Hadrian leaned against the polished rail of his ship, the salty sea breeze tugging at his fur-lined cloak. The rhythmic creak of the ship's wood and the occasional splash of the waves were a constant backdrop to his thoughts. Ahead of them, the sprawling coast of Essos loomed closer, dotted with the promise of cities teeming with opportunity—and danger.
His journey to Volantis had taken a detour. Myr and Lys stood along the way, and though stopping at these cities was not essential, Hadrian believed it wise to experience firsthand the pulse of Essos and gather supplies. Skagos's return to prominence depended not only on the North but also on understanding the intricacies of the wider world. Yet, Essos was a land steeped in slavery, intrigue, and corruption—things that Hadrian abhorred but would have to navigate.
The fleet anchored outside the Myrish harbor at dawn. From the ship's deck, Hadrian observed the city's elegant spires and domed structures. Myr was a city of artisans and craftsmen, famed for its intricate glasswork and alchemical creations. Yet, beneath the beauty, there was an undercurrent of hostility, as Hadrian would soon learn.
As he and his small retinue descended the gangplank, their presence drew stares. The people of Myr—draped in vibrant silks and adorned with delicate jewelry—seemed to view the rough-hewn Skagosi and their imposing armor with suspicion. Hadrian, clad in his usual combination of fur-lined cloaks and finely tailored garments, stood out even more.
A young envoy, accompanied by guards in the golden livery of Myr, approached. "My lord, you are invited to the home of Magister Maeron Rogare. He wishes to extend his hospitality—for a short while," the envoy added with a thin smile.
"Short while?" Toff muttered in his human guise. "Barely hidden hostility, that."
Hadrian smirked. "It seems we're already causing ripples."
They made their way through the city, the narrow streets bustling with merchants hawking their wares. Stalls of colorful glassware sparkled in the sunlight, their prices shouted with the fervor of desperate tradesmen. Amid the spectacle, Hadrian's attention kept returning to the chained figures led through the streets. Men, women, and children—all slaves—were herded like cattle, their hollow eyes casting a shadow over the city's vibrancy.
Hadrian's grip tightened on his staff. He despised slavery, a sentiment borne of both his upbringing and his own moral compass. But there was little he could do here, not yet.
Magister Maeron's villa was a vision of opulence. Ivory statues lined the marble halls, and vibrant tapestries depicting Myrish legends adorned the walls. Maeron himself was a portly man with sharp eyes and a shrewd smile.
"Lord Hadrian of Skagos," Maeron greeted, gesturing for him to sit. "A rare pleasure to host one such as yourself. Word of your trade ships has reached even here. Skagos, once forgotten, now makes itself known. And your 'Skagosi Flame,' as we call it? Remarkable. Strong and bitter, yet strangely pleasant. My wife is quite taken with it."
Hadrian inclined his head politely. "I am glad you enjoy it, Magister. It is but a small taste of what Skagos has to offer."
Maeron chuckled, though the mirth didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, but your presence here is... complicated. The glassmakers of Myr do not take kindly to competition, real or perceived. Your arrival, though unintended, has caused ripples among the guilds. For your own safety, I must urge you to leave before those ripples become a storm."
Riff bristled beside Hadrian, but Hadrian merely nodded. "I understand. Thank you for your honesty."
"You are fortunate I find your company intriguing," Maeron continued, swirling a goblet of wine. "Others might not be so gracious. Remember, Lord Hadrian, Essos is a land of many wonders—and many knives."
The journey from Myr to Lys was mercifully short, and the welcome they received was markedly different—though no less unsettling. Lys was a city of beauty, its pale marble buildings rising gracefully from the turquoise waters. The air was scented with exotic flowers, and its people moved with an elegance that bordered on theatrical.
Unlike Myr, Lys had no guilds to fear, and the city's ruling magisters seemed more curious than wary of Hadrian. Yet, as he walked through the cobbled streets, Hadrian sensed an undercurrent of unease. It was not directed at him or his Skagosi retinue but seemed woven into the very fabric of the city.
Hadrian took the opportunity to visit Lys's famed markets, the other famous areas in the city weren't for him, purchasing spices, fine silks, and rare wines to bring back to Skagos. Yet, everywhere he went, whispers followed him. When he inquired delicately into the city's mood, the answers pointed to one figure: the former King Jaehaerys's banished daughter, Princess Saera Targaryen.
"She resides in Lys?" Hadrian asked a merchant who seemed eager to talk.
"Aye," the man replied, his voice low. "The Targaryen princess—though we dare not call her that—has made quite the name for herself. She lives in luxury, surrounded by admirers and sycophants. But her presence here... it brings complications. Some say it's a curse to host a dragonseed, even a cast-off one."
The merchant's words lingered in Hadrian's mind as he returned to his ship. He did not know much of Princess Saera's story, but it was clear her presence had left a mark on Lys, dividing opinions and sowing discord.
"Do you think we'll encounter her?" Riff asked as they stood on the deck, watching the Lysene harbor fade into the distance.
Hadrian shook his head. "It's unlikely. Our paths lie in different directions. But her story is a reminder of the complexities of this world. Every city, every person, carries its own burdens."
As the ships sailed onward, Hadrian found himself thinking of the challenges ahead. Myr and Lys had shown him glimpses of Essos's fractured soul, a land of beauty and cruelty in equal measure.
Ahead lay Volantis, the ancient city of fire and tiger banners, a place as proud as it was dangerous. The journey to acquire a map of Valyria's ruins had brought him this far, and with every passing league, the enormity of the task ahead grew clearer.
Behind him, Toff approached with a measured step, his expression as stoic as ever.
"My lord, the horizon ahead is clear. The crew says we should sight Volantis by midday," Toff reported, standing at Hadrian's side.
"Good," Hadrian replied, his voice contemplative. "The sooner we reach Volantis, the better. I want to spend as little time as possible in that city."
"Understandable," Toff said with a dry chuckle. "Volantis is... an acquired taste. It reeks of ambition and arrogance. Much like Myr, only without the glass baubles, but with more aristocracy."
Hadrian turned, resting his hand lightly on the rail. "Once we dock, our main priority will be acquiring a map. It doesn't have to be perfect—no map of the Smoking Sea truly is—but we need something reliable enough to guide us through the treacherous waters near Valyria. I don't want to lose any ships, or lives, to the whims of the sea."
Riff and Toff nodded thoughtfully. "A map is sensible, though I imagine they will charge you exorbitantly for even the crudest parchment. Volantis thrives on extracting wealth from travelers."
"They can name their price," Hadrian said firmly. "This isn't something we can afford to bargain over."
The three lapsed into silence for a moment, the distant cries of gulls punctuating the quiet. As Hadrian watched the rippling surface of the water, a stray thought struck him—one that he had somehow managed to overlook until now.
"Riff, Toff?" Hadrian began slowly, his brow furrowing. "What's the name of this ships?"
Riff tilted her head, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across his face. "The name of the ships, my lord?"
"Yes," Hadrian said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. "I've been so focused on everything else—the fleet, the trading routes, the magic—that I never stopped to consider it. What's the name of the ship we're standing on?"
For a moment, Riff said nothing, as if savoring the rare opportunity to tease her master. Finally, she replied, "This ship is called Prongs. The others are named Moony and Padfoot."
Hadrian blinked, momentarily stunned by the revelation. "Prongs?" he echoed, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Who named these ships?"
"I believe you did, my lord," Toff said with a faint smirk. "Though I suspect it was during a moment of nostalgia, perhaps after a few too many cups of wine. Do the names not please you?"
Hadrian laughed, shaking his head. "No, they're fine. It's just... amusing. Of all the things I've been working on, the names of my ships seem to have slipped my mind entirely. At least now I can answer if someone asks."
"You may want to act as though the names were carefully chosen," Toff suggested. "It wouldn't do for the crew to think their lord does not care for his own ships."
"Noted," Hadrian said with a grin. "From this moment on, Prongs shall be spoken of with great reverence."
The names stirred memories in Hadrian—memories of another life, another world. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, he thought to himself, the words carrying a bittersweet resonance. They were reminders of a time when friendship and family had been the foundation of his world, when laughter and loyalty had been his guiding lights.
He could still see their faces—Remus, Sirius, and even his father James. Their legacy lived on, not just in the names of his ships but in the very ideals that shaped him.
"Do you think they would approve?" Hadrian asked suddenly, his gaze distant.
"Of what, my lord?" Riff asked, though the question seemed rhetorical.
"Of what I've built. Of Skagos. Of this journey."
The elves considered the question for a moment before Toff replied. "I believe they would, my lord. They valued courage and innovation, and they would see both in what you've done. Though," he added with a wry smile, "I imagine they might have some strong opinions about naming ships after themselves."
Hadrian chuckled. "Yes, I can almost hear Sirius now, making some grand joke about it."
As midday approached, the outline of Volantis grew clearer on the horizon. The city was a sprawling expanse of black stone and towering walls, its grandeur rivaled only by its reputation as the oldest and proudest of the Free Cities. Smoke from countless chimneys mingled with the salty sea air, and the bustling docks teemed with activity.
Hadrian watched as their small fleet maneuvered toward the harbor. Dockhands and overseers called out in harsh voices, directing ships to their berths while laborers unloaded cargo under the watchful eyes of slave masters.
"We'll dock briefly," Hadrian said, his voice firm. "No unnecessary delays. Riff and Toff you will stay with the ships, and I'll take a small group into the city."
They inclined his head. "Understood, my lord. We will call for Elphie to accompany you, of course."
"Of course," Hadrian agreed.
As Prongs slid into its berth, Hadrian's resolve hardened. Volantis was but a stop on a much longer journey, a stepping stone toward the mysteries of Valyria. But even here, in this city of fire and tigers, he knew he must tread carefully.