After concluding the council meeting, Drogo chose to forgo the majestic stallion and instead joined Daenerys in the comfort of their carriag
After concluding the council meeting, Drogo chose to forgo the majestic stallion and instead joined Daenerys in the comfort of their carriage. Proud Plaza was overflowing with freedmen who had flocked to the square, and their cries revealed that cold and hunger were their most urgent concerns.
Escorted by the Unsullied and his khalasar, the carriage moved forward slowly. The king remained silent, cold on the outside, but inwardly simmering. Daenerys, called "Mother" by the people, was full of maternal compassion, loudly promising them that everything would begin to improve the following day.
Once they finally made it out of the plaza and left the Unsullied to block the crowd behind them, the carriage turned into narrower alleys to avoid the starving masses—only to be stopped again by corpses strewn across the streets from the recent riots.
Slaver's Bay was a tropical region. If these already-rotting corpses weren't properly disposed of, they would breed disease, which could then spread via insects, air, and water—leading to deadly plagues like burning fever and brownleg.
By the time they reached the pyramid where Drogo now resided, it was nearly midnight.
Upon dismounting, he immediately ordered Grey Worm to lead the Unsullied in gathering all the corpses and burning them outside the city, far from the Worm River.
He wasn't a healer, but he knew enough to understand that blood fever was incurable. The only way to prevent it was to cut off its source. He refused to let Astapor become a city of death.
The Dothraki believed touching the dead brought misfortune, so Drogo didn't involve his superstitious khalasar.
The 700-foot golden pyramid rose from a massive square stone base. At dawn, clouds would float past its balconies. The storage rooms inside were overflowing; each balcony was a garden of figs, dates, and olives. The cellars brimmed with barrels of fine wine, salted fish, and smoked meats.
After a soak in the hot spring bath to shed fatigue, the couple sat down for supper.
The table was filled with Ghiscari delicacies—jellied dog brains, thick octopus stew, dog embryos, half-cooked offal sausages. Drogo, who could stomach raw meat, devoured them ravenously. Occasionally, he tossed scraps to Snowball, who sat by his feet waiting eagerly.
The dragons had grown too wild—Snowball could no longer keep up and now followed only Drogo.
Daenerys found the noble cuisine revolting and had no appetite. She asked Missandei to bring her figs, chilled sweet wine, honeyed bread, and roasted apples to satisfy her small hunger.
Back in the Red Waste, she had eaten anything to survive—even maggots from dead horses. But now, just as life was improving, she had started becoming picky again.
Drogo found this change distasteful, but said nothing. He figured it was a queen's prerogative. If a man could ensure the woman he loved always lived in luxury, wasn't that a worthy goal?
Still, he knew such comfort was hard to maintain in a world of blood and fire. Even the king on the Iron Throne couldn't guarantee it.
Having been used to spending time on horseback, Drogo found ruling more exhausting than warfare. He collapsed into bed, ignored Daenerys's playful advances, pulled a pillow over his head, and slept until dawn.
After a quick breakfast, the two parted ways to handle their respective tasks.
Daenerys, accompanied by Missandei, the women's council leaders, and a team of mounted warriors, rode to Proud Plaza to distribute food and win the people's hearts.
Drogo, accompanied by Jorah and Grey Worm, headed to the Punishment Square—the birthplace of the uprising. He climbed the main gate tower and looked out over the red bricks.
Outside the city stood hundreds of tents, tethered camels and horses, chained slaves, armored mercenaries, and people in flamboyant clothing wandering around. Occasionally, they shouted toward the city in High Valyrian, hoping the gates would open.
Drogo believed these people, who refused to leave even while sleeping outdoors, were mostly slavers and merchants come to buy or sell slaves.
Astapor, once the largest slave market in the world, had now fallen—and that news would soon spread across Slaver's Bay.
He was sure the merchants could hear the screams of the dying masters. Even if they weren't certain, the closed gates would be enough of a clue.
Yunkai and Meereen—Astapor's sister cities—were the real trouble ahead. But Drogo had chosen this path. Whatever came, he would meet it head-on.
After some thought, he gave an order: "Grey Worm, drive them all ten miles away. Scare them off, and then begin digging."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Grey Worm rushed off, but Drogo called him back.
"One more thing—don't dump the dirt into the Worm River. Bring it back and pile it in the plaza. The freedmen will use it to build mud huts on the land they've been given."
"Yes, Your Grace."
There had once been many masters in Astapor—but even more slaves. It was because of wealth, hired swords, and control over food and freedom that the masters had stayed on top.
Even though many pyramids now lay empty, Drogo didn't plan to let the freedmen move into them.
In his eyes, the soldiers who bled for Astapor were heroes. They should be the ones rewarded with comfortable homes.
Soon, the Unsullied's overwhelming force drove the merchants away in a panic.
Drogo was certain that if Daenerys had been there, she would've wanted to rescue the slaves outside the walls. But with the city still in shambles, trying to save one might doom many. He didn't share Daenerys's bleeding heart—his compassion was more pragmatic.
Right now, he had money. If not for Pono's looming threat, he would've gone east, beyond the Qayser Range, to the markets of Rehassa to buy grain and feed the people until harvest.
After watching the trench digging for a while, Drogo turned to look at the dragons circling the pyramid.
He murmured, "The hunger of dragons is like endless greed. They won't even spare a shriveled bat... I wonder if they'd eat a raven?"
It was clearly a thought voiced aloud.
Jorah hesitated, then said, "With the gates closed, no information can get out. The world only sees silence."
Drogo gave him a sly look. "I've heard that King's Landing has a master of whispers—some eunuch called the Eight-Legged Spider. They say his webs stretch to every corner of the world. You were a knight of Westeros—any truth to that?"
Jorah's expression twitched but quickly recovered. "Khal, I was only a minor lord of Bear Island. I've heard the name, but never met him. I can't say."
Drogo's tone chilled. "Your title may have been small, but your insight isn't. After all, you now stand beside a king far greater than that spider."
"Hahaha!"
Suddenly, Drogo laughed, clapped Jorah on the shoulder, and strode toward the tower stairs.
Jorah followed, silently digesting the words. His hand briefly slid toward his sword, revealing a flash of steel—then he let it go.
Later, guided by some freedmen, Drogo visited a pitch refinery.
The shop was closed due to the riots, but when the owner heard who was at the door, he hurried to open it and welcomed Drogo in. They spoke in private.
Afterward, Drogo continued wandering—this time, to a rocky hillside.
Once he left, the freedmen—promised extra rations—eagerly began smashing rocks with borrowed tools.
His final stop was the western gate by the Worm River. There, he signed promissory notes with the few remaining ship captains and took all their fresh lumber.
Jorah followed him throughout, still unsure of his intentions. But after Drogo's earlier warning, he dared not ask.
Back at the pyramid, Missandei led Drogo to Cleon the Butcher—who was lounging with several women.
Without a word, Drogo drew Jorah's sword and, following the steps of butchering a pig, drove the blade into Cleon's throat.
Cleon, perhaps the only Ghiscari unafraid of the new regime, was utterly terrified in his final moment.
Before his rebirth, Drogo had been known for killing on a whim. His followers had long since learned not to ask questions. Silence was the rule.
They didn't know Drogo had just eliminated a future threat—someone who might one day try to rule Astapor himself.
From that day forward, Drogo rose early to train, then roamed the city to check on his people.
By the third day, no one was starving.
By the fifth, every freedman had shelter.
By the seventh, land had been distributed and crops were being planted.
On the ninth day, Drogo stood armored atop the gate tower with his bloodriders, Grey Worm, and Jorah. In the distance, a sandstorm loomed—and from within it, the sound of galloping hooves and jingling bells.
The enemy had come.
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