The fog was strong, as morning crept over the Narrow Sea. The ships moved through it like shadows—eight Dromon warships kept same phase surrounding one massive galleon painted black with silver trim. Its sails hung heavy with salt and mist. Armed and silent, it moved like the sea itself parted to let it pass.
Daenerys stepped out from the captain's quarters. The wooden door creaked softly behind her. Her silver hair, braided to keep it from the wind, glistened with dew. She pulled her cloak tighter, walking slowly to the rail.
Her eyes widened.
There it stood.
The Titan of Braavos.
A giant made of green-bronze, aged and streaked by wind and sea. It stood tall over the harbor, one foot on each cliff, a sword raised toward the sky. Smoke drifted lazily from its nostrils. Its eyes glowed faintly through the mist.
It wasn't beautiful.
It was frightening.
"It watches. It judges. And it remembers," she whispered, recalling an old story from a dying slave woman back in Pentos. "They say the Titan cries out when danger nears the city."
As if on cue, a deep horn groaned from the Titan's chest—low, long, echoing across the fog.
The patrols had seen them.
Suddenly, the ship shifted. Sailors moved quickly. Some vanished below deck. Others pulled sails down to slow the galleon. Lanterns were lit—three on the right, two on the left. A signal. Peaceful approach.
Then came the flag.
A black banner with a red dragon—three heads snarling in the wind.
Her brow furrowed.
She turned to the upper deck, looking for someone to explain. There was Kai, still as stone, watching the sea.
And then she saw Kartiga.
He stepped out, black cloak catching the breeze. Damp from sea air, his dark hair clung to his forehead. His eyes flicked toward the flag and then toward her.
He saw her confusion—and smirked.
Said nothing.
He walked past her like nothing was strange at all.
Daenerys hesitated. She wanted to ask—but stopped herself. Her voice caught in her throat.
She followed him with her eyes as he climbed to the upper deck, joining Kai. They stood beneath the Titan's shadow. Kartiga glanced up at the towering figure and let out a low chuckle.
"Damn," he muttered.
Daenerys found herself following too. Her steps were slow but steady. He noticed her, smirked again. A silent tease.
She wasn't sure why she followed. Maybe it was better than standing still.
Lately, she'd spoken to him less and less. He was strange, unreadable. The only one she truly trusted was Tanaka.
But even that line was starting to blur.
She didn't feel like a captive. Not quite.
Not anymore.
From the fog, five Braavosi patrol ships emerged—long and sleek. Their sails were tucked in. They glided across the water towards galleon.
They said nothing. No etiquette. No greetings.
Just silence.
And then, something strange happened.
All around the galleon, the crew changed.
What had seemed like tired sailors straightened. Helmets were fastened. Surcoats drawn tight—white, with no markings.
Templars.
Daenerys took a step back as two of them appeared beside her—silent, armored. They didn't touch her. They didn't speak.
But they were there.
Protecting her?
Or watching her?
She looked again at Kartiga, and again noticed the way his men moved around him. Not like a crew. Like soldiers. Devoted ones.
The Braavosi rowboat reached the ship. Ropes were dropped. A ramp lowered. Four guards stepped aboard first, followed by an official in green robes clasped with bronze. A small, key-shaped brooch glinted on his chest.
Daenerys watched as they looked around. Nervous.
One of the guards froze mid-step, staring up at the galleon like it was alive. Their ships were smaller. Slower. And this one... this one looked like it had teeth hidden in the shadows.
She turned back to the deck, to the knights, to the dark-cloaked man who stood calmly as the fog curled around him.
She pulled her cloak tighter.
For the first time, she wondered—
What kind of ship had she boarded?
And what kind of man was Kartiga, really?
...
The official glanced about, lips tight, calculating.
His eyes passed over the armored men lining the deck—silent, still, dangerous. They didn't carry themselves like sellswords. Not like sailors either.
They looked... disciplined.
Then his gaze rose to the two figures standing at the highest point of the quarterdeck. Kartiga. Kai.
Neither wore armor, but both were flanked by silent knights. The official could feel it—that strange, quiet pressure. The sense that these men, for all their calm, were far from ordinary.
He did see her—Daenerys, with her silver hair and wrapped cloak standing slightly apart, eyes wide, hands clasped in front of her. Young. Barely more than a girl.
Volantis, he assumed.
But his gaze didn't linger. She didn't seem important.
Instead, he cleared his throat.
"You fly the Targaryen banner," he said in thick-accented Common, voice firm but cautious. "A sigil with weight. But no word of your arrival. No record of your voyage. Braavos does not welcome ships with no name and no known port."
Kartiga stepped forward before Kai could speak.
He gave a faint nod, courteous—but it lacked deference.
"A fair concern," Kartiga said. "We are travelers, nothing more. The seas have changed. Safer to sail without too many questions attached."
"That may be true," the official said slowly, "but Braavos is not a place for nameless ships with foreign steel. Our laws require origin. Identity."
Kai shifted slightly beside his lord, hand near his hip.
Kartiga smiled—cool, amused.
He lifted one hand and pointed lazily to the mast where the black banner with the red three-headed dragon still fluttered in the wind.
"Do I not make it obvious?"
The official frowned.
"Fake banners are not uncommon," he said. "Especially from those trying to bluff their way into harbor."
Kartiga turned, beckoned gently with two fingers.
Daenerys looked up, startled, but stepped forward on instinct.
"Allow me," Kartiga said, still smiling faintly, "to introduce Daenerys of House Targaryen, Heir of Late King Aerys."
The deck went quiet.
Even the sea seemed to hush.
Daenerys blinked, stunned. Her mouth opened slightly, as if to speak—but no sound came out.
Kai glanced at her—quick, sharp. His face changed.
The official stood frozen, lips parting slowly, eyes flickering between Kartiga and the girl.
She looked young. Soft.
Still, the hair. The eyes. The name.
Real?
"...Targaryen?" the official asked, voice caught in his throat. "That is a claim... not often made in daylight."
Kartiga didn't respond. He took a step closer to the rail, expression unreadable.
"More than a claim," he said. "And soon to be my future fiancée."
A silence.
Even Kai twitched, startled.
Daenerys's breath caught. She turned sharply toward Kartiga, eyes wide, mouth trembling in shock. "What—?"
Kartiga gave her a brief glance—almost apologetic, but only just. Then his eyes slid back to the official.
"She carries royal blood," he said. "This ship bears her banner. Her presence makes our visit legitimate, no?"
The official swallowed. His confidence faltered. The four guards behind him were shifting now, uncertain, hands near hilts.
He stared again at the girl. She didn't speak. Didn't deny it.
A real Targaryen?
A royal ship?
He hadn't considered it. The idea seemed absurd. Children of the Mad King were dead or disappeared. At best, fakes showed up here and there trying to pass off gold-hair dye and High Valyrian names for truth.
But this girl...
She looked the part.
And these men—especially the one in black—looked capable of making a lie very convincing... or a truth.
The official cleared his throat again.
"Well," he began, voice tighter now, "the harbor will need time to—"
Kartiga tilted his head slightly.
"No," he said softly. "You will leave."
His tone wasn't loud. But it cut through the mist like a blade.
"Your questions are noted," he continued, stepping forward. "Now step off my deck."
The official stiffened.
The air had changed.
His guards sensed it too—backs straightening, eyes narrowing, hands tightening on spear shafts.
For a moment, it felt as if the galleon itself was watching them.
Then, finally, the official nodded stiffly.
"As you say," he muttered. "Welcome to Braavos."
They turned.
One by one, they climbed back down to the rowboat, vanishing into the fog that had swallowed them once before.
Daenerys stood still, eyes on Kartiga.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
She didn't know what stunned her more—
That he called her future Fiancée.
Or that, somehow, he meant every word.
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