The plan was simple: the soldiers would earn their daily Silver Stag, only to spend it right back into Jon's pockets at the exchange houses, shops, and taverns of Tampa.
Word of mouth would spread. Once these Gold Cloaks returned to King's Landing, their stories would open the floodgates, creating a massive new market of city folk eager to taste the same pleasures.
Naturally, Jon knew that where there was wine, there must also be women.
However, he couldn't get his own hands dirty with that particular business. Even Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, was looked down upon by the highborn for openly running brothels. His reputation among the true nobility stank worse than a Flea Bottom alley.
Jon wasn't about to trade his honor for short-term coin.
So, he handed that responsibility to Gendry. Whether the bastard boy decided to run the establishments himself—perhaps sampling the wares like a true Baratheon—or hire a proxy to manage the grey business, Jon didn't care.
If all else failed, Jon had a contingency plan. He could use this as bait for Littlefinger. He would allow Baelish to operate pleasure houses on his land, lulling the Master of Coin into a false sense of security. When the time was right to eliminate Littlefinger, all the gold accumulated there would fall into Jon's lap anyway.
But that was a concern for another day.
---
### The Long March
According to Jon's calculations, the journey to Tampa was only sixty leagues. A rider on a fast horse could make it in half a day. Even with a carriage full of delicate ladies, they should have arrived within a day.
He was wrong.
This trip was a harsh lesson for the Baron, who had never led an army before. He quickly learned that moving people was a nightmare.
Barely two hours after leaving the city gates, the procession turned northeast, leaving the Rosby Road. That's when the trouble started.
First, one of the noble ladies complained that the dust kicked up by the vanguard was unbearable. She demanded to stop and rest by the roadside. This triggered a chain reaction, with other ladies deciding they, too, needed a break.
When they finally got moving again, disaster struck. Several carriages, overloaded with "essentials," broke their axles. They were beyond repair.
By the time the soldiers and servants had redistributed the cargo and were ready to move, the sun was already sinking toward the sea.
They were still twenty leagues from Tampa. No amount of rushing would get them there before dark.
Worse, they were in the middle of nowhere. No villages, no inns, no shelter. They had to build everything from scratch.
Fortunately, Jon had anticipated security risks. The five hundred Gold Cloaks were fully armed, and he had several dozen cavalry outriders for communication.
With a helpless sigh, Commander Jon gave the order to halt and make camp for the night.
To ensure safety, he split the cavalry into four squads, sending pairs to patrol the perimeter. The infantry was divided: some rested to prepare for the night watch, while the rest were put to work building basic fortifications.
To their credit, the Gold Cloaks—usually a lazy bunch—showed the results of Jon's rigorous training over the past month. As night fell, a functional camp had taken shape.
Though they lacked a full palisade, wooden watchtowers were erected on the perimeter to keep guard.
Then, Jon—accustomed to the harsh, frugal life of the North—witnessed how the nobility of King's Landing went "camping."
Bonfires were lit, and the center of the camp transformed into a banquet hall.
Fine wines, cured meats, candied fruits, silver cutlery, and even full-sized tables and chairs were unloaded from the wagons and set up for the ladies.
Watching this, Jon finally understood why the carriage axles had snapped.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to the mission. They were close enough now that even if they crawled, they would reach Tampa tomorrow.
Relaxing slightly, Jon did a final round of the camp to check the defenses. Satisfied, he prepared to rest.
---
### The Rose of Highgarden
As he walked past the center of the camp, something caught his eye near the bonfire.
Small figures darted in the shadows. Though they vanished quickly, Jon's heightened perception caught the details: young boys, barefoot and dressed in rags.
Jon frowned. His scouts had reported no villages nearby. Where did these children come from?
But seeing the indifference of the guards and servants, he pushed the suspicion aside. Likely, these were just beggar children who had snuck into the train as it left the city, hoping for scraps.
His gaze then shifted to the firelight.
Exquisite tables were laden with fresh fruit, fine vintages, and boxes of exotic cheeses shaped into delicate forms. The craftsmanship of the furniture and the rose sigil carved into the wood went unnoticed by Jon.
His eyes were drawn to the people.
Sansa was there, growing more beautiful by the day. But beside her sat a woman whose radiance outshone even the firelight.
She had a cascade of rich, chestnut-brown hair that curled like tumbling vines, smelling faintly of honey and wildflowers. Her skin was flawless, possessing the creamy texture of sheep's milk cheese with a healthy, peach-like flush.
Her large, doe-like eyes were a warm, intoxicating amber—liquid honey that brimmed with a clear, bright, and seemingly boundless kindness. When she looked around, her gaze held intelligence, compassion, and a disarming sincerity that made you want to tell her your secrets.
Her nose was small and straight, her lips full and shaped like rose petals, naturally resting in a perfect, infectious smile that seemed to light up the night.
When she laughed, her eyes crinkled into charming crescents, revealing white teeth and deepening the blush on her cheeks. She radiated an irresistible affinity, a magical charisma that drew people to her like moths to a flame.
Though she and Sansa were close in age, this woman's presence was vastly different. Where Sansa was a budding flower, still green and naive, this woman was a rose in full bloom—mature, confident, and utterly captivating.
Her laughter, clear and melodious as a nightingale, drifted through the night air, effortlessly capturing Jon's attention from across the camp.
Margaery Tyrell had arrived.