Game of Thrones: The blind warrior

**Zhal's Perspective**

Zhal wiped the sweat from his brow as he stood among the ranks of the Unsullied, spear in hand. The sun beat down on him, merciless and unyielding, but he welcomed the burn of it on his skin. It was nothing compared to the brutal training he had endured alongside the Unsullied over the past few days.

At first, he hadn't been sure whether he could keep up with them. These soldiers, these warriors—each one trained from birth to fight without fear, without question, and without hesitation. They moved with a precision that Zhal had never seen in his time with Khal Drogo's khalasar. The Dothraki fought wild and free, their arakhs swinging in chaotic, brutal arcs. But the Unsullied were different. They fought with methodical, cold efficiency, and Zhal quickly learned that there was no room for error.

The spear, in particular, was a revelation to him. As a Dothraki, he had always wielded an arakh, a curved blade meant for close combat, especially on horseback. But here, in Astapor, he found the spear to be a weapon that allowed him to strike from a distance, which made up for his myopia. Instead of struggling to see the details of the blurry shapes in front of him, he only needed to aim and thrust, trusting his instincts.

*This is different,* he thought, as he practiced the disciplined strikes again and again. *This, I can control.*

The spear gave him an advantage he hadn't known before—a way to keep his distance from danger while still being effective in combat. It felt freeing in a way the arakh never had.

He liked the way things were run in Astapor. Despite the remnants of its dark past, the city was becoming something new. Here, in Daenerys's city, there wasn't a constant weight on your shoulders, like in the khalasar, where every misstep might lead to punishment or exile. Here, the laws were simple: you were free as long as you didn't disrupt the flow of the city. There was no master holding your life over your head.

Zhal had never imagined living in a place like this—where you could be free, yet still have purpose. The training was harsh, yes, but there was fairness in it. He could feel the change in himself already, both in body and in mind.

And then there was the food. In the khalasar, they had lived off of simple fare—meat roasted over a fire, whatever could be hunted or gathered. But Astapor offered new culinary delights that Zhal had never experienced. Spices and flavors he hadn't known existed filled the markets, and the meals offered to the soldiers and citizens alike were rich with variety. It was like discovering an entirely new world in every bite.

Zhal had begun to love this city. Not because of its power or its ruler, but because it was the first place where he had felt truly free.

---

**Mary's Perspective**

Mary had always thought herself capable, strong-willed, and independent. She had braved the long journey to Astapor, determined to find her brother and demand answers. But now that she was here, now that she had seen the way Daenerys ruled, she wondered if she was as capable as she had believed.

Every day, Mary followed Arren as he moved through the city, watching how the Khaleesi governed her people. Daenerys was young, just like her, but there was something in the way she carried herself, something that commanded respect without needing to demand it.

Mary had always dreamed of doing great things, of being in control of her own destiny. She had even imagined herself as a leader, someone who could rule and make decisions with confidence. But watching Daenerys work, watching how effortlessly she seemed to balance strength with compassion, made Mary question herself. Could she ever be like that? Could she ever lead with that kind of grace and resolve?

The people of Astapor seemed to adore Daenerys, and even those who didn't understand her methods respected her. She had freed them, and now she was guiding them into a new future. It was daunting to witness, and Mary felt a quiet admiration building inside her, though she wouldn't admit it to anyone.

Then there was the news that had taken her by surprise: her mother was pregnant. Mary had left home without knowing, and now her mother, Lysa, was expecting another child. The realization had shaken her. Her family was changing, moving forward without her, and she had been so focused on finding Arren that she hadn't even considered what she might be leaving behind.

Arren had decided that she would stay close to his chambers until things were settled. He had even talked about taking her back home to Jorek and Lysa once the baby was born. The thought of returning home after all this was strange, but for now, she stayed here, trying to find her place in this strange new world.

---

That night, Mary sat quietly in her chamber, thinking about Zhal. Despite his lie, she couldn't forget the journey they had taken together. He had been by her side through every danger, and they had shared laughter and struggle. He was her friend, but the lie—about being an escaped slave—hung between them like a heavy cloud.

Unable to bear the confusion any longer, Mary sought out her brother. She found Arren seated in his chambers, going over some documents related to the running of the city. He looked up as she entered, sensing her unease.

"Mary," he said, setting the papers aside. "What is it?"

She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "It's Zhal. He lied to me, and I don't know what to do. He's been my friend through everything, but now… I don't know if I can trust him."

Arren leaned back, considering her words. "He lied because he thought it was his only chance to stay by your side. You know as well as I do, you would have thrown him away if you had known he was Dothraki from the start."

Mary blinked in surprise, not expecting such a blunt response. "Thrown him away?"

"You hate the Dothraki," Arren continued. "You've seen what they do, how they treat people. You wouldn't have trusted him. But that lie saved his life. It allowed him to stay with you and protect you when you needed him. It wasn't right, but it wasn't a malicious lie."

Mary stared at the floor, Arren's words sinking in. He was right. She had grown up fearing and distrusting the Dothraki, and if she had known Zhal's true identity, she likely wouldn't have allowed him to come with her.

"Do you hate him for it?" Arren asked gently.

Mary shook her head. "No. I don't hate him. I'm just… hurt."

"Then give him a chance to prove himself," Arren suggested. "See what kind of person he really is, now that the truth is out."

---

**The Next Morning**

Mary woke with a new sense of determination. She found Zhal early that morning, watching the Unsullied as they drilled in the training grounds. He looked out of place, standing among the disciplined ranks, but he was trying—she could see that much.

She marched up to him, her jaw set in resolve. Zhal turned to her, surprise flashing in his eyes.

"Mary," he started, but she cut him off.

"If you want to fix this, you'll do whatever I ask," she said firmly. "No questions. No complaints. Just do it."

Zhal blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Whatever you ask?"

Mary nodded, arms crossed over her chest. "Four things. Do them, and I'll consider forgiving you."

Zhal hesitated for a moment, clearly wary of the offer. "No questions?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"None," Mary replied, her gaze unwavering.

Zhal sighed, then nodded. "Fine. But four things only. After that, we're even."

Mary smirked. "Deal."

---

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, they both knew that their strange friendship wasn't over. It would take time to rebuild trust, but this was a start. And in the growing city of Astapor, where freedom and opportunity were in abundance, they both had plenty to learn.