Game of Thrones: The blind warrior

**Missandei's Perspective**

It had been a rare quiet day in Astapor. No council meetings, no sudden crises or decisions that would shape the future of the city. For once, the city seemed to be humming along smoothly. Missandei relished days like these—when the weight of politics and the pressures of rule momentarily lightened.

She strolled through the bustling market, the sounds of bartering, laughter, and conversation filling the air. Astapor had changed so much since Daenerys had taken it over. The once somber and grim streets were now alive with hope. The freed slaves moved with purpose, their shoulders no longer hunched under the weight of chains, their faces lit with newfound freedom. Missandei couldn't help but smile as she watched them.

A few merchants waved at her as she passed. She had become a familiar figure in the city by now, always at the side of the queen, translating and helping where she could. She was respected, if not revered, by some. It was a far cry from her life in Naath, where she had been a slave, dreaming of the wide world beyond.

Missandei approached a stall where a woman was selling an array of colorful cloths and tapestries, the vibrant threads catching the sunlight. She ran her fingers over the fabric, appreciating the craftsmanship. 

"How much for this one?" Missandei asked, pointing to a delicate purple cloth with gold embroidery.

The merchant smiled warmly. "For you, Missandei, it's half the price. I've never seen anyone work as hard as you do for our queen. This is a gift."

Missandei blushed slightly at the praise, though she shook her head politely. "You honor me, but I insist on paying the full price. The work you do is valuable."

The merchant nodded, accepting her decision, and they exchanged a few more words as Missandei handed over the coins.

She moved through the market, admiring the small changes that had begun to bloom throughout the city. There were more stalls now—more goods being sold and traded. Spices, textiles, and even jewelry were finding their way into the market, and the smells of roasting meats and baked goods filled the air. It was the kind of vibrancy Missandei hadn't expected to see in Astapor so soon after its liberation.

She paused by a stall selling clay pots and vases, examining the different shapes and sizes. The potter, an elderly man with a stooped back and rough hands, was chatting with a group of children who watched him work with fascination.

"This one is for cooking stew," the potter was saying, lifting a wide, round pot. "And this one, you see here, this is for holding water. Keeps it cool even on the hottest days."

One of the children—a small girl with bright eyes—pointed at a tall, slender vase. "What about that one?"

The potter chuckled. "Ah, that one is for flowers. A decoration for the home. Do you know what flowers are for, child?"

The girl shook her head, her expression curious.

"They remind us of beauty, even in hard times," the potter said softly. "A house filled with flowers is a house that knows happiness, even when things are difficult."

Missandei smiled at the exchange, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. It was moments like these that made her realize how much had changed. How much hope there was now.

As she continued walking, she caught sight of a familiar face—Grey Worm. He was at the edge of the market, standing tall and stoic as ever, his spear resting against his shoulder. He was watching the crowds, ensuring order, but Missandei could see the way his eyes softened when he noticed her approaching.

"Missandei," he greeted, his tone respectful but warmer than usual.

"Grey Worm," she replied, tilting her head slightly. "I didn't expect to see you here. No trouble today, I hope?"

He shook his head. "No trouble. The market is calm."

She smiled, appreciating the simple peace of the day. "It's strange, isn't it? To walk through the city and see it like this."

Grey Worm nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yes. This place was once filled with fear. Now... it is different."

They stood there for a moment, watching the people move about the market. It was a peaceful scene, one that felt almost surreal after everything they had been through. Missandei could feel the weight of the past still hanging over them, but for now, it was distant, a shadow instead of a looming storm.

"Have you eaten yet?" Missandei asked, breaking the silence.

Grey Worm shook his head. "Not yet."

"Then join me," she offered, gesturing toward a nearby stall that sold roasted meats wrapped in warm flatbread. "I hear they make the best food in the market."

Grey Worm hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain, but then nodded. "I will."

They made their way to the stall, and Missandei ordered two portions. The vendor smiled as he handed them the food, and they moved to a quieter spot near the edge of the market to eat.

The food was simple but delicious, the spices blending perfectly with the tender meat. They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging glances but not feeling the need to fill the air with words.

As they finished, Missandei leaned back, feeling content. "It's strange," she said softly, "to have a day like this, where everything feels... normal."

Grey Worm glanced at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. "Normal is new for us."

Missandei nodded, understanding what he meant. "Do you think it will last?"

Grey Worm looked out at the market, at the people laughing and talking, at the children playing and the merchants bartering. "I hope so."

---

**Arren's Perspective**

Meanwhile, Arren found himself wandering the quieter corners of the city, away from the market. His mind had been heavy with the responsibilities that came with helping Daenerys govern this growing city. Yet, today felt different. The usual weight on his shoulders was still there, but lighter. The city was running smoothly, and for once, there were no urgent matters to address.

He walked along the edge of the training grounds where the Unsullied were drilling, their movements precise and disciplined as always. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he watched them. They were no longer slaves, no longer tools to be used at someone else's whim. They had chosen to follow Daenerys, and that made all the difference.

Arren had also noticed Zhal among them, still getting used to the routines. The boy wasn't like the others—his history with the Dothraki had given him a different perspective on combat. But Arren had seen potential in Zhal, even if the boy didn't fully realize it yet.

Arren paused for a moment, watching Zhal as he practiced with the spear. He was getting better, learning to compensate for his poor eyesight by relying on the weapon's reach rather than his close-range arakh. It was a good adjustment, one that would serve him well in the future.

For now, though, Arren was content to let the day pass without the usual intensity. There would be battles to fight, decisions to make, but today was not that day.

---

The sun began to set over Astapor, casting long shadows across the city. The market slowly quieted as people returned to their homes, and the soldiers of the Unsullied finished their drills. It was, for once, a peaceful day in the city.

And as the night fell, Astapor rested, knowing that the days of fear and slavery were behind them, if only for now.