Lannisport is a city on the coast of the Sunset Sea, west of Casterly Rock, where the River Road, the Golden Road, and the Ocean Road converge.
This port city is one of the most important harbors in the Seven Kingdoms and the largest city in the Westerlands. In size, it is much smaller than King's Landing and Oldtown, but far larger than Gulltown and White Harbor.
The golden afterglow of sunset bathed the docks, crowded with merchants packing up their stalls, dockworkers hurrying home, and all manner of folk.
A green-eyed crow perched on a rooftop in a narrow alley, its round eyes sweeping over the crowd below.
"Shae!" called a group of girls on the street, clustered in twos and threes, some with baskets, others with cloth sacks on their backs. "If you don't leave the city now, you'll be too late! There's a curfew at the barracks tonight!"
"I know!" Shae shouted back, turning her head.
Walking down the street, Shae wore far more fabric than she ever did in the barracks. The green-eyed crow blinked and tilted its head to watch. A group of camp prostitutes.
"I still need spices!" Shae cried as she ran. "Go on ahead to the city gate and wait for me. I'll catch up soon!"
"Then hurry!" the other girls giggled as they left.
This was a secluded alley near the harbor.
The air was laced with a faint briny tang and the freshness of seaweed drifting in from the vast sea, mingling with the occasional hint of flowers wafting from within the alley.
Now and then, a seagull or two would sweep past the entrance, their sharp cries adding life to the stillness.
They won't fly in, the green-eyed crow thought at the sound of their cries. These white thieves can only stand being away from the sea when they're at the rubbish heaps.
The alley entrance was half-hidden by weathered old locust trees. Sunlight filtered through their branches in mottled patterns, casting a veil of gold across the deep passageway.
Spice merchants usually took the prime spots by the harbor. Here, most stalls sold only old wares or smuggled goods.
Shae slipped sideways between piles of cargo, ducking now and then or tugging at her skirt.
"I'm here," came a low voice. A hooded figure stepped from the shadows—a smuggler, a common sight in Lannisport.
"You're late today," he said, retreating back into the gloom before pulling out a bundle. "Any later and I wouldn't have waited."
"The army is moving out," Shae answered, taking the package. "I need more supplies. Twice as much as before? You're not shortchanging me again, are you?"
"Of course not," the smuggler said. "But even if there were a little less, so what? You won't get this price anywhere else. Only I care about you like this..."
As he reached out to grab her waist, Shae slapped his hand away.
"Here." She shoved several silver stags into his hand. "Not today. I'm already late. If I don't get out of the city now, I'll miss the army's march."
"Then why not stay with me? You could always come find me..."
"She won't go with you." A hoarse, ancient voice sounded from another corner. The crow's gaze fixed on an old woman, so withered it was impossible to guess her age.
She was short and stout, her skin rough and pocked, her yellow eyes glinting with malice. Two ugly chins hung like green pebbles, and she wore a loose robe painted with white shells.
"'Frog' Witch!" the smuggler exclaimed. "I haven't seen you at the port in almost ten years."
"She won't come looking for you," the witch said, stepping in front of Shae. "She has her mission. She must find her Prince..."
"Fine, then you give her the mission. You two talk. Shae, we'll meet again." The smuggler vanished into the shadows as if fleeing a plague.
Shae watched his retreating figure, puzzled. He seemed terrified of this old woman, as if she wielded some kind of sorcery—or perhaps it was her words.
"Prince? What prince?" Shae asked in confusion. "Are you telling a story? A fairy tale?"
"The prince foretold in prophecy," the witch replied, her toothless mouth twisted in a way that made it impossible to tell if she was smiling or grimacing. "The prince born in the land of salt and smoke..."
"Prince?" Shae could hardly imagine it. "How would I ever meet a prince? Old woman, I'm just a whore. Meeting a knight or even a squire would already be a blessing."
"It isn't about you, girl." The witch's yellow eyes rolled restlessly. "Every prince must have a witch. Without a witch's sacrifice, how could Azor Ahai draw the Lightbringer?"
"Azor Ahai? Who's that?" Shae repeated the name clumsily. "What kind of people have such twisted names? Dornishmen? Where would I even find a prince like that?"
"You don't need to seek him," the witch said, turning to fumble behind her back. "Nor are you a witch-maiden. You're just an ordinary girl."
She tossed a handful of powder into the air, and Shae sneezed.
"Frog," the witch murmured, speaking words Shae could neither hear clearly nor understand.
The green-eyed crow couldn't catch them either and hopped closer.
"Born from the belly of a dragon, born from the belly of a wolf, born from the belly of a lion..."
It wasn't the tongue of Westeros, yet the meaning was clear. Valyrian?
The witch scattered another handful of powder, her voice rising and falling. Shae stared blankly at the old woman, unsure what she was doing.
After three to five minutes, the witch ended her ritual and fixed her gaze on Shae.
The green-eyed crow watched both of them closely.
"Girl, you are now my proxy... You will find the prince..."
Fear stirred in Shae. She tried to pull away, but the witch's withered hand clutched her sleeve.
"What are you doing?" Shae asked, clutching her spice pouch tight.
"One last thing." The witch finally smiled. "I have a prophecy for you."
"I don't believe in prophecies."
The witch ignored her and went on. "You will meet the prince of prophecy. He will bring you endless wealth, the highest status. You may even contend with a princess for his favor..."
"Could I marry the prince?" The question slipped out before Shae could stop herself, and she instantly regretted it. How could she ever marry a prince?
But the witch did not laugh at her. Instead, she said, "You will roll your eyes back, rising high while suffocating."
Shae laughed. "You still say things like that. How am I supposed to believe your prophecy?"
The witch released her sleeve and stretched out a bony hand, her long, twisted yellow nails curving forward.
The crow saw that she was pointing at it.
"Look, the green-eyed crow has come."