Chapter 27 - Braavos
The ship slowed as we drew closer to the entrance of Braavos, and the first thing we saw was the Titan rising through the mist. Even from far away the statue looked impossibly large, as if carved for giants. The Titan stood with one foot on each side of the narrow entrance to the lagoon, a massive figure of stone and bronze.
His face was fierce, with a great helm and burning eyes where fires were kept lit. His right arm held a sword pointed upward, and from his chest came the deep horn blast that warned the whole city of arriving ships. Up close, the Titan felt alive. His shadow alone covered the ship in darkness for a moment, like an ancient guardian judging us silently.
As we passed beneath him, the horn sounded again, loud enough to make Val jump. Leaf only stared upward with wide eyes, whispering something in the old tongue. I could feel her amazement through the bond.
Once inside the lagoon, Braavos revealed itself like a painting opening before us. Hundreds of islands, large and small, connected by stone bridges. Thin canals cut between buildings, and long, flat gondolas glided through them like black arrows. The buildings were tall and colourful, some with tiled roofs, others with smooth stone walls painted in blue, green and grey. Domes and towers rose in every direction. I could smell spices, fish and sweat even from the ship.
We docked at the Purple Harbour, one of the main ports where merchant ships arrived. The docks were busy, filled with shouting sailors, strong men lifting crates, merchants bargaining, and the Sea Lord's officers doing their inspections. The Braavosi inspectors wore dark purple cloaks and light armour. Their faces were sharp and they spoke quickly, switching between several languages with ease. They checked the ship's papers, asked the captain questions, and then came to us.
"Purpose of visit?" one asked, looking at me, then at Val and Leaf with a raised eyebrow.
"Travel," I said simply. "Short stay."
He gave us a long look, as if trying to guess where we came from. But Braavos was used to strange travellers. After a moment he nodded, stamped our papers, and stepped aside. "You may disembark."
We stepped onto the stone of Braavos, and the heat hit us instantly. The city was humid, much warmer than the North or even White Harbour. The air smelled of salt, silk markets, and smoke from the forges of the Iron Bank. The streets were alive.
People from every land walked here. Summer islanders with golden skin, men from Qarth in embroidered robes, Tyroshi with bright dyed beards, sailors from Westeros, slaves freed long ago, and merchants carrying coins from every corner of the world.
Canals cut through the city like veins of dark water. Some places had no streets at all, only narrow stone paths beside the water. Everywhere I looked, buildings rose in strange shapes consisting of arched windows, coloured glass, bridges built over bridges. Gondoliers called out to travellers, offering rides in long poles boats. Their voices echoed along the stone walls.
Val looked around with her mouth half open. "Your places are strange," she whispered.
"This is not my place," I said. "This is Braavos."
Leaf stepped close to the railing of the canal, watching the water flow between the buildings. "There are very few or no trees," she murmured. "Only stone. So much stone."
"It's their forest," I told her gently. "A forest made by hands."
We moved slowly through the streets, letting the crowd carry us. Stalls were everywhere selling fish, pearls, silks, swords, masks, and strange purple fruits. Street performers danced on corners, and musicians played flutes that echoed over the water. Some Braavosi wore half-masks of silver or wood. Others wore long coats and small colourful caps.
Children ran barefoot across bridges. Beggars sat under shadows of archways, some with blind eyes, some with painted faces. And high above everything, on one of the larger islands, the Iron Bank's black granite walls shone dull in the sun, tall and unbroken like a fortress. The people walked carefully around it.
We crossed the Bridge of Guards, a wide stone bridge lined with statues of armoured Braavosi warriors. Each had a sword raised, pointing towards the centre of the city. From the top, we could see two of the great canals cutting through the heart of Braavos, filled with boats moving like ants on a branch.
Val was sweating already and angry at the sun. "How can they live like this?" she muttered. "Humid. Sticky. No wind."
"Too many buildings," I said. "The sea breeze gets trapped."
Leaf was quiet, studying everything. Her eyes followed the masks, the bridges, the canals, the faces of people who came from a hundred lands. "Humans here… are different," she whispered.
We passed small shrines to the Many-Faced God, simple stone pillars with blank faces carved on them. Some people paused to touch the stone or whisper a prayer.
Not far ahead, the streets widened, leading deeper into the city toward the markets and the quiet lanes where the rich lived. Somewhere across these waters were the houses where the last two Targaryen children hid, lost dragons waiting to be found. And now, we were in their city for them.
We spent the day and the next moving through the streets of Braavos with one goal in mind, finding a house with a red door and a lemon tree, the place where Daenerys once lived or should still be living as a little girl. The problem was that every street in Braavos looked confusing, twisting like a maze, and half the houses were painted in strange colours or had balconies covered with vines. But a bright red door should stand out, so we felt hopeful.
Val walked ahead as if she knew where she was going, even though she had never been here before. Leaf stayed close to me, her eyes always moving, taking in every corner and shadow. People barely noticed us, too busy with their own lives. Sailors shouted to each other. Fishmongers called out their prices. The canals were full of little boats sliding silently under the bridges.
The trouble was the lemon tree. Everyone knew Braavos was cold and damp for most of the year. Even in summer, the air stayed wet, as if the sea refused to let anything dry completely. Lemon trees needed warm air and bright sun.
The more streets we checked, the more I felt the same doubt Daenerys had felt in the books, could such a tree even survive here? Or had her memory changed the place? Still, we kept walking. Maybe there was a hidden courtyard. Maybe the Sea Lord had special gardens. Maybe her mother had found a way.
We searched the Ragman's Harbour, passing the many-coloured merchants and their stalls. We crossed the Moon Pool, where the water reflected the pale sky like a sheet of metal. We followed narrow alleys where clotheslines stretched overhead like tangled ropes. Everywhere we went, we asked gently, "Do you know a house with a red door? Maybe one with a lemon tree?" Some people shrugged. Some laughed. One old woman gave us a confused look and muttered that "trees don't grow here unless they're stubborn like mules."
Val kept her spirits high. "A red door is not small. Someone has to know it," she insisted as she poked her head into a baker's shop and asked again. Leaf, meanwhile, seemed fascinated by everything—the carved stone faces on the bridges, the gliding gondoliers, even the fog that clung to the canals. She was calmer than Val, but she still had that quiet excitement in her eyes.
We tried the richer districts too, where the streets were broader and the houses taller. Some buildings had bright shutters and painted doors, but none were the right shade of red. None had even a single lonely lemon tree. I began to wonder if Illyrio had already taken Viserys and Daenerys away, or if they had moved from their childhood home long ago. The city was too large and too crowded to hold onto such memories easily.
Still, we didn't give up. By late afternoon we were walking along a quiet canal, the fog drifting low, making everything grey and soft. I kept picturing a small girl running barefoot toward a bright red door, a lemon tree casting a shadow over her.
Maybe the house still existed somewhere, tucked inside the maze of walls. Or maybe we were searching for a ghost. But even searching for ghosts felt worth it.
And so we kept moving with slow steps, hopeful hearts, and eyes sharp for even the slightest flash of red.
End of Chapter 27 - Braavos