A cool breeze drifted past the broken streets as Ethan stared outwards. Wagons rushed about, rich men, merchants, and fools alike pushed around amid the sea of chaos that was the city’s alleys. Dust mixed with sweat, with animal droppings, and with filth, making some sort of unholy trail that followed wherever feet touched.

At the sides, hopeless eyes stared on.

The beggars were everywhere. Some clung to corners, hands holding tight to their empty bowls. Others dug on into broken skin, torn scabs. Their skin was thin, draped over their barren flesh like a film over a corpse. Some looked less like living people, and more like corpses returned to life. Others, even worse. Ethan found himself shivering as he looked into their eyes. They were ghost’s eyes. Eyes of people who had died long ago.

And there were so, so many of them. As far as the eye could see the slums were the very picture of poverty. Ethan closed his eyes. He could almost see the masters, lurking still in the back of his mind. Feasting, dancing. Enjoying all the fine wines and grand silks while here the beggars languished and starved.

The pounding of feet made him open his eyes again. “Three.”

Ethan looked over the newcomers. Two boys, and a girl. He’d seen others like them before. Walking skeletons with heads far too big and eyes far too small. Looking at them, Ethan felt a strange numbness. How many others? No small amount, certainly. Seeing them all seemed to have starved the compassion out of him. He saw different faces before. A name, a story, an identity and a bright soul. Now he saw only one face, ragged and miserable. The same wet eyed, weary face that seemed to cover every corner of Meereen.

“That’s a hundred and six now. There-” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say there was no room.

“Away?” Stone asked.

“No.” Ethan snapped without thinking.

“Where, then?”

He chewed his lip and sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to go inside to find out.”

As the doors creaked open, the noise of the streets faded behind him, until all he could hear was the sloshing of water, the tapping of feet, and the slow, ragged breaths of starving children.

Absent eyes glanced up and then down as Ethan walked past, Stone following close behind with his bucket and the little girl.

More eyes peeked out as he walked. Children, teens, mothers holding babies– there were too many, far too many. Rooms meant for one were crowded to the corners, holding six and seven where three would’ve been far too much for comfort. The halls were lined too, and as they walked tiny bodies scurried off like a crowd seeing a chariot.

Ethan had brought the orphanage expecting twenty, but more came as they heard the news. He was almost tempted to keep a few out, preserving quality, but looking at their faces his words died on his lips, and he’d accepted them. Food was out. Blankets were in short supply. Water, even more so, and attendants as well.

A woman came forwards as they approached, taking the little girl from Stone’s arms. She grabbed the bucket right after, and motioned for the boys to follow. As the doors opened, Ethan was suddenly struck by the stench of sweat and grime. Then the doors slammed shut, and the children disappeared. More sloshing of water, and then that too faded away.

Making his way down the hall, Ethan slipped into his own study. A table, a chair, and scattered papers sticking out of drawers greeted him. His hands dug around, sifting page after page until finally he found what he was looking for.

Plan: Orphanage

A smile crept up his lips. He tried to laugh, but it came out hollow.

* Blankets x30

* Buckets (full) x10

* Attendants (x3); ideally mothers

The list went on and on. Writing implements. Bandages. Toys. Some bedding. Food. Even an expenses sheet attached. He’d planned for more than expected, as any good planner should. He even congratulated himself on his cleverness. What a joke it turned out to be. He put brackets around it all, and then x10. After some thinking, he crossed it out again, this time with x40.

“How many are in each room now? Six?”

“Seven.” Stone answered.

Too many already. “Any more and it’s a fire hazard, health issues aside. That won’t work. The halls?”

“You saw.”

“The privy?”

“Full also. Others, same. Kitchen. Middle. Fire.”

Ethan could only stare. “Please. You’ve been around this place a good few times, you have to had seen someplace somewhere.”

“I have. You filled them. All.”

“Is there-”

“No.”

Ethan frowned. “Well. I suppose I shall have to think on it then. Fetch some more food, will you? Blankets too. We can’t have them freezing or starving here.” He tossed him the pouch. It was far lighter now, and the golds were replaced by silvers by the end of yesterday. Now, a good half was coppers.

“Money for spies. Not children.” Stone grumbled.

“The spies are children. And I have a good half of them here.”

“Others not. This charity.”

“Charity I can afford. So, will you do it, or should I?”

“Queen said spies.” Stone’s voice hardened.

“I heard her. If you have a problem, I can do it, and when she comes asking I can explain. Either way, the money is getting spent.”

“Spies whispering. Will owe them.”

“I have enough saved, Stone. Now make yourself useful and spend my money for me, will you?”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Queen will hear.” Stone said, his face darkening. But he turned around nonetheless.

Ethan’s shoulders slumped as soon as the door slammed shut.

“My god.” He croaked. He stared at the papers. A police station. Military reforms. Schemes. Plots. What to say to Dany when he was in favor, out of favor. How to win over her advisors. Plans that could be shown in English, the ones better hidden in Chinese. And in the midst of it all, three big, bolded goals.

End Slavery

End Poverty

Conquer Essos

Looking at it now, it seemed almost like a joke. One man with a stack of papers, trying to go against something that’s been in place for a thousand years. Ethan buried his face in his hands.

“Fuck.”

In the darkness of the room, the only light came from a single candle. Ever dim, every flickering. Ethan stared at it, watching it flare and fade. “Why?” He whispered.

“Why here, of all places? Why me?” The flames danced on, paying him no attention.

“You’re there, someone, aren’t you? This wasn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. You sent me here.” His voice rose. “You took me from my home. Why!” His voice rose suddenly, and Ethan found his hands balling into fists.

“You think I didn’t have a life? Friends, family? Who do you fucking think you are?” He growled.

The flame grew dimmer. Ethan sighed. Just as quickly as it came the rage was gone. He stared back down at his papers. He never wanted to burn it all more than that moment. Never wanted to just be done. Run a nation? Why, he couldn’t even run an orphanage! But he couldn’t just give up, could he? He could never live with himself if he did.

He thought he would feel good, doing good things. He did, for a time. Then he saw all the problems happening and it just seemed like some fruitless gesture. A beggar’s pittance. A drop in the bucket, the ocean, even. One hundred children. And how many others were out there?

A soft rap at the door shook him out of his thoughts. Ethan forced himself to take a breath. “Back already? That was quick.” He left his seat. “I thought you would take an hour at least, but-”

Ethan froze. As the door opened, he saw a little boy. He was small, just washed, and probably just fed too. His eyes were wide, confused. Like some deep sleeper that’d just been shaken awake in some strange place. Like… him. Ethan had some mirth to his smile this time.

“Why, hello there. Who are you?” Two puzzled eyes stared up at him. The child said something. Something he didn’t understand. “Don’t speak common? Well… that’s fine…” Ethan’s eyes darted around.

“Here.” He handed the boy a piece of paper. “Look.” He said, drawing a few lines. “Cloud.” He pointed at the drawing.

The boy looked at the drawing. “Cloud.” Ethan repeated, more gently this time.

“Clowd.” Close enough, he supposed.

He added a few lines beneath it, and another circle. Then a smiley face. “Sheep.” He said.

“Shep.”

“Very good.” He cooed. “Now you try.” He handed him the pen.

The boy’s eyes lit up. He grabbed the pen, and started drawing. A few lines for a cloud, and then, a few more for legs. Ethan felt his smile becoming happier. “You know.” He said suddenly. “I think you may be the closest thing to a friend I’ll ever have here, in this place.”

“I give you stuff. I teach you stuff. And we’re both happy. But I try doing something, saying something. You won’t understand, will you? And if what I know is anything to go by, nobody ever will.” The boy’s brow furrowed as he started curving his pen. His words seemed to have bounced off.

“I’m from a place called the United Kingdom. Life is good, slavery is illegal, and little gremlins like you learn to draw in school.” He tapped the boy’s cheek and got a shy smile in response.

“You know, in a lot of ways, I think you’re better than everyone else. I’ll try to teach them, of course. But they won’t learn. Liberty, freedom, science, common damn sense. They won’t understand a thing. But you, little guy, you’re salvageable. If I teach you there’s some chance you may actually learn something. Maybe we can start with- Oh.”

The boy held up the paper. Ink was spotted all over, but Ethan could make out the vague shape of a cloud, and small lines that seemed to be rays of sunlight. Over the clouds, different beams emerged, each a different shade.

“Is that a rainbow?”

The boy blinked at him uncertainly.

A wide smile spread over Ethan’s face. “Wow, that’s amazing. You did a great job.” He tousled the boy’s hair.

At times, in the brightest moments of childhood, children had a wonderful, unique smile. A smile that understood the world in all its beautiful simplicity, and all the pretty and mysterious things adults have long looked past. Ethan saw it now, blossoming over the boy’s face like the lush plant life during summer. Glowing, almost, with all the bright joy and hope of a young mind discovering something new.

“You know, I can see you becoming a great artist one day. Ah, shame they don’t have crayons here. Maybe I can make you some?” Now that was going to be a challenge, but for a moment, Ethan didn’t really care. “Maybe…”

The boy leaped forwards suddenly, and Ethan found himself wrapped in a hug. A warm, thankful, innocent hug. For a moment, he was stiff. Then he returned it, holding the boy as fiercely as he could without crushing the bones that showed through his skin. He never seemed smaller than in that moment. Through the boy’s ribcage, Ethan could feel a small heart pulsing, still clinging to life. Bright and hopeful.

“Thank you.” He croaked. “I needed that.”

A bright smile was his only response.

Another knock at the door interrupted the moment. Ethan collected himself. “Yes?”

Stone’s hulking body emerged. Under all those baskets and blankets, he seemed more like a wagon than a man. Or a camel, maybe. Although he was probably stronger than one, Ethan guessed.

“So, you’re back. How much was that?”

“Not enough.”

Ethan grimaced. “Well, I suppose that’s expected. Let’s prioritize the smallest and weakest children first, in that case. The rest will have to take turns until I get my hands on more gold.”

“Rooms. Space. Sleep.” Stone reminded him.

“Right… well.” His eyes found the little boy again, back to drawing. Inside of those big,bright eyes, it was as if the rest of the world didn't exist. Ethan found himself smiling again.

“How many blankets do you have?”

“Fifty.”

“Well, tell you what? Give me one.”

“Can’t. Children need.”

“Well, I think I’ll need it more. I’ll be sleeping outside.”

This might be the first time he saw Stone shocked. His eyes widened, and he blinked. Ethan continued, paying him no attention. “This boy and whatever friends he has can have my study. There’s enough room, or at least I’d hope. Make sure they don’t steal anything, will you?”

“Outside cold.”

“Why, of course. But it’s me or them, and I’m not going to have them freeze.” Ethan turned around before he could change his mind.

The night sky was cold and unwelcoming. Nothing greeted him except the indifferent gaze of the moon, and the shrill, shrieking sound of the wind.

“Well, back to the basics, I suppose.” He gave the stars an unhappy smile. “Do you miss me, old friends?”

They were the first thing he had seen, coming into this world. He took some time, picked up some information, and then jumped into the sea to swim ashore as a man who's just recently been shipwrecked. A kind person had taken him in, as kind people often do, and offered a warm change of clothes plus some bread. A day later his petition to greet the queen as a storyteller was granted, and he emerged again from the palace a rich man.

And now he was a poor man again. Sleeping on the streets like some hobo with no family. The tricks life played. Ethan laughed as he curled up. He slept there, amid the chilling wind, thinking about how warm and cozy his old house was.

Ethan awoke the next morning with hands and feet so cool they felt numb. But yet, somehow, he seemed warmer. Getting up, he found the papers.

Smiling children. Hearts. And all sorts of drawings, all with a cloud in the middle. Ethan saw a blizzard, a thunderstorm. A goat and a sheep. And along with the sloppy images a few scraps of cloth were piled over him. Ripped parts of blankets, Ethan realized.

Grasping them, Ethan suddenly felt like the richest man in the world.