47

Chapter 47: Ch 38 Blue or Purple?

Chapter Text

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,"