Game of Thrones: The Road to Pirate King

Chapter 116 Harrenburg Tournament - Wine Procurement

The family stewards and caravan leaders, carrying purchase lists bearing the coat of arms of the Harrenhal family—nine black bats on a yellow background—were like generals on a campaign, leading wagons laden with golden dragons to various parts of the seven kingdoms.

Their caravans rolled along the Kingsroad, heading towards the fertile fields of the Riverlands, purchasing enough grain, flour, and hundreds of cattle, sheep, pigs, and poultry to pile up like mountains; they ventured deep into the Kingswood, buying licensed game and fine charcoal from the Royal Gamekeepers; they even sourced rare spices from Dorne and ordered fine gold and silver utensils and extra tent fabric from Lannisport.

Afterwards, they went to Qingting Island to buy red wine.

In their minds, the wines of One Green Pavilion are the best in all of Westeros. The red wines produced here are extraordinary, and the distinctive golden wines are sweeter than those from Dorne.

But that was before the Battle of Qingting Island!

The once golden, nectar-scented Qingting Island is now permeated with a sour, unpleasant atmosphere. The purchasing envoys sent by the He'an family to prepare for the martial arts tournament have met with a resounding defeat here.

They had hoped to purchase a large quantity of renowned wines from the seven countries to feast their guests from all corners of the world. However, reality dealt them a harsh blow.

The island's ancient and fragrant cellars had long been looted by the Iron People's longships, leaving not a single drop. Looking around, the huge cellars were empty, with only cold stone walls and a faint, lingering scent of past glory in the air.

Left with no other option, they could only pin their hopes on the new wine production. However, the situation became even worse.

Many of the high-quality local vines were destroyed in the war, forcing the purchase of grapes for new winemaking from other regions in the Stormlands or Reach at high prices, resulting in inconsistent quality. To make matters worse, the master winemakers who possessed the core techniques and were in charge of every stage of fermentation had already been taken to the Iron Islands by Euron Greyjoy as "the most precious spoils," along with their tools and books.

Today, those who remain on Qingting Island to brew red wine are mostly the apprentices and assistants from back then.

They had plenty of enthusiasm, but were severely lacking in experience. Their master hadn't even had a chance to teach them many crucial recipes, secrets to temperature control, and techniques for dealing with unexpected situations during fermentation. The new wine they brewed was either sour and astringent, or bland and tasteless, and some even had an indescribable, strange taste that a certain hot-tempered knight from the Riverside family described as "simply like horse piss."

Such wine, let alone being used to entertain the nobles and lords participating in the martial arts tournament, would likely invite widespread resentment even if provided to their own soldiers. The purchasing officer of the He'an family looked at the barrels of murky new wine, his face even more unpleasant than the color of the wine itself.

The purchasing agents from the He'an family left Qingting Island, which reeked of the stench of failure, with grim expressions.

They gazed at the empty carriages, as if they could already see the nobles at the feast frowning over the inferior wine. For now, the only option was to shift their procurement to the distant Oldtown or Dorne, meaning longer journeys, higher prices, and unpredictable risks. This already extravagant event would see its costs rise to a painful new level.

The silence in the group was broken by a caravan leader, his skin roughened by years of travel and the sea breeze. He hesitated for a moment, then finally spurred his horse closer to the family steward and cautiously suggested, "Sir, why don't we—try the Iron Islands?"

"—"

An eerie silence enveloped the team, and everyone who heard those words looked at him as if he were a madman.

Buy things from the Iron Citizens? Go buy those things we just looted from Qingting Island?

The caravan leader felt a little uneasy under his gaze, but still forced a smile and explained, his tone carrying the pragmatism of a seasoned traveler: "Sir, think about it, the century-old wine reserves on Qingting Island are enormous. Even if the Tiemin people are heavy drinkers, it's only been less than half a year since the naval battle; they must still have plenty of stock! And those are truly fine wines, exactly what we desperately need."

The family steward frowned, his tone filled with distrust and deep-seated prejudice: "The Iron Islands? Those pirates? Who knows what tricks they'll pull? We might live to buy it, but not to bring the wine back!"

The caravan leader shook his head, trying to describe the changes he had witnessed: "Sir, that's the old almanac. Apart from that time at Qingting Island—well, that was a war—they really haven't plundered the merchant ships and nobles of the seven kingdoms for many years."

Especially recently, they've really changed a lot. Pike City has opened its trading port, welcoming merchants from all sides, and even established arbitrators to handle disputes. I've done several ironware and timber transactions with them; they offer fair prices, deliver goods on time and in good faith, and throughout—well, even more so than some Reach lords—they're completely unlike the rumored "pay or be fed" pirate style.

The steward of the He'an family pondered, his gaze sweeping over the long, still empty carriage caravan behind him. Each meaningless turn of the wheels seemed to mock his incompetence. He could almost picture the thunderous rage on the patriarch's face when he returned empty-handed, and the whispers and disdain among the guests at the martial arts feast, lamenting the lack of fine wine.

Ultimately, his intense craving for high-quality wines overcame his deep-seated, traditional fear of the Ironmen. He gritted his teeth, as if making a firm decision to touch a legendary, venomous sea serpent.

"Alright," he finally exhaled, his tone filled with cautious compromise, "the Iron Islands—...can be an option. But..." He shifted his focus, trying to grasp at a more secure straw, "heading north from here, we'd anyway pass through Oldtown and Lannister Harbor. Let's focus our procurement efforts there first! Oldtown is teeming with maesters and merchants, and Lannister Harbor has the wealth of the Westerlands backing it up; perhaps there are enough good goods there that will allow us to avoid taking the risk."

The caravan leader next to him immediately put on a fawning smile and nodded repeatedly: "Your Excellency is right, it's best to be cautious!"

"Since we're already here, we should naturally check out the situation at these two major ports first."

That night, the caravan stopped at a noisy little inn by the roadside. After everyone had fallen asleep, the caravan leader, who had suggested going to the Iron Islands, quietly slipped away to the stable in the backyard.

In the darkness, he skillfully seized a pre-prepared raven and stuffed a small scroll of parchment containing a secret message into the bamboo tube on its leg. He glanced around, then tossed the raven into the night sky. The black bird flapped its wings silently, resolutely flying northwest toward the Iron Islands.

When the purchasing team arrived in the bustling old town full of hope, they received devastating news: all the decent wine stocks in the town had already been snapped up by shrewd Vale merchants and far-sighted Northern merchants, supposedly to prepare for a future lack of wine and possible price spikes.

Unwilling to give up, they turned to the wealthy port of Lannister, hoping that the gold of the Westerlands could hold some of their fine wine.

But the reply was equally cold: since the production and supply of Greenbeard wine fell into disarray, the supply of high-end wine had been completely cut off, and even a golden dragon couldn't buy it. It's said that even Tywin Lannister, the Duke of Casterly Rock and the Lannister patriarch, has rarely seen the once-common Greenbeard wine on his table; it's available at a price but not in demand, and there's simply no stock left to sell in the port warehouses.

It was as if an invisible net had already snatched up all possible cargo before they could. The family steward stood on the bustling docks of Lannister Harbor, gazing at the thousands of ships moored before him, yet felt an unprecedented sense of isolation and helplessness.

At this moment, the Iron Islands have become the last and only option.