Tonight in Astapor—no wind.
Air thick as undissolved syrup, carrying rotting slave corpses' sour stench mixed with cheap spices' cloying sweetness.
Lynn's party walked empty streets.
The Good Masters' pyramid estates had extinguished their lights, only wall-mounted torches flickering dim yellow in stifling air.
Stretching their shadows long and short.
"A foolish decision."
Viserys followed behind, muttering constantly.
"We should be in that damned manor, drinking chilled wine, waiting for that fat man to deliver the slave army!"
"Not like now—strolling through this sewer!"
He looked with disgust at street corners—slaves curled in shadows, forms barely visible.
"Look at these filthy things, Lynn. You shouldn't have shown that slave girl mercy yesterday."
"You gave her a gold coin. Now every bug in the city will see you as fresh meat."
Daenerys clung tightly to Lynn's arm, silent.
Her other hand instinctively gripped a small obsidian pendant carved with a three-headed ice dragon at her chest.
Lynn had commissioned it for her—its smooth touch brought comfort.
The plaza's bloody scene from daylight still haunted her mind.
This city—massive and ugly—every red brick soaked in innocent blood and wails.
"We're just out seeing the night scenery. Don't be nervous, Your Majesty."
Lynn's steps didn't stop.
"Before taking a city, one must first familiarize oneself with its streets, no?"
"Take it?" Viserys scoffed.
"With your ridiculous spy?"
"Or with your woman's mercy toward slaves?"
Unknowingly, the party reached the Punishment Plaza they'd passed during daylight.
The publicly murdered infant's corpse had been dragged away, leaving only a dried, blackened bloodstain on stone slabs.
But his mother—that despairing slave woman—remained chained in place by overseers.
Her eyes hollow, like a puppet with extracted soul.
Several drunk slave traders surrounded her, spewing obscene words.
Occasionally reaching out to grope her numb body.
Daenerys's body stiffened. She turned away, unable to watch.
Just then, a thin figure silently emerged from shadows beside the plaza.
She quickly walked ahead, blocking their path.
Jorah Mormont instinctively pressed his sword hilt, stepping forward to shield Lynn and Daenerys.
"Easy, Ser Jorah."
Lynn pressed his shoulder.
The newcomer was a girl.
She wore a faded blue linen dress, black curls tied back with a simple leather cord.
That delicate face lacked the numbness and fear common to Astapor slaves—only black eyes gleaming with composure and intelligence beyond her years in firelight.
Kraznys's slave, Missandei.
She ignored Jorah's wary gaze, didn't look at Viserys's disgusted face.
Her gaze fell directly on Lynn.
She bowed slightly, speaking in extremely standard, fluent Common Tongue of Westeros.
"Greetings, noble one from the West."
Viserys frowned.
This slave's accent was purer than any Pentoshi merchant he'd heard.
"Yesterday's girl who broke the vase—her name is Mira."
Missandei's voice was soft yet clear.
"She used your gifted gold coin to buy a whole roasted chicken, a clean dress, and even redeemed her mother."
"She said it was the best thing she'd ever eaten."
"Now every slave in the city knows your name."
She raised her head, those black eyes gazing unblinkingly at Lynn.
"They all say you're a god who came with mercy."
"God?"
Viserys laughed as if hearing a joke.
"A slave not worth a vase dares discuss gods?"
Lynn ignored him, calmly watching the girl before him.
"You stopped me not just to tell me this, right?"
Missandei nervously glanced around, confirming no overseer's gaze fell here.
She lowered her voice, speaking rapidly.
"The Good Masters have no sincerity, my lord."
"Master Kraznys boasted to everyone in council—he said he'd use a ridiculous fraud to get a real dragon from a foolish Westerosi."
"The trade is fake."
"The moment you hand over the dragon, he'll order the Unsullied to kill all of you."
"They never intended to let you leave Astapor alive."
Those words froze the air instantly.
Daenerys instinctively gasped, her grip on Lynn's arm tightening.
Jorah Mormont's face turned extremely ugly, cold sweat breaking out on his back.
As expected.
Lord Lynn's judgment was completely correct.
From start to finish, this was a slaughterhouse prepared for them!
"A slave's nonsense!"
Viserys's face flushed with impatience.
"This little bastard must be sent by those Good Masters to shake us!"
"Kill her! She knows too much!"
He reached out to grab Missandei's neck.
"Stop."
Viserys's movement froze abruptly.
He turned, meeting Lynn's cold eyes.
That gaze held no anger—only a bottomless frozen pool.
Making Viserys feel like a White Walker from the Land of Always Winter was watching him, his blood freezing.
Lynn stopped looking at him, gaze returning to Missandei.
"Why tell me this?"
"You know the price of betraying Good Masters better than I do."
"They'll kill everything you care about, then flay your skin, letting you die in despair and wails."
"Because you showed me hope."
Missandei's face showed no fear, her answer without hesitation.
"When I decided to find you, I was already prepared to die."
"In Astapor, a life isn't worth a vase, a horse, or even a Good Master's dinner."
"You taught me that life itself deserves respect."
"I don't want this hope to be extinguished."
Her voice carried determination transcending life and death.
Daenerys looked at this girl, an indescribable emotion surging in her heart.
She's also a slave.
Yet for an illusory hope, she risked being nailed to stakes to warn a stranger from foreign lands.
This courage made her feel ashamed, yet more—admiration.
"You're smart and brave." Lynn looked at her, suddenly smiling.
"Dany, give her your pendant."
Daenerys took out the obsidian three-headed ice dragon pendant, placing it in Missandei's hand.
"Take this."
"If you encounter danger, find that girl called Mira. She'll bring you to where we're staying."
Missandei gripped the pendant still warm from Daenerys's body, nodding vigorously.
She gratefully bowed to Daenerys again.
Without another word, she quickly vanished into dark alleys.
"A foolish decision!"
Viserys's voice rang out again, full of ignored rage.
"You actually trust a slave?"
"And gave Dany's token to her!"
"Lynn, you're leading us all into the abyss!"
Lynn ignored his roar.
Daenerys also distanced herself further from this madman.
This shameful brother made her feel disgraced.
Lynn just turned, looking back at Punishment Plaza.
Those slave traders had dispersed, leaving only that slave woman collapsed like mud on the ground, lifeless.
"Jorah." Lynn suddenly spoke.
"Yes, my lord."
"Take this."
Lynn untied a heavy pouch from his waist, tossing it to Jorah Mormont.
Coins clinked—a dull, tempting sound.
"Go to the slave quarters."
Jorah froze, looking at Lynn uncomprehendingly.
"My lord, this is..."
"Money is meant to be spent."
Lynn's gaze swept over dark corners around the plaza—those lives writhing in shadows, viewed as livestock by Good Masters.
"I want you to distribute all this money."
"Tell them this is a gift from the Dragon Lord of the West."
"And tell them one more thing."
Lynn turned, looking at Jorah's gray eyes 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.
He gripped that coin pouch, feeling it wasn't gold—but kindling enough to ignite all of Astapor.
He asked no more questions, just nodded vigorously, disappearing into deeper darkness.
Astapor's slave quarters—this city's filthiest abscess.
Located at the city's lowest level, adjacent to stinking sewage channels.
No red brick walls of Good Masters' estates here—only hovels haphazardly piled from mud and rubble.
Air forever reeking of sweat, excrement, and despair mixed together.
When Jorah Mormont—this well-dressed "foreigner"—appeared with a coin pouch, it immediately caused commotion.
Countless numb eyes projected from dark hovels, carrying wariness, unfamiliarity, and barely detectable fear.
Jorah ignored those gazes.
He walked to relatively open muddy ground, untied the pouch, pouring those golden coins onto the earth.
In dim torchlight, that pile of coins gleamed brighter than the moon above.
Surrounding breathing instantly grew heavy.
"Come here." Jorah's voice was steady.
No one moved.
They just watched from afar—like beasts seeing bait yet fearing traps.
Jorah wasn't anxious.
He drew his longsword, planting it in the ground before him.
"These coins are gifts from the Dragon Lord."
"He says your lives are worth more than the Good Masters' pyramids."
A subtle stir rose in the crowd.
Finally, a ragged old slave, leaning on a wooden stick, tremblingly emerged from the crowd.
He walked to that coin pile—didn't pick any up—just looked at Jorah with cloudy eyes.
"My lord... is this true?"
"I never lie."
The old man fell silent.
He slowly knelt, extending withered hands to pick up one coin.
He didn't look at it—just gripped it tightly in his palm. Then he pressed his forehead deeply into filthy mud.
Two cloudy tears slid from his wrinkled eyes, seeping into dust.
He wasn't worshiping money—but that phrase "your life is worth more than pyramids."
With the first, came the second, third...
More and more slaves emerged from darkness.
They silently queued, each taking one coin from the ground.
No scrambling, no fighting.
The entire process eerily quiet.
They held that coin—perhaps the only one they'd ever own—walked aside, then unanimously knelt toward Jorah's direction.
They weren't kneeling to Jorah—but to that Dragon Lord who gave them dignity and hope, whom they'd never met.
Back at the estate, Viserys was nearly mad with rage.
"Idiot! Idiot! What an idiot!"
Spittle flew.
"Actually giving money to those bugs!"
"You're aiding the enemy! Using your own money to feed wild dogs that'll bite you back!"
Lynn sat calmly in his chair, not even bothering to glance at this soon-to-be-dead Viserys.
Daenerys sat nearby, quietly pouring Lynn wine.
She looked at Viserys's rage-twisted face, heart full of pure disgust.
Her brother—so-called true dragon blood—his vision so narrow he only saw a few pouches of coins.
Even she, a woman, could recognize the meaning behind Lynn's actions.
Even if Lynn now supported him claiming the Iron Throne, she didn't think Viserys was a qualified king.
A true king...
Daenerys glanced at that figure leisurely drinking honeyed wine.
A bold thought suddenly surfaced in her mind.
Daenerys looked at the anxious Viserys, eyes flashing with reluctance, quickly replaced by determination.
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