Mercy

The peasant woman knelt rigidly on the ground, her legs seeming to be welded to the earth.

Her ragged clothes were caked with dirt, and her dry, tangled hair covered most of her face.

Only her swollen, terrified eyes showed from time to time.

Suleiman stood before her. Though he was not particularly tall, to her he seemed like an insurmountable mountain.

"Why didn't you come to my castle to ask for an audience?" Suleiman's voice was no longer weak. Instead, it carried an authority even he himself found unfamiliar.

The peasant woman shrank back, lowering her head even further.

Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz. "My lord, I—I didn't dare. I was afraid of offending you, afraid you'd—afraid you'd punish me."

"Punish you for what?" Suleiman asked, surprised.

The woman's shoulders shook violently. Her whole body trembled as if something horrifying were about to happen to her.

Sobs welled up again as she kowtowed repeatedly, her head striking the ground like a pestle. Her despair seemed bottomless. "I was afraid you'd punish me, punish my children..."

"My husband, Old Hack, followed Old Lord to Seaguard. He never came back."

"There's no food at home. My two children are about to starve to death. I—I only wanted to beg for your mercy, my lord."

"But when I got to the gate, I was afraid of offending you, afraid you'd punish me."

"So I wanted to go back, but when I got here, I thought about how useless I was. I can't even catch fish. I stole one from someone else and got caught, and they beat me badly."

"My children are about to starve to death, and I couldn't control my body or my tears."

"I didn't mean to offend you, my lord. I—I deserve to die. Please spare me, my lord. Please spare me. I'll leave right now. I'll leave."

She spoke incoherently, her body trembling more violently with every sentence.

She knew all too well how Westerosi nobles viewed their lowly subjects, who were no better than livestock.

They were merely appendages to the land, no more than beasts.

Some kinds of livestock were worth more than they were.

They had no rights, no dignity. Whether they lived or died depended entirely on a single word from their lord.

A peasant who offended his lord—or merely put him in a bad mood—could be whipped, driven out, or even killed.

Coming here at all was an enormous risk. Her fear had overwhelmed everything else.

Suleiman fell silent.

He looked at the woman, utterly broken by despair and terror, and his thoughts churned.

This was a cold, cruel feudal society, with a rigid hierarchy and lives as worthless as blades of grass.

He knew why she was so afraid. That bone-deep reverence and humility before those in power was the truth of eight thousand years of history.

It suddenly struck him how fortunate he was to have become a minor noble in Westeros, even if his lands had nothing.

He was still better off than ninety-nine percent of Westeros's commoners.

He took a deep breath and tried to make his voice sound gentle. "I won't punish you."

At those words, the peasant woman stiffened slightly, as if she couldn't believe her ears, but she still didn't dare look up.

"Steward Niken." Suleiman turned to the old steward behind him. "Go to the granary and bring her two sacks of grain. Then take three coppers from the family treasury and give them to her."

Old Nicken froze, his cloudy eyes full of confusion.

His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he merely bowed. "Yes, young master Suleiman."

He knew how empty the family granary had become and how little they had left in reserve.

Yet young master Suleiman wanted to give what little remained to a peasant woman on his lands.

It was unheard of. Simply allowing her family to live on House Foulkeep's land was already the greatest mercy they could hope for!

He sighed, his mind full of questions, and shuffled toward the tower.

Lushen and Roslyn, standing behind Suleiman, were completely stunned.

They had both been born as tenant farmers on a lord's land, and knew exactly how lords treated peasants.

Forget giving them food or compensation. Peasants were routinely beaten over trivial matters or disposed of and killed at their whim.

Lushen had only just worked up the courage to say a few words, and already felt he had used up every bit of it. He had never expected the young master not only to let them off without punishment,

but to show kindness to the family of a peasant woman who was of no use to him at all!

They stared at Suleiman's back, their expressions complicated, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and an unspoken gratitude.

They had never met a noble lord like this, someone willing to listen to the hardships of tenant farmers and even offer them help.

The peasant woman on the ground finally raised her head, her eyes full of tears and shock.

She looked up at Suleiman, then abruptly began pounding her forehead against the ground again and again.

"Thank you for your generosity, Lord Suleiman! Thank you for your kindness! May the Seven Gods bless you, Lord Suleiman! May the Seven Gods bless you, Lord Suleiman! May the Seven Gods bless House Foulkeep!" Her sobs were no longer despairing, but filled with incredulous gratitude.

She had never imagined that after losing her husband, with her children and herself on the verge of starvation,

and just as she was preparing to face the final depths of despair, she would receive such great kindness from her lord.

Two sacks of grain and three coppers would save her and her children from hunger. It was a gift she had never dared to dream of.

When she gave up on asking her lord for help,

she had planned to drown her two children when she got home, then throw herself into the river. She would spare them the pain of hunger and join her husband with her children.

"Get up," Suleiman said calmly.

The peasant woman knocked her head against the ground a few more times, then scrambled clumsily to her feet and stood to one side.

Her legs had gone numb after kneeling for so long, the blood no longer circulating properly. She swayed unsteadily, trembling with excitement and gratitude.

Suleiman looked at her, then turned to Lushen and Roslyn. He had made up his mind.

In Westeros, he needed to survive. He needed strength. His lands were too small, and his people too few. He would have to rule them in a different way.

The loyalty of the people he helped and protected might become the foundation he could rely on.

They were poor and weak, but if he could unite them... With that thought in mind,

"Lushen, Roslyn." Suleiman looked at them.

"Yes, my lord!" The two immediately straightened up and answered him loudly, their voices full of excitement.

"Every peasant who went to war with Old Lord, except for you, died in battle." Suleiman's voice was low. "You fought for my family. They died for my family."

The two lowered their heads, tears glinting in their eyes.

"Old Nicken's back." Suleiman saw the old steward approaching with two sacks of grain in his arms and a few coppers clutched in his hand, his face pinched with pain.

Holding out the things to the peasant woman, he said, "Take these. Remember, you owe this to House Foulkeep. Remember young master Suleiman's kindness!"

The peasant woman took the grain and coins, then knelt again to offer her thanks.

"May the Seven Gods bless you, Lord Suleiman! May the Seven Gods bless you, Lord Suleiman! May the Seven Gods bless House Foulkeep! Lord Suleiman will surely be rewarded for his kindness!"

Suleiman told her to go home, then turned to Old Nicken, his expression stern. "Steward Niken, go take care of three things immediately."

"First, take stock of all the food, coins, weapons, armor, livestock, and farming tools the family has left. Make a list of everything of value, including household goods!"

"Make the list as detailed as possible," Suleiman said.

"Yes, young master Suleiman," Old Nicken replied. Though he didn't understand why such a detailed inventory was needed, he agreed.

"Second." Suleiman paused, his voice heavy. "Make a list of all the peasants who went to fight at Seaguard with my father. Every family must receive compensation. Give less to families with young adult men who can still support them, and more to those who've lost their only able-bodied man and are left with only women and children."

"Third, Lushen and Roslyn, take all your equipment and go to the village. Help Old Nicken distribute the compensation. If anyone dares steal it, or mistreat the families of those who died for my family, cut off his hand and nail it somewhere everyone can see!"

When Old Nicken heard the second order, his face grew even more alarmed. "Young master Suleiman, what—what are you planning to do?"

"I want to know," Suleiman said slowly, gazing at the distant sky, "how many families have lost their means of support because of my family. Help me calculate how much grain and money it will take to make sure that, at the very least, these families don't starve to death while under my care."

At those words, Old Nicken was utterly dumbfounded.

His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. He simply stood there, staring blankly, bewilderment written all over his face.

He had lived a long life and seen countless lords, but he had never heard of one who cared so much about the lives of his people.

Much less one willing to spend what little his family had left to "compensate" the families of dead tenant farmers.

It was unprecedented, unheard of. To him, it was entirely unnecessary—a tremendous waste of the family's wealth!

Everyone knew that the people of Westeros had no human rights.

A lord could beat or kill them whenever he pleased. He could even claim the "right of the first night" and take their wives and daughters by force.

Peasants were obligated to fight when summoned by their lord. It wasn't a right they could choose to exercise. That was written into the laws of the Seven Kingdoms!

If a peasant died, his family would find a way to survive. Even if they starved, that was their fate. Why should a lord care?

Hearing Suleiman's orders, Lushen and Roslyn exchanged a look, their eyes full of shock and gratitude. This young lord

was unlike any noble they had heard of or ever met.

Suleiman paid no attention to Old Nicken's confusion. His gaze was sharp and resolute.

He knew he was facing a huge predicament: poverty, weakness, isolation, and a terrifying future that was drawing near.

But he also knew that in a world like this, he couldn't rely on himself alone.

In this cruel world, he needed people who would stand firmly by his side. His only hope might lie in these lives that seemed so insignificant.

He needed to win people's loyalty, build trust, and give his people, who were about to face disaster, a glimmer of hope—and a reason to follow him.

This was the first step he would take toward building a future in this world.