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Game of Thrones: The Ruler- Chapter 16: Astapor
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 16:41:40 +0000 UTCJon Snow was sleeping soundly in a deep sleep when a sudden jolt of the ship woke him up. He stirred groggily, as he blinked his eyes in the dim cabin light to see Slyvia also rising from her makeshift bed.
He stood up, unlocked the door, and stepped out onto the ship’s deck.
What greeted his eyes were the crumbling red brick walls of a city. Astapor.
These red bricks had given the city its infamous name, The Red City. It was said that blood and bricks had built Astapor, and that the blood of countless slaves had stained the bricks red.
From a distance, the city seemed to wear a veil of dust. Most of its structures were crumbling and an ever perpetual dust seemed to cover this city.
Behind the walls loomed pyramid like structures. Those were the homes of the ruling elite of the city. Also known as the Good Masters of Astapor.
Astapor was one of the three great slaver cities on the coast of Slaver’s Bay. It was situated at the mouth of the River Worm.
It was the southernmost city of the trio of the three slaver’s city. And the city was most famous for one thing. The Unsullied.
Warrior slaves trained for perfection. Astapor had long been a hub for those who sought soldiers with discipline, skill, and resilience. The unsullied were one of the most of the elite force in the entire world.
But Jon Snow had not come to buy Unsullied. He had come to take over the city. To capture Astapor and form his base of power in this city. And to do that, he was going to borrow a page from Daenerys Targaryen’s life.
He was staring at the worn and almost crumbling harpy statue at the port gate when a portly man waddled toward him with an oily smile and greed swimming in his eyes.
“Hope you had a pleasant journey, Lord Aeos,” the man said, rubbing his hands together.
Jon, had decided to use the name Aeos for now. He had derived it from a blend of Aegon and Snow. Though not exactly a blend, but it was what it was.
The man was a merchant Jon had hired to sail him from Sunspear to Astapor. For men like him, nothing mattered more than coin.
Jon pulled a small pouch from inside his cloak and tossed it at the man.
The merchant caught it deftly, peered inside, and grinned when he saw the gold.
“Thank you, Lord Aeos. If you ever need transport or some kind of help again, you will find me here,” he said eagerly.
Jon nodded and turned toward the lowered gangplank that led from the ship to the dock.
Slyvia followed him. They had only taken a few steps when she asked, “Why are we here?”
Jon answered casually, “To get an army.”
“An army?” she repeated, frowning.
“An army of Unsullied,” Jon explained. “They are considered some of the best soldiers in the world. Trained from childhood to fight without fear, without hesitation.”
“They are epitome of discipline. They obey every command. Fight when told, die when told.”
Slyvia’s brows furrowed.
“But… they are slaves?” She questioned.
Jon nodded. “For now, yes.”
She did not quite understand what he meant by for now, but she let the topic drop.
“And what do we need an army for?” she asked.
Jon chuckled, amusement gleaming in his eyes.
“Did not I tell you? I plan to build an empire. And empires do not build themselves. They need armies.”
Slyvia blinked in disbelief. Back when Jon had first uttered such claims, she had mentally dismissed them. She thought he was just a young mercenary from some rich family playing hero.
But now, she realized he had meant every word. This boy, younger than her, was deadly serious. She followed behind him, still incredulous of what she had heard.
Astapor’s great irony was that despite breeding the most elite warriors in the world, it was one of the easiest cities to conquer. Its walls were weak and poorly maintained. Guard posts atop the walls were unmanned.
The city's defenses were almost non-existent. The Good Masters were rich and complacent. They had no interest in fortifying Astapor. Their only interest was in growing fatter off the profits of slavery.
Since the city was a bit far away from the traditional area ruled by the Dothraki, they did not have to worry much about a raid from them.
Jon and Slyvia walked for several minutes until they reached a wide open square. The Plaza of Pride.
It was Astapor’s infamous slave market. Slavers displayed their goods under- slaves, while merchants, nobles, and foreign buyers haggled over prices like they were purchasing livestock.
Their eyes then caught the grotesque sight of slaves nailed to harpy statues. It was the Plaza of Punishment. A place where disobedient slaves were executed or displayed as warnings.
Every new slave in Astapor was forced to walk past this plaza. It was a silent march which was called the Walk of Punishment, so the slaves would understand what awaited them if they disobeyed their masters.
Jon’s stomach turned. Even Slyvia looked pale, holding her breath as she stared at the nailed bodies.
These slaves were not punished for rebellion. No one in their right mind would dare defy such brutal masters. At most, the slaves might have committed some minor mistake.
This was cruelty for cruelty’s sake. More like a performance of dominance. The masters did this because they could.
Jon let out a heavy sigh, forcing the bile down. He was no saint. He knew the path he was on would be soaked in blood.
And the institution of slavery, for all its horror, did not shake him as much as this twisted spectacle did. Nailing living people to statues as a reminder of their worthlessness? That, he found monstrous.
He took Slyvia’s hand, wordlessly leading her away. After a few more turns through dusty alleys, they found a small inn.
An old man sat on a stool out front, half-asleep.
Jon approached and spoke in Low Valyrian, “I need a room.”
Jon had learned the language on the ship to Astapor, using the crew’s help and a few coins to speed the process. With his enhanced memory and mental faculties, mastering it had been easy. Even Slyvia had picked up enough to navigate.
The innkeeper looked up, squinting.
“One silver a day,” he named his price.
Jon said nothing. He stared at the man for a long moment and casually rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was still using his sword from Winterfell.
“One silver for three days,” the old man cleared his throat.
Satisfied, Jon nodded and placed a single gold coin on the table. The innkeeper’s eyes widened as he picked it up and examined it. No kingdom's mark, pure gold.
“I assume that covers all the days we will stay,” Jon said calmly. “Prepare water for two baths.”
The man bowed hastily, his tone suddenly servile.
“Of course, my lord. Right away.”
As the man shuffled inside, Jon glanced at the cracked red walls around him, then at the looming pyramid at the city’s centre.
Soon, he thought. Very soon… this city will belong to me.
