I Am Aemon Targaryen!

A deep voice sounded, startling him.

Aemon lowered his head. A burly black-haired man was staring at him intently.

When he saw Aemon looking back, a flash of irritation crossed the man's eyes. In a low voice, he said, "Disturb my sleep again, and I'll split your ass wide open."

Aemon glanced at the other slaves sleeping nearby, then crouched down and said calmly, "You won't. You like women."

"There aren't any women here."

The burly man licked his lips and gave him a leering smile.

"Want to talk?"

Aemon had no interest in pointless chatter, so he made the first move to show his sincerity.

He offered him... half a leftover potato.

The burly man glanced at it disdainfully. "What am I, some kind of beggar?"

With that, he took the potato, teeth marks and all, and gobbled it down.

Apparently, that bought Aemon enough time to talk while he ate.

Aemon understood the ways of the lower classes better than most. He lowered his voice. "Do you want to be free?"

Back in Tyrosh, he had often hung around the slums.

The man's bearing and fighting skills were like those of a fallen Knight.

The burly man seemed to think it was a joke. He scoffed. "You?"

Clever people didn't need to waste words.

"I have a few little tricks that aren't exactly respectable."

Aemon raised an eyebrow and showed him the shackles around his ankle.

He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a twisted fork.

It was made of iron, and he had swiped it from a table in the rest area.

Click!

The fork's tines slid into the lock and turned. The shackle sprang open.

Aemon looked at the man and casually held up the shackle.

As if to say, See?

The burly