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The high-end slave market in Lys was nothing like the filthy, sweat-soaked pens of the common markets. This place felt more like a luxurious showroom for "premium goods." The air was thick with expensive incense instead of blood and despair. The cages didn't hold emaciated laborers—they held beautiful bed-slaves, graceful dancers, master craftsmen, and even a few hollow-eyed, perfectly disciplined Unsullied soldiers.
"Don't stare, Tiberius," Jules gently pulled his nephew's head away from the Unsullied in their fine armor. "You can't afford them. Too expensive."
"But Uncle, they're really strong!"
As someone who knew the original story, Tiberius understood exactly how terrifyingly effective the Unsullied were. Three thousand of them had been worth one of Daenerys's dragons in the books. That alone showed their value.
In the end, he still didn't buy any. The price was simply ridiculous.
At a silk-draped stall, the Haen family slave trader Rog was venting to Vito over a silver cup of strong Myrish firewine. He slammed the cup on the table, spitting with frustration.
"Vito, my friend, tell me—what kind of bullshit is this?! That Count Arlan Swann of Stonehelm! Head of the ancient and noble House Swann in the southern Stormlands! His own niece, Johanna Swann—a real highborn lady—fell into pirate hands and I bought her. I offered her uncle a thousand gold dragons. Was that too much? She's untouched, pure as fresh snow!"
He waved his cup wildly, spilling wine everywhere.
"But guess what the bastard wrote back? Some nonsense about 'family honor cannot be stained' and 'House Swann has its own considerations'!"
"Considerations my ass! He just didn't want to spend a thousand gold on his own blood! Now I'm stuck with her! I can't keep feeding her for free. Next step is probably selling her to the Perfumed Garden. What a fucking disaster!"
Vito occasionally sipped his wine and nodded along, offering the occasional grunt of sympathy.
Meanwhile, Tiberius Mord stood in front of a large iron cage containing a girl who looked completely out of place among the other "merchandise." Her dress was old but still fine in quality. Her golden hair was disheveled and dusty, but her back was straight as a spear. Her bright blue eyes held no pleading—only stubborn wariness.
This was Johanna Swann.
Jules Mord stood beside Tiberius, his face unusually dark. After hearing Rog's rant and seeing the girl's situation, his fists clenched tightly.
He couldn't hold back any longer. Stepping forward, his voice low but trembling with disbelief and anger, he asked, "Lady Johanna Swann? Your uncle… the Count of Stonehelm… actually refused to ransom you?!"
In "the Honorable" Jules's moral code, blood relatives supporting each other was the most sacred contract of all. This kind of betrayal was unthinkable.
Inside the cage, Johanna's body trembled slightly. She looked at Jules and Tiberius, her wariness deepening.
Though the two men were speaking the Common Tongue of Westeros—and Tiberius was absurdly young—she was in too desperate a situation to relax. She gave a stiff nod, her voice hoarse but trying to stay composed.
"Yes, my lord. It seems… House Swann's honor is worth more than the fate of one niece." Her words carried bitter, self-mocking pain.
Tiberius didn't speak immediately. His sharp eyes flicked rapidly between his uncle and the girl in the cage.
He caught the far greater-than-normal anger in Jules's eyes… and something else—something deeper, almost protective.
A thought flashed through his mind like lightning:
Looks like my "Honorable" uncle has quite a few secrets tied to Westeros…
At that moment, Lysaro Rogare came swaggering over with several newly purchased, muscular craftsman slaves.
"Hey, Tiberius! What are you looking at over here? These craftsmen are pretty good, right? I was thinking of sending them to—"
Tiberius immediately cut him off. His face instantly switched to a perfectly charming, slightly pleading smile. He pointed straight at the slave trader Rog and spoke as casually as if he were picking out an interesting toy at the market.
"Lysaro, perfect timing. Do me a favor—pay this Mister Rog eight hundred gold dragons for me. I've taken a liking to this Lady Johanna. I want her."
Lysaro blinked, looked at the girl in the cage—disheveled but still carrying clear noble bearing—then at the stunned slave trader Rog. Eight hundred gold dragons was pocket change to him.
So he barely hesitated.
"Hah! I thought it was something serious!" Lysaro laughed heartily. He pulled out a parchment slip stamped with the Rogare family seal, scribbled the amount, tore it off, and casually tossed it to Rog.
"Eight hundred gold dragons! Go collect it from the Rogare Bank yourself. The girl now belongs to my brother!"
The slave trader Rog fumbled to catch the note. His expression shifted from shock to pure ecstasy. This was far better than selling her to the Perfumed Garden—he'd just made a windfall! He bowed deeply. "Thank you, Young Master Lysaro! Young Master Tiberius, the money…"
He caught Tiberius's look and immediately shut his mouth.
"Young Master Tiberius, your heart is as kind as ever! The girl is yours right now!"
"Lazy fool! Bring me the slave contract for Lady Swann!" Rog kicked his assistant and cursed.
Jules stood silently to the side, watching Tiberius with a complicated expression.
Inside the iron cage, Johanna Swann stared in disbelief at the boy who had just decided her fate with a few casual words. Her bright blue eyes were filled with shock, confusion, and the faintest spark of desperate hope.
---
Back at the estate, in a quiet side room, Tiberius didn't waste time. In front of Johanna, Jules, and Vito, he took out the freshly signed slave contract.
"Vito, light the candle," Tiberius ordered.
Vito struck his flint and lit the candle.
Tiberius held one corner of the contract to the flame. The parchment curled, blackened, and turned to ash that drifted to the floor.
"Lady Swann," Tiberius looked up at the stunned girl and said calmly, "you are now free."
Johanna stared at the ashes on the ground, then at Tiberius, her blue eyes wide with disbelief and a flicker of renewed hope.
Tiberius continued, "Please write a letter to Count Arlan Swann of Stonehelm. Tell him you have been freed and are currently under the protection of a knight who should be respected—'the Honorable' Jules Mord and his White Company. Stonehelm only needs to send a reliable ship to bring you back to Westeros. Until the ship arrives, you will be a guest of the White Company and will receive treatment and protection befitting your status."
As he spoke, Tiberius's gaze flicked briefly toward Jules.
He noticed that when he burned the contract and declared Johanna free, his uncle's tightly clenched jaw had softened slightly. Deep in his eyes, there was a trace of… satisfaction?
And when Tiberius mentioned writing a letter so her family could come fetch her, that satisfaction seemed mixed with a faint, almost imperceptible… reluctance?
Tiberius looked at Jules, then at Johanna, and everything clicked in his mind.
Well, Uncle is over thirty now. It's about time he settled down and started a family.
What is this? A Lysene love story?