Tonight in Astapor, there was no wind.
The air was thick like un-melted syrup, carrying the sour stench of rotting slave bodies and the cloying sweetness of cheap spices.
Lynn and his group walked through the empty streets.
The good masters' pyramid estates had long since extinguished their lights; only the torches hanging on the walls flickered with dim, yellow light in the muggy air, casting Lynn and his group's shadows long and short.
"A foolish decision."
Viserys followed behind, muttering incessantly.
"We should be staying in that damned manor, drinking iced wine, and waiting for that fat man to deliver the slave army to us!"
"Instead of strolling through this cesspool like this!"
He looked with disgust at the slaves huddled in the shadows in the street corners, their forms barely discernible.
"Look at these filthy things, Lynn, you shouldn't have shown kindness to that female slave yesterday."
"You gave her a gold coin, and now, all the vermin in the city will see you as new, ripe meat."
Daenerys held Lynn's arm tightly, not saying a word.
Her other hand unconsciously gripped a small obsidian pendant of a three-headed ice dragon on her chest.
Lynn had commissioned a craftsman to carve it and given it to her; its smooth touch brought her a sense of peace.
The bloody scene in the square during the day still haunted her mind.
This city, vast and ugly, every red brick steeped in the blood and wails of the innocent.
"We're just out to see the night view, don't be so tense, His Majesty the King."
Lynn's footsteps did not stop.
"Before conquering a city, one must first familiarize oneself with its streets, mustn't one?"
"Conquer?" Viserys scoffed.
"With your ridiculous scout?"
"Or with your womanly pity of bestowing charity upon slaves?"
Unknowingly, the group arrived at the Punishment Square they had passed through earlier in the day.
The infant who had been publicly killed had already been dragged away, leaving only a dried, blackened bloodstain on the flagstones.
But his mother, the despairing female slave, was still chained in place by the overseer.
Her eyes were vacant, like a puppet from which the soul had been drawn.
A few drunken slave traders were gathered around her, spewing vulgar obscenities.
From time to time, they would reach out and grope her numb body.
Daenerys's body stiffened for a moment, and she turned her head away, unable to bear looking any longer.
Just then, a small figure silently detached herself from the shadows beside the square.
She quickly walked to the front of the group, blocking their path.
Jorah Mormont instinctively placed his hand on his sword hilt, stepping forward to shield Lynn and Daenerys.
"Don't be tense, Ser Jorah."
Lynn placed a hand on his shoulder.
The newcomer was a girl.
She wore a faded blue linen dress, and her black curly hair was tied back with a simple leather cord.
On her delicate face, there was none of the usual numbness and fear seen in Astapor slaves, only a pair of black eyes that, in the firelight, sparkled with a calmness and wisdom unsuited to her age.
It was Kraznys's slave, Missandei.
She ignored Jorah's wary gaze and did not look at Viserys's face, which was full of disgust.
Her gaze fell directly on Lynn.
She bowed slightly and spoke in a perfectly fluent Westeros Common Tongue.
"Greetings to you, noble one from the West."
Viserys frowned.
This slave's accent was purer than any Pentos merchant he had ever heard.
"The girl who broke the vase yesterday, her name was Myra."
Missandei's voice was soft yet clear.
"She used the gold coin you bestowed to buy a whole roasted chicken, a clean dress, and even redeemed her mother."
"She said it was the best thing she had ever eaten in her life."
"Now, all the slaves in the city know your name."
She looked up, her black eyes fixed on Lynn without blinking.
"They all say you are a god who has come with mercy."
"God?"
Viserys laughed exaggeratedly as if he had heard a joke.
"A slave, not even worth a vase, dares to speak of a god?"
Lynn ignored him, simply gazing calmly at the girl before him.
"You didn't stop me just to tell me this, did you?"
Missandei nervously glanced around, confirming that no overseer's gaze was directed their way.
She lowered her voice, speaking very quickly.
"The good masters have no sincerity, my lord."
"Master Kraznys boasted to everyone in the council that he would use a ridiculous trick to exchange a real dragon from a foolish Westerosi."
"The trade is fake."
"The moment you hand over the dragon, he will order the Unsullied to kill all of you."
"They never intended for you to leave Astapor alive."
Her words instantly froze the air.
Daenerys instinctively gasped, tightening her grip on Lynn's arm.
Jorah Mormont's face also turned incredibly grim, a cold sweat breaking out on his back.
Indeed.
Lord Lynn's judgment was completely correct.
This, from beginning to end, was a slaughterhouse meticulously prepared for them!
"The gibberish of a slave!"
A flush of impatience, however, appeared on Viserys's face.
"This little bastard must have been sent by those good masters to undermine us!"
"Kill her! She knows too much!"
He reached out to grab Missandei's neck.
"Stop."
Viserys's movement abruptly froze.
He turned his head and met Lynn's cold eyes.
There was no anger in those eyes, only a bottomless cold abyss.
It made Viserys feel as if he had been targeted by an Other from the Land of Always Winter, his blood threatening to freeze.
Lynn no longer looked at him, his gaze returning to Missandei.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You should know better than I the consequences of betraying the good masters."
"They will kill everything you care about, then flay you alive, leaving you to die in despair and agony."
"Because you showed me hope."
Missandei's face showed no fear; her answer was without the slightest hesitation.
"I was prepared to die when I decided to come to you."
"In Astapor, a life is worth less than a vase, less than a horse, even less than a good master's dinner."
"You made me realize that life itself should be respected."
"I don't want this hope to be extinguished."
Her voice carried a determination that transcended life and death.
Daenerys looked at the girl before her, an indescribable emotion welling up in her heart.
She was also a slave.
Yet, for a fleeting hope, she was willing to risk being nailed to a stake to deliver a warning to a stranger she had never met.
This courage made her feel ashamed, and even more, it filled her with admiration.
"You are very clever, and very brave." Lynn looked at her and suddenly smiled.
"Daenerys, give her your pendant."
Daenerys took out the obsidian three-headed ice dragon pendant and placed it in Missandei's hand.
"You keep it."
"If you encounter danger, go find the girl named Myra; she will lead you to where we are staying."
Missandei held the pendant, which still carried Daenerys's body warmth, and nodded vigorously.
She then gratefully bowed to Daenerys.
Without another superfluous word, she turned and quickly disappeared into the dark alleyways.
"A foolish decision!"
Viserys's voice rang out again, filled with the fury of being ignored.
"You actually believe a slave?"
"And you gave her Daenerys's token!"
"Lynn, you are leading all of us into the abyss!"
Lynn ignored his roar.
Daenerys also moved further away from the madman.
Her shameful brother made her feel humiliated.
Lynn merely turned around, looking back at the Punishment Square.
The slave traders had dispersed, leaving only the female slave, slumped on the ground like a pile of mud, lifeless.
"Jorah." Lynn suddenly spoke.
"Yes, my lord."
"Take this."
Lynn unfastened a heavy leather pouch from his waist and tossed it to Jorah Mormont.
The gold coins clinked, making a dull yet enticing sound.
"Go to the slave pits."
Jorah paused, looking at Lynn in confusion.
"My lord, this is…"
"Money is meant to be spent."
Lynn's gaze swept over the dark corners around the square, the lives writhing in the shadows, regarded as livestock by the good masters.
"I want you to distribute all this money."
"Tell them it's a gift from the Dragon Lord from the West."
"And I want you to tell them one more thing."
Lynn turned, looking at Jorah's gray eyes, which were full of confusion.
"Their lives are worth more than the pyramids the good masters built with blood and bones."
Jorah Mormont's heart pounded heavily.
Holding the bag of gold coins, he felt it was not gold, but a spark capable of igniting all of Astapor.
He did not ask why again, but simply nodded vigorously, then turned and disappeared into the deeper darkness… The slave pits of Astapor were the city's most festering sore.
It was located at the lowest level of the city, right next to the stinking sewers.
Here, there were no red brick high walls of the good masters' mansions, only hovels haphazardly piled together with mud and rubble.
The air was always filled with the mingled stench of sweat, excrement, and despair.
When Jorah Mormont, this well-dressed "outsider," appeared here with a bag of gold coins, it immediately caused a stir.
Countless numb eyes peered out from the dark hovels, carrying wariness, unfamiliarity, and a hint of imperceptible fear.
Jorah ignored those gazes.
He walked to a relatively open patch of dirt, untied the money bag, and poured the gleaming gold coins onto the ground.
In the dim torchlight, the glow emanating from the pile of gold coins was even more dazzling than the moon in the sky.
The surrounding breathing instantly grew heavier.
"Come closer, all of you." Jorah's voice was steady.
No one moved.
They just watched from afar, like a pack of wild beasts seeing bait but fearing a trap.
Jorah was not in a hurry either.
He drew his longsword and plunged it into the ground before him.
"These gold coins are a reward from the Dragon Lord for you."
"He said your lives are worth more than the good masters' pyramids."
A subtle stir rippled through the crowd.
Finally, a ragged old slave, leaning on a wooden stick, hobbled out from the crowd.
He walked to the pile of gold coins but did not pick them up, instead looking at Jorah with his cloudy eyes.
"My lord, are you… telling the truth?"
"I never lie."
The old man fell silent.
He slowly knelt, extended his withered hand, and picked up a gold coin from the ground.
He did not look at the gold coin, but simply clutched it tightly in his palm. Then, he pressed his forehead deeply against the filthy dirt.
Two lines of cloudy tears rolled from the corners of his wrinkled eyes, seeping into the dust.
He was not bowing to money, but to the words, "Your life is worth more than the pyramids."
Where there was one, there were two, and then three… More and more slaves emerged from the darkness.
They silently lined up, each picking up a gold coin from the ground.
There was no scramble, no fighting.
The entire process was eerily quiet.
They held the gold coin, perhaps the only one they would ever possess in their lives, walked to the side, and then, in unison, knelt towards Jorah.
They were not kneeling to Jorah, but to the Dragon Lord who had given them dignity and hope, and whom they had never even met.
Viserys was almost driven mad in the mansion.
"Idiot! Idiot! Truly an idiot!"
He spat with fury.
"Giving money to those vermin!"
"You are aiding the enemy! You are using your own money to feed a pack of wild dogs that will bite you back at any moment!"
Lynn sat calmly in his chair, not even bothering to look up at Viserys, who was about to become a dead man.
Daenerys sat beside him, quietly pouring Lynn a glass of wine.
She looked at Viserys's face, contorted with anger, and felt nothing but pure annoyance.
Her brother, the so-called true dragon bloodline, had such a narrow perspective that he could only see a few bags of gold coins right in front of him.
Even she, a woman, could realize the meaning behind Lynn's actions.
Even if Lynn supported him in ascending the Iron Throne now, she did not believe Viserys was a qualified king.
A true king… Daenerys glanced at the figure leisurely sipping his mead.
A bold thought suddenly surfaced in her mind.
Daenerys looked at the agitated Viserys, a flicker of reluctance in her eyes, quickly replaced by determination.