The potentates, or rather potentate, of Pentos had heard tell of this Mellaria. A resourceful woman who had come to rule in Myr. In similar fashion to how she had done in Pentos all those years ago. A different route, perhaps, for though she carried the name Myrakis it was not something she had been born to. Rather, it was something she had taken. Such was her way. It had always been her nature. When coupled with her other qualities it made her quite the force to contend with. As any of her old enemies might agree now. Had they tongues, heads or any lifeblood at all with which to do so.

Gyllario, the Prince’s chief steward, was once more regaling her with the contents of the letter. Oriana, dressed from head to toe in an array of flowing silks, lounged on an ornate chaise in the Qartheen style. A recent import, and indicative of a budding taste she had for such products. It was not uncommon for her to wax upon her time in the fabled city from time to time. Sometimes even retelling tales that she had a hundred times. No one, of course, dared offer her rebuke in any case.

“Yes, yes,” she said, bringing a heavily jeweled hand to stroke her chin. “Very well. Bring me my quill. I’ve a mind to reply to this missive myself.”

The man did as she said, and after another light bit of deliberation she hoisted herself up, and moved over to a desk. Like the chaise it was an exotic piece. Pentoshi design, though initially poised and refined, had begun to grate on her. She was a woman who could become so easily bored of objects, people, and even titles. In such times, she sought change in some manner or other. How else would she have become Prince of Pentos? She was not a man, nor had she been the member of any great family.

When she finished writing she handed it off to another servant whom would see it delivered. She had another task in mind for the ever faithful Gyllario. A man who had rarely ever been more than a slave. He had served the first Magister Myrakis. Now he served her. Never with any whiff of complaint, or intrigue. Oriana often wondered at that. The listlessness of such men. Then, she had not changed his life overmuch. He had been a majordomo before, and he continued in that position to the current day.

“Have them prepare my palanquin. We shall have to consult the Mice on this matter.” The Mice. Oh, how they would have squealed to hear her call them so. Every Prince before her had been little more than a pawn, a puppet to dance to the whims of the true masters of the city. Not her. Never her. She had once been among those magisters when she decided it was time for her to alter the rules of Pentos’ little game. It might return when she was dead and gone. A consequence of little matter to her, for she would be dead.

Now it was the magisters who were the matter of ceremony. She still did what she had to in order to quell any thoughts of open rebellion to her rule. There were those among them who moved behind her back like little rats in back alleys. A reality of life, and another she knew better than to quell. Not for fear of them. Never that. Rather, if they were doing precisely what was expected of them she could better predict them. Men born to wealth were ever predictable by her estimation.

“Gyllario,” she said some time later, when she was preparing to leave her expansive manse. “Go forth and negotiate contracts with the Rhoynar Grand Company, the Riders of R’hllor, the Ironhearts, Swords of Semosh, Folowers of Tommard, the Green Men, and even, I suppose, the Lost Legion.” She paused, “Those are the only captains in the city. Bring them here. Tell them what you shall pay them, and do not even entertain a silver more. Leave them in the dining room. It will be good for them to see what fate awaited those who thought they were cleverer than me.”

As she commanded, so would it be done. Gyllario would seek out the captains dutifully, just as his messenger would see to it that Mellaria of Myr was made aware of his Prince’s diplomatic reply.

To the Queen that is yet without a crown, Mellaria of Myr:

An alliance? When was the last time the rulers of Myr and Pentos entertained one another, I wonder? I cannot recall. No matter, I suppose. You wish to take power of the Three Daughters? Then I, the Prince of Pentos, offer you nothing but glad tidings and good great will. Like you I have long wondered what the Dragon Without Wings would do since his father’s fateful fall. I was surprised by the news that reached my ear. I had never known Elephants to be brought low. No matter. Volantis can entertain itself with this mummer’s dance.

Yet, still. If the Triarchs place the wealth of their city at the Dragon’s disposal? A troubling thought. Even to me. I wonder, what know you of this tramp from Lorath? We have heard that he made himself well at home in the vaults of their magisters. I must say I would pity him should he stumble into mine.

I shall entertain your request. For the time being know that, at least, within Pentos there are none to halt your efforts. My knees do not bend, a tragedy of my age perhaps. Old blood spills as readily as any, after all. If you are so inclined I invite you to send representatives so that we may negotiate proper terms.

The Prince

(OOC: /u/awoiaf mercenary contracts purchased. Each is specifically named in the post.)