The Warg Lord (ASOIAF)(SI)

[GrimmKenway8646]

Cue gray rats saying magic is dead


Jon || magic magic magic go Bbbbbrrrrrr!!!!!!!!

Gray rat || still dead (seeing magic in front of them) still dead

Click to shrink...

Jon would then start doing some common stage magic tricks just fuck with everyone.

 

[ATP]

Cue gray rats saying magic is dead


Jon || magic magic magic go Bbbbbrrrrrr!!!!!!!!

Gray rat || still dead (seeing magic in front of them) still dead

Click to shrink...

Rather like:
Grey rat : magic dead
Jon ; magic live,see?
Grey rat killing him : not anymore.

Unhappy end.

Jokes aside - Jon should be cautious,becouse some maesters really could try hill him.

 

[Monmonstar]

jon pulls bunny from hat

Septon DEVIL blasphemy BAstERd (trothing from mouth) thud!

Septa Oh gods he's used his magic to kill the faithful his evil knows no bounds

Jon taping two rings together before combining them

 

[LazyWizard]

As the first light of dawn broke through the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jon Snow stood at the bow of the ship, his gaze fixed on the distant shoreline that was slowly coming into view. The brisk sea breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the rhythmic creaking of the ship's timbers beneath his feet seemed to echo the anticipation in his heart.

Jon took a deep breath of the morning air and a smile automatically appeared on his face. It had been a long time since he was on a ship that he wasn't commandeering, but being a customer just renting a cabin also felt good from time to time.

And then, through the gentle morning mist, emerged the first sight any arriving sailor sees—the Hightower... said to be older than the city itself. Rising impossibly tall, it seemed to touch the very heavens. Its white stone glowed ethereally in the growing light, and its form was a striking blend of strength and elegance. Jon had seen castles and fortresses before, but this was something altogether different.

And then finally, his destination, Oldtown, a city so old that no one knows how old it is, became visible a few minutes later. It was the largest and richest city in the Seven Kingdoms, although the capital, King's Landing, was more populous.

The Citadel, the greatest seat of knowledge in the known world, home to the Maesters and their Conclave, was located upriver on both sides of the Honeywine River. Boys and Men gather here from all over Westeros and even from Essos, to learn, study and forge a Maester's chain.

Also located in this town was the Starry Sept, the seat of the High Septons for a thousand years, which made Oldtown the unquestioned centre of the Faith for all of Westeros, until it lost that status to Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing.

As he was lost in taking in the beauty of the city, he felt Sam arrive beside him, who was also in awe of the splendour of the magnificent city, "So did you finish writing the letter?" Jon asked after a few moments.

"Umm... Yes," Sam said, reluctantly taking his eyes away from the beacon of Hightower, "I wrote one for my mother and one for my sister b-but I wasn't able to think of anything to write to my father... J-Just imagining his angry face..." Sam gulped and shivered, before shaking his head.

"How about you get creative..." Jon smirked as he said to Sam, "You know curse him, tell him what a shitty father he was... How he has a stick up his arse or how you'll beat the shit out of him when you grow up... What? Is it too soon?" Jon asked.

Sam's eyes widened in horror as he shook his head fiercely, even the thought of doing things made Sam almost piss his pants, so Jon shrugged, "Mmm... Then maybe not writing one for him is the best... It would probably irk him the most to know that you didn't even consider it relevant to tell him that you're running away..."

"I don't know about that...." Sam said, self-deprecatingly, "I think he would probably be the happiest knowing that I've run away... that I won't disgrace him anymore..." Sam shook his head before he took a deep breath and changed the subject, "Anyway, Where are we going to send these letters from? Are you thinking about borrowing a raven from the Citadel because I heard they are a bit costly and that they charge by the letter..."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that..." Jon said with a mysterious smile while patting his shoulder, "You just need to think about what you're going to do in Oldtown... you said that it was your dream to become a Maester didn't you... So why don't you come with me and while I check for some information I want, you can see how the people there actually work..."

"Yes... I'd like that," Sam said with an honest smile on his face, just imagining all the books he would have access to, all the history he could read about from the Targaereans to the Doom of Valariya, from the Long Night to the Andal Invasion and so on, filled his chest with jubilance.

Jon looked at the silly smile on Sam's face with pity, "You imagine that if you became an acolyte you would have access to all the books and that all you would have to do is learn, Don't you?"

"Hmm..." Sam let out a confused noise as he tilted his head, "Yes? Isn't that so? I-I mean I know that they have to do some work like copying things but..." he stopped when he was the look of sympathy that Jon was giving him.

"You'll know the truth when you see them... when you see what acolytes actually do... Then maybe you wouldn't be so eager to become one..."

...

"Mom! MOM!! Where are you?!!" cried a 13-year-old girl, rushing around her home in search of her mother.

"Over here!" came the shout from the backyard, and the girl darted through the house toward the back, "Didn't I tell you not to run—"

"A SHIP!" the girl interrupted her mother hurriedly, Her eyes were wide and she was sweating from running all the way from the port, "There's a ship at the port," she said out of breath.

"So? I can't believe you still get so excited about seeing a ship," her mother remarked, shaking her head. She sat on a wooden chair under the shade of a tree in their backyard, knitting a woollen sweater. "Honestly, Sara, when are you going to grow up—"

"You don't understand," Sara interrupted impatiently, finally having caught her breath, "It's filled with all kinds of food from the South like wheat, barley and other stuff and I even saw apples, APPLES! mother, they have apples,"

"What Apples? And who would bring crops at this time of the year..." Sara's mother calmly asked while tilting her head, Her hands hadn't stopped knitting yet, "Where did you say the ship came from?"

"The Reach! REACH" Sara shouted, trying to make her mother understand the urgency of the situation.

"Why are you shouting?" the mother said with a frown, "And do you mean the Reach in the South? I didn't ships went that far south wherever that is..."

"Yes, That Reach! Now, don't just sit there!" Sara said, jumping at her place from all the excitement, "We need to hurry up or all of the stuff is going to be sold out of apples... everyone's already rushing to buy them,"

"Why? It's not like we'll be able to afford it..." the mother said, she still remembered the last that she'd seen apples was when she had got a job as a temporary maid at a feast thrown by Lady Barbery Dustin in the castle of Barrow Hall. She had sneakily stolen a single apple and then when she got home, she and her daughter shared it, and from that day her daughter had become a fan of the fruit and it became her favourite one, not that they were ever able to partake in it again.

"We can! That's what I've been trying to say all this while," Sara said, finally having enough of her mother's tardiness, she snatched the knitting needles and wool from her hand, "HEY!" and then pulled her inside the house ignoring her protest, "It's all stupid cheap! We can easily buy them,"

"What's Cheap?"

"EVERYTHING! Everything's cheap from apples to wheat, everything's being sold for pennies,"

"What? What did you say?" the mother asked in shock.

"Yes, I saw the old lady who lives two houses down from us buy 2 stones worth of wheat at just 30 pennies, and that was just because she only had that much money on her... I think she's going to go with more money and buy more,"

"Are you joking? You know I don't like Jokes—"

"I AM NOT JOKING! Now hurry up," Sarah shouted and finally her mother seemed to get the urgency of the situation as she immediately hurried into her room and took a purse from her hiding place where she had saved some money for some rainy days. She quickly went out of her room to find her daughter impatiently waiting at the door.

"Finally," Sara sighed, when her mother closed the door to their house after wearing her shoes, "Come on!" Sara said and started running while pulling her mother along as fast as she could.

They lived in the quaint town of Barrowton, one of the most prominent towns in the North, where House Dustin had ruled for centuries from their castle of Barrow Hall. The town lies at the confluence of two rivers which flow south into Saltspear.

Their town was usually a calm one, and except for the occasional merchants that came from the Kingsroad, interesting things rarely happened here. But today the whole town seemed to be up and awake, there was an air of excitement everywhere and people were running to and fro from the port to their homes, the people who were going were empty handed while the ones coming from the port had sacks with them along with wide smiles on their faces.

"Calm down," The mother said while huffing, "Or you'll make me fall," but her child wasn't listening at all she pulled through the village road, with most of her neighbours running along with them some in front and some behind her, and none of them even stopped to talk, 'It seems her daughter wasn't exaggerating, after all,'

They reached the port after a few minutes, it was a small one only capable of hosting a dozen ships or a few dozen fishing boats at the same time, which was sufficient for the need of this town in the north as most of their good usually came from the road through Moat Cailin.

It was usually deserted here, but today the moment they reached the port they were immediately hit with a loud cacophony of people selling and buying and yelling prices, women bargaining, and some people being rowdy for no reason. The port was filled to the brim with a crowd of men and women of all ages, it felt as if the whole town had gathered here, the people were surrounding a small circle of sailors who were armed and were making sure that situation didn't spiral out of control, which didn't seem to be working too well.

The mother tried to stand on her tiptoes, but she was barely able to see inside the circle over the people's heads and catch a glimpse of the place her daughter had told her about where the grains from the South were being sold.

Behind the stall were two familiar ships that had been making rounds along the western shore of the North since a few years ago, they were well known for selling those Starkhorses.

"Quick, let's go!" Sara urged, pushing her mother toward the masses.

"But—" her mother protested, apprehensive about the large crowd shoving and jostling to get to the front. However, Sara wasn't about to wait, "I'll go if you won't." She snatched the purse and the empty sack from her mother's grasp, "Wait!" her mother called out, but it was too late. Sara rushed into the crowd without heeding her mother's exclamation, calling out, "Coming through! Make way!"

"Ah! Girl!"

"You! Brat!"

"Don't push!"

"BITCH!"

Amidst screams and curses the daughter skillfully swam between the gaps as he mother watched on until the crowd completely swallowed her. The mother could only wait and pace anxiously as she waited for her daughter to exit.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally saw her daughter emerge from the crowd. Sara skipped toward her with a wide grin, "Are you okay—" Before she could finish her question, Sara presented her with a bulging sack that the girl could barely lift, "Look, Mother, I got so much..."

The mother opened the sack and her eyes immediately widened and she gasped as she looked inside, "But how..."

"And there's more," Sara mischievously revealed, extending her left hand to display two ripe, red apples.

"You got all this with that money?" the mother asked in astonishment. The amount in the purse couldn't have covered a fraction of the grains, and the apples must have been quite pricey too, "Did you steal them?"

"Nope, they weren't expensive at all, and—"

"Excuse me!"

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a portly man, his greasy smile making him easily recognizable as a travelling merchant who went from village to village buying and selling, "Hey there, girl! How about selling me those apples? I'll pay you three copper pennies more than what you got them for. How does that sound?"

"Really?" the mother exclaimed, but before she could even think about it, Sara shouted in indignation, "No! You can't them! I brought them, they are mine!"

"I say, girl! you should listen to your mother—" the merchant tried to persuade her but Sara wasn't having it and cursed him, "Fuck You!" and then without waiting, the next moment she immediately started licking all over the apples without leaving a single spot.

"Do you still want them?" Sara said with a cheeky smile as she presented the apples to Merchant who immediately grimaced and went away cursing.

"You little brat..." Sara's mother sighed helplessly as her daughter stuck out her tongue, she was already used to her daughter's antics, "But why didn't that man just buy from them..." she asked while pointing at the stalls surrounded by the people, "...if he wanted more apples?"

"Because they got some rules," Sara said while biting into one of the apples, it was sweet and delicious, "I don't why but they will only sell a limited amount to a single person and a single person can only buy once or something like that,"

"But that would reduce their profits, Why would they do that?" her mother asked confusedly.

"Who knows?" Sara shrugged, not caring about the purpose behind those rules but happy for them as otherwise all the merchants would have already brought all the stocks before she had the chance.

Just when they were about to leave for their home, they suddenly saw the crowd start to disperse with some having satisfied smiles on their face while others groaning in misery, 'It seems all the stocks have been finally finished...' the mother thought.

"HEAR! HEAR!" a sailor came forward and shouted, grabbing the attention of the crowds who were about to leave. When he felt that he had everyone's attention, he went back and the one who came forward was a familiar person, easily recognisable in her leathers with the bear insignia.

"I want to say for those of you who were late and missed out on our cheap goods... Don't worry!" Dacey shouted loudly, "Another shipment will be arriving in two weeks and that one may even have more goods—" The crowd immediately cheered loudly and Sara immediately started jumping on the spot thinking that she could eat apples every week.

"And I promise everyone that they will keep on coming..." Dacey continued while looking everyone in the eye, "So don't bother hoarding them... I am especially talking to all the merchants here, The cheap goods are going to be a regular thing from now on and may even become weekly in the future so don't think about waiting for the prices to decrease to make a profit because... You'll only be disappointed,"

"And lastly, if anyone wants to get recruited the ships will be here until dawn..."

///

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

"And I promise everyone that they will keep on coming..." Dacey continued while looking everyone in the eye, "So don't bother hoarding them... I am especially talking to all the merchants here, The cheap goods are going to be a regular thing from now on and may even become weekly in the future so don't think about waiting for the prices to decrease to make a profit because... You'll only be disappointed,"

Click to shrink...

Dacey not into that Auction Hunter action huh? Oh well, cheap food for the North. Hope Jon fleeces more people for a better trade fleet.

 

[Ahtu]

"Why? It's not like we'll be able to afford it..." the mother said, she still remembered the last that she'd seen apples was when she had got a job as a temporary maid at a feast thrown by Lady Barbery Dustin in the castle of Barrow Hall. She had sneakily stolen a single apple and then when she got home, she and her daughter shared it, and from that day her daughter had become a fan of the fruit and it became her favourite one, not that they were ever able to partake in it again.

"We can! That's what I've been trying to say all this while," Sara said, finally having enough of her mother's tardiness, she snatched the knitting needles and wool from her hand, "HEY!" and then pulled her inside the house ignoring her protest, "It's all stupid cheap! We can easily buy them,"

"What's Cheap?"

"EVERYTHING! Everything's cheap from apples to wheat, everything's being sold for pennies,"

"What? What did you say?" the mother asked in shock.

"Yes, I saw the old lady who lives two houses down from us buy 2 stones worth of wheat at just 30 pennies, and that was just because she only had that much money on her... I think she's going to go with more money and buy more,"

"Are you joking? You know I don't like Jokes—"

"I AM NOT JOKING! Now hurry up,"

Click to shrink...

That really hits close to home, and makes my blood boil. The amount of good deals I tried to show my parents in my youth, that they refused to believe or listen to... Time proved me right, but that was bitter comfort as opportunity after opportunity slipped away. All because my parents had self-important ideas, where they thought they knew better.

But there was a reason that I was always the one to have money, that I made the good deals on the tech I bought. That I had the best computer in the class at all times, even though I basically had no allowance to speak of.

It never fails to irk me when I think back on it. I've never quite seen deals as good as saw back then.
And since then, some of that "spark" has left me.

Ahh, if only they at least could have believed me on the iridium deals back in 2008 to 2009. Would have made everything so much easier. I even offered to only take a 25% profit margin, for my ideas, contribution and channels. But as always, they refused to believe that I could have good idea about the market. And greater an opportunity, I've never witnessed being lost.

I'm not really greedy, but I hate making bad deals. And love making good deals. After that I often just spend money on gifts, when I don't really need it. But I just want to work smart, not hard, or at least smart and hard at worst.

"Really?" the mother exclaimed, but before she could even think about it, Sara shouted in indignation, "No! You can't them! I brought them, they are mine!"

"I say, girl! you should listen to your mother—" the merchant tried to persuade her but Sara wasn't having it and cursed him, "Fuck You!" and then without waiting, the next moment she immediately started licking all over the apples without leaving a single spot.

"Do you still want them?" Sara said with a cheeky smile as she presented the apples to Merchant who immediately grimaced and went away cursing.

"You little brat..." Sara's mother sighed helplessly as her daughter stuck out her tongue, she was already used to her daughter's antics, "But why didn't that man just buy from them..." she asked while pointing at the stalls surrounded by the people, "...if he wanted more apples?"

"Because they got some rules," Sara said while biting into one of the apples, it was sweet and delicious, "I don't why but they will only sell a limited amount to a single person and a single person can only buy once or something like that,"

"But that would reduce their profits, Why would they do that?" her mother asked confusedly.

"Who knows?" Sara shrugged, not caring about the purpose behind those rules but happy for them as otherwise all the merchants would have already brought all the stocks before she had the chance.

Just when they were about to leave for their home, they suddenly saw the crowd start to disperse with some having satisfied smiles on their face while others groaning in misery, 'It seems all the stocks have been finally finished...' the mother thought.

"HEAR! HEAR!" a sailor came forward and shouted, grabbing the attention of the crowds who were about to leave. When he felt that he had everyone's attention, he went back and the one who came forward was a familiar person, easily recognisable in her leathers with the bear insignia.

"I want to say for those of you who were late and missed out on our cheap goods... Don't worry!" Dacey shouted loudly, "Another shipment will be arriving in two weeks and that one may even have more goods—" The crowd immediately cheered loudly and Sara immediately started jumping on the spot thinking that she could eat apples every week.

"And I promise everyone that they will keep on coming..." Dacey continued while looking everyone in the eye, "So don't bother hoarding them... I am especially talking to all the merchants here, The cheap goods are going to be a regular thing from now on and may even become weekly in the future so don't think about waiting for the prices to decrease to make a profit because... You'll only be disappointed,"

"And lastly, if anyone wants to get recruited the ships will be here until dawn..."

Click to shrink...

That would actually just give them profits, let the merchants empty their purses, and enrich the ppl stupidly. It'd be their losses, and the ppl's gain.

 

[LazyWizard]

"It's a sight to behold, isn't it?" Jon breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam nodded in quiet agreement, both men gazing in awe at the imposing spectacle before them.


At long last, they stood at the entrance of the Citadel, a renowned bastion of knowledge not just within Westeros but spanning the vast reaches of Planetos. Poised upon the banks of the river Hoenywine, its spires and domes were connected by grand stone bridges, some wide enough to accommodate bustling houses and market stalls.


They were standing in front of the massive entrance, where the gates were flanked by imposing statues of green sphinxes, creatures of mythical significance with leonine bodies, eagle wings, and serpent tails—two guardians, one male visage, the other female.


Their arrival coincided with the pre-rush hour, attracting a diverse throng: Smallfolk, merchants, and all manner of folk seeking the services provided by the acolytes and novices dwelling within. After absorbing the scene, Jon turned to Sam and said, "Shall we proceed?" With that, he led the way, seamlessly merging into the flow of people streaming toward the dome's entrance.


"Are you sure we won't get caught," Sam asked almost whimpering as he followed after him, fiddling with the acolyte's robes he was wearing that Jon had somehow nicked. He didn't ever imagine that with his cowardice he would do something like sneaking inside the Citadel. He felt as if everyone was staring at him and that any second now someone would recognize them and call them out for frauds and imprison them.


"Don't worry! They won't," Jon whispered assuringly while patting his shoulder, he had spent the last few days scouting and mapping the insides of this humungous place with his special friend. So he didn't have to worry about wandering around like a headless chicken and getting lost and needing to ask for directions. He knew which paths would be the most deserted, and where all the exit points were, as well as had a foolproof plan of entering and exiting so he was sure that nothing could go wrong.


"But what if they do?" Sam asked, his eyes moving left and right while looking away the moment anyone even so much as glanced at him.


The moment they entered the gates, they immediately found themselves in the Scribe's Hearth. Here the citizens and Sailors of Oldtown came to hire scribes, usually, acolytes, to write and read letters for them. The Scribes were sitting and waiting in open stalls with lines of people in front of them. There were also other stalls here that sold, bought and copied books and others even offered all kinds of maps.


"They won't apprehend us," Jon restated, pausing to examine a statue of Dareon I Targaryen mounted on a noble stone steed. The path split here, Jon's gaze shifted to Sam, and he chuckled, "Even if they did, what's the worst that could befall us? Copying books?" He grinned, resuming their journey down the right path meant for acolytes, Maesters, and workers.


They passed by two guards standing on either who didn't even glance at them as they entered, with Sam not even looking up from the floor. If the guards weren't so incompetent, and Jon wasn't so good at acting like he belonged there they would have definitely caught them because of Sam, "T-They could kill us..."


"Who?" Jon scoffed, as they entered a maze of corridors which only a person who used them daily could navigate, "These Maester and Acolytes... who've barely even seen the sun once a week... pfft! As if they could even think of catching me,"


They also passed a monument inside of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, with a plinth on it that read, "He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one."


"Now keep your chin up and look like you belong here," Jon said as they were finally on the path to the library.


"But I don't," Sam whined but Jon wasn't stopping at all so he had no choice but to follow.


on had meticulously selected a secluded route, evading the bustling areas. Private chambers lined their path, often serving as lodgings for visiting nobles or Maesters from beyond the Citadel's walls. These chambers provided a direct route to the library—a convenient arrangement that Jon had skillfully exploited.


Just as they were about to turn a corner, they suddenly heard voices coming from the front and from the sound of them, they were two men, one middle-aged and the other one in his 70's or 80's. Swiftly, Jon ushered Sam into an unoccupied room, avoiding any potential interaction.


"I am telling you, Archmaester," the middle-aged man's voice carried, "These innovations could revolutionize our city."


"In what manner, Maester Felix?" responded the elderly man with an intrigued tone.


"Do you know how much of the budget we allocate every month towards just cleaning the street, Archmaester," Felix asked.


"I don't, but I assume that it would be a lot," the Archmaester responded. Oldtown, although the second most populous city in Westeros after King's Landing, maintained wide, fragrant, and immaculate streets—a feat that undoubtedly required significant resources and labour.


"It is," Felix nodded firmly, "And did you know that a substantial portion of those funds is devoted to cleaning up after horseshit? Now, imagine if we could replace these horses with the new invention—Starkhorses. We'd save considerable resources over a long long time..."


"And what of the initial costs of acquiring these Starkhorses?"


"That's a one-time expense," Maester Felix dismissed with a wave. "Moreover, if we execute the plan properly, I believe it could be entirely cost-free, requiring not a single penny from our coffers," he concluded with a triumphant smile.


The Archmaester halted in his tracks at the mention of "cost-free," a nearly magical phrase to someone overseeing the budget. "Explain."


"Firstly, we must ensure that these 'Starkhorses' are readily accessible to all," Maester Felix explained eagerly. "Given their novelty, I'm confident that our citizens—ranging from affluent merchants to modest households—will rush to procure them." He knew that the price might be steep for ordinary smallfolk in other regions, but in Oldtown, where some of the wealthiest smallfolk in Westeros resided, affordability wouldn't pose an issue.


"Go on..."


"Subsequently, after a reasonable period, we would establish a limit on the number of horses and animals permitted within the city. Over time, we could progressively reduce this limit, ultimately enforcing a complete ban. This could be executed without causing much dissent... Naturally, nobles and dignitaries could be granted exceptions."


"Hmm..." The Archmaester hummed thoughtfully, standing still for a moment before saying, "Your concept seems plausible and holds merit. However, this will remain a mere notion unless we can secure a bulk supply of these Starkhorses. As far as I'm aware, they're being primarily created in the North and others have yet to replicate their success. Obtaining a sufficient quantity and transporting them here would prove difficult and costly."


"That is the absolute best part," Maester Felix's voice grew animated, accompanied by a broad smile. "I received a missive just last night from my cousin, a merchant in Highgarden. They've received a substantial shipment of Starkhorses from the North—a supply that will not be limited to a single instance. In fact, it appears there will be a consistent flow."


Archmaester responded with genuine surprise, "That's truly remarkable." As they continued walking, he added, "If you can furnish me with a comprehensive proposal, including the required budget, by the week's end, I'll present it before the conclave."


The voices gradually faded as Jon eased the door open, an amused grin playing on his lips. 'Seems I'll need to correspond with Dacey to amplify production once again,' Jon contemplated with satisfaction. Turning to Sam, who had been on the edge of panic, Jon quipped, "Shall we proceed?"


The rest of their way towards the library was completely smooth and after around ten minutes of walking, they stood before the towering edifice that was the library.


Numerous entrances dotted the perimeter of the library building. The primary entryway, a grand expanse through which a constant stream of people flowed, contrasted with the less frequented one Jon and Sam approached. This entrance was overseen by a lone Librarian seated behind a table. A few log books lay before him, serving as records of those entering and departing, as well as the books borrowed and returned.


"How will we get in?" Sam asked as they hid behind a pillar near the entrance. While it was really deserted here, it would still be impossible for them to enter without alerting the Librarian who would ask them for their identification which they didn't have.


"Fret not, I have a plan," Jon whispered back, his gaze flitting to the nearby bookshelves, and after choosing an appropriate one, he immediately sent an order to his friend.


"How are you going to—" Sam's query was cut short by a resounding thud resonating through the space. A massive tome had toppled from a high shelf. Startled, the Librarian, engrossed in a book, shot to his feet, demanding, "Who goes there?" He hastened toward the source of the noise, muttering, "Do you know how old the books here are—" only to find no one there. He looked around for a while but still didn't find anyone, "Maybe it was a mouse..." he mused before shaking his head and placing the book back in its place.


Unbeknownst to him, two unauthorized teenagers had seized the opportunity to infiltrate the hallowed halls of the Citadel's library.


"How did you manage that?" Sam whispered, awed, as they roved amidst the labyrinth of bookshelves. His gaze danced over captivating titles, each beckoning to him, eager for his perusal.


Jon's response was casual, "Hmm... What do you think?" As he skipped one section after another while searching for the one he wanted, they were going deeper and deeper into the maze. The one or two acolytes that they were coming across started getting scarcer as eventually, only dusty tomes were around them.


He eventually found the section he wanted which had a plate hanging with "BIRDS" written in big letters.


Jon entered that section with Sam mumbling softly behind him, "Did you pay someone to do that for you—But then the librarian would have caught him... Hmm then did you use a thread—But then how did you tie it to the books..." he kept talking to himself in circles making one absurd theory after another and disproving them on his own, "...D-Don't tell me y-you a-are a—" Sam gulped not completing his sentence, his eyes wide open.


Jon's amusement gleamed in his eyes. "Am I a what?"


"A m-magical, like a W-Witch?" Sam's voice trembled.


Jon pondered the notion. "Who knows?" he mused, his tone elusive. "What if I were?"


The bookshelf dedicated to Birds was a huge one and divided into two so skipped the Migratory one and went to the Non-Migratory. After which it was divided by region and the Reach section contained about five books which introduced all the birds recorded of which two were about the ones that had already gone extinct.


Sam hesitated for a while before he finally shook his head and said, "I-It's fine if you are, I think... as long as you don't eat me o-or use my blood for anything or don't sacrifice children or don't offer intestines and blood to the heart tree and other stuff."


Jon almost burst out laughing at that but stopped himself at the last moment, "Those are a lot of conditions but... I promise you that I won't do those things... now take one of these," he handed Sam one of the huge books while carrying the other two, "and let's go..." and they both wandered towards a nearby bench which was almost empty except for an Acolyte who was concentrating on copying an ancient book that was almost crumbling at its seams.


Jon opened the book and was just about to dive into it when he looked up at Sam who was looking at the nearby Acolyte hesitatingly as if wanting to ask something but not daring to, so he helped him.


"Psst! Hey!" Jon called softly. The nearby Acolyte looked up, perplexed. "Yes, I'm addressing you."


"Yes?" the Acolyte responded, puzzled.


"How many years have you been here?" Jon inquired, infusing his tone with authority.


"Five years," the Acolyte answered, baffled.


"Excellent," Jon nodded, "Now, my friend here," he waved at Sam who gave him a forced smile, "wants to know all about what an Acolyte does and what you've had to do since you joined here to become a Maester. So I need you to tell him all that you can about it... You know you're daily routine and stuff. Alright?"


"But Why? Aren't you one yourself—"


"Don't ask questions," Jon interrupted impatiently, "Here take these for your inconvenience," he placed about five silver stags on the table and the acolyte's eyes immediately lit up and all his questions died in his throat he immediately nodded his head like a chicken while pocketing them.


The Acolyte turned to Sam and started speaking after clearing his throat, "I joined here about five years ago and the beginning they..."


With the background noise of Acolyte droning on about his life, Jon scoured through the books to glean the information about the mystical bird he had heard about. He had been just asking about different kinds of usual creatures to satisfy his curiosity when he had heard from an old innkeeper about the Fortune Bird.


The Fortune bird was somewhat of an urban legend here in the Reach, it is said that whoever even catches a glimpse of one would be lucky for a whole year. But they are almost impossible to see as they are not only one of the smallest mature birds they are also one of the fastest birds recorded. They have the widest diversity of plumage colour, particularly in blues, greens, and purples. They were similar to Hummingbirds from his previous life so the moment he had heard about them he wanted to have one for himself.


After about two hours of rifling through page after page of information that wasn't even inserted alphabetically, Jon finally managed to find the information he needed. He read the two pages worth of information more than five times to make sure he didn't miss anything, from their habitats to their mating habits he took note of everything.


Satisfied, he closed the book, a triumphant smile gracing his features. Armed with this newfound knowledge, he knew where to find the mystical avian creature.


Glancing over, Jon noticed Sam's dejected expression, while the Acolyte had returned to his tasks after satisfying Sam's queries.


"Sam," Jon addressed him gently, "It's time to leave."


"Huh? Oh, yes," Sam responded absentmindedly. Once Jon returned the books to their respective shelves, they retraced their steps. The librarian, momentarily distracted by another falling tome, allowed them to exit without incident, cursing the circumstances.


"Are you all right?" Jon inquired, concern lacing his tone as they walked.


"Yes," Sam nodded, forcing a smile. "It's just... I hadn't imagined that an acolyte's duties would encompass so much... chamber pot cleaning and menial chores."


"Don't be troubled by it," Jon comforted, patting Sam's shoulder reassuringly. "We can revisit this library whenever you wish to borrow more books. Remember, this isn't the sole repository of knowledge in the world—there are many such places to explore. Winterfell boasts one of the oldest libraries, and then there's the Wall. You won't be confined to just one place."


"That's true," Sam agreed with a grateful smile. "Thank you."


"Don't mention it."


As they traversed a dim corridor, faint sounds of an argument filtered from within a nearby chamber. Intrigued, Jon cautiously moved closer to eavesdrop.


"What are you thinking, Jon?"


"Shh..."


Jon strained to catch the voices within the room.


"...You cannot simply come and go as you please, My prince. Certain rules must be upheld, even by you—"


"And what might those rules entail, esteemed Archmaester?" a languid voice drawled, dripping with nonchalance. "Furthermore, how do you intend to enforce them, may I inquire?" The voice oozed sarcasm, and Jon's eyes immediately widened as the realization washed over him as to who exactly was in the room.

///

 

[Commedia]

"The Red Viper has entered the chat"

hide your women.…..hide your men too. Just….hide.

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

"And what might those rules entail, esteemed Archmaester?" a languid voice drawled, dripping with nonchalance. "Furthermore, how do you intend to enforce them, may I inquire?" The voice oozed sarcasm, and Jon's eyes immediately widened as the realization washed over him as to who exactly was in the room.

Click to shrink...

"The Red Viper has entered the chat"

hide your women.…..hide your men too. Just….hide.

Click to shrink...

Shit! Obie's here! And possibly Sarella too!
*runs away*
...
*comes back*
Is it the Pedro Pascal one tho and not the ASOIAF one? I wouldn't mind.

 

[ATP]

Well,Sam get finally what being Acolyte mean.Good for you.
Bicycles as replacment for horses - sorry,not possible,they could not pull wagons.But,there could be less riders and leass shit thanks to that.
Viper coming - he probably recognize Jon,what next? add him to his harem?
See in next issue !

 

[chxenocide]

Bicycles as replacment for horses - sorry,not possible,they could not pull wagons.

Click to shrink...

Well, there are rickshaws to handle all but the heaviest loads.

 

[ATP]

Well, there are rickshaws to handle all but the heaviest loads.

Click to shrink...

True,but:
1.Jon do not made them yet
2.Even then they still need wagons for medium loads,richshaws are no good for felivering supplies to bigger shops.

 

[Monmonstar]

Sand and snow

Sand and snow

Sand and snow

YES! OTP GOOO!!!!!

 

[LazyWizard]

Jon gently pressed his ear against the door, feeling its cool surface against his skin. Sam, not being able to contain his curiosity, mirrored his actions after a while, and also leaned against the wooden frame. The door, unlocked from the inside, almost swung open under the pressure of Jon's curiosity. He stopped it just in time, a rush of caution sweeping through him like a gust of wind.


"...You got your 6 links years ago, but you refuse to get the last one to become a full-fledged Maester at that time. So now that you're back, I hope you can work hard on getting the last link because you can't just treat the Citadel like your home where you can just come and go whenever you please," The Archmaester said with slight contempt, "It lowers the reputation of Citadel and I don't even need to talk about your lack of abstinence that a Maester candidate should apply to. Now I hope that you don't expect to be allowed to be this hedonistic when you become a—"


"Ah! I think that we have a misunderstanding here, Archmaester," The voice, that Jon had now identified as the younger prince of Dorne, said absentmindedly, "I didn't actually come here to complete my last chain and become a Maester,"


"Huh? You Didn't?" The old voice asked confused, "Then why did you?"


"To have fun, I was about to head towards Essos for a new adventure and I felt like partaking in a few of the books present here so I just came along for a short visit,"


"T-That's just—" the Archmaester was speechless for a few moments, "So you never intend to actually forge your last link and just want to treat this place like your backyard forever?"


"That seems about right,"


"Y-You can't do that! I won't tolerate the lack of respect you have for this sacred institution. I'll have you banned from the premises and you'll never be able to come back here—"


"Don't care about that... I am leaving tomorrow anyway," Oberyn said before they suddenly heard the sound of leather boots striking the floor as the prince walked toward the Archmaester, his carefree tone suddenly taking a dangerous turn, "But my dear Archmaester, you should really be careful who you offend, who knows what could happen in your old age," he said patting his shoulder with a smile on his face.


"A-Are you threatening me," Archmaester gulped as he unconsciously took a few steps backwards when he looked into the eyes of the man who was believed to be half mad and the most unpredictable noble from Dorne.


"Oh no no... I am not threatening you," Oberyn said, he had a smile on his face but his eyes were cold as ice, "I am just saying that you have plenty of acolytes working under and you haven't exactly been kind to them over the years... Who knows which one of them hates you for it and suddenly one day one of them decides to take drastic action and a drop of unknown liquid drops in your food or your drink... It would be quite unfortunate wouldn't it,"


The Archmaester shivered, realizing that Oberyn wasn't merely boasting and that he was perfectly capable of acting on his threats.


"I-I-I will—"


"That'll be all, Archmaester," Oberyn said abruptly as he turned his back on him and went back to his seat. He picked up the book about poison that he was reading and placed his feet on the table, "I am sure that you have a lot of work to do, so don't let me keep you."


There was pin-drop silence for a few moments before the door opposite them opened and closed as the Archmaester hurriedly left. Jon smiled as he moved away, thinking that he had acquired a good piece of gossip about the Viper of Dorne. 'Maybe he would be able to use it in the future if he ever meets him,' he mused.


Just as Sam was about to move away and join Jon, Oberyn's voice echoed from inside, startling them both. "You can come out now."


They exchanged alarmed glances, both of them thinking that they had been caught. Sam's hand twitched in his panic, inadvertently pushing the door open, "OH! NO!" "SHIT!"


Stumbling, they found themselves in a medium-sized room with a window on the right side and a large table in the middle. One of the chairs was occupied by Oberyn. Beside the door, a cupboard stood partially open, and on its threshold stood the other occupant of the room—the person Oberyn had likely instructed to come out. The same panic and fear reflected in his face mirrored the teens' emotions.


Oberyn's eyes widened in surprise as he looked up at the sound of the door opening, to find two teens in acolyte clothes and they were almost falling over each other as if they had just been pressed to the door.


"Well Well Well... Looks like we caught a bunch of little rats eavesdropping," Oberyn said in a calm tone, his hawk-like eyes sharply examining the two teens, the Fat one was sweating profusely and almost quivering in his place at the sight of him while the Tall handsome one swiftly stood up straight and regained his control over his expression remarkably quickly.


"There seems to be a misunderstanding, My Lord," Jon said calmly, bowing elegantly, "We weren't eavesdropping on you, we were just passing by and roughhousing with each other when I accidentally pushed my friend here too hard and he unintentionally opened the door, Right Sam?"


Sam quickly nodded his head and Jon continued while pushing Sam towards the exit and simultaneously backing away, "So I am sorry for the interruption and we'll get out of your hair and be just on our way,"


Oberyn looked at them with an amused expression on his face while putting the book in his hand on the table and taking his feet off the table, "You think that I'll believe that lame—"


"I'll take care of it, F—My Lord," The boy interrupted while slowly walking towards them with his hands hidden behind him. He was a comely boy their age with skin the colour of teak and a slender physique with curly black hair and big black eyes, "I am sure they are telling the truth and just made an honest mistake," he gave Oberyn a cute smile before turning to them, "Farewell then, I'll close the door behind you,"


"Thank you! Thank you!" Sam said while bowing, his body almost sagging with relief as he thought that they had been let go but just as he felt that he was very lucky today, he felt Jon put a restraining hand on his shoulder stopping him from leaving. When he puzzledly turned to Jon to ask him why, he saw him looking at the Dornish boy with a calm smile on his face.


"Why the pause?" the boy inquired, innocence radiating from his expression. "Didn't you just mention your intention to leave?"


Jon met the boy's gaze, his eyebrow arched inquisitively. His gaze shifted between Oberyn and the Dornish boy, his tone steady. "Leave, we will. But only if you promise not to strike us from behind with your hidden blade—"


The word "blade" hung in the air for a moment, pregnant with tension. Suddenly, the Dornish boy lunged at Sam, a hidden dagger poised to strike. His target was the weaker link, the fat one first.


"Allears No!" Oberyn's voice rang out urgently. He sprang from his seat, his initial calm demeanour shattered. From the beginning, Oberyn had sensed a calculated calmness in the tall boy's demeanour and the way his eyes roamed around the room, taking everything in. He knew that he wasn't some weak acolyte, instead, he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, but it was too late.


Just as the dagger was about to pierce into the fatty's gut, Alleras's hand was caught in a steel-like grip by the tall boy's hand that came out of nowhere like lightning. Alleras looked up into the Northern boy's eyes to find them not even a little bit surprised as if he was expecting it from the start. Alleras tried to pull the hand holding the dagger but the boy's hand was like hard rock as it didn't even budge a little bit instead he was pulled instead.


A swift, expert movement allowed Jon to disarm the boy, the dagger now poised at his own throat.


Oberyn sprang into motion, but his progress halted as Jon's words cut through the air. "Make no hasty moves, or you'll regret them," Jon's voice held a calm resolve. He held his ground, his gaze meeting Oberyn's chilling stare. At that moment, Jon understood that any sign of weakness could not be afforded in the presence of the Viper of Dorne.


"Sam, Close the door."


"Huh?"


"Now!" he hissed, urgency in his tone. Sam reacted swiftly, shutting the door promptly. Jon's quick decision was motivated by the desire to avoid any wandering Maesters stumbling upon the tense situation unfolding before them. It would be quite the ordeal to explain.


"You do know who I am, boy?" Oberyn's voice carried his distinctive Dornish drawl. A dagger, similar to the one held by Alleras, had materialized in his hands at some point. His gaze locked onto Jon's face, assessing his chances of taking him out with a throw.


As if sensing Oberyn's intentions, Jon preemptively cautioned, "Don't even think about it." In an instant, Jon manoeuvred his body and his hostage, concealing himself behind her. "I know you're Oberyn Martell, the prince of Dorne, the Red Viper—please don't!" Jon directed his words at Alleras, who squirmed in his grasp and tried to free his hands, both of which were behind him in Jon's right hand, his single hand big enough to hold both of his, "We're both aware that the dagger is poisoned. I don't want to cause any irreversible harm, so try not to struggle." he said and the Dornish boy immediately stopped as he felt the dagger a hair's breadth away from his throat.


"You know who I am, and yet you take such a reckless action," Oberyn's eyes narrowed, his gaze penetrating. "You're either incredibly foolish or remarkably brave."


"I'll choose Brave if it's all the same," Jon replied with a hint of forced amusement. His mind raced, seeking the ideal resolution that wouldn't involve offending a powerful leader like Oberyn. "I have no intention of harming anyone. I only wish to leave here with my friend, without losing our lives in the process,"


"Why not release the boy? I promise not to harm you," Oberyn's words carried an attempt at a trusting expression, though it was a difficult feat for him. "You have the word of a prince."


Jon's smile remained faintly amused as he declined the offer. "A good effort, my prince. But no." Jon's tone remained firm. "I'm sorry to say this, but your reputation for honour isn't exactly impeccable." Even Alleras snorted at that while Oberyn just had a dumbfounded look on his face, knowing that his reputation was this bad among the masses, "I need you to place the dagger in your hands on the table and take back your seat,"


"You're audacious," Oberyn scowled, clearly unaccustomed to a teenager giving him orders. His tone turned threatening, low and dangerous. "You must realize that I only need to call out once... and any chance of your leaving this Citadel alive would vanish."


"You're correct. You could indeed do that," Jon shrugged indifferently. "However, you'd also need to explain to them why a boy, that I am holding captive, was found in your room."


"What does—"


"My apologies! Did I say 'boy'? I meant 'girl'!" Jon corrected himself, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. The effect on Oberyn was remarkable—he went from a smug expression to complete astonishment. The girl in Jon's grasp, who had been masquerading as a boy, froze at the sudden revelation. "If I had to hazard a guess, the hostage in my hands is one of your illegitimate daughters. She likely desired to study at the Citadel, and you're here to facilitate that. Something along those lines. Am I correct?"


Silence hung in the air briefly before Oberyn's wide smile broke through. "Impressive. You've seen through me," he admitted, his swagger returning as he moved back to the table. Placing the dagger upon it, he resumed his seat. "I would be worried about you giving me out, But... you two aren't exactly normal acolytes, Are you?" he asked with a smug grin


"I don't know what you're talking about," Jon maintained a straight face, while Sam shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.


"The moment you both entered the room, I sensed something amiss," Oberyn began, his feet once again finding their place on the table as he made himself comfortable. "Your robes don't fit quite right. Neither of you bears the ink-stained hands common to acolytes. And you," he pointed at Jon, "you're too physically fit, too calloused for a regular acolyte. So, if I were to speculate wildly, I'd say... you're both nobles impersonating acolytes—perhaps for pranks, theft, or some other dubious endeavour. Isn't that right? So I think If we were to call for any nearby Maesters, you would still be in deeper waters still... After all, I AM The Prince of Dorne,"


Jon's eyes twitched at the satisfaction lacing Oberyn's words. "Let's assume, just for a moment, that your wild theory is true, which it isn't," Jon responded, his raised eyebrow underscoring his scepticism. "How did you conclude that we're nobles?"


"Well... It's because even after learning my identity, you continued speaking so comfortably," Oberyn shrugged.


"He's right," Alleras suddenly intervened with a smile, slightly turning her head towards Jon, "Not many dare to talk back to him, especially commoners,"


The tension that had gripped her before seemed to have dissipated now that she believed the danger had passed.


"Well... perhaps you're not as fearsome as you believe," Jon murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. He continued louder, unfazed by Oberyn's presence. "Ahem... Anyway, since we both have something on each other and don't want to involve the Citadel, it seems we're at an impasse." Jon turned his attention to Sam. "So, we'll take our leave. Sam, open the door."


Sam wasted no time, promptly complying with Jon's request. As the door opened, Jon directed his attention back to Sam. "You go ahead. I'll follow up shortly. Oh, and take that book on poisons with you." Jon gestured towards the book on the table near Oberyn. "It might prove useful in the future." Sam gulped, hesitating for a moment before mustering his courage. He retrieved the book, casting a final look towards Oberyn, then hurriedly exited.


"You don't mind if I borrow that book, do you?" Jon's voice held a casual tone as he began to edge toward the door, still keeping his gaze fixed on Oberyn. Without waiting for a response, he added, "I heard you're heading to Essos. I have some plans to venture there as well in the future. I'll make sure to return it to you should our paths cross again. Farewell until then." With that, Jon gently pushed Alleras towards Oberyn and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him.


Alleras appeared poised to follow, but Oberyn's raised hand stopped her. A mysterious smile played on his lips. "Let it be," he advised, his eyes fixed on the closed door. "I have a feeling this won't be the last time I encounter that Northerner."


....


"...Our ships have been vanishing for weeks," Alyn Orkwood's voice resonated with an underlying intensity as he recounted the troubling events. His scowl etched deep lines on his weathered face. "Once or twice might have been a coincidence, but the frequency is too uncanny. Both of these men can vouch," he gestured toward Goodbrother and Tawney, both confirming his words with solemn nods. "We've uncovered the responsible party."


Balon Greyjoy, leaning back in his chair, appeared to be grappling with boredom as he listened. The atmosphere was thick with nonchalance in his solar at Pyke.


"And who, pray tell, is this sinister culprit?" Balon's tone dripped with indifference, a stark contrast to the gravity of the matter at hand.


"It's the Northerners," Alyn spat, "The fuckers Mormonts to be exact,"


Balon's reaction was far from what Alyn had anticipated. The Lord of Pyke erupted into raucous laughter, the sound filling the room. "The Mormonts, you say? Hah! Bear fuckers, stealing our ships?" He took a hearty swig of ale as if the notion was utterly preposterous.


"I know, it's hard to believe those tree-loving Greenlanders are capable of such," Alyn asserted resolutely, unmoved by Baleon's mirth. "One of my captains swears he saw our distinct ships at what's become of the port on Bear Island—"


"A port?" Balon interjected, incredulity painting his features. "You dare call that shack on Bear Island a port?"


"They've managed to construct one in recent years."


Balon shook his head in disbelief. "Beggars and thieves, that lot. Do they even have enough coin for that?"


"Yes. It appears they've garnered enough resources," Alyn confirmed, his tone unyielding. "My proposal is that we muster a fleet and sack this budding port before it grows further—"


Balon's rebuttal was swift, his demeanour sombre. "We can't," he asserted, rising from his seat with a heavy sigh. "The time isn't ripe. We're too weak at the moment, Besides... they've my son."


"Your son isn't in the North," Alyn argued, his determination unwavering. "If we strike under the cloak of night, with our banners veiled, none shall be the wiser—"


"Absolutely not!" Balon's retort held finality. He stood resolute, his resolve unshaken. "Not yet. We must wait, and bide our time. The moment shall come when we make them all pay the Iron Price," his words were almost a murmur as he departed the chamber.


Goodbrother broke the silence, the question on everyone's minds voiced. "Are we going to just let it go then?"


Alyn's response was fierce, his resolve unwavering. "No, we won't. Our fleet alone will be enough to show them their place. We'll make those bastards rue the day they dared to underestimate us."

///

 

[Darcksage]

Wow ironic for Balon to call the thieves and beggars lmao

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

Alleras appeared poised to follow, but Oberyn's raised hand stopped her. A mysterious smile played on his lips. "Let it be," he advised, his eyes fixed on the closed door. "I have a feeling this won't be the last time I encounter that Northerner."

Click to shrink...

Oh would you look at that, a plot point! Will Sam fuck Sarella and Gilly? No fucking idea but hey catching Obie's interests is great. For the plot that is.

 

[ATP]

Oh would you look at that, a plot point! Will Sam fuck Sarella and Gilly? No fucking idea but hey catching Obie's interests is great. For the plot that is.

Click to shrink...

Of course not! Sarella,just like Val and Dacey,belong to Jon harem! author,thanks you for anoter great harem story here !
Jokes aside - Balon would be right in normal situation.Here? he would lost part of his fleet,and maybe life.

Not becouse Jon is second coming of Napoleon,but becouse he started using wargs like they should be used - as recon and communication unit.

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

Of course not! Sarella,just like Val and Dacey,belong to Jon harem! author,thanks you for anoter great harem story here !
Jokes aside - Balon would be right in normal situation.Here? he would lost part of his fleet,and maybe life.

Not becouse Jon is second coming of Napoleon,but becouse he started using wargs like they should be used - as recon and communication unit.

Click to shrink...

Sure but don't take this bad, but please use your spacing properly and grammar check.

Anyway, yeah a sexy Sand Snake for Jon sounds cool.

 

[ATP]

Sure but don't take this bad, but please use your spacing properly and grammar check.

Anyway, yeah a sexy Sand Snake for Jon sounds cool.

Click to shrink...

Why only one?

 

[LazyWizard]

"Eh, which one is that?" Bran asked innocently with a cute tilt of his little head and a frown on his face as he pointed towards the intricate wooden board.

"That is the Queen," Sansa answered absentmindedly, her attention divided between the conversation and the board between Robb and her father.

It was around noon just before lunch was to start and they were seated around the familiar high table in the Great Hall, which lay deserted, save for their family. Robb and Eddard occupied one side of the table, Bran rested comfortably on Sansa's lap, while Arya sat a bit farther away, since she had already been reprimanded twice for being too loud and distracting.

"That's stupid," Arya remarked, her face scrunched up. She glanced up at her sister, challenging, "The Queen doesn't know how to fight; she only knows how to wear dresses and look pretty. How come that piece is the most powerful and can move all over the place?"

Sansa patiently explained, "The Queen represents the Queen's family, just like the White King represents the Royal Family and the Black one the Rebel King." She recalled asking the same questions to Jon when he had introduced this game during his previous visits. "Can you tell me who the current Queen's family is?"

"I know! I know!" Bran said, jumping excitedly on her lap, "It's The Lannisters! Isn't it?"

"That's right," Sansa confirmed, wearing a proud smile as she affectionately rubbed Bran's head. He basked in the praise, his chest puffing up. "Seems like someone's paying attention to the Maester's lessons."

"Humph! I knew that too," Arya said pouting before she suddenly pointed at another towering piece on the board. "Tell me then, what is that?" she challenged Bran, who shook his head, unable to recall this one.

"That is the Navy representing the Royal Navy," Sansa answered for Bran while fondly rubbing Arya's head despite her protests, "And both sides have two of these."

Bran, still curious, questioned, "How come it can't move straight and can only go sideways?" His eyes followed Robb's move as he captured one of their father's Navy pieces.

"Hmm... Maybe it's because the Navy uses ships that can only traverse through water and not land so that's why on the board it can't move straight and can only move diagonally," Sansa said with a shrug, as this wasn't a question she had asked Jon but what she had said seems like a reasonable explanation, "And the last two big pieces are the Knights and Lords,"

"Knights?" Bran's eyes sparkled with awe. "Like from the stories?"

"Yes," Sansa said with a knowing smile, she knew her little brother was obsessed with the stories of Knights and their gallantry, "And the Knights here represent the Cavalry and since they are one of the fastest ones on land, they can jump from place to the other, regardless of who's blocking them. And those towers that somewhat look like the first keep... are called Lords. They represent the Lord Paramounts, and like the Knights and the Navy, each side has two."

And Just as she said that Robb took one of Father's Lord with his Queen, with a smirk on his face while her father just made his next move expressionlessly

Sansa smiled and replied, "Those are the pawns, also known as foot soldiers. The two Lord Paramounts each bring two pawns, while the Queen brings three. One of them represents the King's personal army, the Kingsguard, making a total of eight pawns for each side."

Arya interjected, nodding sagely, "Those are the weakest ones."

Sansa disagreed gently, "No, that's not always the case, you know. If they manage to get close enough, they can take out anyone, from Knights and Lords to even the Queen. They can even scare away the King. And if, somehow, they reach the end—your home—they can transform into any piece on the board except for the King."

Bran, perplexed, frowned and said, "That's not making sense."

Arya chimed in, "That's what I said."

"Hmm... Let me think," Sansa said with a pondering expression, before her face suddenly lit up, "Oh I know... Tell me, Do either of you remember that story about Ser Barristan Selmy and the Defiance?"

"Yes! Yes! I know!" Bran immediately answered, jumping up and down, "Ser Barristan Selmy sneaked into the Dun Fort, the seat of House Darklyn and rescued King Aerys, and even killed Symon Hollard during the escape to avenge his fallen Kingsguard brother,"

"That's right," Sansa nodded with a smile, "And that proves my point... What a whole army with Lord Lannister at its head, couldn't accomplish, Ser Barristan, a single Kingsguard, managed to achieve once he infiltrated the castle."

While Sansa was teaching her younger sibling the game called Chess that Jon said he got from a sailor from somewhere in Essos, most of her focus was still on the board. That's why she could easily see how Robb was on the verge of losing. Her brother was a very aggressive player, and he was somewhat obsessed with the Queen. If his own Queen was in danger he would protect it with all his might somewhat even willingly losing a few important pieces and similarly, he wouldn't be able to resist the lure of Father's Queen and lose the game in two moves.

Sansa almost opened her mouth to help him but stopped at the last moment since she knew her father would want him to make mistakes and learn from them.

"Aha! I got your Queen," Robb exclaimed triumphantly as he made a move. "You lose in three moves, Father. My Lord goes here, and then my Navy moves there, and it's checkmate."

"You're correct," Eddard replied calmly, acknowledging Robb's impending victory. "You can indeed trap my King in three moves and win. However..."

"No! Noo!! No 'howevers'!" Robb panicked, frantically reevaluating his moves.

"You lose in one," Eddard declared, moving his Lord piece from its corner of the board to the other side, effectively trapping Robb's King, which was smothered behind his Pawns.

"Ahhh!! Shit!" Robb cursed, his face as red as his hair. Sansa could understand him as the Chess Rage one feels when you lose at the last moment because of a blunder is very real and blinding.

"You're adept at tactics, Robb, and you excel in short-term moves," Eddard remarked calmly while resetting the board. "But you need to remember to always see the whole board, think about the long game and keep your home safe, otherwise you'll win the battles but lose the War, Understand."

"Yes, Father," Robb replied, wearing a slight pout.

"Move over, Robb," Sansa said, standing up with an excited smile on her face, "It's my turn now,"

"Aww, But I want to play another game,"

"I want to play, too," Arya said, even though she never finishes and always messes with the board when she starts to lose.

"Me too! Me Too!" Bran followed excitedly.

"Get lost! both of you," Robb said pushing his smaller siblings away from the board, "We only have this one board and you don't know how to play anyway—"

"I do! Idiot!" Arya said and immediately started hitting Robb angrily with her small punches and then they all started shouting and fighting each other.

"Calm down, Kids, You can take turns," Eddard attempted to restore order, though his voice was drowned out in the chaos. He sighed inwardly, thinking, 'Where's Catelyn when you need her?'

Suddenly, the small door behind them creaked open, and in shuffled the ageing Maester. He took one look at the squabbling siblings, promptly ignoring them, and loudly summoned Eddard, "My Lord, a moment!"

Eddard stood up with visible relief. "You all can play together now. Sansa and Bran will be on the same side, and Robb and Arya on the other."

"But—"

"No Buts!" He immediately quelled their protests, and quickly exited the Great Hall with the Maester at his heels, "What is it, Maester Luwin?"

"I've finished compiling a list of all the big and small farmers near the Western Shore, that would be the most affected by the Good from reach, My Lord," said Luwin while handing Eddard the list, "I've already started contacting them with your offer and the last of them would be reached by the week's end,"

Eddard's relief was palpable as he said, "That's excellent, and the timing couldn't be better. I am already hearing a word about the huge quantities of cheap grains entering all over the western shores, so we need to get ready as soon as possible."

Concern creased Maester Luwin's brow as he inquired, "My Lord, are we truly going to purchase from all of them?"

"Yes, It is my duty as their Lord," Eddard nodded while giving back to the Maester the list, "While it would be a good thing for the Smallfolks to have access to cheap food, we cannot allow our own farmers and merchants to suffer losses when demand suddenly drops. Even if they don't profit greatly, I'll ensure they don't endure significant losses. Besides the last time Jon was here, we extensively discussed all the steps we could take to handle the fallout from the sudden influx and we decided to use the profits from selling Starkhorses in the East towards stabilising the repercussions,"

"That sounds relieving," Maester said with a smile, feeling proud that Jon was thinking ahead and was using all the economics lessons he had taught him, "At least, this way we can handle all the internal things... As for the external," the Maester shook his head with a sigh, "I fear that a lot of Nobles will be angry with us in the near future, especially those who derive a substantial portion of their income from exporting to the North, like your Goodfather and his allies, not to mention the indirect ones like the Frey's... Most of the wealth Lord Walder is sitting on was made from charging exorbitant tolls for people travelling from South to North, especially those Merchants who carry food... so he's bound to grumble when the profits suddenly fall,"

"Don't worry, We won't stop all the import and we can always use more food, after all, Winter is Coming, " Eddard said nodding sagely, "And besides the Eastern shores are too far for the food from Reach to be transported feasibly, so the impact won't be as huge and moreover I already wrote a letter hinting to my good father that we would be decreasing our imports a while back, so I think he and his allies would have made enough preparation to move the good somewhere else like the Marches, Stormlands after all, we aren't the only ones with a scarcity of food... And as for Walder," Eddard's face immediately scrunched up in disgust as the image of that slimy face appeared in his mind, "that bastard has been leeching from the North for generations so... FUCK HIM,"

Maester Lewin was only shocked for a few seconds before he chuckled and said, "As you say, My Lord, FUCK HIM,"

....

Dacey almost fell as she staggered from the sheer relief she felt when she finally saw the iconic Hightower from afar. This journey had been exceptionally gruelling, and she couldn't be happier that it was finally over.

When Jon had been the one in charge and accompanying her on these voyages, she hadn't fully grasped the intricate complexities of traversing the seas while looping around Ironislands and constantly sailing day and night. It was only now, as the Captain herself, that she truly understood the myriad challenges involved.

Every few hours she would have to go back inside to try and warg into Cory, her Orca, so she could navigate as she wasn't a freak like Jon who could do it all with his eyes wide open. Charting their course, ensuring the well-being of the other ships, and tending to various captaincy duties left her with little respite. And she had to be even more vigilant during the night when the chances of them getting off course would be even higher, so she hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while.

To add to the already challenging circumstances, this time all the ships were crammed to capacity with people and Starkhorses because she had to bring excess people that would crew the new Galleons that they would be getting from the Tyrells, and since it was only their second voyage, they couldn't compromise on quantity, as most of the cargo had already been pre-booked by previous buyers. It made for an exceedingly cramped and demanding journey for everyone involved.

So all in all it was a very difficult trip for her and she was glad that it was finally over.

...

Several hours later, they reached their destination port. The main ship, upon which she had sailed, was the first to dock. Stepping off the plank, Dacey was taken completely by surprise when a vibrant blur streaked past her face. "Ahh—!" She exclaimed, startled, her heart racing as she teetered dangerously close to falling into the water. In the nick of time, Brian, who was following closely behind her, used his long arms to prevent her from plummeting.

"Are you alright?" Brian inquired as he steadied her and stepped onto the dock.

"What in the Seven Hells was that?" Dacey asked, both annoyed and bewildered, her eyes darting around in search of the mysterious intruder.

"I think it was a bird or something," Brian suggested. Almost as he uttered those words, the colourful apparition darted past them again. This time, Dacey caught a glimpse of the bird as it briefly hovered before her, its lightning-fast movements making it nearly impossible to follow.

It was about the size of her fist and the bird's beauty was astonishing, with a radiant emerald green crown, bronzy green feathers, and a violet throat. Its long tail extended well beyond its body, with the upper part shimmering in iridescent blue and the underside a deep bluish-black.

*Chirp* *Chirp* *Chirp*

"What the hell is wrong with this madbird..." Brian muttered, attempting to capture it as he clapped and leapt around but was having no luck.

The tiny critter kept zipping away and flicking back across their faces, almost as if it wanted them to follow her. And suddenly, it clicked inside Dacey's mind.

"So, he succeeded..." she mumbled to herself, recalling her conversation with Jon before her departure and his reason for staying behind. "Wait! Brian, stop! Forget about the bird; I'll handle it." She lowered his hand. "Can you ensure the rest of the ships dock properly?"

"Yes, of course. But where are—" Brian began to ask.

"I'm relying on you, Brian," Dacey interrupted while moving backwards towards the direction the bird was cruising in, "I'll be back in a few hours so Don't worry. And remember to take all the crew except for the guards to the same inn we used the last time, as I am sure Jon already booked it for us. You got it?"

"Yes, You can count on me,"

"Perfect. Now where's the damn bird," she mumbled while turning around, "Ahh! Fuck! Will you stop doing that," she shouted at the bird when it suddenly reappeared before her, her breath catching in her throat. "Now, take me to Jon," she commanded, and the bird seemed to understand, flying away.

About 10 minutes later after walking through a few winding streets, they left the bustling port behind and came to an isolated area of the port with not many ships around. And there she found their prize from the Tyrells, docked perfectly and visible from afar were two huge galleons in pristine condition.

She admired the Galleons in awe while following after the bird. They were large multi-masted sailing beasts and were primarily designed for huge cargo transport and long sea voyages. It was easy to tell even from afar that it was built to withstand the rough seas and any potential pirate attacks with its sturdy wooden hull that was reinforced with Iron.

"Like what you see?" a voice suddenly rang out from above. Dacey looked up and found Jon gazing down at her with a grin, from the bow of the ship, dressed in loose, comfortable white attire suitable for the warm weather.

"Definitely," she said returning his grin, "They're perfect,"

"Oh it's only the start," Jon said in a smug tone while coming down towards the dock, "It won't be long before we have a long line of them available at our beck and call,"

"What were you doing in there," she asked curiously as he stepped off the plank.

"Oh nothing," Jon said waving nonchalantly, "Just checking to see if that Tyrell granny didn't send a faulty piece,"

"Hmm... Wouldn't put it past the old crone," Dacey scoffed before she waved her hand in the air, "And can you tell this damn bird to stop annoying me," the bird chirped even more excitedly when she tried to capture it.

*Chirp* *Chirp*

"Aww she's just playing with you," Jon said with a smile, "I am sure that she's just excited to be your friend,"

"She almost made me fall into the sea," Dacey grumbled.

"Ah! Sorry about that," Jon said sheepishly, "She's not properly accustomed to humans yet. Tweety! Come here! It's time for your sleep," he barely finished his sentence and the outrageously colourful bird disappeared from where she was hovering above Dacey's head and appeared in front of Jon' shirt pocket. Jon took her into his hand and placed it inside where it immediately fell asleep in the warmth.

"Phew! Now that the critter is gone, I need to tell you something important," Dacey said, her tone turning sombre.

"What is it?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you scouted around the Iron Islands lately?"

"No," Jon shook his head, "You know that Frost is busy most of the time on that secret mission so I haven't had the time lately. Why? Do we have a problem there?"

"Yeah, A serious one," Dacey said nodding, "One of the minions on his routine checks around the shores of those Reavers to find vulnerable targets came across a disturbing gathering of a huge number of ships on that Island of Orkmont,"

"How many?"

"Twenty-something and they are slowly increasing," Dacey said with a serious face, "So I was a bit suspicious and immediately had a minion with a bird spy on them. Can you guess what I found?"

"They are preparing to attack us, Aren't they?" Jon said with a pondering expression.

"Exactly!" Dacey said with a surprised expression, "How did you know that?"

"It was only a matter of time," Jon shrugged with an unconcerned expression, "We have been focusing most of our attacks on the ships coming out of that island so as to not stir the whole pot so eventually they were bound to catch up... I mean it's not like we can completely hide the port,"

"Why are you so nonchalant?" Dacey inquired, her curiosity piqued. "You do realize that our port is still vulnerable, and we can't handle a large-scale attack at the moment, right? Even if we halted all trade and assembled our ships for an ambush at sea, it would likely be a Pyrrhic victory and set us back significantly."

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Jon said with a mysterious smile, "And if the timing is perfect, then not only would we come out of this unscathed, we will also make a huge profit out of it,"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You just need to wait and see..."

///

To read ahead go to: patreon.com/lazywizard

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

"Don't worry, I have a plan," Jon said with a mysterious smile, "And if the timing is perfect, then not only would we come out of this unscathed, we will also make a huge profit out of it,"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You just need to wait and see..."

Click to shrink...

I see Jon is channeling his inner Jack Sparrow. I can already hear the theme song playing.

 

[ATP]

I see Jon is channeling his inner Jack Sparrow. I can already hear the theme song playing.

Click to shrink...

Indeed.Ironborn would fall,and Jon would get more money.Only question is,how many womans except Dacey and Val he would get in his harem!
P.S Poor Rob,but "Nooo Havevers" was still funny.And he still need to see bigger picture.
And,indeed,fuck the Freys.

 

[GrimmKenway8646]

Indeed.Ironborn would fall,and Jon would get more money.Only question is,how many womans except Dacey and Val he would get in his harem!
P.S Poor Rob,but "Nooo Havevers" was still funny.And he still need to see bigger picture.
And,indeed,fuck the Freys.

Click to shrink...

Thanks, I agree. Apologies if this is rude, but adding a space between sentences, especially after commas and periods helps improve legibility.

 

[ATP]

Thanks, I agree. Apologies if this is rude, but adding a space between sentences, especially after commas and periods helps improve legibility.

Click to shrink...

Not rude at all! i i simply want to show how progressive i am!

 

[LazyWizard]

Dacey's eyes cleared, the milky whiteness fading, and her pupils returned as her consciousness snapped back.


"How Far?" Jon asked immediately, not giving Dacey the chance to completely regain her bearings.


"If we maintain our current speed, we should reach them just before tomorrow's sunset," Dacey replied, massaging her temples. "Ugh... When is Frost expected back?"


"Don't worry I'll call her back before the attack," Jon said with an amused smile while giving Dacey his hand and pulling her up, "But she would need to go back right after... So I am sorry to say you won't be free for quite a while..."


Jon had become quite an expert on warging over the years, and one thing he had noticed was that different people react differently to Warging.


Some of them are deathly scared of it, even the thought of leaving their body behind makes them pale. But after their first time, after they experience that distinct taste of freedom—of flying in the open skies, of cruising in the deep seas amidst colourful sea creatures, or of running through the deep green forest alone while smelling a hundred kinds of smells—they are also the ones who become the most hooked, the one most attracted to staying inside their warg animal's mind forever and so they have a hard time controlling their desires.


On the other side are those people who are not very scared of Warging—who in fact treat it as just another mundane task. While these people become quite good at warging eventually, they don't really adore the feeling of being vulnerable and don't like to stay away from their bodies for too long. And Dacey was someone who belonged to the latter group.


"Really!" Dacey grimaced while exiting the room after Jon, "When is her damn mission going to be over? Is it even possible for her to find something like that?"


"Hmm.... I can't say," Jon shrugged nonchalantly, "And it isn't like she was completely unsuccessful. She'd had some partial success... It's just that the ones she's found till now were too small for them to be too useful... so she'll just have to continue looking,"


Dacey sighed and stretched lazily, her joints creaking. "Do we really have to go to such lengths for the wildlings?"


Jon chose to ignore her grumbling and scanned the surroundings. After a moment, he called out to a man standing at the ship's bow. "BRIAN!"


Brian turned around, looking surprised, and hurried over. "Captain?"


"Send someone to gather all the merchants for a meeting," Jon instructed.


"Aye!" Brian nodded and started to leave but then hesitated. "Should I have them come here, or..."


"No, not here. It's better at the Galleon," Jon replied, and Brian quickly went off to carry out his orders, while Jon turned his eyes to the sea.


Directly behind the main ship, known as "The North Star," sailed the rest of their Bear Islands fleet. They maintained a disciplined triangular formation, resembling a flock of birds in flight. Navigating the heart of this formation were two immense galleons, heavily laden with a fresh bounty of goods.


The galleons were like floating fortresses, their hulls brimming with treasures such as grains, wine, spices and textiles. In contrast, the other ships were only half-filled with cargo on this voyage, a deliberate choice by Jon to ensure their nimbleness at the sea.


A bit further back, a smaller fleet of approximately ten ships followed. Six of them proudly displayed the Reach's vibrant flags, belonging to the same merchants Jon had met during the previous time when he pitched the Starkhorses in that Inn. The remaining four ships bore the heraldry of the Westerlands, owned by a trusted friend of Jon's, who had been interested in getting in on the North-South trade for some time.


All of these ships were different kinds of local speciality that they felt would sell well in the North. Except for food and grain of course since they knew that they would have to sell cheaper than Jon which wouldn't be profitable.


They were the first few customers of Jon's future shipping company which would basically provide escorting services to ships, guaranteeing their safety at the Sea, whether be it from pirates, harsh weather or any other kind of disaster—for an appropriate fee of course. And while it could be a little costly for the small-time merchants, it would still be absurdly cheap in the long run considering the amount of ships that got lost at the sea. It was kind of like an insurance policy in Middle-Ages.


Dacey had a frown on her face as if she was thinking about something before suddenly her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "Wait a minute! Was that your whole plan," she finally realised exactly why he had suddenly decided to call a meeting of the owners of all the ships, "You want to use them in the attack?!"


" 'Use' is a strong word," Jon said with a nonchalant shrug, "More like I am giving them a chance to aid—Why? You think it wouldn't work?"


"Would it? Really?" she retorted back, "I mean for the starters it won't be easy to convince those opportunistic suckers to join us in the attack since ironically they hired us to do the exact opposite i.e. to avoid conflict with the Ironborn in the first place,"


"Hmm... I think I've got an idea on how to get them onboard..." Jon muttered thoughtfully while slowly leading Dacey towards the only room on the deck other than the Captain's.


"AND even if you somehow convinced them—the battle would still be too even," Dacey urged, concern lacing her voice, "They have about 30-something ships filled to the brim with warriors ready for a raid and on the other hand we barely have twenty of our own ships and that's even counting the two galleons which are too slow and bulky to be useful in the battle, not to mention that quite a few of ours are filled with rookies on their first trip, so even counting the ten ships from the Merchants the odds would still be barely even AND—" She raised her voice as she saw Jon preparing to speak as they came to stop in front of a door.


"Even if we somehow successfully ambush them and win, it would definitely be a Pyrrhic victory. We would lose too many of our sailors which would be devastating to our base and affect a lot of our future plans and the worst thing would be if we somehow let a few ships escape..." Dacey didn't finish but the serious expression on her face completely conveyed what she meant.


Until now they had always made sure to wipe everyone on any ships that they target so that none of the nobles on Ironislands get spooked. But if this attack goes even a little bit sideways... then they may just have to prepare to deal with a huge retaliation from the reavers which Dacey was sure they weren't ready for yet.


Jon had listened with a patient expression until her friend had completely let out her concerns and then he began, "All good points, Dacey, but you don't have to worry because I think I've got the solution right here..." he pushed the door open with a smile.


The room was a small one obviously, and it was a little stuffy with a strange smell even though the window was open. At the centre of the room sat a cluttered wooden desk, upon which lay an assortment of peculiar trinkets, colourful herbs and plants, several pestles haphazardly scattered about, and a large open book. Behind the desk, Sam was engrossed in reading the book, his head bowed, while grinding a purplish paste in a pestle.


"Sam, how's it going, my friend?" Jon greeted with cheerful enthusiasm as he entered the room, Dacey following behind, her eyes filled with curiosity.


"Ah, Jon," Sam responded, looking up with a flustered expression. "I'm doing well. Just working on it."


Jon glanced around the cluttered desk as if in search of something specific. "So, do you think it'll be ready in time?"


"I think..." Sam replied with an unsure smile, while pulling up two small earthen jars the size of his fists from under the table, "I mean I haven't made something like this before so I can't say for sure but the colour and consistency is exactly the same as was written in the book so it should work..."


"That's enough for me," Jon said while opening the jars. One contained a bluish, sand-like substance, while the other held the purplish paste Sam had been grinding. "So, what do they do?"


"This one—" he said pointing to the blue one, "can put anyone to sleep for a few hours if the dosage is enough and even if it's diluted it would still leave them faint and drowsy. The purple one, on the other hand, is going to cause them a severe stomach ache and make them stay in the privy for hours and even in the diluted form it would leave them weak enough that they won't even be able to lift a sword,"


Jon had been incredibly lucky when they had gotten their hands on this book from Oberyn in Citadel. It had been a complete treasure trove of all the common poisons you could easily make.


Jon had been on the lookout for something like this for years now but knowledge like this was heavily forbidden and censored— for obvious reasons. In fact, it wasn't even available to the Acolytes and the newer Maesters as he hadn't found anything like it in the common library. So while he didn't know what strings Oberyn pulled to get his hands on this book, he was very thankful for it.


The moment he found out what kind of golden information he had gotten his hands on, Jon immediately started scouring all the nearby forests and mountains in Reach for any ingredients he could find that were described in the books and collected them, which wasn't too hard for an animal whisperer. By the time Dacey arrived, he had collected a significant number of them, and the results lay before them now.


"So a knockout drug and a laxative... Huh," Jon said succinctly while Dacey just looked on with her wide eyes alternating between them.


"Well, yes... those were the only ones I could make in large quantity from the ingredients you got me..." Sam scratched his head sheepishly, "And if the estimate of number of people on each ship you told me is correct... then they should be good enough for about twenty ships."


"That's good enough—"


"So that was your plan all along," Dacey breathed as her brain finally caught up and she realised exactly why Jon had been so calm all along, "Wait! If you can do that then, why not just make one that immediately kills... You know that would make the work a lot easier,"'


While Sam looked a bit horrified at the excited smile on Dacey's face, Jon explained, "Mostly because the ingredients required for them are quite rare plus those fatal ones are not useful for mass application since their potency decreases a lot when they get diluted..."


"Ah, That makes sense..." Dacey nodded her head as if she understood everything.


"I'll take them," Jon said while picking up the two jars, before he looked at the dark circles under Sam's eyes and said, "Why don't you get some rest? You deserve it..."


"I will. Thank you,"


After closing the door behind them, Dacey asked Jon curiously, "How exactly are you thinking of delivering them to the targets... Because It would be too complicated to individually poison every single man... And who were you going to use for it anyway, because I think even Frost's brilliant stealth wouldn't be much useful for such a task considering her size..."


Jon raised an eyebrow and asked with a smile, "Tell me, what's one thing you can be certain everyone on an Ironborn ship consumes?"


It only took Dacey a couple of seconds before she exclaimed, "Alcohol!"


"Exactly," Jon said with a smile, "And as for who I am going to use for this task... Did you already forget about my new friend Tweety," he said touching his front pocket and immediately a small head poked out of it and looked around curiously.


*CHIRP* *CHIRP*


...


"—How far did you say they were?" Whett squeaked with a scared look on his face, he was one of the Merchants from the Reach.


The deck of the Northern Galleon had been transformed into a makeshift meeting place, with tables and chairs arranged to accommodate the merchants. The weather was pleasant, and a selection of sweets and snacks adorned the table. Seated around it were three merchants hailing from the Reach, and a single but much richer one from Westerlands. Jon was standing in front of them with a relaxed smile on his face as if he hadn't just announced that Ironborn pirates were nearby.


Jon nonchalantly plucked a lemon cake from the table and popped it into his mouth before responding, "I'd estimate they're about a day's sail away."


Whett's pale complexion, initially drained of colour, began to regain its hue as he exhaled with relief. He turned to his fellow merchants and nodded vigorously. "That means we can still sail around them, and avoid any trouble."


"Ah! You misunderstand my intention," Jon's expression shifted, appearing genuinely surprised, "I had something else in mind when I shared this information. I was thinking more along the lines of attacking them rather than merely skirting around them,"


Confusion painted Whett's face as he asked, "Why on earth would we do that?"


Jon's tone grew more serious. "Do you know why they're here? Why they're scouring these waters? They're hoping to encounter honest merchants like yourselves and plunder your goods. So, wouldn't it make sense to ambush them before they have a chance to attack you? And clean the seas of these bugs,"


Jon would be stupid if he told them the real reason was that they were on their way to attack the North, as that would make it just a personal issue, which these wouldn't want be eager to interfere in.


"But—" While the Merchants from Reach all exchanged glances with unsure expressions on their faces, the lone one from Westerlands who had had an intense look in his eyes from the moment he had heard about the Ironborn, suddenly asked thoughtfully, "Jon! What are the chances of us winning?"


This Merchant from Westerlands was called Tyrand, and he was a peculiar one. Jon had met him quite a while ago, on one of his first few visits to the Lannisport. He had been instrumental in helping Jon establish distribution channels in Westerlands. The most important thing was that the man seemed to have a mysterious backer who was quite interested in Jon and the sudden emergence of North-South trade on the Western shores.


Anyway back to the topic, this merchant, Tyrand had lost his son to the Ironborn when they had ambushed the Lannisport in their short rebellion. So he had somewhat of a personal beef with the Ironborn which was very helpful for Jon.


"Our chances as good as Ser Jamie Lannister would have of winning against a common brigand," Jon said with a confident expression before he addressed all of them, "The Ironborn have been reaving up and down the shores of Reach for centuries, and Tyrand, don't you remember that unpleasant attack on Lannisport not too long ago... I want you to think of this not as a problem but as an opportunity... An opportunity for Vengeance. Otherwise, do you mean to tell me the Rain of Castemere is just a famous tavern song in Westerlands and nothing more..."


"You don't need to provoke me like that, Jon," Tyrand smiled amusedly with a raised eyebrow at Jon who just grinned cheekily, "If the odds are good as you say they are... then you can count me in... After all, I am not a coward,"


"You! Are you calling us cowards?" Whett suddenly stood up, his face red as a tomato while his fellow merchants held him back with equally indignant expressions on their faces.


"Hmm... I don't know," Tyrand shrugged nonchalantly and sent Jon a subtle wink.


"I am sure he didn't mean that," Jon modified them while noting Tyrand's goodwill, "After all the Reach is well known across Westeros for their fearlessness and chivalry, nobody can doubt that..." After they calmed down, Jon immediately struck while the iron was still hot, "So are you willing?"


"Yes! You can count us in," Whett said with a proud expression, "We'll show the Ironborn what we are made of,"

 

[ATP]

Tyrand with mysterious backer? Tywin,i quess.Or maybe Kevan..Tyrion do not have enough money.

But - how they plan to deliver alcochol to them,and what if some ironborn drink first and others would be warned ?

 

[LazyWizard]

The crimson Sun had slipped below the horizon a few hours earlier, and the moon was already hanging halfway through the sky. The full moon was still days away, and thick clouds obscured much of its light. Even with the feeble torches on each ship, visibility extended only a few meters.


The fleet of thirty Ironborn ships had been divided into three groups when they set off so as to ease the difficulty in navigation. However, they maintained close proximity, ensuring visibility during the day and the ability to react swiftly to any disturbances during the night and gather together in case of an attack.


On the rightmost vessel of the rightmost group, things were very peaceful. The mild breeze carried soft, lulling waves across the calm sea.


It was calm here...


In fact, it was too calm, almost... eerie.


Most of the sailors had already succumbed to sleep a few hours ago after a night of drinking and revelry. But it was somewhat of a general rule of Ironborn to have at least a few people on board awake and for them to stay sober, whenever they were out at sea so that they could act as scouts in case of an attack.


Unfortunately, the Ironborn were as averse to rules as a Dornish Woman was to modest clothes.


"Oi! You, stop it! Don't drain it all," a scout cursed, snatching a pouch of ale from a friend who guzzled it down as if it were water. "It was the only one I managed to pilfer, and we need it for the entire night."


"Who cares," replied the friend gruffly, wiping his mouth. "Those fools are passed out and won't wake until morning."


"Hmm, you're right—"


Thud.


A muffled, piercing sound abruptly shattered the scout's words and when he looked up, he was horrified to find his friend's slowly falling corpse an arrow lodged in his eye. And before he could even open his mouth another arrow punctured his throat, "Ugh!!" killing his scream in his mouth and cutting his life short.


Following the swift succession of two arrows, shadowy figures silently boarded the ship, moving like phantoms in the night. Each was armed with an array of sharp weapons, including daggers and short swords. And after the last one had climbed abroad, all of them calmly divided themselves without any communication between them and then... they went to work.


Some of them entered the cabin while the others headed straight for the sleeping quarters, and for a few minutes, the night echoed with the faint sounds of blades piercing flesh, stifled screams, and soft thuds that disappeared with the sea wind.


Soon, all was silent again.


The shadows slipped out of the vessel one after the other each carrying an additional smell of blood with them. They swiftly lowered themselves out of the ship, exiting as quietly as they had infiltrated it, leaving behind nothing but a lonely ship freely sailing on the sea with no one alive to crew it, a ghost ship.


Their work had only just started as the shadows repeated their method, moving from ship to ship like silent reapers. They were so experienced and adept at their job that even if someone from the infamous The House of Black and White was here, he would be astonished by their skills and clap in admiration.


Sadly the shadows weren't lucky for long...


A man stumbled out of the door of a nearby ship, desperately seeking a spot to relieve his full bladder. As his bleary eyes fell upon the corpses of the scouts, his face drained of colour, and he tumbled backwards, shrieking, "A-Attack! Attack! We are under attack—"


An arrow sliced through the night sky, silencing him and cutting his warning short, but the damage was already done as the alarm had been raised all across the fleet.


"The scouts are dead!!"


"Under Attack! We are under attack!"


"Fuck! WAKE Everyone Up!"


"Shit! AXE!!! Where the fuck's my Axe!"


Screams echoed everywhere, as one after another the Ironborn sailors woke up, after seeing corpses everyone immediately ran to get their weapons and wear any kind of protection they could their hands on. It was pure chaos and pandemonium.


But they were given no respite. Within moments of the alarm, each ship in the Ironborn fleet was beset by attackers from an enemy ship simultaneously. These ships seemed to have materialized out of nowhere as if they had been lying in wait for just this moment.


The attackers didn't care that the Ironborn were half-naked or half-asleep and immediately launched their assault without mercy. The Ironborn responded in kind with a ferocious roar and simultaneously charged toward their attackers, some without even the benefit of a weapon. A chaotic and brutal battle erupted on all fronts.


"Ahh!!! KILL!!"


"Kill those Fuckers!!!"


"WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER—"


...


"Ah! Looks like that'll be it for sneaking around,"


The shadows had just transformed another vessel into a ghost ship when the alarm sounded, and the battle erupted. Rather than feeling disappointed about not eliminating all their targets silently, a gleam of excitement shone in the eyes of nearly every shadow. After all, as much as stealthy killings might be strategic, the warrior's blood coursing through their veins craved nothing more than an all-out, bloody confrontation.


"Are you worried about your friends Rookie," one of the towering Northerners asked the young recruit. They both observed the flickering torches and heard the distant screams from the ships where the battle was already in full swing.


"Ah! No! I am not worried," the young boy replied sheepishly, waiting alongside his comrade for the rest of the team to descend into the waiting boat. "I'm more envious, actually... I heard they'd have an easier time of it..."


Jon had divided the ships among his warriors in a somewhat uneven but perfect way, with the most crucial factor being the limited poison supply, only enough for twenty ships worth of enemies.


Of those twenty vessels with poisoned crews, ten were assigned to the Merchants to deal with, as Jon wished to minimize losses for his customers on their maiden voyage.


Likewise, the other ten ships with poisoned sailors were left to the bulk of the Northern fleet, around fifteen vessels, each ship mostly being manned by fresh recruits from Bear Island. It served as a practical way for these newcomers to gain battle experience without suffering excessive casualties due to their inexperience.


Now the final ten ships, filled with fresh Ironborn sailors had been left for the experts and veterans to attack. Moreover, they only possessed five ships of their own, meaning they would face nearly twice the number of foes—steep odds for them, given that their adversaries were Ironborn and the battle took place at sea.


"HAHA... You don't need to worry about us, lad," the bearded Northerner said gruffly, patting the rookie's back as their turn finally came and they lowered themselves into the waiting boat. "Remember we already took care of five of them," he gestured towards the ghost ships aimlessly sailing behind them. The rookie nodded, having been so preoccupied with his first mission and focused on not blundering that he hadn't even noticed when they began when they moved from one ship to another, or how many of them they had emptied.


He was also from the latest recent crop of graduates handpicked from the Navy school on Bear Island this time. Due to his exceptional skills as both a sailor and a fighter, he hadn't been integrated into the regular forces like his friends; instead, he had been given special attention and had been fast-tracked into this elite team, the 'Shadows'.


"And besides, while they may have poison on their side, we've got a trump card of our own," he added, wearing a smug grin.


"Trump card? Who?" the rookie asked curiously.


The man simply motioned toward the cluster of ships they were rowing toward. Amidst the tumultuous sea battle, one figure stood out more than any other, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.


He stood on the deck of a ship nestled right in the heart of the fiercest combat. He remained as straight as a mast, wielding a bow in his hands with two brimming quivers slung over his back.


His hands moved with such speed that they blurred as he loosed arrow after arrow, not in a single direction but in all directions, as if he were a god with eyes on every aspect of the unfolding chaos. What astounded everyone, even more, was the ease with which he calmly dodged the occasional arrows aimed at him all while seamlessly returning fire.


He was akin to a God of War, unleashing his wrath upon the Ironborn, who found themselves helpless in the face of his relentless assault.


...


"Why the fuck are they not here yet," the captain bellowed, his voice echoing through the chaos of battle. He crouched behind a crate, nursing a shoulder wounded by an arrow.


"Captain, five of our ships have no lights and aren't responding!" his second mate shouted from a nearby hiding spot. "And the others are also under attack."


"Who the fuck is attacking us?" he roared, his frustration mounting. The second mate hurriedly retrieved his far-eye, attempting to get a clearer view and what he saw amidst the flickering lights drained all the colour out of his face.


"Who? Who is it?" the captain demanded as he saw another sailor fall with an arrow through his eye.


"Everyone!" the second mate stammered.


"What!" the captain barked and without waiting for his answer he snatched the far-eye, his prized possession, one he had luckily looted from an Essosi merchant. And the moment he placed it on his eye he immediately understood what the man was talking about.


"T-They've got flags from the North, the Westerlands and even the Reach," the second mate described what the Captain was already seeing in a shaking voice almost as if he was talking to himself.


The trauma of their short rebellion and the Iron Throne's swift retribution was still vivid enough in his memory that he was immediately filled with terror at the sight of so many different flags from the nearby kingdoms.


"Wait! That's—" As his second mate was slowly losing his mind, the captain noticed something even more horrifying going on at the battle on the faraway ships, "No! NO! They are going down too—


....


"—down too quickly," Whett said, his voice tinged with confusion as he observed the vanishing lights in the distance.


To prevent confusion and keep track of everything during the battle, they had decided that after a ship was conquered and every enemy abroad was dead, the last person to disembark would extinguish the light as a signal that the ship had been secured.


"What in the blazes is happening down there?"


"There's no way it's this easy, is there?"


The other merchants were equally perplexed by the swift and unnatural pace at which the Ironborn ships were being vanquished. They were sure that even with this ambush where they caught the enemy with their pants down, it shouldn't be this quick.


"Dacey!" Tyrand, the Westerlands merchant, turned to the stoic Northern woman beside him. "Do you know something?"


"Hmm... Who knows," Dacey replied noncommittally. Jon had decided not to reveal the specifics of how they poisoned the Ironborn, as it would raise too many questions. Instead, they opted to keep things vague and let the merchants' imaginations run wild. "Maybe we're just lucky, and they're all inept fighters..."


"Ironborn being inept at sea? You can't be serious!" Whett retorted disbelief etched on his face as he pointed towards the ongoing battle. "Look out there! A ship is sinking almost every few minutes... Are you telling me our fighters are skilled enough to achieve that? Don't be absurd—"


"Wait! I see a boat approaching," Tyrand suddenly interrupted, pointing towards a small boat rowed by a lone man coming toward the galleon where they all stood. As the boat drew nearer, Tyrand recognized the young scout from a Reach vessel.


"Boy!" Whett didn't give the lad a moment to climb aboard before demanding answers. "Tell me! What the fuck is happening out there?" he pointed at the distant battle where another ship went down.


"T-They're dropping like flies, Master," the boy answered, his voice trembling with excitement. "We're easily taking one ship after another, and—"


"I know that, you idiot!" Whett interrupted impatiently. "I'm asking why. What's happening out there?"


"I think they ate something foul, Master," the boy replied uncertainly. "They all seem sick, vomiting, fainting, and even... even..."


"Even WHAT?"


"They're even shitting their pants while trying to fight. It's quite amusing, Master, hehe..."


"They've been poisoned," Tyrand whispered involuntarily, and immediate understanding washed over all the Merchants. They swivelled their attention to Dacey, and Tyrand stated more as a fact than a question, "You poisoned them."


"I don't know what you're talking about..." Dacey said in a nonchalant tone, but everyone could make out smugness from her expression.


"How did you do it? Did you have a spy on their ships? But... No! They'd have perished too, since you didn't instruct us to make any exceptions, and it's impossible without having a spy on every single ship... Did you have a spy in the port, then? Someone who poisoned their provisions in advance—Ah! But that seems farfetched, doesn't it? The timing of the ambush is too perfect for that to be possible," Tyrand brainstormed out loud before he scratched his head in frustration and asked "How in Seven hells did you do it," it was as if there was an irresistible itch in his mind that he couldn't scratch and that was infuriating.


"It's a trade secret. I can't tell you anything," Dacey finally said with a smile of pure satisfaction on her face, "You just need to know that as long as you're with us, no one can touch even a hair on you... We will keep you safe at sea, no matter the enemy..."


...


"Where's the Captain?" Orkwood whispered to the second mate.


As the noble overseeing a significant portion of the fleet, he had his own cabin. However, in the current turmoil, the confined space felt stifling. When the battle erupted unexpectedly, he had joined the fray with zeal, taking up his sword alongside his fellow sailors in defence of the ship. But as he witnessed people falling like leaves and the prospect of victory dwindling, he abandoned his opponent and sought refuge in the cabin, hoping for a rescue before the enemy reached them.


In the cramped cabin were Orkwood and his three guards, along with three coward sailors who hadn't bothered with the fight at all as the injured second mate, an arrow stuck perilously close to his heart. He was fortunate; the archer seemed to have narrowly missed a fatal shot, possibly due to the ship's swaying, or else the second mate might have already met the Drowned Gods.


"H-He's... dead... M'lord..." the second mate replied with a furrowed brow, his hand hovering over the arrow as if contemplating whether to remove it or leave it be. Even though Orkwood was no healer, he knew that it would be stupid for him to pull that out, but he didn't bother voicing that since there was no way the man would be able to get a healer out here anyway.


"Ahh! How many fucking archers are out there," he cursed as he saw another man just about to kill a Northerner, go down with an arrow straight to his heart. He peered out of a small window, with only his head visible, granting him a vantage point to observe the ongoing battle. What he saw was far from reassuring. Among the sprawled bodies on the deck, he saw only Ironborn, not a single one from the enemy.


"O-Only... one..." the second mate stammered, his voice quivering.


"One! Just one!" Orkwood repeated incredulously, eyeing the man, who nodded in pain, his eyes shut.


"You! Fetch that bow from the table," he commanded one of his guards, who promptly obeyed. "See if you can take him down."


The guard immediately strung his bow and aimed towards the battle but even after hesitating for a long while he didn't shoot and just moved it left and right.


"Just Shoot him!" the Noble barked and the archer flinched but didn't lose the arrow, "I can't get a clear shot. There's no torch out there and he's almost standing in darkness on the bow of the ship, a-and if I miss then we are dead..." the guard had already seen that Northerner take more than a few archers from the nearby ships who had at shot him in just a few minutes.


From left to right, up and down, even killing people hiding behind crates, that godly Northerner archer didn't stop for a single second, he was culling Ironborn lives in all the nearby ships at the same time, it was almost... magical.


"I don't—" the archer started, but an arrow whizzed past his ear, narrowly avoiding decapitating him and he immediately ducked. His heart beating like a drum, he shakingly touched his ear only to find crimson blood there. He breathed heavily, realizing how close he had come to death, saved only because he looked down at the last moment.


"He's found us..." the Noble muttered in fear, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the enemies breached here now that the archer had seen him, "W-We need to kill that archer,"


"H-How? He'll kill us before we can get close to him..."


"I have an idea..." Orkwood said after taking a deep breath. "Gather anything you can find to shield us from arrows," he immediately went towards the single shield placed on the wall and picked it up.


...


A few minutes later, they were all ready, some were holding wooden planks, some buckets and one man even holding the chamber pot, but all of them had some kind of a makeshift shield.


"On the count of three..." the noble directed, clutching a shield from behind. "One... Two... Three. GO!"


"AHHHH!!!!"


The first man burst through the door and sprinted toward the bow, where the archer stood. They ignored the ongoing melee, with both Ironborn and Northerners stunned by this sudden rush, parting to avoid getting trampled.


Their target, the handsome young Northerner, immediately noticed them and looked at them rushing towards him with an amused smile on his face. He calmly raised his bow and started shooting arrows at them.


One arrow after another, he shot the arrows into the most minuscule of gaps, easily taking the front runners out of their group. But the Ironborn, driven half-mad by seeing their comrades fall, pressed on.


Jon effortlessly dispatched four before they drew too close. Although he could have dealt with the remaining few if he had carried a sword, he already bore two full quivers so as to avoid becoming too heavy and lose his agility, he didn't carry any other weapon with him.


"AHHH!!! Die FUCKER!!!"


The two remaining Ironborn screamed as they lunged at the archer but they weren't given the satisfaction as they saw the young Northerner smoothly topple backwards into the sea all while maintaining a smile on his face.


Orkwood peered down at the water, sighing in relief when he saw no sign of the archer resurfacing. He turned and smiled at his lone surviving guard, the other survivor of their mad rush, and whispered, "The bastard's dead!" before he turned and hollered at the remaining Ironborn fighters, "The FUCKER'S DEAD!"


"Finally!" "Thank the Drowned God," "Haha!!"


The men rejoiced, relief washing over them, from the beginning of the battle, they had been constantly harassed by the archer who was like a sword hanging above their neck.


Orkwood immediately saw the opportunity and tried to raise the morale by shouting, "We can escape now if we—"


However, his words were abruptly interrupted by that dreaded piercing sound, and he slowly turned his head to find his last guard with an arrow in his throat looking at him with a shocked expression on his face.


Scared, Orkwoord immediately looked down towards where the arrow had come from and what he saw immediately made him soil his pants.


There he was, the Northern Archer, still alive, with the bow still in his hands and still looking at him with the same amused smile.


The most crazy unbelievable thing was that he was cruising along with the ship but there was no boat or plank supporting, there was... nothing underneath his feet. H-He was actually standing on water as if...


"As if a ...GOD..." he whispered and that was the last thing the noble saw before an arrow claimed his life.

///

 

[Karmic Acumen]

Whale warging for the win, though the archery feat is a bit out there without an instant legolas or three.

 

[Brian the dor]

"As if a ...GOD..."

Click to shrink...

probably the most cringy thing you've written so far

 

[ATP]

Whale warging for the win, though the archery feat is a bit out there without an instant legolas or three.

Click to shrink...

True,but how he do not lost his arrows in water ?
And,Tyrand had a point - it is impossible to be sure when exactly ironborns start drinking poisoned ale.