Pentos smelled nothing like the wasteland.
The salty sea breeze carried the scent of spices, rotting fish, and the body odor of a thousand people packed together. It was a city that stank of trade — and opportunity.
The moment Viserys Targaryen stepped through the gates, that familiar, feverish hunger flickered back to life in his eyes — the same sick craving for wealth and recognition that had always driven him.
Lynn's performance during the lynx attack burned in his mind like a gold coin fresh from the forge — too hot to keep, too tempting to ignore.
For once, Viserys even sent him herbs and food on the road. Of course, it wasn't kindness — it was calculation.
"You…" Viserys began one night in their cramped attic room, his tone carrying that same haughty drawl he used when speaking to servants.
"Listen, Lynn. I, your rightful king, have forgiven your murky origins — even allowed you to travel with us and share in the food of the True Dragon. Now, it's time for you to repay my generosity and prove your loyalty."
Lynn said nothing, only stared at him in silence. If he knew this man — and he did — then he expected the next words to involve glory, promises, and empty dreams of crowns and thrones.
"This city," Viserys continued, "has its own… amusements. Beneath the streets lies an arena — a place where warriors fight for glory and gold in the name of their masters. You look capable enough. I'll arrange a few matches for you… some entertainment."
He patted Lynn's shoulder, testing his strength like one might inspect a prized ox.
"Brother!" Daenerys protested, stepping forward with wide violet eyes full of fear. "That's far too dangerous! He—"
"Silence, Daenerys!" Viserys snapped. "You have no right to speak here! Don't forget who you are — or why we're in exile. We need gold. We need influence! Unless you'd rather see this wretch starve in the streets — or be sold as a slave?"
His words struck like a whip. Daenerys flinched, going pale. She bit her lip and said nothing, only turning to Lynn with an apologetic, helpless look.
Lynn finally spoke, voice calm and even. "As you command, Your Majesty."
He had already decided: staying in Essos wasn't ideal. But to leave, he needed money — enough to buy passage to Westeros. He also needed to master his unstable power and learn how the pieces of this world truly fit together.
And the arena — as brutal as it sounded — would be the perfect forge.
The underground arena of Pentos lay hidden beneath a noisy tavern. The air was thick with sweat, blood, and cheap alcohol.
In the stands, sailors, mercenaries, merchants, and masked nobles gathered shoulder to shoulder, clutching betting slips and shouting curses or cheers for their chosen gladiators.
"This one cost me a small fortune!" Viserys crowed proudly, dragging Lynn through the crowd. "Don't waste the gift your king has given you!"
He had somehow scrounged up a rough piece of leather armor and a dull short sword. Lynn's opponent would be a seasoned mercenary — another newcomer to the blood pits.
"Hey, look at the black-haired stable rat!" a bystander jeered. "Viserys, your champion won't last three rounds!"
Viserys's face darkened. He leaned close to Lynn and hissed, "Don't embarrass me. Show them your worth."
Then the gong sounded.
The mercenary charged like a bull, roaring and swinging his axe.
Lynn sidestepped gracefully, the attack slicing air. His foot hooked behind the man's leg, and with a sharp twist, the brute stumbled. Lynn struck the mercenary's back with the flat of his blade, sending him sprawling face-first in the dirt.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
For the rest of the fight, Lynn put on a careful performance. He dodged narrowly, blocked clumsily, let himself get nicked here and there — anything to make the fight look close.
Not because he wanted to hide his power, but because he knew the "Beggar King" too well. If the match ended too easily, Viserys's greed would only push him into worse danger next time.
So Lynn controlled every moment — enough blood, enough suspense, enough thrill to keep the crowd on edge. Meanwhile, he studied the rhythm of the energy pulsing in his veins, learning to channel it rather than let it explode.
Before long, the whole arena was chanting his name — cheering the "unbreakable black-haired fighter."
Even Viserys was stunned, staring at Lynn's seemingly desperate but always-surviving form. Then that greed reignited in his eyes, hotter than before.
At last, after a long, brutal exchange, Lynn feigned exhaustion, dodged one last swing, and slammed the pommel of his blade against the mercenary's temple. The man dropped like a stone.
The crowd erupted in roars and whistles.
Viserys rushed forward, grinning like a man who'd just found a chest of gold. He snatched the heavy purse of coins from the bookie — winnings several times what he'd wagered.
"Well done, my champion!" he praised, his smile almost fatherly. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me!"
Lynn wiped the blood from his lip — blood he'd bitten on purpose to make the fight more dramatic — and stared coldly at Viserys.
He knew this was only the beginning.
He had become, in the Beggar King's eyes, a hen that laid golden eggs.
Over the next few weeks, the name "Lynn Auger" spread through the underground fighting pits of Pentos.
Each time, he "barely" won — always bloodied, always thrilling. Each fight kept Viserys both anxious and ecstatic, raking in gold from the betting tables.
Lynn maintained good odds in the eyes of the gamblers, neither too strong nor too weak — and he spent every free moment gathering information about the city's underbelly, learning its rules, and quietly hiding away a portion of his winnings.
Like a patient hunter, he waited for the moment to unleash his true strength — or for the right opportunity to escape.
Daenerys, meanwhile, lived in constant worry. Every time Lynn stepped into the arena, she sat awake through the night, praying until he returned bloodied but alive.
She still saved him fruit and scraps from her own meals, tended to his wounds, and whispered soft words of thanks. She knew her brother's fine clothes and arrogant strolls through Pentos were bought with Lynn's blood.
Lynn, in turn, would sometimes bring her a few extra coins — winnings he'd secretly hidden from Viserys.
The bond between them only deepened, forged in the filth and cruelty that surrounded them.
And in his heart, Lynn made a quiet vow: to change Daenerys's fate. She would no longer be treated as an object to be sold or traded — nor would she die as a pawn before the Iron Throne.
Life settled into grim routine. Until one day, Viserys burst into their attic with a gleam in his eyes and a grin far too wide.
He had news — a "great opportunity," he called it. One that could earn them much more than gold.