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A S T A P O R, V I S E R Y A
VISERYA WALKED ACROSS A DOCK with houses on one side of the pathway while the other was filled with men hanging on tall, wooden beams. Their hands were nailed into the wood, their arms were bound up by chains and each of their heads hung low from exhaustion, and the slavers shirtless bodies displayed whip-lashes that left blood oozing out of their flesh, causing thirsty bloodflies to fly and linger around them.
" The Walk Of Punishment is a warning, Your Grace," Barristan Selmy said to Viserya, keeping at her pace. She slowed down after coming across another slave that was bound to a wooden beam.
A frail young man who's pants were filled with his own feces from day's of being forced to stand in one place and stained with clotted blood that congealed over infected wounds. Vi shook her head in disgust. " A warning to whom?"
" To any slave who contemplates doing whatever these slaves did." Viserya looked over her shoulder, facing Ser Jorah and extending out her pale hand. " Give me your water." Ser Jorah removed the wineskin from his waist, narrowing his blue eyes onto Vi carefuly, " Khalessi, this man has been sentenced to death." Viserya snatched the wineskin of water from the knight and proceeded up the platform steps to reach the bound and chained slave.
" Here, drink," Vi mumbled as she took off the lid and held the wineskin close to the slave's chapped lips. The young man shook his head to decline with the little energy he had left, murmuring incoherently. " Leave this place, Your Grace," Barristan began to plead. " Leave tonight, I beg you."
" And what is she to do for soldiers?" Ser Jorah asked the new member to their cause. " We can find sellswords in Pentos and Myr."
Viserya let the men bicker amongst themselves as she walked down the platform, her mind elsewhere while placing the lid back onto the wineskin and sealing it shut. " Is it 'we' already, Ser Barristan?" The two glared at one another as Vi approached them, " If you want to sit on the throne your ancestors built, you must win it," Ser Jorah told Viserya. " That will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done."
" I would rather bathe in the blood of my enemies before subjecting innocents to death." The stillness on both of the men's faces before her did well at showing they did not catch her small attempt at humor, maybe it was too dark, or maybe they weren't fond of jesting, so Viserya decided not to do that again. Not with them.
She handed Jorah back his water and returned to strolling down the bay area, passing by slavers and wealthy merchants with their bounded slaves. " How many wars have you fought in, Ser Barristan?" Ser Jorah asked the knight. " Three."
