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Jehrilla sat in Highgarden’s banquet hall, surrounded by a well-armoured group of her finest mercenaries. Tyrell serving girls flittered between the rows of fighters, filling up plates and goblets, whilst the Yunkish sellswords revelled in the Westerosi delicacies. 

“An interesting family; these Tyrells,” The Wise Master commented idly, between mouthfuls of honeyed duck and pigeon pie “I could sit and watch them all day.” 

Having changed out of her scaley attire, the Yunkish woman’s mammoth figure was squeezed into a thin swath of black silk, inlaid with golden thread and twinkling gemstones. A long sash of crimson was draped over her chunky arms, and her coal black hair was bound into two elegant horns, in true Ghiscari fashion, keeping her dark tresses from covering her chubby cheeks. 

“I could do more than watch them.”  Captain Vherick grinned from beneath his bone mask, his eyes resting on the plump behind of one of the serving girls. Even in his leisure time, Vherick remained fully armed and armoured, the plate in front of him completely untouched.  

The banquet hall had walls of smooth stone, and a high ceiling adorned with a vast mural of blooming gold roses and ripe green vines. Several wooden tables stretched across the room, packed full of Yunkish soldiers, lost in the murmur of bawdy laughter, and the sweet taste of spiced wines. Crackling orange torches sat in iron holsters, casting the hall in a splash of tepid warmth, as the soft scents of flowers filled the nostrils of the merry diners.

“The Reachmen would have us set sail and lay siege upon their enemies.” Jehrilla explained to Vherick, as she scoffed down a blueberry tart, staining her lips purple. 

“A risky course of action.” Vherick said dryly. 

“There’s a chance at a whole horde of Westerosi slaves in it.” The Wise Master wagered. 

“I am but a servant to you, noble Jehrilla,” Vherick gave a little shrug, his armoured shoulders clanking lightly as plate mail rubbed against chain hoops “Whatever you bid of us, my men and I will obey.”

“The lady Alerie mentioned a trip to King’s landing,” Jehrilla thought aloud “Something to do with some prisoner of note. I might accompany our gracious hosts, but I would need you to take the companies out to raid this Crakehall pretender.” 

“As you wish.” 

The Wise Master scooped up a pork pie in her fat fingers, munching on chunks of crunchy pastry and salted meat. 

“Who knows? These trips might prove to be entertaining, for the both of us.”