Ch 53: Tales and Threats - 1

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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.

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"Alright, let's hear it. What's the commotion all about?" Jorah inquired as he settled into the high seat, his gaze sweeping over the enthusiastic crowd that had gathered before him.

"Lord Mormont, as you're aware, we've journeyed all the way from Lannisport, leaving behind the comforts of our homes and venturing through perilous lands and treacherous waters," began a well-dressed merchant who had taken it upon himself to be the group's spokesperson. He spoke with an air of importance, emphasizing the collective sacrifices they had made to reach Bear Island.

Jorah maintained a stoic expression, though inwardly, he couldn't help but scoff at the melodrama. In his heart, he had already offered his deepest regards to the mothers and sisters of these traders. They were nothing more than opportunistic penny-pinchers who had hitched a free ride on one of the most secure ships available to reach his island.

Yes, the seas held their dangers, but what business was entirely without risk? Even had these traders travelled by land, they would have faced their share of bandits. Besides, the Ironborn wouldn't dare challenge a ship from Lannisport without a clear advantage. So, what peril had they truly faced? What effort had they genuinely exerted?

These supposed merchants had dined on fine wine, feasted on the choicest meats, and likely slumbered through most of the journey. Yet, listening to this man's impassioned speech, one might think they had traversed a sea of molten lava to reach his desolate land.

Jorah cleared his throat, putting an end to the verbose monologue that still echoed through the meeting hall. He rose from his seat and approached the group's self-appointed leader, an amused twinkle in his eye.

"I'm truly delighted to welcome you and your band of merchants here," Jorah began, his tone carrying a hint of jest. 

"But remember, you're on my land, beneath my roof, and surrounded by my people. We Northerners may be seen as savages, but we don't waste words on superfluous matters."

With a light-hearted demeanour, Jorah patted the trader on the shoulder, almost shaking him in the process. The man swallowed nervously, his initial bravado faltering as he forced a charming smile onto his face.

"Gulp!" The man's fear and pride had to take a back seat as he stammered, "Aye! We hold the utmost respect for the honesty and character of the Northern folk, Lord Mormont. And in the company of your people, we trust that we are safe and secure from harm. I, Castiel Luther, extend my deepest gratitude to you and your men."

Castiel swiftly grasped the shift in Jorah's demeanour, smoothly weaving his words with honeyed charm, all while ensuring the safety of his group. A shrewd and astute individual, indeed.

Jorah acknowledged Castiel's words with a simple nod, then turned his attention to the matters of trade. "So, what are the trade concerns that require my decision? Master Gibbs, Master Rodrick, shall we discuss this?"

He deliberately brushed aside the traders, focusing instead on his trusted men. Jorah knew where to find the crux of the matter instead of dancing around the web of words.

"Milord, thus far, we have encountered disputes regarding the exclusive trade agreements for our goods. Please take a look," Master Gibbs hastened to present a document before Jorah, who perused it swiftly.

"From good fish to best furs, rare sea pearls to precious timber, every item worthy of its weight is confined to these exclusive agreements," Jorah muttered in exasperation, he again paying deep regards to mothers and sisters of the group of merchants.

"Simply put, this is impossible. You are the first of many traders, not the last. Furthermore, I have a distinguished guest resting in our quarters, bearing the last name Lannister. Whether in terms of gold, influence, or market, there is nothing you offer here that entices me."

With a decisive flick of his wrist, Jorah cast the page into the fireplace, extinguishing the traders' desires and dashing their hopes. They were traders, however, and adept at the art of negotiation.

"It appears our approach was flawed, and we were hasty in our terms. Lord Mormont, I offer my deepest apologies for any offence. May we request some time to explore your market and gain a clearer understanding of the goods?"

Castiel opted to postpone the negotiations, first seeking counsel from Lord Tyrion Lannister himself. It was imperative to grasp House Lannister's intentions before dealing with this savage Mormont.

"Very well. Let the maids serve the food and wine and allow our guests to partake freely. I entrust this to you, Gibbs."

Jorah declared before exiting the hall, accompanied by most of his soldiers. This would, at least, afford the merchants a moment of reprieve for their meal.

The night stretched on, uneventful and serene. Come morning, Jorah rose early to meet Tyrion Lannister. However, the diminutive man took his sweet time, only emerging from his slumber nearly at noon, delaying breakfast.

"Ah, apologies, Lord Mormont. One can truly appreciate the comfort of a soft bed on land after a long sea voyage," Tyrion remarked, his words as smooth as silk, a subtle reproach in his tone. Jorah couldn't help but wonder if he had truly extended an invitation to House Lannister for Tyrion and these traders. Otherwise, these stubborn souls seemed to have skins as thick as the Wall, persistently reminding him of that wretched sea journey.

"No harm done. So long as we can focus on the crucial reason for which you undertook such a perilous and lengthy journey," Jorah replied, a gracious smile masking any inner vexation.

"Ah, yes! The matters of my house. I'll furnish you, Lord Mormont, with a list of priorities House Lannister believes warrant more favourable terms in trade. You'll strike off most of those items, we'll return to the negotiation table, and back and forth we'll go until you eventually concede, for deep down, you understand the truth," Tyrion spoke, a smile gracing his lips. 

Yet, that smile... Jorah had half a mind to rip it away. This was an open threat from a man who, in all of Westeros, was often dismissed as a jest, and was within his sword's range.

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