( [@MrDidact] had a hand in this. Yay for that!)

[hider=Artur in Volantis]
Volantis was an ancient city, well learned in its roots. Its buildings and ships were a reflection of older days, days of the Valyrian Freehold. Artur looked out from his place at the prow of the ship, marveling at the grandness of it all. "This is it," he said, with perhaps a little regret. "The last we'll see of any living city, before we plunge into the unknown."

Clayton nodded, "Aye, which is why we oughta eat hearty and bed as many wenches as we can. We can leave a few bastards behind even if we die." Jorje said, "I'd like the oppurtunity to try and collect some rare volumes as well. Volantis is the closest we have to a modern day Valyria. The knowledge held in this city is likely staggering." Tyran Hill looked at the city and said, "We'll have to watch ourselves. Slavers run amok in this city, Thieves and cutthroats of all types. We best watch our step."

Clay turned to Artur and said, "What's our first move then, m'lord?" The last he enunciated with his usual somewhat mocking lilt.

"The records would be a good start," Artur mused, mostly to himself. "I'd have to see them. Tommen must be on one of those pages. It might even say where we're going. Of course, then I'd need permission from the Volantene triarchs . . . " he was shaken out of his thoughts by the ship bumping into the dock with a thud. Shouts and curses were exchanged between the new Triarchy sailors and that of the original Westerosi. 

"So sorry, ser," said one of the Westerosi, coming up to the prow. "It's these damn Lysene, ser! They won't row into the docks!"

"Don't bother his mind with your corrupted lies!" spat a Lysene, quickly following behind. "It is the fault of the Westerosi! They insist on ramming into the dock like a Dothrak horse!"

"Enough," Artur said, clutching his forehead with one hand. He was annoyed already. "I'm sure it was merely a misunderstanding between the sailors. If neither ship nor dock is damaged in any way, then nothing done." The two sailors glared at each other, but chose not to say anything.

"Come, Artur Ser," said Calla, touching him on his hand. "Let us be to the city. City is far more beautiful than little ship, yes?" A playful smirk danced on her lips as her eyes turned towards Volantis.

Clay nodded, rubbing Clegane's head, "Aye, let us be off." Jorje pointed out the famed Long Bridge, one of the wonders of the world, and how it connected the two sides of the free city of Volantis. The Halfmaester said, "We're docked on the western end, but we can make our way through the Long Bride to the Black Walls of Old Volantis. Your Lannister connections might come in handy there. It is the nobles of Volantis who would have the answers we seek."

Tyran was already strapping on his bow and his sword, "Let us go then. I'll have the captain take the ship in and see to supplies. If the nobles accept us, we can send for them and have the ship docked in the eastern half. Otherwise we'll have to find lodgings on the western half. Either way, we should leave half the men here to watch the ship and our supplies. The other half can come with us." 

Tyran shouted orders to the captain, and a short time later, several Lannister men-at-arms were gathered with Artur's companions. Clay nudged Artur, and grinned, "Lead the way Lannister."

"If you say," Artur said, taking the first nervous step off the boat. There was something about the wood that just felt old. It was like he could feel the years of trade and travel, starting from the hands of the Valyrian woodworkers, imbued in the ground itself by their strange magics. Volantis struck him in a way that Lys didn't, a portal back to the days of the Freehold where Lys was an imitation. 

The sights, sounds, and smells of Volantis were a riot of exotic scents and spectacles, heady and exciting to the Westerosi travelers. Jorje looked on in awe, while Tyran kept a sharp eye and had the men form a cordon around them as they walked. They passed through crowds of fishmongers and shouting sailors, the guards jostling away whores and pickpockets both. And everywhere there were slaves. Slaves of all colors, with tattoos that marked what they were for. For every free man, the Westerosi could see five enslaved men. 

The Lannister contingent passed through a market, Fishmonger's Square, where everything under the sun was being sold, goods from as far east as Asshai and as far west as Lannisport. But other than the odd merchant, they were the only people of Westeros in the crowds. Clayton gawped as he watched an elephant stomp past on the street, women wearing only silk giggling and laughing from the tower atop the beast as a noble of Volantis sat within. 

After an hour of jostling their way through the noisy crowd, they entered the Long Bride. It was even more congested than the port. Even more marvels to observe. All in much less space. They passed between the archways flanked by sphinxes, manticores, and other stone creatures, Volantene guardsmen with tiger cloaks and tiger stripes watching them closely as they passed through. 

The buildings pressed in, shops, inns, taverns, parlors, brothels, and all others rising on either side up to great heights besides them, and in the distance they could see the Rhoyne glittering in the sun. Jorje gulped as they reached the halfway point of the bridge and they saw the severed hands and heads of criminals displayed proudly by more tiger guards. The walk took a few hours and Clay whistled, nudging Artur,  "No city like this back home, Artur. What do you think?" 

No words could describe what Artur thought. The bustle of the Valyrian city stretched out as far as the eye can see, making the entire city come to life. For a second, he could consider his quest done. He had seen the wonders of the children of Valyria, both in the west and east. Is that all one needs in life? Duty, however, calls to his spirit, even in this city of wonders.

"We must speak to the Triarchs of Volantis," he said, trying to focus on the large wall on the far end of the city, where they met. "I will know where Tommen has gone." He began wading through the crowd towards the Black Walls, a singular thought burned into his mind. The crowd proved difficult to maneuver through, and engulfed him like the jaws of a hungry beast. He turned this way and that, but no matter where he looked was either a merchant, guard, or beggar blocking his view. This, combined with the many backstreets and winding turns, meant that when the jumble of people finally spit him out of the other end, he found himself in a dirty alley, with neither the capitol building nor any of his companions in sight. "Clay?" he called out, but was drowned out by the sound of Volantis. That didn't stop him from trying again. "Tyran? Calla?"

The young Lannister had made his way off of the Long Bridge. But the Black Walls and the old city they hid, were shielded by the buildings around him. He could hear the chattering of dozens of languages. But of his companions he heard none. Suddenly there was a scratching on the wall behind him and Artur would turn to see a lanky, dirty man, scraping a knife on the wall of the alley. He grinned at him. More were shambling behind.

Artur would look around and see that he was surrounded. On both sides of the alley, thugs were closing in. Around a dozen in all. The lead man croaked out in broken common, "Westerosi boy, far, home eh? Help? Find way?" 

He held out a palm, "Coin. I help." 

Artur's eyes darted to the lead, then his compatriots, his mind aflame with panic. Could he fight twelve men? He slowly backed up, and pulled his sword from its rest.

"I have no money," he managed to croak. "Don't fight. You will be killed." If anyone believed his outrageous bluff, they didn't seem to show it.

The thieves eyed the Westerosi boy. He had armor. He had a sword. All they had were rags and daggers. But they had him surrounded and outnumbered. And they looked hungry. The leader snapped out a word in bastard valyrian and two men ran at Artur, one from each side, the rest of them crouching and advancing more slowly. 

Desperate, Artur cut at the left and ran. He didn't see the man fall, but he knew what it meant to be cut by a sword. Without armor or a blade long enough to block his attack, there was no way the attack could miss. Artur didn't look back. He couldn't. He dashed down the alley and made a hasty right turn, then another, before turning his head around to see if they followed.

His flight had surprised the thieves and the larger armored man had bowled through several of them as he ran. The one Artur had cut was screaming as his guts fell from his stomach and the thieves ran after him, shouting and cursing as they jostled their way through the alleyways and after Artur. The leader was in the front and shouting the thieves on. 

Artur continued to make his flight, knowing well enough that his heavy armor was slowing him down. The lighter thieves were slowly gaining on him, their shouts deafening and getting ever louder. "Clay!" he shouted. Anything is worth a try now. "Tyran! Clay! Guards!"

The gods answered Artur's cries. A figure stepped into view at the end of one of the alleys. It was Tyran. Tyran yelled, "Artur! Hug the wall!" Waiting but a bare second, Tyran strung his bow and let loose an arrow. It lanced through the air and through the brain of one of the thieves. Not even a second later, another arrow was through another thief's neck. Clay appeared alongside Tyran, Clegane by his side, and both of them roared, charging down the alley while Tyran fired another arrow before nocking his bow and making his way to Artur. 

The thieves broke and ran, three of them already dead, and the leader turned, only to feel Clegane's jaws wrap around his shin and drag him to the ground screaming. Clay swung his sword and cut a man across his spine, making him double over. The thieves all spread out and Clegane ripped out the leader's throat. Tyran knelt by Artur, stowing his bow, and grabbed his cousins' hand, "Are you alright, Artur?" 

Clay sword drawn, stepped back slowly, "Better get out of here. Rats may come back with even more friends." Clegane snarled, mouth bloody, as Lannister guards appeared with swords drawn at the head of the alley, beckoning for Artur to come.

"Fine. I'll be fine," Artur gasped, leaning on the wall with a hand. "I'll feel better when we see the Volantene port records." He detatched himself from the wall, and looked around him, seeing only low buildings and narrow paths. "Where are we?" he asked. "Which way is Old Volantis? Which way is anything?" It seemed that battle and death were determined to follow him on his path to Brightroar. Whatever road the gods have planned for him will not be kind.

The Lannisters closed ranks around Artur and Jorje and Calla were waiting in the street with more guards. Jorje said, "We're in the eastern half of the city. The wealthier district for the most part. But it seems you found yourself to the rare slum here. Something of an achievement actually." 

Tyran glared at Jorje and the man coughed, "At any rate, we must to the Black Walls. There we can try to speak to the old families of the city. Perhaps then we can find traces of the Lion King." Clay slapped Artur on the back, "You're alright Lannister. Let's get on." He laughed, "Can't even leave you alone for a minute before somebody's trying to kill you. Perhaps your brother ain't as bad as you thought." 

Calla stuck close to Artur, holding his hand and whispering soothing words to him as the party made its' way to the massive Black Walls that dominated the eastern half of Volantis. The great oval of fused black stone rose higher than any other structure in the city, and the Lannister party were to a man, intimidated by the size of the structure, more than two hundred feet in height. 

Men could be seen patrolling the walls far above, and on the ground below, on foot, on horseback, and even elephants rode by. Jorje seemed almost reverent, "Behind those walls lie Old Volantis. And the Old Blood of the city. We need their permission to enter. You must make yourself known my lord." 

They walked ahead until they were in shouting distance from the walls. A voice, booming from a large horn sounded down, "Who approaches the Black Walls of Old Volantis? State your name and purpose, immediately."

"My name is Artur Lannister," shouted Artur. "Son of the Lord Jason Lannister! We hail from Westeros!" There was some whispering above. Artur hoped they were good. Lannisport, he presumed, would be a well known trading site, and the name of the Lannisters, even as far away as Slaver's Bay, should carry weight with these trading cities. "We wish to meet with the Triarchs!" he added.

There was no answer and for several moments it seemed there would be none. Right at the moment when Tyran was about to speak, a side gate opened and a column of horsemen rode out. At their lead was a man in black armor, a dragon helm glinting in the sun. With him were a few other dragon-armored men, and a large contingent of slave soldiers in tiger cloaks. They surrounded Artur's party, Clay and Tyran placing hands on their weapons as the leader flicked open his helm.

He had the violet eyes of Valyria, and looked at Artur, "Greetings, Ser. I bid you welcome to Volantis. Your arrival was unexpected and has caused a bit of a stir. It's not often a great lord's son arrives here. I am Qavo Maegyr, son of the Triarch. And I was sent to ascertain the purpose of your visit here. Would you call to tell me, why you have come? I had thought you'd be at home, considering there's a war brewing in the West." 

"Yes, the war in the west," Artur said. "I am something of a . . . special case. In fact, it is because of the war in the west, among other things, that I have need to meet with your father and his two compatriots. If you would please show me to them." Qavo nodded, then said a few phrases of Volantene Valyrian to a slave near the door. He bowed, and opened the gate, gesturing into the grounds of the capitol building. Artur entered, heart pounding in his chest. What would these illustrious Triarchs think of him?

Qavo's men dismounted, the guardsmen leading them into the Black Wall and to a moderately sized reception hall, outfitted with cushions and couches, with trays of fruit and pitchers of wine. Qavo said, "You may wait here for the moment, while the Triarchs prepare. Then they will call upon you for your audience. Please, rest. The time for talk will come soon enough." There he left them, awaiting the meeting that would define the course of their journey.
[/hider]