The chirping chorus of crickets yodeled into the night air, and blazing bonfires were littered across the city, casting shadows across its colossal walls. Yet the city was different; the streets were empty, and upon this night, no red-priests sang their hymns, no laughter in the luxurious estates, and no slaves going about their masters business, only the twittering of crickets and their melodies resounded until dusk.
Ser Raymun Darry, an old Knight and former lord of Darry, had found himself in the company of a grotesque fat man donned in red silk robes and an oiled beard, reeking of jasmine and various perfumes, it was Illyro, of course, the two sat alone atop the balcony of one of the cities many estates, with a platter of multiple exotic foods and plenty of wine, it appeared Raymun lacked an appetite. At the same time, the fat man filled his face to his heart's content, cracking open lobster and handling a leg of roasted zebra between his greasy fingers. 'And what of this boy?' Raymund croaked, seemingly unphased, as he cast a cold gaze over his companion, his pale orbs watching the man with a hint of disgust.
'Is what you say true?' he added.
The conservation was long and dull, divulging into many plots, secrets, and heated arguments until dawn. Rayman slouched and deprived of sleep struggled to remain upright while the fat man continued to gorge upon the feast as if it were his last, "Black or red!" he croaked, his mouth full and sputtering bits of food across the table and jeering with his sausage fingers, "A dragon is still a dragon! Th-The Golden company!" the man paused, catching his breath. The Merchant smiled through his forked shiny beard, "Viserys will give the Exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. He will lead them home."