The night in Astapor was warm and sticky.
Jorah Mormont left to carry out his orders.
His retreating figure soon vanished beyond the manor's heavy gates of black iron and red copper.
An eerie silence settled over the hall.
Viserys had clearly run out of patience.
He paced irritably across the lavish carpet, greed and impatience flickering in his pale violet eyes.
"What exactly are we waiting for?"
He stopped abruptly, all but roaring at Lynn.
"Just use your dragon! Burn this damned city to the ground!"
"Burn all those Good Masters to ashes! Then every last Unsullied will be ours!"
"How simple would that be! How quick!"
Lynn did not even look up at him. He simply continued leisurely peeling a blood orange from the Summer Sea with a small silver knife.
Crimson juice dripped down the blade, spreading into a small, startlingly red stain on the gold plate.
Daenerys sat nearby. Watching Lynn's impossibly steady hands, she found her fear and unease miraculously subsiding.
"What a king needs is a loyal army, not a pack of beasts enslaved by fear."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"Loyalty? Ha!"
Viserys acted as though he had heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Power is loyalty!"
"As long as my dragon flies overhead, they'll only dare kneel at my feet and kiss my boots!"
He pointed at the meek, submissive slaves outside the window.
"Look at them, Lynn!"
"They were born inferior! Obedience is carved into their bones!"
"Show them kindness, and they'll only think you're weak and easy to bully!"
Just then, a young slave girl in a linen dress entered cautiously, carrying a jug of chilled mead.
She looked a little younger than Daenerys, and her black eyes were full of fear and unease.
She walked slowly, softly.
She dreaded