A few seconds later, they were once again walking down the street with a lively Margaery who was quite pleased that she had gotten three pieces at the price of one.
"You are truly good at this." She smiled at him. "I would have paid five dragons without a second thought, and been happy about it too, if not for you."
"In fact, a gold dragon's still too much for that necklace," Jon said wryly. "He likely paid no more than a handful of silver stags for it — ten at most. So he still made a lot of profit from us."
"What? And he dared to ask for 10 gold dragons." Margaery's mouth opened wide before an indignant pout appeared on her face. "How cruel. He must have really taken me for a foolish rich girl."
"Don't worry. We won in the end, didn't we?"
"It does not feel like winning." The girl shook her head earnestly. "If only we could have brought it for a dozen silver stags, then perhaps..."
"That would be too much." Jon seemed amused. "We still need to let him earn something, or else how will he make rent?"
"Would that be so terrible?" Margaery gave a soft snort, then turned to him with an appreciative look. "You're proving more useful than I expected, Jon Snow. Maybe I'll keep you for all my shopping trips from now on."
"You shouldn't, my lady. Someone has to keep the merchants in business, or else who will my ships sell their goods to?" Jon sniggered.
"Are you calling me a sucker, Jon Snow?" Margaery's eyes narrowed as she asked in a low whisper.
"Huh, h-how could that be? I was just..." His laugh cut off somewhere in his throat, and for some reason, even at the height of summer, Jon felt a chill down his spine. "Oh! Look at that shop!" he hurriedly pointed towards the first shop that caught his eye, with all sorts of strange instruments piled up in front of it, "Home of Bards. That seems interesting, right?"
Thankfully, Margaery was in a forgiving mood and let him divert her attention. "You can read Valyrian?" she asked as she perused the unusual board hanging above the shop, which stood out from every other one on the street.
"I am a hard-working merchant, My Lady. So, of course, I need to have a few skills if I want to earn a living." Jon shrugged with a humble smile.
"That is quite admirable, indeed." Margaery nodded with a moved expression on her face.
"Ah, it is no big deal. I am sure there are plenty of..." Jon trailed off mid-bragging as he caught sight of the encouraging expression on her face, and his smile became unnatural. "...You can read that too, can't you?"
"Eh?" Margaery's eyes widened as she hurriedly looked away, blush colouring her cheeks. "Was I too obvious?" She whispered, feeling a little embarrassed to be caught in the act.
"Is it fun to tease me like this?" Jon sighed as his shoulder sagged down.
"Yes." Margaery turned back to him with an impish grin. "Still think me naive, rich girl?"
"No, my lady, I do not." Jon bowed in defeat.
And so they went, bantering and bickering, spending so much time on the road that when they finally reached their destination, the sun had already risen over their head, and the breakfast crowd had been replaced by the lunch one.
"Is this the one?"
Margaery looked up at the building. "It's emptier than I imagined."
It was a wide three-story structure, right in the middle of the street, with plenty of windows and doorways which opened on both sides, giving her an accurate view of the inside.
Unlike the hustle and bustle she had expected, the place was solely filled with people sitting at their respective tables and eating their meals, and there was no line of customers waiting to get inside as she had expected.
"They have a booking system," Jon said with a shrug. "Only those with appointments are here now — everyone else is at home, waiting their turn. And as far as I am aware, you will need to wait about two weeks if you book a seat now."
Margaery's eyebrows rose at the notion that someone was willing to wait two weeks just to have a meal. She rubbed her stomach with a small, playful pout. "I hope we don't have to wait that long. I'm already very hungry."
"Don't worry. We won't." Jon smiled as he led her through the door, as three of their four guards stayed outside, with only the leader amongst them, Ser Maynard, following after them. Because with their full armour, it would be too crowded if they all went in.
They had barely set foot inside when a middle-aged man, wearing distinctly different clothing than the waiters moving around the place, came rushing towards them from the backside.
"You are finally here, captain." The man greeted him joyfully, his eyes lighting up with genuine relief at seeing Jon. "I had assumed you changed your mind when you didn't turn up for so long."
"Ah, that's my fault, Raul. We just got lost on the way here," Jon chuckled without a hint of shame on his face. "The streets of King's Landing are just too complicated. You won't believe the number of times I ran into strange shops without wanting to."
Margaery rolled her eyes at the lame lie, but Raul, who seemed to be the owner of the place, took it in stride. "Well, as long as you got here, it's all good. So shall I lead you to your table then?"
"Please do. This one is almost starving, so—ow." Jon flinched mid-sentence with a painful grimace.
"What happened?" Margaery asked, all innocence, as if she hadn't just elbowed him in the ribs. "Is it your stomach again?" She turned to Raul with a sympathetic frown. "He has been constantly feeling this pain since morning for some reason. Perhaps there was something in the water he drank before coming."
The man looked amused by this play, but knew better than to comment, so he simply nodded. "Just follow me."
It was only when they were moving amidst the tables that Margaery realised that though the restaurant looked spacious and open from the outside, it was only due to design. Because no matter where she looked, every single seat inside had been taken by a family, a couple, or even a group of friends.
There was simply no empty space for anyone else.
But even stranger was that almost 7 out of 10 customers present there were foreigners speaking in distinct accents, with hardly one or two locals.
Their seats were on the top floor, and it was as they crossed the second floor toward the stairs that Margaery spotted a man sobbing with every bite of his food. "Why is he crying?' she whispered, a curious look in her eyes. "Is your food so spicy that it can make a grown man cry?" There was a nervous edge to her voice.
"Ah, we use just the right amount of spice; do not worry, my lady." Raul waved his hand. "And as for the crying...," he smiled and then, instead of explaining further, just took them through a path in between the tables instead of from the corner, so that they passed by that couple.
"You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, dear." The wife could be heard whispering while rubbing the man's back, nervously glancing at the surroundings, fearing that they were disturbing people.
"You don't understand. T-This is just... It tastes just like my mother used to make, and I just..." The man choked, but his hands never stopped shoving food in his mouth even for a moment, looking as if he wanted to eat a week's worth in one sitting.
"Hasn't it been almost twenty years since she passed away? You still remember that?" The woman asked in an amazed voice, but that only made the man sob even harder. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to—"
They couldn't hear the rest, as they were already climbing the stairs towards the third floor.
"The dishes we make are so authentic that most people cannot tell the difference between ours and the ones they were used to back in their hometown," Raul explained in a low voice, a hint of pride on his face. "So the outpouring of emotions you saw out there was not a very rare thing for us."
"Oh." Margaery seemed genuinely impressed by that. "Is there some sort of trick to it?" she asked curiously. "How do you achieve this authenticity? Do you only hire people from those countries or do you send your cooks to those places to learn the dishes... but that would be too costly, wouldn't it?"
"Ah, no, nothing like that. Most of our cooks were hired locally once we opened, and the recipes are ours — we give them to the cooks, not the other way around." Raul shook his head. "As for the trick..." He shot an amused glance at Jon, who gave a discreet shake of the head. "We just put a lot of hard work and passion into our food. Maybe that's the trick."
'Bards and poets would be running the restaurants in the city if love and passion were all it took,' Jon scoffed internally.
Of course there was a trick involved, or how else would it become so famous so quickly?
Jon could still remember the weeks and weeks he spent scouring the most famous restaurants, inns, and taverns all over the big cities of Essos and Westeros, not even sparing the kitchens of locals who were famous in villages and towns for their food.
He had spent days hovering around kitchens of the world with the help of Tweety, noting every single detail of how they cooked, from the way they prepared their ingredients, to how long they boiled, the intensity of heat underneath, the oil they used, and even how much salt they used in their pinch.
It had taken him long, long hours hiding amidst the burning fumes, so much so that the cheerful bird had almost stopped speaking in protest for a whole week, before he finally managed to create a satisfyingly good book of recipes.
"Here's the menu, my lady."
"Thank you." Margaery took the paper menu book that felt surprisingly thick in her hands, but the moment she opened it, she realised why.
"Can you really make them all?" Margaery asked in an amazed voice as she flipped through the pages, each marking a different city or place from either Westeros or Essos, with a long line of dishes underneath, some of which had names that she couldn't pronounce, let alone recognise.
From the Vension pie of the North, to the Dornish spiced lamb, from the Braavosi braised octopus to Volantene fire lamb.
There was everything in here. It was almost overwhelming.
And even her favourite honey-glazed ham and apple pie from back home had a place in the Reach section.
"Not all of them, my lady, as there are a few in there with specific ingredients that are hard to come by without ordering weeks in advance. That is what our customers usually do; they give us their orders beforehand so that we have a chance to prepare the ingredients. But in preparation for your arrival, we have stocked our shelves fully, so almost all the ones listed in there can be prepared in time. Except for a few strange ones that I wouldn't even recommend you try."
"Really?" Her eyes flicked to Jon, who only smiled and shrugged, as if daring her to order the whole menu. Once again, she was certain he was the owner. "Then I'll have the noodle soup from Qarth, the spiced fish stew from Myr, honey balkawa from Volantis, and a few of the lemon cakes from the North. Is that fine?"
"Certainly," Raul said as he took back the menu. "And for you, Captain?"
"Just some grilled fish, and roast potatoes would do."
Raul nodded. "I shall have the cook start immediately." he disappeared towards the kitchen, leaving them alone once more.
"What?" Jon asked as he noticed Margaery watching him with a strange look in her eyes.
"Just surprised by your order." Margaery said with an intrigued expression, "There are dishes from all over the world available at your command, and you choose fish and potatoes. The cook would probably be insulted at seeing his talents being wasted like this."
"What can I say, simple is the best sometimes." Jon shrugged. "Besides, after years of travel, I've had more than enough exotic food to last me a lifetime," he said with a shudder as if reliving some past trauma.
"Yes, yes, no need to brag. We all know you've sailed to every corner of the map." Margaery rolled her eyes. "Sadly, for poor souls like me, the closest I'll get is tasting my way through a menu. So — thank you for bringing me here."
"You want to travel to these places then?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, of course, who would not want to?" She looked down at the table with a soft snort. "But I'm just a weak little girl, sadly — there will never come a day when I get to go that far. Even this trip to the Capital is the first time I've left the Reach in my whole life."
"Don't be so sure," Jon said with a soft smile. "Perhaps the chance you are thinking of is closer than you believe. And besides, if nothing else, I will be very happy to host you in the North. The sheer beauty of my home is more stunning than anywhere else you could visit. And I speak of that from experience."
"I'll hold you to your word, Jon Snow." Her smile was genuine, and something in her chest eased at that moment, though she couldn't have said why.
...
"Ah, that was perfect."
Margaery sighed in satisfaction as she walked down the stairs behind Jon. "Do you think you could arrange a table for a larger party? I'd love to bring my parents and brothers here next time. That wouldn't be a bother, would it?"
"Don't worry. Just tell me the time, and I will make sure they have a place for you." Jon smiled, feeling glad that it was all turning out so well.
"My lady. Here," Raul caught them at the gates, holding out a small parcel wrapped in cloth, "I packed the pastries, and the pie that you could not finish here to take home."
"That is perfect." Margaery clapped her hands. "These are just right to entice Father and Grandmother." She smiled as she imagined the moved expression on their faces when they tasted the divine sweetness from a foreign land.
"I will have it sent back to the mansion, my lady." The Knight who had been following them silently so far stepped up. "It would be better to send it right away so that it does not go bad."
"Oh, thank you," Margaery nodded absentmindedly as Maynard took the cloth parcel, handed it to one of the other knights, before sending him on his way towards the Mansion.
"So, where to next?" she asked curiously as the two young ones retook their position, with her palm smoothly settling on his elbow as if it had always belonged there.
"How about the Harbour?" Jon asked as they went down the street, aimlessly walking behind the guard with no destination.
"Wouldn't there be a lot of crowd there?" she asked with a frown, as they turned into an alley "Especially at this time."
"Ah, you are right about that." Jon scratched his head with a thoughtful expression, never having considered the notion of safety in a crowd before when he travelled alone. "We would need a lot more guards then. Perhaps it would be better to just head back—"
Jon didn't know what set off the alarms in his head.
Perhaps it was the sudden hush from what had been a bustling crowd, or the tall walls pressing in on both sides, or maybe it was just instinct — whatever it was, he was very thankful for it.
One moment he was deep in conversation with Margaery; the next, he wrenched his sword from its sheath and deflected the longsword heading straight for his throat.
Clang!
Jon jumped back on instinct, shoving a frozen Margaery behind him and against the wall. Only then did he register it — somehow, without noticing, they'd wandered into a narrow alley, boxed in by tall walls on either side.
"S-Ser Maynard? What are you doing?" Margaery asked in a horrified voice as Jon warily surveyed the three Tyrell knights, with two on the right and one on the left.
Thankfully, the worst scenario he had envisioned did not happen, as the other two guards looked as bewildered by the sudden change as the two of them were.
"W-What are you doing, Ser? Have you gone insane?" asked the younger one in a flustered voice, while the older one didn't even bother wasting words and unsheathed his swords, with a guarded stance. "Take out your sword, boy," he snarled at his fellow while keeping his eyes locked on his commander. "Protect the lady."
"I-But—"
"Now!"
Just as the two knights were talking, Jon caught sight of something from the corner of his eye.
"Look out!" he shouted in warning— but he'd seen them too late.
Thwip! Thwip!
Two arrows came almost simultaneously, from either side of the alley, and dropped the two Tyrell knights — one through the chest, one through the stomach- taking out their only allies in this alley.
Margaery screamed in terror, as Jon grimly assessed the sudden unfortunate position they had found themselves in.
Four more men had joined the traitor now. Two with swords, two with crossbows. Unarmored, thankfully — wearing plain clothes, or the leather guards usually preferred by hedge knights.
"You don't need to be afraid, my lady." The one called Ser Marynd finally opened his mouth, not looking very surprised by the new additions, which meant that it was all part of a plan. "We only need Jon Snow here. You will be safe as long as you comply with them."
"H-How could you do this, Ser?" Margaery asked in a terrified voice, "We are almost family, Ser." She took a half-step forward before Jon's arm stopped her. "Please. There's still a chance. You just need to—"
"I am sorry, My Lady. They took my wife," he grimly shook his head as he turned towards Jon. "It would be better for everyone if you just surrendered, young friend."
"I am afraid I can't comply with that." Jon smiled as he calmly raised his sword in answer.
The initial shock of the ambush had already passed. Jon's pulse had settled, his mind running cold and clear now.
He was confident that with his sword skills and a little help from Frost, it shouldn't be too hard to deal with them, as long as he took precautions against the crossbowmen.
"The hard way, then." Marynd nodded to the four men. Two moved in at once, swords drawn, as the remaining pair started nocking new bolts.
'Let's take care of the knight first. He will be problematic with his armour,' he decided, but in the next moment his eyes widened, and his face paled, as he remembered a crucial fact he had completely forgotten.
'Frost is still in the North.'
///
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