Well, well... if it isn't Prince Fabio himself. Pray tell, what brings a man of your exalted standing to my humble, god-forsaken presence? Have the comforts of the court grown stale, or did you simply miss the company of someone who doesn't tremble at the sound of your name? Those idiots are Essos, you say... and you aren't wrong, Fabio. They come with their sulfurous traditions and their crowns of old gold, thinking this continent will bend just because they can breathe fire. They have the arrogance of gods and the foresight of children. What they don't understand, what their imperial minds fail to process, is that Westeros isn't conquered with dragons alone. It is conquered by outliving its people. Fire burns the flesh, certainly. But time and the winter... those are the things that truly devour empires. And if the smell of rotten fish from my home still clings to my soul, at least it is an honest scent. I’d take it any day over the stench of ash your kinsmen are leaving in their wake.
