52 Ch 52: Lords, Lions and Traders

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As the boat came closer to the dock, Tyrion saw the island and the overall structure and he could never call this place a 'city'. It might be a town, a town of wooden houses at best.

"Well, it feels like north at least. True north." Tyrion thought before he saw a group of soldiers riding towards him and in front of the group, was a young and handsome man, riding his white horse. If his guess was correct, he should Lord Jorah Mormont.

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If Jorah Mormont had to point to one character who had been dealt the unluckiest hand in the Game of Thrones, it would undoubtedly be Tyrion Lannister. The third son of the Lannister family, yet regarded as little more than a jest among nobles, Tyrion bore the unfortunate burden of being both a curse upon House Lannister and a stain on the legacy of his formidable father, Tywin Lannister.

Tyrion possessed a remarkable intellect, an acerbic wit, and a talent for politics and diplomacy that should not be underestimated. Yet, despite these talents, he was never truly welcomed or given the opportunity to showcase his true worth. Jorah Mormont, a man not prone to feeling pity for anyone in this world, couldn't help but feel a unique emotion when he laid eyes on the half-man, Tyrion.

As Jorah dismounted his horse and extended a warm welcome to Tyrion, the dwarf couldn't help but be taken aback by the sincerity of Lord Mormont's greeting. "I suppose you are Tyrion Lannister. Welcome to our humble abode."

Tyrion's sharp eyes gleamed with a mix of wariness and curiosity, a stark contrast to the courtly politeness he was accustomed to. The presentation of bread and salt by the Bear Island guards marked the customary completion of guest rights, a practice held sacred across the realm.

Taking a piece of bread, Tyrion partook in the ritual, his demeanour shifting from caution to a degree of comfort. Behind him, the Lannister soldiers, their gleaming armour a stark contrast to the rugged surroundings, stood watchful and stern.

"Maester Allen, I entrust you with the task of welcoming the Maesters from Oldtown. Ensure that they feel no gap in our sincerity," Jorah instructed the Maester. With a salute, Maester Allen led his team ahead to welcome the old scholars who disembarked from the ship.

Meanwhile, Jorah had already departed with Tyrion and the soldiers on their horses. To ensure that Tyrion was not subject to public ridicule, Jorah had arranged for a massive snow dog equipped with leather seats and saddles.

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They ventured through the untamed terrain of Bear Island, the snow dog's paws crunching through the snow as it carried its unusual passenger. Tyrion couldn't help but marvel at the beauty and harshness of his surroundings, a far cry from the opulence of Casterly Rock.

Controlling the massive beast and riding atop it made Tyrion feel both powerful and respected. This dog, as fearsome as a direwolf, invoked a trill inside Tyrion's heart.

Tyrion couldn't help but be charmed by her grace and the innocence of the child in her arms. "I have heard legends of one Lord Mormont who, after the war, pursued the most beautiful woman in Westeros to secure her hand in marriage. It seems the stories still fail to do justice to your beauty, my lady," he said with a touch of noble charm.

Annara blushed and exchanged a glance with Jorah, who had appeared from behind. "And who might this be?" Tyrion asked, playfully addressing the babe.

"My firstborn, Odin," Jorah replied with pride in his voice.

Tyrion nodded approvingly at the choice of name. "Odin... A simple yet unique name, just like Bear Island," he said with a warm smile.

As they walked inside, they encountered Lady Maege and her child, along with the governing council of Bear Island, before Jorah politely directed Tyrion to the guest quarters.

"Master Rodrick and Master Gibbs, there are some unexpected traders who hitched a ride with our guests. I trust you can properly welcome them," Jorah instructed the two Masters, who left for their administrative duties while he remained alone with Lady Maege.

"Why is the dwarf here?" Lady Maege inquired, getting straight to the point.

Jorah's brows furrowed in contemplation. "No idea. It's as if he came not to visit, but to inspect us."

"No idea. I only learned of his arrival through my network of informants. It's as if he came not to visit us but to inspect us," Jorah replied with a furrowed brow.

"Why? We have hardly had any dealings with the lions of the south. No grudges, no bad blood. Yet, Tywin Lannister sent his precious son here directly to our shores. I don't think it's a simple visit."

"There can be only two purposes," Jorah mused. "First, Tywin Lannister may view us as savages and believe that Tyrion's visit will insult our house or provoke us. This could lead us into making a foolish move, and the Lion will take a chunk of bear meat from our traders in Lannisport."

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"Second," Jorah continued, "he might be giving Tyrion a chance to showcase his abilities and rub some gold on his face in the process."

"Rubbing gold on his face? Ha ha ha... That's quite amusing. But don't make me laugh, boy. I'm not in a position to laugh right now," Lady Maege replied while gently caressing her bulging tummy. The child inside had been quite active lately, leaving her sleepless at night.

"Aye! You focus on your health and keep Annara by your side. I will deal with Tyrion tonight," Jorah said with a serious expression before leaving his aunt and heading out to greet the Oldtown Maesters.

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As Tyrion settled into his guest quarters, he couldn't help but let his keen eyes wander around the wooden castle. "Primitive? Yes, but there's a sense of care and beauty in this place," he mused to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. "As if matters of coin are still far from polluting this place."

He strode through the corridors, taking in the craftsmanship of the timeworn wood and the simplicity that spoke volumes about the people who called this place home. "Interesting, especially those soldiers at the gate," Tyrion muttered, his curiosity piqued. He couldn't help but admire the sturdy men standing guard, their armour weathered by the elements.

Finally, he entered his room, and without hesitation, he jumped straight onto the soft bed. "Ah, the long journey on that fish boat was tiresome," he sighed to himself, relishing the sensation of a solid, stable bed beneath him. "Long peaceful rest on top of a solid stable bed. Just what I needed."

Meanwhile, in another part of the castle, the traders from Lannisport were already in a frenzy. They marvelled at the quality and quantity of furs, fish, and precious northern wood laid out before them. The sight was unlike anything they had ever encountered in their years of trading.

"Lannisport traders hardly dealt with White Harbor," one of them remarked to his companion, "and now we find ourselves in this treasure trove."

"Aye," his companion agreed, "the products from the north never reached our dock in such quantities."

The traders from Bear Island, though not accustomed to dealing with such large quantities of goods, were equally enthralled. They saw an opportunity to establish their own foothold in this virgin market, unspoiled by competition. Master Gibbs and Master Rodrick, the leaders among them, were both overwhelmed and slightly bewildered by the barrage of questions.

In the end, they decided to send a message to Lord Jorah, apprising him of the situation and seeking his guidance. They knew that decisions of this magnitude required the wisdom and authority of their Lord.

Jorah was already on the way and soon, a meeting was convened in the heart of Bear Island. The traders from Lannisport and the shopkeepers from Bear Island gathered together, their excitement and anticipation palpable in the air. Lord Jorah Mormont, a figure of quiet authority, sat at the head of the table.