A Tale of Braavos (GoT Fan Fiction)
“Will she struggle?” asked Ceart Gu Léor, owner of the Braavosi tavern, The Hairy Pig. Fingering his dark chest hair, he leered as the new barmaid whose tiny bosom was peeping out leaned over his desk to pour him ale. His gaze wandered to the blond bun bound with colorful, thin wooden hair pins like those they wore on the Summer Islands, far to the south of Braavos.
“What say you, Horatio?” Léor grinned wolf-like. “Will she or will she not?” Horatio shrugged, undressing her with his eyes, ripping off that blue dress to see and caress the long, tantalizing legs peeking below the hem.
Without looking up, the barmaid kept pouring, even when Léor’s one-eyed accomplice shut and locked the door to Léor’s office behind them, dropping the key into the front of his pants with a salacious wiggle of his eyebrows, an action made all the more threatening by the black eye patch covering his absent left eye, a gambling debt he had paid while penniless and living on the uncaring streets of Braavos. The new barmaid finished and looked back at them with silent blue eyes.
Léor tugged at a tuft of hair near his nipple, grunted once, then burst out laughing and pointing at the new barmaid.
“Oh, ho! A quiet one, Horatio! Beware the quiet ones, my father said.”
“So he did,” replied Horatio. “So he did.” He cocked a head at the barmaid. “She’ll not struggle.”
Léor’s face crumbled in mock sorrow.
“In my line of work,” he replied, “’tis always more fun when they do, the new ones. What say you, pretty lass?”
The barmaid broke out a sultry smile. She put down the pitcher of ale, then sauntered around the desk, swung a leg over his ample lap, flipped her blue dress up to allow him a glimpse of her thighs, and straddled him. Grabbing her tiny firm buttocks, Léor let loose a loud laugh and a louder fart. Horatio barked approval with crude laughter and approached the desk, crotch in hand.
Placing her index finger in her mouth, she sucked on it, pulled it out, put it up to his lips in a gesture of be quiet, then started tracing two marks over Léor’s heart with her warm saliva, twirling and tugging his chest hair with a skilled finger.
“There are only three things someone like me needs to know in my line of work, good sers,” she said. “One: always do your job well.”
She slid her pelvis a little closer to Léor’s crotch, causing the two men to cackle with the heady promise of lascivious fun.
“Two,” she continued, pulling the hair pins out of her hair, shaking it, letting its sweet perfume escape, and freeing it to cascade down over her shoulders like a waterfall of gold, “The customer must be satisfied at all costs.”
She leaned forward so Léor could lick her bosom. Arching her back, she looked over her shoulder and saw Horatio already satisfying himself with one hand and steadying himself on the desk with the other. The barmaid winked, inspiring him to rub with frenetic vigor. She turned back to Léor, smiling again, as his hands slid down the barmaid’s legs to the hem, his fingers tightened around it as he inched it up, preparing to yank it fully.
“Last, but most important of all, my good sers, is this. Three.” Her smile disappeared, replaced by an icy grin. “Taoba dore brozi eza.”
Bringing the right hairpin down onto the shiny X marked onto Léor’s chest, the Faceless Assassin pivoted around to find a surprised Horatio, who lost his life and his eye as the left hairpin skewered it like a grape.
Shedding the wig, he ripped off the barmaid’s face and the blood-soaked dress, rolling his entire disguise into a tight ball. He ran his fingers through his short, brown hair and straightened the simple dirty tunic he’d worn underneath.
“Valar morghulis,” he said to Horatio. Then to Léor, “Valar dohaeris.”
Climbing out the window he had left open the night before, the Faceless Assassin exited the alley, headed for the dock where he dropped his balled up package into the murky waters, and disappeared into the crowded, uncaring streets of Braavos, leaving the hue and cry of the gory discovery ringing behind him.
1 Taoba dore brozi eza is High Valyrian for “A boy has no name.”
2 Valar morghulis is High Valyrian for “All men must die,” and served as a greeting and farewell in Braavos.
3 Valar dohaeris is High Valyrian for “All men must serve,” and served as a greeting and farewell in Braavos