9:Jon

Jon

Astapor was a city of red stones. No, that was not right. Astapor was a city of death and blood.

Until now Jon heard only stories about this city, but riding through its bloodied streets made him wonder what this place must have been like before Daenerys' had killed the masters.

Everything in this city had once been geared towards the business of slave trade, but now it was a place of hell.

Everywhere he looked he found death. Half-rotten corpses littered the ground, half-starved children were hiding in the abandoned and burned-down buildings. Now and then, he spotted a woman carrying a babe or pulling her children along the street. The only women that had approached them had offered themselves up as whores in exchange for food and water. That the majority of their army was made of Unsullied didn't seem to bother them and some of the Unsullied had been quite receptive to their offers.

Even men lacking a cock crave human warmth, Jon recalled as he swept his gaze over the place that had once been the Plaza of Punishment or that was at least what Tuco had told them. He, like many other slaves had followed his Aunt to Meereen.

Jon couldn't fathom what it must feel for the boy to return here, though he seemed calm as ever. He hardly spoke, but now and then he pointed at a pyramid and gave him an anecdote about its previous owner or whether this or that particular master had been kind to his slaves or not.

Not that any of these masters had made it. Most had been killed during the sack of the city and the rest had had been slain by the rebellious slaves. The few that had been left after this, especially the younger noble boys, had been turned into a new force of Unsullied, serving the supposed butcher king.

The Unsullied marching with Jon had taken offence when Jon had called the butcher king's half-starved boys "Unsullied."

Unsullied cannot be made in a matter of moons, Greyworm had told Jon when they had laid eyes on the good thousand boys the butcher king had sent to meet them in battle. It takes years to train them. These are green boys, a poor imitation of the Unsullied.

The battle itself had lasted barely an hour, before the false Unsullied had bolted, abandoning the battle. Some had even turned on their own men, who had continued fighting, butchering them like sheep. The rest, as their brave leader, had fled back behind the city walls.

Thus, the siege of Astapor had begun.

Jon and Greyworm had both expected that the slaves inside the city would eventually turn on their king, but that the siege would only last for two days had surprised them.

The gates to the seven hells, Jon thought in hindsight as they rode towards the large pyramid, where large crowd of people had gathered. Looking at their fine clothing one could have believed they were masters. Some of them wore silken tokars, fringed with gold and silver. Others had bedecked their necks, arms and other body parts with golden necklaces, rings and silver trinkets. They looked like princes or lords, though their gaunt faces told him that they too hadn't seen a proper meal in a long time, which didn't surprise Jon.

They had found hundreds of peaked corpses strewn over the city. More had died of hunger than through violence and many more would die in the coming weeks.

Jon had taken several wagons of food with him, but they would also have depend on what little was left in the city.

"Be praised, friends!" one of the men exclaimed and lowered his head in greeting to Jon and Greyworm. "The Mother of Dragons be praised too!"

The man that had spoken was a haggard fellow with a crimson robe and a heavy chain of gold. He looked like a master, but the slave markings on his neck betrayed the truth.

It was an ironic sight to behold. These were former slaves who had donned their master's clothing and yet all looked starved and haggard.

All the riches in this city hadn't been enough to feed them.

And now they had butchered their king. Jon also didn't know if he shouldn't consider them friends or enemies.

They had to tread carefully.

"Who are you?" Jon asked and whistled at Ghost, who had bared his teeth. "Are you the leader of these people?"

The smell of blood clinging to these men must have woken his animalistic urges, but after Jon had whistled Ghost backed down immediately.

"I am Nekloz," the man explained, his voice laced with a thick Ghiscari accent. There was a hint of anger behind that voice. "I once served as a master of this city. For some time, I served as his scribe and thought letters to his children. Later I was even his trusted steward. When the Mother of Dragon's freed the city all the slaves in my household rebelled against my master. The butcher king was one of these slaves and I helped him murder our master, but then he also murdered the poor mistress and turned her boys into Unsullied. I have raised these boys and I have loved the my mistress…and now I have taken revenge against the butcher king."

Then he waved his hand at a young man, who had just emerged from the ever-growing crowd of people.

"Here. A gift for you, my friends."

Jon didn't even have to take a look into the bundle the young man was carrying. The woolen material was drenched with blood.

Jon held his breath as he glimpsed inside. The smell was still blinding and made him want to empty his meagre fast onto the open street, but the sight that presented itself to him was even more grizzly.

Jon counted six heads, all of them bloody and rotten. One head belonged to a man in his forties and was particularly ugly. His face was so bludgeoned it looked as if it had been kicked throughout the entire city, but it was not the sight of this head that had caused him distress. No, it were the heads of the women and small children that made his stomach flutter in discomfort.

"I suppose that is the butcher king?" Jon asked and pointed at the bludgeoned head.

"Aye," the man confirmed and bared his teeth. "And the others are his wives and children. We killed them all. A worthy gift for the Mother of Dragons."

Jon doubted Daenerys' would welcome such a gift, but after seeing the state of the city he had a good idea what kind of a king this butcher king had been. He must have been must have been worse than the masters if his "subjects" had butchered him and his king in such a grizzly manner.

Jon nodded his head and swept his gaze over the crowd of people. Lord Eddard would have taken these man's head for butchering innocent women and children, but this man had also been of help to Jon.

A siege could have lasted for weeks or even moon, the siege of Astapor had only lasted for barely a few days.

And the blood of women and children had been the price for their quick victory.

The thought filled Jon with rage and shame.

Was this how Lord Eddard had felt after she saw my half-siblings' butchered corpses?

If you hadn't broken your vows you could have asked him yourself, Jon knew. The feeling of guilt was not as strong as in the past, but the guilt was still there, making his heart clench.

I am not my Uncle, he reminded himself and banished these feelings from his heart. I am may own person. I must make my own decisions.

Thinking like this made it easier for him to forget his disgust and helped him clear his mind.

And yet he couldn't help but to give the man a sharp rebuke.

"The Mother of Dragons would feed you to her dragons if she knew that you butchered women and children," Jon told him and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword. It was a threatening gesture. "But I did not come here to sit justice over you. I came here to free this city from the butcher king. Tell me, how many freedmen still reside among these walls and what is needed to return order to this city?"

"Order?" another man asked bitterly. He was short and stocky, his head bald and red like a lobster. "Are you blind? Those that remain are either starving or dying in the Temple of Graces. This city is lost…soon there will be nothing left but rotting corpses."

Jon felt slapped and exchanged a quiet look with Greyworm.

Greyworm looked as if he wanted to speak, but he remained silent.

Greyworm never spoke unless asked.

It must be an old habit or mayhaps he was simply showing respect to Jon because Daenerys' had ordered him to do so.

It made Jon only more away of his position. He was acting on Daenerys' behalf.

"How many freedmen are still residing in this city?" Jon repeated his question and searched the man's gaze. "I am only asking for a rough estimation? And more importantly…How many of them are sick?"

"Around ten-thousand are still residing in this city," a woman added pleadingly, her single remaining eye wet with tears. She was around fifty, her face wrinkled and her other eye an empty socket. It looked as if someone had burned it out with a hot poker. "A third of them is sick and the rest is either starving or looting the city for food. You must help us…please."

Jon shuddered when he noticed the skeleton child clinging to her skirt. It looked more like a walking corpse than a human, spittle running down its lips chin.

"All will be well," lied and shifted his attention back to the crowd.

His voice faltered a little when he saw the sheer amount of people, but then Jon straightened himself and raised his voice. He couldn't allow himself to show weakness.

"None of you shall be judged for the murder of the butcher king or his family. This I promise, but now that the city has been freed from his grasp we need to restore order. I have brought food, but it will be strictly rationed. Looting shall be punished with death and the Unsullied will carry out this punishment without question. I also have need of able hands to gather and burn the rotten corpses. Everyone who works shall receive food, this I promise. Those are the rules. Accept them and live or break them and die."

"We cannot stay!" a young girl begged, completely ignoring his earlier words. "The plague will kill us all!"

"Your rules cannot feed us!"

"We need to leave this city!" Another woman wept and fell to her knees.

"Meereen! Take us to Meereen!" a boy shouted at the top of his lungs. "Meereen is our only hope!"

More and more of the freedmen gathered around them. Ghost bared his teeth as them, but Jon waved his hand at him, urging him to remain in place.

The Unsullied, who had walked in formation had also raised their spears, their sharp tips now pointing in the direction of the freedmen.

Yet it was no use.

"Enough! Calm yourself!" Jon shouted at the top of his lung, but by then one of the freedmen had struck the first blow, a sharp dagger finding its way through one of the Unsullied's leather armor.

It was the spark that made the keg blow over. Daggers roses and fell and spears found their way into women and men alike. There were children too, their shrieks of terror filling his ears.

Jon had not had much time to think, for the freedmen had tried to drag him from his horse, but Jon had managed to slip his blade free and had slashed a man's neck. He kicked another out of the way and a shrieking woman was killed by Ghost, who had buried his sharp teeth in the woman's neck.

Jon fought his way through the crowd, hacking down those that were trying to howl him down and avoiding those who were trying to evade him. He swept his gaze left and right, searching for his squire, who had been swallowed by the crowd.

When Jon laid eyes on Tuco, he was half-dead, his head bloody as if it had been cracked with a hammer. Jon gritted his teeth and pushed a good dozen of people aside, but it was no use. The boy was gone.

Yet he had not time to mourn. Soon he was also fighting for his own survival, hacking away men and women alike…

When the butchery was finally over the sky had changed to a gloomy grey color, the pyramids casting long shadows over the ravaged streets.

Off in the distance he noticed swathes of dark smoke blemishing the sky.

"How shall we proceed?" Greyworm asked him later after they had brought order back to the city and had retreated to the safety of one of the stepped pyramids. He was a few years older than Jon and yet he was asking him what to do.

I spoke to them like a silly boy, he realized, slowly becoming aware of his failure. I was a fool to expect obedience from them.

He should have known better than to expect obedience from a horde of starving people.

They would only understand fear. Fear and a firm hand.

It was the only way to return order to the city.

"We shall do what we set out to do…to return order to this city," Jon replied in an imposing tone. "Send out the Unsullied to scour the city for survivors. Explain to them they will receive food and protection if they are prepared to work. And salvage any wood you can find. We need to build pyres to burn the dead."

"What of the sick ones?" Greyworm asked stoically as ever.

"Custom would dictate to kill them, before they can infect the healthy ones."

Jon was stunned by Greyworm's answer, but then he shouldn't have expected anything less.

An Unsullied has to slay a babe on its mother's breast, he recalled.

And Greyworm certainly had a point, but Jon had shed enough blood for one day.

He was no butcher, even if he had soiled his blade with the blood of women and children.

"Leave them be," Jon replied and winced when he brushed his hand over his side, where one of the rioters had cut him open. It wasn't a deep cut, but the wound had to be sewn together. "But send those who appear sick to the Temple of Graces. We must keep them away from the healthy ones."

A common man would have objected, but Greyworm simply tapped his spear on the dusty ground and went to work.