The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

5.04

Gabrielle's eyes narrow in the statement of fact that does not seem to stick in Tyrion's head, "In a population of not many dwarves."

As ever, Tyrion just ignores the woman as he passes around Trident and knocks on the front of the carriage, halting its path with the call of a voice and cessation of rocking beneath their feet.  Trailblazing, Tyrion agiley unlocks the door and hops out the back of the carriage into the crowded market of Volantis, Varys and Oberyn hustling after him as Gabrielle puts on her own hooded cloak and throws another over Trident.

Shoving the worries away, she's grateful to be outside and out of the dust as she presses between shoppers and merchants and slaves and children, careful to keep Trident hidden from lingering eyes as she catches up with the other three.  Oberyn stands to her other side, trying to hide the wolf between them, as she nods and roughly shoves a man away who appears more drunk than any man prior.

"Slaves," Tyrion resounds from nearby, drawing Gabrielle's eye to the focus of Tyrion's attention in a nearby stall, a strange thing for the Lannister and her, even in her previous line of management.

    "Yes," Varys relates with a contemptuous hate.  "The Volantene masters are very organized.  Flies for dung shovelers.  Hammers for builders.  Tears for whores."

Gabrielle scoffs at the business, "As if they'd forget."

Few people mind their procession and none notice the wolf--a true miracle--as they continue on in the market and find themselves under the voice of a true Red Priestess and a crowd of patrons in the brothel nearby, passing into the establishment without any form of scrutiny at just a flash of Gabrielle's entrancing face and a place of her hand on the guard's arm.

Tyrion sighs happily as they take a seat in any place other than the wheelhouse--a brothel that's not nearly as attractive as Baelish's or any in Westeros.  Gabrielle gestures Trident under the table as she keeps herself hooded from lingering eyes--unlike Tyrion who's wishing for death--as Oberyn sits nearby and eyes a couple of woman in the opposite room.

"See?  We blend right in.  Just four more travellers, mad with lust," Tyrion snidely remarks, tempting Gabrielle to laugh.  Indeed, she'd hardly label a dwarf, a eunuch, and a woman as 'mad with lust,' although Oberyn certainly fits that role as he eyes the women nearby.  She lets herself smirk and happily takes the wine from a servant as Varys thanks her and she relaxes into her seat.

    Gabrielle grimaces as she eyes all the prostitutes about the room, clinking her glass against the others as she accepts her father's business as a beautiful endeavor in comparison.  And her nose quivers and scrunches in distaste as a prostitute struts by in nothing less than Targaryen hair and wardrobe, as well as a rather bare backside--truly disturbing.

"Curious... hair," Tyrion remarks, not looking particularly inclined to be attracted to such a figure, although Gabrielle knows from rumors that the Dragon Queen is far more beautiful than this prostitute.

She takes another sip of wine at the call of the men for the Targaryen whore, relating to Tyrion, "She's meant to look like Queen Daenerys."

"It appears we're not the only Targaryen supporters," Oberyn remarks with a broad grin as the prostitute limply sits on a man's lap across the room, and Gabrielle's past career tempts her to hit the girl for her rather blatant seduction.  It's all about subtlety.

"Someone who inspires priests and whores is worth taking seriously," Varys wisely remarks.

And Gabrielle echoes it with a pretense to her own power in Westeros, "People are power."

"Well," Tyrion and Gabrielle grimace as the woman sloppily kisses the sailor, "she's taken."

Gabrielle confines herself to her seat at the horrid business being run and again wishes to be anywhere but in such a familiar institution, even on the other side of the room.  Oberyn stands from his seat and pats her shoulder before following after a blonde into a separate chamber, his intentions very obvious to all of them.  She grimaces at the sight, but is drawn back to reality as Tyrion stands to his feet, eyes focused on a prostitute nearby--alone.