The Good Master

For the next three days after arriving in Astapor, Jon merely wandered through the city. Other than occasional buying a thing or two from the market, he did nothing.

Slyvia, the entire time, followed behind him with a perpetually confused expression. She did not understand what her lord was trying to achieve by all this. She could only try to understand what he was doing.

She did not question him. She knew that if she asked, Jon would give her half-baked answers. Answers she likely would not be able to understand even in a lifetime.

Finally, after three days of observation and rest and a little bit of planning, Jon was ready to begin his plan to take over Astapor.

On the fourth day, after getting freshened up and dressed, he walked toward one of the massive pyramids that loomed over the city. His strides were confident and steps firm.

These pyramids housed the noble class of Astapor. The so-called rulers of the city.

Jon was headed to meet one of the most powerful Good Masters of the city.

Kraznys mo Nakloz, the same bald man who had sold the Unsullied to Daenerys Targaryen in the cannon. He was one of the biggest slave trader of the city.

Jon arrived at the gate of a grand mansion of the good master. Two Unsullied guards blocked his path.

"Tell your master I have a deal for him," Jon said with a smile.

The Unsullied did not react. They stood still, their eyes cold and expressionless. Jon too continued to stand with his eyes set on the unsullied.

After a few moments, one of them gave a stiff nod and walked into the mansion. Several minutes passed before a fat man in a yellow robe appeared at the gates.

His bare neck, without a slave collar, showed that he was a free man.

He looked Jon and Slyvia over and disdain flashed in his eyes. Seeing the young age of the boy, he could not think of some big deal.

"For what are you here, boy?" the man asked in an irritated tone.

"I want to make a deal," Jon replied calmly. "I want to buy your Unsullied."

"Then come to the marketplace," the man sneered.

Jon chuckled and pulled a small pouch from inside his cloak. He tossed it toward the man. The fat man caught the pouch and opened it, greed quickly overtaking his irritation. The man's eyes widened at the sight of the gold coins. Soon, a sly grin stretched across his face.

"The deal I am proposing can only be made directly with your Good Master," Jon added from the side.

"Alright. I will take you to him. But whether your deal works out or not, that is not my concern."

"Of course," Jon smiled. "I will remember your help…"

 "Do not worry," the man said. "My name is not important."

Jon nodded and followed the man inside, with Slyvia trailing closely behind. They man led them to a lavishly decorated hall. Every item in the hall screamed luxury.

"You may sit here," the man said. "I will inform the Good Master."

Jon sat back comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.

"Slyvia, how do you like the mansion?" he asked after a moment.

She assumed it was a casual question and answered honestly.

"It is quite nice, my lord. I have never seen anything this luxurious in my life."

"Good," Jon said with a soft laugh.

They waited in silence for nearly half an hour before Kraznys mo Nakloz entered the hall, flanked by four Unsullied soldiers.

Behind him came an elderly woman wearing a slave collar, and behind her, a dusky skinned girl of around sixteen or seventeen, walking with practiced poise. He recognised the girl. Missandei of Naath.

The Good Master took his seat. His guards stood at attention behind him.

"What are you here for, boy?" he asked in High Valyrian, his voice full of scorn.

The elderly woman translated his words into the Common Tongue.

[All dialogue now proceeds via translation.]

Jon did not respond immediately. Instead, he flipped a single unmarked gold coin toward the Good Master.

Kraznys caught the coin and began inspecting it closely.

"How many of these would I need to buy an Unsullied?" Jon asked.

The woman translated.

Kraznys weighed the coin in his hand. He was clearly impressed by the coins.

"Seventy to seventy-five coins, depending on the exact weight," the good master answered after few moments of his inspection.

Jon nodded. He did not dispute the price for now.

"And how many total Unsullied do you have for sale?" He asked.

The question caught the master off guard. He laughed disdainfully.

"Boy, you think you can buy them all?" he mocked. "You look like you still piss and shit in your pants."

The old woman hesitated but translated his words with a more respectful tone.

Jon, however, had understood everything. He did not react. He simply looked over at Slyvia and nodded.

Slyvia sprang into action. She leapt across the table with lightning speed, drawing her sword mid-air.

The Unsullied responded immediately. Two of them thrust their spears from a distance, while the other two moved to protect their master.

But Slyvia was faster. She sidestepped the spears with barely a shift in her stance and delivered a sharp kick to one of the Unsullied, sending him crashing into a chair beside Kraznys.

The other raised his spear just in time to block her sword, but before he could counter, Slyvia's fist struck into his gut. He collapsed gasping for breath as he almost vomited the content of his stomach.

A moment later, her blade was pressed against the Good Master's neck. The two remaining guards froze, unsure whether to act.

The entire sequence took no more than a few seconds. Kraznys, still reeling, was pale and drenched in sweat. The blade on his throat trembled slightly with his own ragged breath.

Jon remained seated, calm as ever.

"How many Unsullied do you have, Good Master?" Jon asked lightly, with slight amusement and mockery dancing in his eyes.

Now realizing this was no joke, Kraznys stammered, "6200 Unsullied."

Slyvia withdrew and returned silently to her seat.

"I want them all," Jon announced. "I will pay 70 coins for each Unsullied."

"And I want all the trainees as well. I will pay 35 coins for each trainee."

The Good Master, still shaking, nodded without protest.