There was no wind in Astapor tonight.
The air was thick and viscous as syrup, carrying the sour stench of rotting slave corpses and the sickly sweet cloying of cheap incense.
Lynn and his companions walked through the empty streets.
The pyramid-mansions of the Good Masters had long since gone dark. Only the torches mounted on the walls flickered in the stifling heat, casting dim, yellow light that stretched Lynn's shadow long and then short against the red brick.
"A foolish decision."
Viserys trailed behind, muttering incessantly.
"We should be back in that damned manor, drinking iced wine and waiting for that fat man to deliver his slave army to our doorstep!"
"Not walking through this open sewer like we are now!"
He looked with disgust at the corners of the street where slaves huddled in the shadows, their forms barely visible.
"Look at this filth, Lynn. You shouldn't have shown mercy to that slave girl yesterday."
"You gave her a gold coin. Now, every cockroach in the city will see you as fresh meat."
Daenerys held tightly to Lynn's arm, saying nothing.
Her other hand unconsciously clasped a small pendant hanging from her neck—a three-headed dragon carved from obsidian. Lynn had commissioned a craftsman to make it for her. Its smooth, warm touch brought her a sliver of peace.
The bloody scene in the plaza earlier that day still haunted her mind.
This city was vast and hideous. Every red brick seemed soaked in the blood and wails of the innocent.
"We're just out to see the night view. Don't be nervous, Your Grace," Lynn said without stopping.
"Before conquering a city, one must become familiar with its streets, no?"
"Conquer?" Viserys scoffed.
"With your ridiculous spy?"
"Or with that womanly kindness you waste on slaves?"
Unknowingly, the group had arrived back at the Plaza of Punishment they had passed during the day.
The body of the infant killed in public view had been dragged away, leaving only a dried, blackened bloodstain on the stone.
But his mother, the despairing slave woman, was still chained in place by the overseers.
Her eyes were empty, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Several drunken slavers surrounded her, spewing vile obscenities and occasionally reaching out to grope her numb body.
Daenerys stiffened and turned her head away, unable to watch.
Just then, a small figure slipped silently out of the shadows beside the plaza.
She walked quickly to the front of the group, blocking their path.
Jorah Mormont's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt. He stepped forward, shielding Lynn and Daenerys.
"Easy, Ser Jorah."
Lynn placed a hand on his shoulder.
The newcomer was a girl.
She wore a faded blue linen dress, her black curly hair tied back with a simple leather cord. Her delicate face lacked the numbness and fear common to Astapori slaves. Instead, her black eyes shone in the torchlight with a calm intelligence that belied her age.
It was Kraznys's slave, Missandei.
She ignored Jorah's wary gaze and didn't even glance at Viserys's disgusted face.
Her eyes were fixed straight on Lynn.
She bowed slightly and spoke in perfectly fluent Common Tongue.
"Greetings, noble lord from the West."
Viserys frowned.
The slave's accent was purer than any Pentos merchant he had ever heard.
"The girl who broke the vase yesterday... her name is Mira," Missandei said, her voice soft but clear.
"She used the gold coin you gave her to buy a whole roast chicken and a clean dress. She even bought her mother's freedom."
"She said it was the best meal she had ever eaten in her life."
"Now, every slave in the city knows your name."
She lifted her head, her black eyes unblinking as she looked at Lynn.
"They say you are a god who has come with mercy."
"God?"
Viserys laughed exaggeratedly, as if he had heard a grand joke.
"A slave worth less than a vase dares to speak of gods?"
Lynn ignored him, calmly watching the girl before him.
"You didn't stop me just to tell me this, did you?"
Missandei glanced nervously around, ensuring no overseers were watching.
She lowered her voice, speaking rapidly.
"The Good Masters have no honor, my Lord."
"Master Kraznys boasted to everyone at the council. He said he would use a ridiculous trick to swindle a foolish Westerosi out of a real dragon."
"The trade is a lie."
"The moment you hand over the dragon, he will order the Unsullied to kill you all."
"They never intended to let you leave Astapor alive."
Her words froze the air around them.
Daenerys sucked in a cold breath, clutching Lynn's arm tighter.
Jorah Mormont's face turned grim, a layer of cold sweat breaking out on his back.
It was true.
Lynn's judgment had been completely correct.
From start to finish, this was a slaughterhouse meticulously prepared for them!
" The ravings of a slave!"
A flush of impatient anger rose on Viserys's face.
"This little mongrel must have been sent by the Good Masters to shake our resolve!"
"Kill her! She knows too much!"
He reached out, aiming to grab Missandei by the throat.
"Stop."
Viserys froze mid-motion.
He turned his head and met Lynn's icy gaze.
There was no anger in those eyes, only a bottomless, freezing pool. Viserys felt as if he were being stared at by a White Walker from the Land of Always Winter; his blood felt like it was freezing in his veins.
Lynn looked away from him, his gaze returning to Missandei.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You know the price of betraying a Good Master better than I do."
"They will kill everything you care about, then flay the skin from your body, leaving you to die in despair and agony."
"Because you showed me hope."
There was no fear on Missandei's face. Her answer was without hesitation.
"I was ready to die the moment I decided to find you."
"In Astapor, a life is worth less than a vase, less than a horse, less even than a Good Master's dinner."
"You showed me that life itself deserves respect."
"I don't want that hope to be extinguished."
Her voice carried a resolve that transcended life and death.
Daenerys looked at the girl and felt an indescribable emotion swell in her chest.
She was a slave too. Yet for the sake of an ethereal hope, she was willing to risk being nailed to a stake to warn a stranger she had never met.
This courage made Daenerys feel ashamed, and deeply admiring.
"You are very smart, and very brave." Lynn looked at her and suddenly smiled.
"Dany, give her your pendant."
Daenerys took off the obsidian three-headed dragon pendant and placed it in Missandei's hand.
"Take this."
"If you are in danger, find the girl named Mira. She will bring you to where we are staying."
Missandei clasped the pendant, still warm from Daenerys's skin, and nodded vigorously.
She curtsied gratefully to Daenerys.
Without another wasted word, she turned and vanished quickly into the dark alleyway.
"A foolish decision!"
Viserys's voice rose again, full of the rage of being ignored.
"You trust a slave?"
"And you gave her Dany's token!"
"Lynn, you are leading us all into the abyss!"
Lynn ignored his shouting.
Daenerys moved a little further away from the madman. This shameful brother made her feel disgraced.
Lynn simply turned back toward the Plaza of Punishment.
The drunken slavers had dispersed, leaving only the slave woman collapsed on the ground like a pile of mud, lifeless.
"Jorah," Lynn said suddenly.
"Here, my Lord."
"Take this."
Lynn untied a heavy leather pouch from his waist and tossed it to Jorah Mormont.
The gold coins clinked together, making a dull, enticing sound.
"Go to the slave pits."
Jorah paused, looking at Lynn in confusion.
"My Lord, this is..."
"Money is for spending."
Lynn's gaze swept over the dark corners surrounding the plaza, over the lives squirming in the shadows, treated as livestock by the Good Masters.
"I want you to distribute all this money."
"Tell them it is a gift from the Dragon Lord of the West."
"And I want you to tell them one thing."
Lynn turned to look into Jorah's bewildered grey eyes.
"Tell them their lives are worth more than the pyramids the Good Masters built on blood and bone."
Jorah Mormont's heart thumped heavily against his ribs.
Holding the bag of coins, he felt as if he weren't holding gold, but a bag of sparks enough to set all of Astapor ablaze.
He asked no further questions. He simply nodded firmly and disappeared into the deeper darkness.
---
The slave pits of Astapor were the city's foulest ulcer.
Located at the very bottom of the city, right next to the reeking sewage canals, there were no red brick walls or grand estates here. Only hovels hastily piled together from mud and rubble.
The air was perpetually thick with the stench of sweat, excrement, and despair.
When Jorah Mormont, a finely dressed "outlander," appeared here with a bag of gold, he immediately caused a stir.
Countless pairs of numb eyes peered out from the dark hovels—wary, strange, and filled with a hidden fear.
Jorah ignored the stares.
He walked to a relatively open patch of mud, untied the money bag, and poured the glittering gold coins onto the ground.
Under the dim torchlight, the pile of gold shone brighter than the moon in the sky.
Breathing around him instantly grew heavy.
"Come here," Jorah's voice was steady.
No one moved.
They watched from a distance, like wild animals eyeing bait but fearing a trap.
Jorah wasn't in a hurry.
He drew his longsword and stabbed it into the earth before him.
"These coins are a gift to you from the Dragon Lord."
"He says your lives are worth more than the Good Masters' pyramids."
A ripple of movement went through the crowd.
Finally, a ragged old slave, leaning on a wooden stick, walked tremblingly out of the throng.
He approached the pile of gold but didn't pick any up. Instead, he looked at Jorah with cloudy eyes.
"My Lord... is what you say... true?"
"I never lie."
The old man fell silent.
Slowly, he knelt, reached out a withered hand, and picked up a single coin.
He didn't look at the gold. He just clutched it tightly in his palm. Then, he pressed his forehead deep into the filthy mud.
Two lines of muddy tears slid from his wrinkled eyes, soaking into the dust.
He wasn't kneeling to the money. He was kneeling to the words: "Your life is worth more than a pyramid."
With the first came the second, then the third...
More and more slaves emerged from the darkness.
They lined up silently, each taking a single coin from the ground.
There was no looting, no fighting.
The process was eerily quiet.
Clutching the coin that might be the only wealth they would ever possess, they stepped aside and, in unison, knelt in Jorah's direction.
They weren't kneeling to Jorah. They were kneeling to the Dragon Lord they had never met, the one who had given them dignity and hope.
Back at the manor, Viserys was nearly insane with rage.
"Fool! Fool! Absolute fool!"
Spittle flew from his mouth.
"Giving money to those cockroaches!"
"You are funding the enemy! You are using your own money to feed a pack of stray dogs that will bite you the moment they can!"
Lynn sat calmly in his chair, too lazy to even glance at Viserys, who was essentially a walking corpse.
Daenerys sat nearby, quietly pouring Lynn a cup of wine.
Looking at Viserys's face twisted in anger, she felt nothing but pure disgust.
Her brother, the so-called blood of the dragon, had a vision so small he could only see a few bags of gold.
Even she, a woman, could realize the meaning behind Lynn's actions.
Even though Lynn supported Viserys's claim to the Iron Throne, in her heart, she no longer believed Viserys was fit to be a King.
A true King...
Daenerys glanced at the figure leisurely sipping his wine.
A bold thought suddenly surfaced in her mind.
She looked at the frantic Viserys, a flicker of pity in her eyes quickly replaced by resolve.
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