Though the army led by the slavers had been defeated, a heavy sorrow still hung over the city. Only the three young dragons and the white li
Though the army led by the slavers had been defeated, a heavy sorrow still hung over the city.
Only the three young dragons and the white lion cub, Snowball, remained carefree, chasing and wrestling each other.
Since the abolition of slavery, the Red Brick City had begun to show signs of renewed vitality.
But to truly crush the wheel of history was no easy feat. Perhaps this was the only place in the world that had dared go this far. Even Westeros, which claimed to be free of slavery, merely disguised it—its powerless still lived in misery.
Drogo and Daenerys had given the slaves their freedom, but it had brought famine, and many had lost their newly precious lives.
They both reflected deeply on this. Yet neither considered compromise, nor being assimilated by the old ways. They were determined to see this path through to the end.
After the battle, over a hundred thousand freedmen had either died or fled. Fewer than fifty thousand remained.
Nearly every freedman had suffered great losses, and grief lingered like a cloud. Drogo had no choice but to assign the Unsullied and his braid-bound warriors to dispose of the corpses—men who had long grown used to death. He feared a delay would cause a devastating plague.
The blood-soaked king chose not to rest, and neither did the queen. Missandei followed them, carrying a candle, as the two solemnly walked together through every broken corner of Astapor, offering comfort to all who were wounded in body or soul.
Despite their grief, the freedmen still bowed in respect, choking out greetings for their king and queen.
None had abandoned the city. Even those who had once fled the battle were now returning.
Drogo saw that the hearts of the people remained loyal. They still loathed the hollow existence of their past lives and chose instead to live freely—even if that freedom came with pain.
All of this suffering had been brought about by the Sons of the Harpy. Drogo decided it was time for a full-scale purge. Mercy would only bring more death.
He ordered the blood-covered eunuch commander:
"Grey Worm, take the Unsullied and search the Great Pyramid. If you find anything connected to the Harpy cult, execute every Ghiscari hiding treachery. This time, no justification is needed. I've had enough of tears."
Grey Worm replied without emotion, "Yes, Your Grace. As you command."
The order was too harsh. Daenerys stepped forward.
"Drogo, please… give the Ghiscari some time to adapt. We cannot kill the innocent."
Seeing the ruins all around, Drogo's tone hardened.
"Daenerys, do you not see how many of our people have died? Over fifty thousand!"
She had witnessed it all. Some of those lives had been lost because she'd been held hostage. To protect her, many had chosen not to fight back—and had been slaughtered. Those sacrifices would haunt her forever.
His words stabbed like knives. Daenerys collapsed, sobbing.
"I'm sorry… I'm not a good queen."
Drogo offered no comfort.
"Cry. Those tears don't need to be buried."
Soon, screams and cries rang out again through the city. But this time, among the people of Astapor, there was something new: joy.
The next day, Drogo had all unburnt grain distributed to the freedmen.
He ordered craftsmen to repair the damaged walls, and summoned every alchemist to forge four iron gates. He was determined to turn this city into an unbreakable fortress.
Two weeks later, the outer defenses were complete. The trenches were filled with water from the Worm River. As for the inner city, he left its rebuilding to the hardworking freedmen.
During that time, the warriors recovered from their exhaustion. They were once again ready to fight for their king.
But Astapor would not return to its former glory anytime soon. Drogo decided to relocate the capital. His next target: Meereen, the richest and largest city in Slaver's Bay.
Before departing, he visited the fighting pit where the giant was still imprisoned.
Roman had an incredible ability to heal. Wounds that would cripple ordinary men had mostly healed in just two weeks.
When the giant saw Drogo, his rage flared. He yanked his chains so hard they clanged against the walls—after all, it had been Drogo who'd ordered the arrows fired at him.
It was expected. The horse lord wasn't angry. He calmly sat cross-legged just beyond the giant's reach.
Without any preamble, he stated plainly:
"I know where your people live. I can take you home—if you swear loyalty to me."
The first time they'd encountered the Second Sons, the giant had stood passively at the front. But when Mero, who saw him as nothing more than a war slave, shouted, "Hey, big guy, help me win this battle and I'll take you back to the land of giants," the giant had changed. The promise struck something deep. His killing intent had ignited.
Drogo had also once heard the giant say,
"I'm not a monster. I just want to go home."
It was clear—Roman had lived as an outcast in Braavos. People treated him like a freak. That, Drogo believed, was why he yearned for home.
Drogo knew many of the world's secrets. His promise was not empty—he could make it happen.
If Roman pledged loyalty, he would become the vanguard of Drogo's army. When the conquest reached beyond the Wall and into the wild lands, Roman could choose whether to stay. If he refused, Drogo would kill him—after all, the giant had been one of the key reasons Astapor had nearly fallen.
Drogo waited expectantly. But with every passing moment, Roman grew more agitated, muttering angrily in an incomprehensible tongue:
"#￥%&*"
Drogo assumed he was being insulted. Disappointed, he stood up.
"I don't need a disrespectful, foul-mouthed prisoner. Aggo, bring more archers. We'll end this."
Missandei hesitated.
"Your Grace… he's not cursing. He's speaking a Braavosi dialect, asking what you said. He doesn't understand your language."
"Ah…"
Drogo took a deep breath. He'd been speaking Dothraki, but the giant had lived in the Free Cities—he likely only understood Valyrian.
Embarrassed, he called off the order.
"Wait, Aggo."
He paused, then repeated his words in halting but loud Valyrian.
The giant froze.
Drogo knew he had him now.
Roman, surprised that Drogo could speak Valyrian, asked again in his broken tongue:
"You… you really take me to land of giants?"
Knowing that Braavosi revered the Titan, Drogo put on a solemn face.
"I swear by the Titan of Braavos. Every word I said is true."
The towering giant suddenly seemed smaller. With two loud thuds, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
"Then I, Roman, pledge loyalty to you."
Drogo reached out and patted his massive head.
"Good. From now on, you'll lead every charge for me."
The gesture—like patting a dog—was deliberate. When the giant didn't resist and even seemed calm, Drogo knew: Roman's submission was genuine.
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