The merchant ship cut through the waters of the Summer Sea, the air growing hotter and stickier with every league. The biting winds of Westeros felt like a memory from a lifetime ago.
Now, a crimson sun roasted the deck, drawing a sheen of sweat from every pore.
Daenerys leaned back into Lynn's embrace, the sea breeze toying with her silver-gold hair. She pointed to a name circled in red ink on the nautical chart, her voice tinged with confusion.
"Astapor?"
"The Dothraki are a horde of wild horses with no discipline, Dany," Lynn said, his voice calm. He held her hand, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. "They can smash through a city wall, but they'd kill each other the next second over a woman. They can only be conquered, never truly led."
Lynn's gaze drifted toward the distant southeast.
There, a reddish-brown coastline was slowly emerging from the haze.
Astapor.
The Pearl of Slaver's Bay.
A city built of blood and brick finally came into view.
Huge walls of red brick glared under the fierce sun, looking as if they were soaked in fresh blood. At the highest point of the ramparts stood a colossal bronze statue of a Harpy. She held heavy chains and a scourge aloft, looking down with contempt at every ship entering or leaving the harbor.
An indescribable stench washed over them with the hot wind. It was a mixture of sweat, cheap spices, dust, and rotting flesh.
Daenerys instinctively wrinkled her nose and buried her face deeper into Lynn's chest.
"That is Astapor," Viserys's voice drifted from nearby, laced with a sickly kind of excitement. He stood by the gunwale, staring greedily at the city that reeked of wealth and sin.
"The City of Slaves!"
"They say there are more slaves here than free men!" Viserys sneered. "Look at those fools... that fat man Illyrio is actually afraid of them! They deserve to be crushed under our boots!"
The merchant ship slowly pulled into the harbor.
On the docks, countless shirtless slaves wearing iron collars hauled heavy cargo under the crack of overseers' whips, moving like livestock. Their eyes were hollow and numb, as if their souls had been drawn out long ago.
As Lynn and his party walked down the gangplank, they were immediately surrounded by men with hooked noses, draped in the fringed tokar robes of the region.
Slave traders.
Their shrewd eyes darted back and forth between Daenerys and her handmaidens, appraising them as if they were checking the quality of livestock.
"Piss off."
Lynn didn't even look at them, spitting out the words flatly.
The slavers opened their mouths to haggle, but when they met Lynn's eyes—pitch black as the Long Night—the words died in their throats. They unconsciously took a few steps back, clearing a path.
Passing through the filthy, crowded docks, the group entered the city proper of Astapor.
Unlike the chaos of the harbor, the city streets were wide and orderly, lined with massive, pyramid-shaped buildings of red brick. These were the homes of the Good Masters.
However, beneath this order lay a deeper depravity.
Every few yards along the street, a slave was nailed to a wooden stake. Most were already dead, their bodies baked into jerky by the sun. Vultures circled overhead, descending occasionally to peck at the carrion.
This was Astapor's "Walk of Punishment," designed to strike terror into the heart of any slave who harbored rebellious thoughts.
Daenerys's face grew paler by the second. She gripped Lynn's arm tightly, her body trembling slightly.
Just then, a commotion erupted from a plaza not far ahead. It was a massive square known as the Plaza of Punishment.
In the center, a Good Master dressed in finery was using an ivory-handled whip to point at a row of young boys. The boys were shirtless, their chests branded with the mark of the Harpy.
"Behold! My lord from Qarth!"
The Good Master's voice was shrill and smug.
"Look at my newest stock! The purest Unsullied!"
"There is not a shred of fear or weakness in their bodies! They are perfect killing machines!"
To prove his point, he snapped his fingers.
An overseer dragged a ragged slave woman out of the crowd. In her arms, she clutched a swaddled infant.
"This is the final step," the Good Master smiled cruelly. "We sever their last emotional tie to this world."
He pointed casually at one of the boys in the line.
"You. Come here."
The boy, who looked no older than ten, stepped forward. His eyes were as empty as a corpse's.
"Kill that bastard spawn," the Good Master commanded, pointing his whip at the baby in the woman's arms as if ordering him to swat a fly.
The slave woman's body jerked violently. She looked at the Good Master in terror, then at the boy walking toward her. Her throat made a ragged, gasping sound, but she was too paralyzed to even beg for mercy.
The boy walked up to her and drew a short spear from his waist.
A flicker of hesitation passed through his eyes, only to be instantly replaced by cold indifference.
Thwack—
The soft sound of tearing flesh.
The infant's cry was cut short.
Blood splattered across the slave woman's desperate, numb face.
The boy withdrew the short spear without expression. He wiped the blood from the blade onto the woman's filthy tunic, then turned and marched back into the formation.
From start to finish, his expression never changed. It was as if he hadn't just taken a life, but merely crushed an insignificant bug.
"Ah—!"
A piercing scream shattered the noise of the plaza.
It wasn't the mother who had lost her child. It was Daenerys.
She could no longer suppress the horror and rage in her heart. Her violet eyes were swimming with tears.
"Quiet."
Lynn's arm clamped around Daenerys's waist like an iron band, holding her firmly against him. His voice was low, speaking directly into her ear.
"Watch, Dany. Look closely."
"Remember this face. Remember the faces of these men."
"Remember what their so-called pride is built upon."
Daenerys shook violently. She buried her face in Lynn's chest, her muffled sobs nearly choking her.
Lynn said nothing more. He simply raised his head.
He looked calmly at the Good Master, who was currently boasting about the "quality" of his merchandise.
Lynn's gaze held no anger, no pity. Only a bottomless, icy abyss.
It was the way one looks at a dead man.
---
Viserys was briefly stunned by the scene in the plaza.
But very quickly, that shock transformed into a twisted envy.
Absolute obedience. Absolute control!
This was the power a King should have!
He looked at the Unsullied, standing motionless as statues, and the greed in his eyes nearly spilled over. If he could possess such an army...
Guided by a slave, Lynn and his party arrived at a grand estate located in the upper districts of the city. It was one of the most luxurious manors in Astapor, belonging to a wealthy merchant who was perpetually away on business.
Lynn simply had the guide present a signet ring bearing the sigil of a Three-Headed Ice Dragon to the manor's steward. Within the hour, they were the new masters of the estate.
The manor was filled with slaves dressed in clean white linen tokar. They kept their heads lowered, moving silently through the corridors and gardens like ghosts, daring not to make a sound.
Lynn placed Viserys under house arrest within the compound. The man was bound to seek his own death eventually. Lynn was simply waiting for the moment Daenerys finally ran out of patience with her brother. He wouldn't let a fool like Viserys damage his relationship with her.
In the master bedroom.
Daenerys had still not recovered from the horrors of the day. She sat on the soft silk bed, hugging her knees, her beautiful face drained of all color.
"Those people... they aren't human anymore," she said, her voice bitter. "They are monsters, watered by the blood of children."
Lynn walked over and sat beside her. He didn't offer empty platitudes. Instead, he brought a cup of warm honeyed wine to her lips.
Daenerys obediently took a sip, and the trembling in her body subsided slightly.
"They are the finest warriors in the world," Lynn said calmly. "And soon, they will belong to us."
"Please!"
Daenerys jerked her head up, her tear-filled violet eyes full of resistance and disgust.
"Can we not take these monsters? I don't want to be a slaver! I won't become a demon like them!"
Lynn looked at her quietly, admiring the purity and kindness that refused to compromise, even in the face of such overwhelming sin.
Suddenly, Lynn smiled.
He reached out, gently stroking her cheek.
"Who said you were going to be a slaver?"
He stood up and walked to the massive open balcony.
Outside, the lights of Astapor flickered in the dark. The giant bronze Harpy, the symbol of slavery and oppression, looked even more hideous in the night.
"Did you think I brought you here to buy slaves?"
Lynn turned back to look at Daenerys. In his pitch-black eyes, a light shimmered that she couldn't quite understand.
"I told you, Dany."
"I came here to break things."
"Things like... those iron chains."
Just then, a slave entered the room and bowed low.
"My Lord, a man calling himself Ser Jorah Mormont seeks an audience."