"Ser Jorah," Daenerys says to the only other man in the chamber, "clear the room. I wish to speak with this young man alone."
"Is that wise, Your Grace?" asks the bearded knight, whom you've concluded must be Ser Jorah Mormont, the former head of House Mormont of Bear Island.
The young blond woman smiles gently and says "I assure you; everything will be fine."
The knight seems ****, but he ultimately complies with those orders. He escorts the red priestess, the shadowbinder, and the three handmaids out of the chamber. You find yourself alone with Daenerys Targaryen, the last of her line.
Right now, you are still kneeling on the ground with your sword pointed downwards. Daenerys tells you "Rise, ser."
This time, you do not correct her about your status. You just silently stand back up and return your sword to its sheath. Daenerys gestures to a chair on the other side of her desk and beckons you "Have a seat."
You promptly approach the desk and sit down. "Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace. Forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds by asking this, but does this mean you are accepting my services?"
"Perhaps..." says Daenerys, "Before that, I have a few questions, which I would like you to answer fully and honestly."
"Very well," you remark. You have no intention of lying to this beautiful young woman, especially if there's a good chance she will actually employ you.
Daenerys then folds her hands together and asks "Firstly, what is your name?"
You then realize that while you did identify yourself to Xaro Xhoan Daxos, you quite forgot to give a proper introduction to Daenerys Targaryen. You mentally kick yourself for being so negligent.
"Brynden, Your Grace," you hastily inform her.
She nods, and then she asks "Did you come to Braavos alone?"
"Well, I brought my horse, Aerion, with me," you reply, "But other than that, I came here with no one else."
She nods again. "Have your any family back in the Seven Kingdoms?"
You shake your head and reveal "Both my parents died before my ninth nameday. I have spent these last ten years traveling around Westeros, doing what I must in order to survive."
She seems a little saddened. "I understand how you must feel. I've no living family, either."
"Yes, I am aware," you mutter, trying to sound sympathetic, "I was born shortly after your brother Rhaegar, your father Aerys, and your mother Rhaella died. The whole of Westeros knows of the plight of you and your brother Viserys."
"Yes, and Viserys himself died recently," Daenerys glumly recalls, "It was my husband who killed him. Then my husband and my unborn son died not long after."
"You have my condolences," you tell her sincerely.
She seems to appreciate that. "Now that I know more about you, let us discuss the matter of you entering my services. You should know that I am not simply looking for a bodyguard. I am hoping to raise my own army. An army to retake my family's throne."
"Now would be an ideal time for you to do so," you comment, "Right now, the Seven Kingdoms are in the midst of a civil war."
"So I have heard," says Daenerys, "My husband, Khal Drogo, commanded forty thousand warriors. I have under a hundred, most of which cannot fight. They are not fit to storm the weakest keep in the Seven Kingdoms. Thus, I will need every sword I can acquire."
She then pauses and says "You would likely be invaluable."
"How so, Your Grace?" you ask.
"I know nothing of Westeros," Daenerys explains, "I was born there, but immediately after my birth, I sailed east. The only other native of Westeros in my company is Ser Jorah Mormont, and he has not been to the Seven Kingdoms in many years. You, however, came from there how long ago?"
"Approximately a fortnight," you respond.
"Then if you have truly been all over the Seven Kingdoms as you claim, you must know everything about it in modern times," Daenerys debates.
"I do, Your Grace," you insist, "I can tell you anything you would wish to know about it."
Daenerys looks pleased. "Then here is what I propose: if you swear fealty to me and help me reclaim my family's throne, you will be greatly compensated for your troubles and your services. Serve me faithfully, and you will never again have to struggle to find work or survive. How does that sound?"
You do not need long to think. You vigorously nod your head and declare "My sword is yours, Your Grace."
You extend your hand. It may be unorthodox for a commoner to bind a contract with a princess by a handshake, but you feel this type of contract would warrant such a gesture.
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