In Braavos, many courtesans are celebrated in song and story. A few even achieve immortality in bronze or marble statues.
But the title of "Black Pearl" is uniquely passed down through bloodline, now in its fourth generation.
The Black Pearl is also the courtesan most famous in the stories told across the Seven Kingdoms.
The first Black Pearl was Bellegere Otherys, a pirate queen and smuggler, and one of the nine mistresses of Aegon IV Targaryen.
The second Black Pearl was Bellonara, the bastard daughter of Bellegere and Aegon IV. This famous courtesan was hailed by singers of her time as the most beautiful woman in the world.
Bellonara's descendants continued the tradition, becoming courtesans in turn. To this day, each is known as the "Black Pearl," and each carries a drop of dragon blood in her veins.
Bellegere Otherys, the current Black Pearl, was likewise a renowned courtesan of Braavos.
"What is the schedule for today?"
As usual, Bellegere Otherys sat with her eyes closed before a large Myrish glass mirror while servants and handmaids attended to her toilette.
She wore a low-cut gown of dusky yellow silk that contrasted stunningly with her lustrous brown skin.
"My lady, this morning we go to the Moon Pool. Two bravos are fighting to the death for a kiss from you." A handmaid gathered her black hair into a gold net.
"There will also be singers there, hoping to win your favor with their songs."
Bellegere opened her eyes—gem-like violet orbs. Her voice was warm and melodic. "And after that?"
"Lunch at the Sealord's Palace with a Magister from Pentos." The handmaid fastened a necklace around her slender neck.
"In the afternoon, you accompany a Keyholder to the Gate Theatre to watch the play The Dragon's Wrath. The Keyholder is Wylf of House Otherys."
"The Dragon's Wrath?" Bellegere sat still, letting the handmaids fuss over her. "Is it a play about the Seven Kingdoms?"
"No, my lady. I heard it tells the story of Prince Garin, the Shrouded Lord." The handmaid bent down to adjust the white Myrish lace on her gown.
"You seem to like stories from the Seven Kingdoms, my lady."
"Three hundred dragons burning the Rhoyne. A sad story." Bellegere stood up and twirled before the mirror, the jet and gold beads swaying against her full bosom.
"After all, I have some connection to the Seven Kingdoms. The blood in my veins is often called the blood of the dragon."
The handmaid tried to continue listing the schedule. "In the evening..."
"Cancel the evening plans," Bellegere interrupted with a playful smile. "Prepare the barge. We leave now. A dragon does not keep people waiting."
"Yes, my lady."
The Black Pearl's barge traveled along the canal toward the Sealord's Palace.
Lining the waterway were the towers of Keyholders and noble families, and the Red Hands—the great hospital and asylum.
Between these grand structures were countless shops, brothels, inns, taverns, guildhalls, and moneychangers.
Statues of past Sealords, lawgivers, sailors, and warriors stood along the streets and bridges, alongside poets, singers, and courtesans.
---
At the Moon Pool, Arthur sat in the stands eating his daily large peach, waiting for the Braavosi swordsmen below to start fighting. Nearby, singers had already begun their performances.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but the Moon Pool seemed much more crowded than usual today. The stands were nearly full, and people were still streaming in from the aisles.
"I heard the courtesan 'Black Pearl' is coming this morning," a friendly Summer Islander sitting next to him explained enthusiastically.
"Two famous bravos are fighting to the death for a single kiss from her."
"Is that so?" Arthur took a bite of his peach and shrugged. "Then soon there will be only one more famous bravo."
Arthur understood the game; it was mutual promotion. In Braavos, fame brought too many benefits to ignore.
He came here to watch the swordsmen and bravos not just to learn techniques, but also to prepare for the marketing of his smithy, which was currently under construction.
Arthur planned to find a few skilled but lesser-known swordsmen and bravos once the smithy was ready.
He would forge them excellent blades and recruit them, or sign a contract where they would advertise his smithy after their fights.
After a week of observation, he had already scouted a few potential candidates.
Just as Arthur was thinking about approaching one of the swordsmen after the fight...
"Look! The Black Pearl is here!" The enthusiastic Summer Islander tugged at his sleeve. "Though, she looks more like a Brown Pearl."
Arthur saw the Black Pearl. Her attire, the sway of her hips as she walked, and her innate beauty truly lived up to the praise heaped upon courtesans in Braavosi songs and stories.
However, her skin wasn't black, but a rich brown, as the Summer Islander had noted.
The singers' voices rose to a crescendo with her arrival, drowning out the chatter in the stands.
"She looked at me when she walked by," the Summer Islander bragged. "The first Black Pearl was a Summer Islander, you know."
With the Black Pearl's arrival, two famous bravos entered the Moon Pool from opposite sides, taking their positions in front of the fountain.
Just as the two assassins struck their stances for the duel, a tall woman walked up to Arthur.
"Greetings." The woman checked his eyes as if confirming something, then spoke in Braavosi. "My lady invites you to her private box on the dais. Would you please come with me?"
"Who is your lady?"
The woman leaned in and whispered in his ear, "The Black Pearl."
Although puzzled as to why he was invited, Arthur didn't refuse. It was his first time being invited by a Braavosi courtesan.
Following the woman, Arthur arrived at the private box on the high dais.
Sconces on all four walls lit the room brightly. An intricately patterned Myrish carpet covered the floor.
"Are you Lysene? Or perhaps Volantene?" The Black Pearl asked from her reclining chair, holding a silver goblet.
"But your dress doesn't look like you're from those places."
"I am Westerosi, from the North of the Seven Kingdoms." Arthur wasn't wearing his black Braavosi silk today, but a brown hunting tunic.
"Your violet eyes feel familiar to me." Bellegere gestured for Arthur to sit beside her, switching to the Common Tongue of Westeros.
"Do you have the blood of the dragon, of House Targaryen?"
"I think you must have misunderstood," Arthur replied, looking into her violet eyes, identical to his own.
"My mother was of House Dayne of Starfall. My eyes are inherited from her."
"What are you doing in Braavos?" Bellegere frowned slightly, glancing at the swords at Arthur's waist. "Are you a sailor? A sword-sell? Or a knight?"
"I am a blacksmith. I'm preparing to open a smithy," Arthur answered honestly. "Near the Ragman's Harbor."
Bellegere was surprised. "What is the name of your smithy?"
"Uh..." Arthur hadn't really thought about the name in detail. Asked suddenly, he didn't know how to answer. His hand unconsciously rubbed the personal mark on his sword hilt. He answered casually:
"I plan to call it the Snow & Peach Smithy."
This was his maker's mark from his first forged weapons—a snowflake and a peach. All four swords he had made bore this mark.
"Sounds like the name of a theatre. Is that how Westerosi name things?"
Bellegere turned her gaze to the two bravos below, who were about to duel for her—and for themselves.
"If you ask me, 'Ragman's Harbor Smithy' would be better."
Arthur scratched his head. Looking at the necklace around the Black Pearl's neck and the various pendants hanging from it, he realized she might have a point.
"I was hasty," he admitted.
"Thank you, Lady Black Pearl, for naming my smithy," he said gratefully. "I will make sure everyone who enters my shop knows the name was chosen by you personally."
Below on the Moon Pool's stage, the duel concluded. The winning bravo pierced the loser's belly, though his own left arm and cheek were slashed open.