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,"
///