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Chapter 36: Ch 27 On The WayChapter Text

*Sniff*Sniff*

Olenna, frustrated by their continuous tears, uttered for the umpteenth time, "Enough with the crying already!" Her words seemed as ineffective as a Septa preaching in the bustling market. Rather than calming down, their loud wails had transformed into quiet sobs, as if Olenna was being unkind to them.

Ever since they received the devastating news that their ships, sent to acquire Starkhorses, had been intercepted by Ironborn pirates, Margery and Alerie hadn't ceased crying. The only reason they even found out about it was that one of the young sailors somehow managed to survive by jumping onboard and making it onshore and travelling day and night to bring them the news.

Margery was taking all the blame on herself while Alerie was just making herself miserable while thinking about all the cruel things that the Ironborn could do to her favourite maid, Tara and little Alla who she had raised as her second daughter after she lost her mother at a tender age.

"It's alright, M-Marge," Alerie hiccuped, attempting to remain strong for her daughter. "I believe the Seven will protect them and prevent any harm. I'll light a candle in the Sept day and night, praying for the Warrior to shield them and the Crone to guide them home," she murmured to herself while gently rubbing her daughter's back.

They had all gathered in Olenna's room, which was adorned with delicate floral tapestries that hung from the walls, depicting the vibrant beauty of the surrounding gardens. The air was filled with a soft fragrance of roses, carried in through the open windows that overlook the lush countryside.

Warm sunlight cast a gentle glow on the polished wooden floors and elegant furniture was arranged neatly, with plush armchairs and a comfortable sofa forming a cosy seating area. The cushions and upholstery were decorated in a palette of soft pastel colours, reflecting the grace and femininity of the Tyrell family.

Olenna was sitting regally in a high-backed chair, her piercing eyes looking at Alerie and Margery with faces of sorrow as tears streamed down their cheeks. Young Margery, at the tender age of thirteen, sat on the sofa with her mother, her youthful features marked with grief.

Her brown curls cascade over her shoulders, framing her cherubic face. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and curiosity, are now red and puffy from crying. Her petite frame was trembling with emotion as she clutched a handkerchief tightly in her small hands.

"B-But it's my f-fault that they were hurt..." Little Margery uttered, her voice small and sniffly. "If I hadn't wanted 'it,' nothing would have happened."

"Nonsense," Olenna interjected sharply, preventing Alerie from soothing her daughter's worries. "It is in no way your fault."

"But I—"

"Did you command the attack on their ships?" Olenna questioned before Margery could even respond.

"No," Margery replied, her eyes reddened and her beautiful brown locks dishevelled, devoid of their usual adornments.

"Did you possess prior knowledge of the impending attack?"

"No—"

"Then it is not your fault at all," Olenna stated forcefully, her tone softening somewhat. "Traveling by sea always carries a certain degree of danger, and they simply encountered the misfortune of crossing paths with those accursed pirates."

"But we don't know if they are dead, do we?" a voice suddenly interjected from beside the window, capturing their attention. They all turned to look at Loras, the fourteen-year-old who had arrived half an hour earlier, still dressed in his sweaty training clothes. "We can still save them if we try, can't we?"

Olenna sighed and patiently addressed her youngest grandson, "And how do you propose we save them?"

"We should gather all of our forces and attack them immediately," Loras said waving his hands as if he had a sword and was about to lead an attack on the Ironborn.

"And whom, exactly, would you attack, my dear grandson?" Olenna asked, calmly consuming a piece of cheese from the table before her. Her tone carried a hint of condescension, but Loras was too caught up in his excitement to notice.

"The Ironborn, of course," Loras replied, standing up from his position by the window. He began speaking rapidly, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "We can rally our soldiers, knights, and horses. I'm sure the Redwyne cousins would lend us some of their ships. Then we could swiftly sail to the Iron Islands—"

"Seven Hells! He's becoming more and more like his father," Olenna muttered under her breath. She interrupted her hyperactive grandson and spoke louder, her eyes closed as she massaged her forehead. "As I just asked, who specifically are you planning to attack?"

"Um... the Ironborn," Loras repeated, his confidence wavering upon seeing his grandmother's expression. He sensed he had made a misstep.

"I'm asking you to be specific among the Ironborn," Olenna continued, her piercing gaze fixed upon Loras. "Do you realize that there is an entire kingdom of islands teeming with them? The Greyjoys, the Blacktydes, Botleys, Drumms, Goodbrothers, Greyirons, Harlaws, or any of the dozen others? So, who do you intend to attack?"

"Maybe... the Greyjoys?" Loras replied tentatively, shrinking back at the sight of his grandmother's stern face. Fortunately for him, his sister interjected, lifting her head from their mother's embrace and speaking softly, "You can't do that..."

"And can you explain to him why not, Margaery?" Olenna inquired, her tone significantly calmer than with Loras.

"B-Because that would violate the King's peace," Margaery hesitated at first, her voice growing steadier as she continued, "And we lack any evidence that could justify an attack on a great house to present to the King."

"Finally! Someone in this family possesses some common sense," Olenna exclaimed, her voice filled with exaggerated relief. "I swear, if it were left to you and your father, this family would perish within weeks..." She turned to Loras, who was desperately trying to inch his way out of the room, seeking escape from his formidable grandmother.

An urgent knock resounded from behind the door, prompting Alerie to swiftly say, "Come in!" in an effort to spare her son from further scrutiny by his grandmother.

"My Lady... Hahh... Hahh..." Maester Lomys entered the room, gasping for breath as if he had sprinted all the way from his rookery. He attempted to convey a message but instead doubled over, breathing heavily as if on the verge of collapse.

"Ah, give me the letter," Olenna impatiently interjected, rising from her seat and snatching the letter from the maester's outstretched hand. "We'll all die of old age before you catch your breath," she remarked, opening the letter swiftly.

The maester appeared slightly offended, but Olenna paid him no mind as her eyes scanned the contents of the letter. Her expression transformed from annoyance to surprise, and her eyebrows raised as she finished reading.

"What is it, Mother?" Alerie asked, curiosity brimming in her voice.

Olenna didn't even bother correcting her and said in an impressed tone, "It seems your Gods heard you... They survived,"

"W-Who?" Alerie asked, her breath caught in anticipation.

"Both of them," Olenna said, settling back into her comfortable chair with a groan. "It seems they were miraculously rescued by a Northerner ship from Bear Island. They are currently there."

"Really..." Alerie and Margery exclaimed in unison, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. As Olenna nodded in confirmation, a mixture of relief and joy washed over them. They embraced tightly, their tears finally flowing freely.

"Thank the Seven!" Alerie exclaimed.

"I am so glad!" Margery added, their voices filled with genuine gratitude.

Tara had been Alerie's closest confidante, while Alla had become like a sister to Margery. The news of their survival brought immense relief to both of them.

Amidst their celebration, Loras, who had lingered near the door, spoke up in confusion, "But why would those barbarians save them?"

"Don't call them that," Margery fiercely retorted, and Loras sweated when he saw his sister have the same expression as his grandmother had a minute ago, "They saved Alla, so they must be good people,"

"The more pressing question is," Olenna interjected thoughtfully, "How did they come across them? I wasn't aware that they possessed fleets or ships on this side of the sea." She turned to the maester, who had regained his breath by now.

"No, my lady," the maester responded, shaking his head and adjusting his chain. "There hasn't been any notable naval presence in the North on the western side since Bran the Burner burned his fleet when his father, Bran the Shipwright, disappeared in Sunset Sea. So they should not have any ships available there other than the small fishing ones... at least not the ones capable of going against the Ironborn,"

"Hmm... That does make it intriguing," Olenna mused, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. "Perhaps the silent wolf is doing something behind the scenes without anyone being aware..."

"When is she coming here, Grandma? Should we send ships to bring her back? I've heard it's bitterly cold there. What if she falls ill?" Margery anxiously inquired, her questions pouring out one after another.

"No need to worry about sending ships," Olenna reassured them, waving her hand dismissively. "It appears that he intends to bring them home himself."

"That is good news," Alerie remarked, a smile brightening her face.

"That is remarkably generous of him," the maester chimed in unexpectedly. "In fact, I would venture to say that he's being overly generous."

"Who is he?" Margery asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

"Jon Snow," Olenna absentmindedly replied, her attention drifting. "Tara mentioned in her letter that he was the captain of the ship that rescued them, and he's the one who will escort them back."

"He's a bastard," Loras sneered, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "Maybe he's looking for money and he's hoping that we're generous enough to give him a reward,"

"If I'm not mistaken, he is Lord Stark's bastard, conceived during the war," Maester Lomys interjected with a shrug. "Although he would be too young to hold the position of ship captain, so he might be someone else."

"Well, we'll find out when he arrives in approximately..." Olenna glanced at the maester expectantly.

"It should take them around three weeks, considering their departure on the day they sent the letter and favourable winds," the maester confidently estimated.

"Then we shall discover his true identity in three weeks' time," Olenna declared, a hint of anticipation colouring her tone.

Unbeknownst to them, their entire conversation had been heard by an unassuming raven that was sneakily hidden by the window.

...

In his room in Bear Islands, Jon opened his eyes with a deep breath as he adjusted to his own body after being in three bodies for that long for the first time. He had ordered Frost to fly back home which shouldn't take her too long considering her speed.

'That was a very interesting conversation,' Jon thought to himself with a small smile.

He hadn't intended to eavesdrop from the start but when the Maester immediately started running towards the Tyrells after he received the letter he was too curious to stop himself and followed after him. And while it felt somewhat wrong to listen in on someone's private conversation, he was glad he got to see what the Tyrells looked like and what their personalities were in real life and different it was from the books.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted Jon's thoughts. He stood up from his bed, shaking his legs which had fallen asleep from sitting cross-legged, and manoeuvred around his chest filled with luggage. One of his earliest crew members, who was not only the tallest but also one of the most fierce warriors on his ship.

"The ships are ready to take off. We're only waiting for you, Captain,"

"The ships are ready to set sail. We're only waiting for you, Captain," Harold informed him.

"Let's go then," Jon replied, leaving his luggage for Harold to handle. He made his way out of the Mormont castle and headed for the docks. The sight that greeted Jon at the port was truly mesmerizing.

Fifteen ships were docked and loaded, a number that likely set a record in the history of Bear Island. Although it wasn't apparent from the outside, most of the ships were filled to their maximum capacity with Stark horses and other Northern goods like furs and honey. These items could fetch a profitable price in the southern markets.

Jon spotted Maege standing on the port, her gaze fixed on the ships as they prepared to depart. He approached her and stood by her side, asking, "Done saying your farewells to Dacey?"

Maege grunted affirmatively, her eyes still fixed on the ships. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone contemplative. "Don't you think you're taking too many of them at once?"

"Well, it will be our first trip to the Reach," Jon shrugged. "I've heard tales of how everyone there, from farmers to blacksmiths, is prosperous. I don't want to fall short in meeting the demand later on."

"I see," Maege responded, her scepticism evident, as the ships took back their planks after every's ships crew had boarded them except for the biggest one which was Jon's ship.

"And I wanted to take some extra so that we can sell the leftovers at the Lannisport on the way back,"

"Huh..." Maege finally turned to him and asked with a raised eyebrow, "Didn't you say you wanted to limit the number of Starkhorses you sent there for a while because you wanted them to realise the quality difference or something like that,"

"Oh that," Jon said with a smile, "Well I think that they've learned about the quality of our quality so I think that it's finally time to ramp up the supply,"

The "quality difference" Jon referred to was one of the primary reasons he had been cautious about selling Stark horses in the Westerlands. In a world without patents, there was no way to prevent others from copying a successful product, which meant that as soon as something new was invented, imitators would try to capitalize on the profits.

So there are only a few ways that you can safeguard a lucrative product and maintain a competitive edge without getting taken over by copycats, one way would be to go the way of Myr.

The best glass and lenses, and telescopes called Myrish eyes, come from Myr, and lenscrafters from Myr are considered to be without equal in all the world. And one of the main reasons they've been able to do so is that the Masters there have been able to keep their recipes a secret so tight that even the mighty Bravoos with all the money at their disposal hadn't been able to find it.

Alternatively, one could adopt a strategy akin to that of the Reach, where complete control over the resources required for the product was maintained. The Reach excelled in producing exceptional wines, largely because they controlled the cultivation of grapes, the essential ingredient.

Jon had chosen the latter path. He had anticipated that people would eventually attempt to replicate his cycles, and he was proven right when, shortly after their introduction in Lannisport, he witnessed several nobles making futile attempts to recreate the product through Frost's eyes.

Knowing this from the beginning, Jon had devised a solution during the years he spent focusing on the creation and improvement of the product. The Stark horses produced in the North utilized a unique type of wheel crafted from a tree known as the offshoot of Ironwood, as well as bark from the Rubber tree. Since both of these resources were primarily found in the North, only they possessed the means to produce such wheels.

Jon patiently waited, and as expected, all those who attempted to manufacture their own Stark horses failed. Their products proved to be inferior—bulky, fragile, and difficult to ride. Thus, Jon could confidently introduce his products to the market, knowing that people would recognize the superiority of the Northern-made ones.

"What are you waiting for, Jon?" Dacey called out from the deck of his ship, waving her hand. "Let's go!"

"Coming!" Jon shouted back, waving in response. He turned to Maege, shaking her hand. "I'll see you in a few weeks or months."

"Yeah, don't get lost at sea," Maege grumbled, rejecting his handshake and opting for a hug instead.

"You know my 'secret.' I'll never get lost at sea," Jon replied with a wink, walking away with a smile.

Jon boarded his ship, and a few minutes later, all the vessels departed one after another from the port, embarking on their longest journey yet.

...

A few hours later just as the sun was about to set and Jon and Dacey were in the midst of discussing their schedule for the upcoming week, Jon suddenly stopped speaking mid-sentence and suddenly said, "It seems we have an unwanted guest abroad,"

"What!—Who?" Dacey asked while looking around vigilantly, they were on the front deck of the ship and all the crew was out there joking, playing games, drinking and passing their time before it got dark.

"Bryan," Jon called out to a nearby young boy, instead of answering Dacey. "Go to our storage room and stand in front of the second barrel to the right. Loudly announce that Jon is calling for you." The young crew member looked at Jon with confusion and bewilderment, as if Jon was speaking a foreign language. However, Jon simply said, "Just do it," without providing any further explanation, and the boy complied.

It wasn't long before he came back with a confused expression on his face and following behind him was a very reluctant Val who seemed to have stolen Dacey's leathers which were a bit big for her.

"That's all, Bryan. You can go now," Jon said, and the boy scurried away, eyeing Val in awe of her beauty. Val, in turn, gave him a fierce look, which promptly scared him off. Jon observed her for a moment before calmly asking, "What are you doing here?"

"How did you find me?" Val sullenly responded, evading his question.

"That's not the main point," Jon replied, while thinking about his favourite rat that was wandering around the ship at all times and was also an excellent scout and guard, "The main point is, what were you even hoping to accomplish by getting on board,"

"I thought I would jump aboard when we pass by the True North," She said gritting her teeth, while looking away angrily at getting caught.

"That's not how sea travel works," Jon explained, massaging his temples. "We are heading in the opposite direction, toward the South."

Val stared at him, mouth agape as if she hadn't considered that before. She closed her mouth and stubbornly retorted, "I don't care, you stole me first so I am going to stay here until you get me home,"

"I didn't steal you—and Stop laughing Dacey!" Jon scolded his best friend, who looked away but couldn't hide her shaking shoulders. Jon then turned his attention back to the problem in front of him,

"We can't turn back now, so you'll have to remain on the ship."

Almost instantly, Val's face lit up at the prospect of embarking on an adventure. However, Jon swiftly extinguished her fantasies. "But if you want to be on this ship, you'll need to work for it."

"What kind of work?" Val asked cautiously.

"Well, we'll start with the basics that all novices go through," Jon declared, an evil smile creeping onto his face.

"And what would that be?"

"Scrubbing the floors, of course."