few of your father's dumbest, and whatever sorry lot you conned into coming." 

A big, black hound with cropped ears and black eyes came up, wagging its' stubby tail and Clayton pet the dog, "And Clegane here, course. My point being. We could have been travelling in comfort and style, but no. Had to go off half-cocked, cause you stormed off like a woman on the rag." Clayton drank. 

"It is your honor and your privilege to accompany a Lannister on such a noble quest," Artur said, turning his nose up and giving his worst impersonation of his older brother Michel. The aloof airs quickly gave way to a mild chuckle. "You had to be there, I suppose," he finished, returning to his grim demeanor. "Michel was out for me that night. Like every night. I hate it. If that night never coming meant that my knighthood would never be given, I would have taken it till I died." He grabbed the skin out of Clayton's hands and tipped it over, sending the last dregs into his own mouth. "Come. Let's get ourselves some Lysene wine. I grow sick of this Dornish mix."

Clayton rolled his eyes, pitching his voice high, "'Oh my brother was mean to me, nobody in the Seven Kingdoms has it worse than me'" he laughed and followed, frowning at the empty wineskin, "You highborn are hilarious, thinking your problems are so big when you sleep on your warm beds and eat your fine food. But aye, I agree with you. Time to get some wine and women." The crew of the ship saw them in to dock, and the drunken captain they paid to take them was finagling with the port master as the handful of guardsmen and companions they brought fell in line with them. Mostly the outcasts and n'er do wells of Jason Lannister's household, along with some Lannisport scrappings. Including Halfmaester Jorje, a failed Acolyte of the Citadel. He was some Lantell or Lannett or something or other, but was booted from the Order and landed in a winesink. They brought him along in case they needed medical attention, which was likely. 

The travelling band set out down the gangplank and entered another world. The streets were noisy, filled with people of every color, filled with music and the tongues of every nation in the known world. Streetwalkers and cutpurses mingling on the streets with merchants and townsmen. The Westerosi had never seen such an exotic place before, even more foreign than Planky Town, and Clayton gaped openly at the sights and sounds, "Where the hell are we gonna find good wine in all of this? You don't speak Bastard Valyrian do you Lannister? Halfmaester?" 

"Excuse me?" Artur said, tapping on the shoulder of the first passing person he saw. The man turned and spoke a phrase of Lysene. "Where can we go find wine?" Artur asked, speaking slowly. The man just replied with more of his foreign words, and sauntered off. Arthur huffed, and tried again with the next. " . . . Tavern? Wine?" he asked, miming the tipping of a tankard into his mouth. With animated speech and gestures, the stranger finally pointed down the road, where a sign painted with a blue horse hung above an open door. Conversation and commotion resonated from that point, making the fact that it was a tavern quite clear. "Well I could have deduced that," Artur muttered, before returning to his crew.

Clayton, followed, the mutt close on his heels. The sight of Lannister men-at-arms made some people look askance at them, but at least nobody would try to pick their pockets. Not with Clay's scary mug. He shoved their way into the tavern and pointed at the tavern keeper, holding up several fingers to indicate how many drinks they needed. Clay stepped next to a group of drinking sailors and grunted. He was well over six feet tall and had a mean look on his face. Clegane snarled and the sailors got the message. They vacated and Clay leaned back against the wall. Eventually the serving wench came by with wine and Clay pantomined a spoon near his mouth, for food and she nodded. He gave her a cheeky slap as she went and Clay smiled, "That's what I miss on the sea, Artur. A man gets a thirst for more than just wine." 

He raised his tankard in a mock toast, "To Artur Lannister! For getting all of us stupid bastards in this mess!" He laughed and drank deeply. 

Artur gave Clayton a playful punch on the shoulder, and raised up his own tankard. "To Brightroar as well!" he shouted. "For getting itself nice and lost, so that we'd have to actually work for once to retake it!" He too drank a large share of his cup, and when he set it back down, he found himself face to face with a young, wide-eyed girl. She gave a sly smile and sat down in his lap.

"Hello, my Westeros knight," she cooed, wrapping her arms around Artur's neck. "I know all about your lords and houses. I know all about your family . . . the Tie Rells, was it?"

"Not interested," Artur growled, pushing her off. He hoped she could see the blood-ropes in his head pulse. Even far from home, the gods sought to deal him a humiliating bad hand.

Clayton smiled and took her into his waist, offering her a drink from his cup, "No not the Tyrells, sweetheart. We are men of House Lannister, the richest and proudest in Westeros. I am Lord Clayton of Casterly Rock, and that's my man servant and squire, Wat. Wat, apologize to the lady!" The pale-haired young girl laughed and took a drink and Clayton roared for another tankard. He smiled at Artur and put his hand on his shoulder, "Lighten up Wat. We have a beautiful woman here and you're still sour as your mother. We oughta get you to a brothel I say, right boys?" The boys concurred. 

Clay handed the girl her tankard and said, "What's your name, beautiful?" 

Her Lysene lilt flowed, "Tanna, m'lord Lan ster." 

He smiled cheekily, "My lord, I like that. Say that again." She did and he smiled. The steaming bowls of stew came and he began to dig in with panache, "So Wat, mayhaps we can visit one of those Magisters? Flash some Lannister gold and we can get silk sheets and a feather bed. Probably some girls. What say you, squire?" He fed Clegane some scraps from the bowl, which he ate happily. 

"You're not funny, Clayton," Artur said, trying in rather poor success to fill the wineskin using the tankard.

"It's m'lord ta you," said a greasy sailor, giving Artur a slap on the back. The others sitting around the table roared in assent. Even Clegane's bark made its way to the edges of the building.

"Well, if Lys as given me anything, it has taught me the valuable lesson of planning my own voyages from now on. Also, of finding better friends." He sat back, and thought about the sea. It was a silly thought, but he always felt that the longer he stayed idle, the further away Brightroar became.

Jorje interjected, already half drunk, "Well, my lord. This path was chosen to maximize both speed and efficiency of travel, by resupply. We are still well on schedule." He hiccuped and Clayton slapped his back, "Maester's right! We're making good time, and besides who else would be your friends? Beggars can't be choosers." 

He gave Tanna a smack and she giggled, Clayton leaning in, "After this, we can take you back to show you our ship, my lady. The [i] Proud Lion [/i] it is, the pride of the Golden Fleet. Finest ship in Lannisport. You can see the lord's cabin, my cabin," 

"I would love to see it m'lord." 

"Oh, you will, it's a promise." 

Clayton turned to Artur, "Well if we're not staying at a Magister's palace, we have to go to one of those pleasure houses. That's what this city is known for, for fuck's sake. How you gonna go to Lys and not visit a whore house?" 

"By not visiting Lys, apparently," muttered Artur, only loud enough for himself to hear. He stood up, and motioned for the others to do so as well. "Come, if visiting a brothel is what will get . . . ugh . . . 'm'lord' . . . 's lazy bottom back to the sea, then let us go. Show us the way, Tanna." He reached down and gave Clegane a good rubbing behind the ears. Clegane's throat rumbled appreciatively, and he curled up by Artur's leg.

Clay sprung up, half carrying the woman, "How would you know Tanna is a whore, she's a woman of quality she is." Jorje coughed and sprang off a quick phrase, which she replied to, and the former acolyte said, "She says the best, closest place is a few minutes down the street, my lord." Clayton grimaced and drank before smacking her on the rump once more, "Alright boys, you can stay here and drink. The squire and I have lordly business to attend to. Come on, boy." Clegane sprang up and the two Westermen walked out of the tavern, Jorje staying behind to converse with Tanna after giving them quick directions. 

Eventually, they managed to find the place in a much nicer part of the port, with red lamps hanging outside. Clay smiled, "Ah, you can always tell a whorehouse, no matter where you go. Come on, you're buying." They pushed in and they were transported into a clean, elegant space with soft melodic music being played on a harp as several girls danced with silk shifts. Clayton's smile was ear to ear, as they took in the sights and sounds. Everything was soft cloth and the several fragrant scents were in the air. 

Clay punched Artur in the shoulder, "Alright, buy me two and you can get one. I want one of those silver haired girls, and one of the black ones. Never been with a dark girl or a silver girl like that. You can get whatever." The madame came up to them with an insincere smile and asked Artur what he desired in bastard Valyrian. 

"A bed for myself," he said, pulling out his purse and counting the coins. His words trailed off into a groan when he found the coins to be lighter than he had remembered. He racked his head, trying to remember his calculations, but it was all lost to the wine. "And two girls for . . . " he waited till Clayton was out of earshot before continuing. " . . . the drunken lowborn over there. One in dark skin-paint, the other in a wig of silver." The madame nodded, and Artur saw his precious coins, down to the last groat, handed away.

Clayton rubbed his hands in glee, not noticing in the least and took both of them up to some room, his arms around the two women as they lead him out of sight. Clegane found a cushion to lay on and went to sleep peacefully. As Artur was about to head to a spare bed, he espied a tall, silver-haired man with sharp features and lilac eyes walk down the stairs. His hair hung to his shoulders, long and loose, and he was bedecked in rich silks with a gold ring, a jade necklace, and all manner of rich accoutrements. At his side hung a long, slender blade with an elegantly swirled crossguard, and a golden pommel. It was halfway between a Westerosi longsword and an Essosi rapier, a weapon that could both thrust and slash. The scrollwork on the sheathe was rich, runes inscribed in Old Valyrian across. 

It was a weapon recognizable to any who were serious about weaponry. That was none other than the Valyrian steel sword Truth, making the man none other than Aurion Rogare, of the rich and powerful Rogare family, one of the leading houses in the Magister's Council. Aurion saw Artur and nodded in polite greeting, about to pass through without further comment. 

Artur returned the nod with one of his own, and added a wave. "Magister Aurion?" he called. This made the man stop. "I've been informed that you are an associate of my father's. Artur Lannister, at your service." He bowed, and awaited response. "My father had many good things to say about you. He tells me your wisdom with coin rivals that of the greatest Sealords of Braavos." This is an outright lie, of course. Lord Jason had in fact multiple times loudly proclaimed that the Rogare bank loses money through the coins slipping through their fat fingers.

Aurion turned, with a pensive furrow in his brow then a look of recognition, "Lannister? Ah, Artur Lannister. I've never had the pleasure, but I've met with your father and uncle a few times, for business. The Lions of Lannister are always a welcome sight in a port." He smiled and extended a hand for shaking, "What brings you to our humble city, Ser Artur? Touring the local color?" 

"I seek to do what none have done before, and brave the Smoking Sea of Valyria," he said. His goal he kept silent. There was something about the magister that festered doubts in his mind, stray thoughts that perhaps this man was not the best person to give too much information to. The magister's eyes bored into his own, as if peeling back the skin on his face and seeing into his mind. "I am here with my friend . . . where is he? I've lost him, I'm afraid. Uhh . . . good day to you. I'll give my father your best."

Aurion's brow arched, "The Smoking Sea? Trying to find some Valyrian treasure eh? Did your father sanction this or is this some youthful fancy?" Aurion was perhaps at most ten years Artur's elder, it was hard to tell with his Valyrian features, "Well, either way, I can't let Jason Lannister's son go on the way to the ruins of Old Valyria without some aid. Why don't you join me for dinner at my manse? You look like you've been travelling a bit ragged. I can have your ship's supplies refilled, and make sure you set off once more fresh rested. As a sign of my regard for Lord Jason. You can bring your travelling companions as well. What say you?" 

Artur could not believe his luck. In one act of proper respect, he netted himself a meal, supplies for his voyage, and a bed to rest in, all without spending a penny! "I would be honored to my core!" he exclaimed, kneeling before the magister. "Oi, Clayton! Get out here, you've played lord for long enough! We're off to the Rogare manse!"
[/hider]