Playing the Game (Game of Thrones)

Truth be told, Jon wasn’t feeling overly rebellious, or anything like that. While he certainly held some anger towards Eddard Stark for the way that he’d been summarily thrown out of Winterfell just for sleeping with the Steward’s daughter, in his heart of hearts, Jon knew that the Lord Paramount of the North still cared for him and wanted what was best for him.
 
That said, heading to Braavos truly was the best option, and Lord Stark had given him good advice by pointing him in that direction. There was no point in self-sabotaging himself just to stick it to his father one last time. So, Jon went for the ship that was heading to Braavos, and he negotiated with the Captain for a hammock on said ship.
 
The journey across the Narrow Sea was in and of itself uneventful. Jon did have to get his sea legs under him of course, but luckily, he did not seem to have a predilection for sea sickness. He even managed to avoid throwing up a single time, something that the actual sailors on the ship were somewhat impressed by, just as they were impressed that he was helping out and pulling his own weight within two days of them pulling out of White Harbor.
 
Jon understood why, of course. He realized now that he likely would have faced the same skepticism if he’d gone to the Wall and joined the Night’s Watch as he’d originally planned. He was… caught between two worlds, in a way. He was a Lord Paramount’s bastard son. By all rights, he should not have been raised in Winterfell, alongside his father’s heir and the rest of the Lord and Lady Stark’s sons and daughters.
 
Honestly, Lord Stark probably hadn’t done him any favors by keeping him so close, especially not when his lady wife so clearly despised Jon and what he represented with all her heart. It wasn’t fair, not to Jon and not to Catelyn Stark. Maybe if he’d been raised somewhere else in the North, he could have set his sights lower, could have accepted his lot in life.
 
But no, Eddard Stark had had him learn his letters, he’d had him take lessons alongside Robb, he’d had him learn the bow and the sword and how to ride a horse. He’d taught Jon to be a Knight, if not a Lord, and now here Jon was with all his knightly skills, on a boat headed for an entirely new continent that, from what he’d been told in his lessons, much preferred mercenaries, sell swords, and savages over a knight.
 
With that in mind, Jon knew he was going to have to change. To be fair, he was already changing, in a way. Whatever had happened to him when he’d woken up that morning so filled with… desire, it was more than just a need to have sex. He felt stronger and faster and all around more powerful. But that didn’t make him invincible. He would not let it go to his head.
 
He was no longer a Lord’s bastard, Jon had decided. He wasn’t even going to be Jon Snow anymore. He was just going to be Jon, and Jon was a man with a strength to his body that other men might grow envious of, and a willingness to use that strength to pull his own weight and then some. By the end of their voyage to Braavos, Jon had managed to impress the crew of the ship he’d signed on with. And he’d learned quite a lot about the sea as well in the interim.
 
Perhaps that was to be his path, perhaps it lay not on a road or anything like that… but in the water, on a ship. For now, though, Jon was too busy marveling at Braavos itself to contemplate his future just yet. He’d heard a lot about the Free City on the voyage here. He knew some of Braavos’ history, how unlike the other Free Cities, it had never fallen under the authority of the Valyrian Freehold from which the defunct Targaryen Dynasty had originally sprung three hundred years ago.
 
No, instead Braavos was founded by escaped slaves, and it was because of this that the slave trade was not allowed within Braavos, unlike so many other Free Cities. So important was this that it became the ‘First Law of Braavos’, according to the ship’s crew, and was even engraved on an important arch somewhere in the city.
 
On top of that, the city itself had remained in secret for nearly a century, leading people to be unsure of exactly when it was founded. More people used the date of it’s Uncloaking to pinpoint when it truly came into being, as that was the moment in which the Sealord Uthero Zalyne sent fort his ships to every corner of the world in order to proclaim the existence of Braavos.
 
That was another thing that it was interesting to wrap his head around. None of the Free Cities truly had a ‘King’ as they had in the Seven Kingdoms, from what Jon knew. But while some were ruled by councils of Magisters who were usually just the wealthiest men in the city, Braavos was ruled by a Sealord who was chosen by Braavosi magisters and officials from the Iron Bank of Braavos. He served for life, which made sense to Jon, but at the same time, the fact that he was picked rather than inheriting the position DID strike Jon as somewhat odd.
 
Still, all that Jon had been told, including the simple truth that Braavos was the wealthiest and most powerful of the Free Cities, did not prepare him for the sight of the Titan of Braavos as they slowly came up under it’s legs, and then went through into the city beyond. The Titan was monstrous, a massive, giant man… and a fortress besides from what Jon had heard.
 
He can believe it too, as the Titan lets out a loud roar at their entrance, and if he squints as best he can, Jon can even see the places where the great statue is meant to open up to allow for stones and pots of burning pitch to be dropped down onto the decks of any would-be invaders. The thought was certainly a frightening one, but when Jon had professed his weariness at the idea back when the crew were first talking about the Titan of Braavos, they’d laughed him off. Apparently, according to them, not since the Century of Blood had anyone been foolish enough to ‘provoke the Titan’s wrath’.
 
Regardless, after the Titan, the awe doesn’t stop. Beyond the massive statue is the Arsenal of Braavos, and beyond that is Braavos itself. A hundred islands sprawled out across a grand lagoon… such a description really doesn’t do the Free City justice, in Jon’s opinion. For one, there were no trees at first glance, as they came into the Chequy Port, located directly behind the Arsenal. Braavos was instead a city of stone architecture and granite monuments, covered in small stone bridges going over canals that were filled with boats.
 
Jon remembered being told about that. People in Braavos used boats instead of horses. Of course, he didn’t expect to use either, at least at first. He was a young man with only a little wealth to his name. Once he’d opened an account with the Iron Bank, then he would decide what to do next. Whether any boats factored into his future… well, that was still to be decided.
 
After settling things with the ship’s captain, Jon makes his way into the city itself, actually a little bit richer for his troubles. Apparently, he’d done enough work to earn the wage of a ship hand, which meant he didn’t just have a hundred Silver Stags anymore, but also five Braavosi coins as well, square and made from iron. Jon wasn’t so sure about the value of iron coins, but he couldn’t very well deny the fact that the Iron Bank had made this city the wealthiest in the world, now could he?
 
Luckily, the Iron Bank is a rather large building. Not at all hard to miss. It being early afternoon, Jon makes his way there first. As he does, he gets some looks. His clothing might have changed since he left his homeland behind, the furs of the North having no real place at sea and even less so in Essos if the current climate was anything to go by. But he couldn’t very well change his face, and while there were some of his complexion around, he still seemed to be drawing looks as he walked along.
 
… Mostly from women, actually. Noticing that finally, Jon presses his lips together into a thin line and tries to ignore the way his cock attempts to jump to life in his britches, pushing back on his libido as he focuses on the task at hand. There hadn’t been any women on the ship to Braavos, which was probably why it had been a relatively uncontentious voyage.
 
That didn’t mean Jon wasn’t ever going to touch a woman again, but he’d come to realize that the opposite sex had a certain effect on him, and he needed to focus. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh. Not now, certainly not now. Luckily, the front steps and large entrance of the Iron Bank soon comes into view. Jon takes those steps two at a time, one gloved hand on the pommel of his sword as he prepares to step into the Iron Bank itself… only to be stopped at the door by guards.
 
“Hold. No weapons are allowed on the premise.”
 
Coming to a halt, Jon blinks, having to fight back on the instinctive urge to bristle at the Braavosi guard. But… honestly, it made plenty of sense, didn’t it? The Iron Bank would not want any incidents happening within its walls. Still, it wasn’t exactly something Jon was used to. His hesitation provokes a reaction from the second door guard.
 
“Do you have business inside or not, foreigner? If you do, you will have to hand over your sword.”
 
Grimacing, Jon hands over his sword, not trusting himself to speak and not make a fool of himself. On top of learning everything he could about the City of Braavos on the way here, he’d also gotten a crash course in understanding the Braavosi version of High Valyrian. The language of the old Valyrian Freehold had split into a multitude of bastardized dialects across all of the Free Cities, from what Jon had been told.
 
He’d learned how to understand the Braavosi version well enough, but he was still somewhat uncertain about how to SPEAK it. Regardless, once he hands over his weapon, he’s allowed inside the bank without another complaint. The inside of the Iron Bank is vast and opulent and… empty. But in it’s emptiness there is a sort of extravagance and prestige, Jon supposes.
 
Before he can even figure out where he is supposed to go, however, he is accosted.
 
“Hello there. Westerosi, right? Welcome to the Iron Bank.”
 
Blinking, Jon looks to the Braavosi man, surprised to hear the Common Tongue from his lips. Clearing his throat, Jon nods and speaks in the same tongue.
 
“Ah, yes… I am from Westeros. I’m here to, uh… open an account? My name is Jon.”
 
“Of course, you are. You have come to the right place, Jon. My name is Tycho Nestoris, and the Iron Bank has been awaiting your arrival.”
 
Wait, what? Jon blinks dumbly at that, and stares at this Tycho fellow somewhat incredulously.
 
“You’ve been… waiting for my arrival? How is that possible? Why would you… I don’t understand.”
 
Smiling a rather enigmatic smile, Tycho gestures for Jon to follow him. Without much else to go off of, the young man does. As they walk, Tycho talks.
 
“Your father sent word ahead of your arrival. As such, we’ve been waiting for you. Now, I understand that you’re here to make an account with us. This is good, to put your trust in the Iron Bank is always the right choice. But of course, an account requires more than a first name… and I understand your discarding of your last name. As common as they are, the bastard names of Westeros simply won’t do.”
 
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he came to the Iron Bank, but this… this wasn’t it. Somewhat bowled over by everything, all Jon could really do was nod in agreement, even as Tycho kept talking.
 
“We’ve had time to prepare though, and we think we’ve come up with an excellent idea. Right through here.”
 
They step through a pair of doors that seemingly open on their own, startling Jon somewhat. Within the room however is something that draws his attention far more. There is a freshly painted sigil on a black cloth, draped over a canvas. Jon finds himself staring at it, even as Tycho steps to the side. The sigil is of a dragon, painted white as snow, curled in on itself.
 
“What do you think? And of course, a name to go with it. We were thinking perhaps… Dracarys?”
 
Dragonfire? Jon’s nostrils flare as he steps towards the sigil in front of him. His blood is pounding in his ears. Part of him wants to say no, that this is ridiculous, that it doesn’t make sense. What connection does he have to dragons? Why would his house sigil be that of a dragon? Why would he take on a name tied to dragonfire?
 
But then, why does it all sound so right in his head. Jon doesn’t understand what’s happening. He doesn’t know what’s going on. It… it feels right. Though, even in his head, ‘Jon Dracarys’ sounds a little stupid. Ser Dracarys… not so much. Or Lord Dracarys perhaps? His mouth is dry as all hell, and he doesn’t know what to do. Dracarys doesn’t sound QUITE right, but it sounds more right than Snow, if he’s being honest. It sounds truer than anything ever has, in his entire life.
 
“I… I’ll take it.”
 
“I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll get the paperwork started right away. The Iron Bank is quite happy to count you among our patrons. For now, why don’t you go find a place within the city to stay for the evening. This mark will allow you free room and board at any of the city’s best inns on the Iron Bank’s behalf.”
 
Well that’s certainly generous. Jon remains in a somewhat confused daze, even as he takes the small mark from the banker in front of him and hands over his pouch of Silver Stags so that the man can begin setting up his account. Then, he’s ushered back out of the Iron Bank, all the way to the steps where the guards still hold his weapon. It’s as Jon is taking it back that Tycho speaks up.
 
“Ah, you may not want to do that, Jon.”
 
Both Jon and the door guards look to Tycho at that, and the banker smiles politely, before gesturing up towards the sky, where it’s gotten significantly darker since Jon’s arrival. Just how long was he inside, anyways?
 
“When night falls on Braavos, the men of the city wander the streets with swords at their waists and challenge any who also have a sword to duels. Perhaps you would be better off keeping your blade with us for safekeeping for the evening. You can pick it up when you return in the morning.”
 
Something on Jon’s face must show how much he doesn’t like that idea, because Tycho chuckles and spreads his arms apart, holding his hands open.
 
“Of course, this is only a suggestion. If you will entrust your sword to me, as you have entrusted your money, I can assure you, no harm will come to it.”
 
Jon believes him. He’s not sure why, but he trusts the banker, oddly enough. But it’s not his sword or his coin that Jon is concerned about. Being defenseless in a strange city… it makes him uneasy. Still, it sounds like he will all but provoking attacks or at least challenges by carrying his sword in the first place. The question has thus become… how does Jon wish to risk his life tonight? Does he keep his weapon, or go weaponless?

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