The Free City Envoys

Two men and one woman, all richly dressed, made their greetings to the Queen of Westeros and sat where she indicated, accepting wine graciously. The Envoy of Pentos was a rail thin man, at least six feet tall, with the long fingers of a musician or a thief, though he kept his hands neatly folded in his lap. The Envoy of Myr was an enormously fat woman, whose fingers were each bedecked with at least two jeweled rings, who wore a massive gown of the finest silk and lace. The Envoy of Lorath was an utterly nondescript man, save for his hair and goatee which were dyed a bright red.

"Thank you for receiving us, your grace," the Envoy of Pentos began, clearly speaking on behalf of all three. "We would only request a meeting on such short notice under the most urgent of circumstances. In a week's time we will be holding a summit in Pentos, to determine how best to combat the common threat that we all face, and we would ask that Westeros send a representative to speak on your behalf with our leaders, that you might join us in an alliance against the so-called 'Master of Kings'."

"Representatives of each of the Free Cities will be present, save Braavos and Tyrosh. The Sealord thinks his mountains and ships will protect him from dragon fire, and the Archon of Tyrosh is confident that you will come to his defense against any threat, and sees no need to ally with us. Pentos, Norvos, Qohor, Myr, Lys and Lorath will almost certainly agree to stand together, however," the Pentoshi replied. "In truth, in addition to representing Westeros, we hoped that by sending an envoy of your own to the Summit, you may entice the Tyroshi to send an envoy of their own."

The fat Myrish envoy let out a bark of laughter, but fell silent at a sharp look from the Pentoshi. "Sarella of Dorne is… even less agreeable than the Sealord of Braavos. Perhaps her son will prove more willing to listen to our proposals, one day, if any of us outlive that old toad," he said bitterly.

"The Archon of Tyrosh has often used his… diplomatic relationship with your grace, as a club to hold over the head of his rivals," the Envoy of Lorath broke in.

The envoy nodded. "We had an offer to sweeten the deal, so to speak, as well," he said. "If your grace does not wish to enter into a true alliance with us, our coalition will offer to pay off the full remainder of your crown's debt to the Iron Bank, in exchange for the services of two of your dragon riders in our campaign."

"Thank you, your grace. There are some fools who say that the Burned Rider will be sated, when he has conquered the Rhoyne, but those of us who have seen his dragons know better. That man, if he can be called such, will stop at nothing until we are all his slaves," the Pentoshi said.

"As you say, your grace. I am sure the weight of your word will cause the Sealord to heed our requests, and know that you will have the gratitude of all the Free Cities for it," he replied.

"Not at this time, your grace," the Pentoshi replied, bowing his head slightly.