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"It's been five days now. Do you think the Lord Duke and his lady are trying to hit a hundred rounds?"
"No way. Ser Sandor already gave us the exact numbers. Eleven times on the first day. But she's just a girl, so on the second day, she needed time for the swelling to go down—there were only voices coming from the room. The third day was another ten or so times, and the fourth day was a bit less, but still close. We'll reach Casterly Rock by this afternoon at the latest; there's no time to hit a hundred."
Escorted by over a dozen warships, two swan ships with intricate sails cut swiftly through the water. Their pristine white sails truly looked like the feathers of a swan.
The bows of the ships were swept high, mimicking the elegant necks of actual swans.
There was even a small crow's nest perched on top, about two square meters in size, serving as both a lookout point and a scenic viewing deck.
These two vessels were the Rose of Highgarden and the White Wolf Knight, given as gifts by Dorne.
On the deck, several soldiers were huddled together, eagerly gossiping about something.
Traveling from Highgarden to Casterly Rock took four or five days, even by sea.
During those four or five days, Jon and Margaery hadn't stepped foot outside their cabin. The maids' and servants' only duties were bringing in food and taking out the chamber pots. This naturally sparked a wildfire of rumors among the veteran soldiers.
They even started taking bets on whether Jon would be able to walk off the ship under his own power when they reached Casterly Rock.
"The Lord will be fine. First of all, he's young. If he could fight for so long at King's Landing, what's handling one woman to him?"
"Heh, shows what you know. Young men have the drive, but they don't know how to pace themselves—"
"But the Lord eats a lot too!"
"..."
Just as the men were getting deeply invested in their discussion, a massive shadow fell over them. They turned to see Sandor glaring down at them.
"Enough chattering. We're almost at Casterly Rock. Get yourselves ready."
"Yes, Ser!"
The men chuckled and dispersed. Soon after, the blinking light of Casterly Rock's lighthouse became visible in the distance.
Sandor approached Jon and Margaery's door, raising a hand to knock. But this hulking man, whose head nearly scraped the doorframe, suddenly felt a wave of guilt. As Jon's personal bodyguard, practically all the "intimate details" about the couple had been leaked by him.
Raunchy quotes like, "Jon, I really can't take any more," and "Clamping your legs together won't help you," had long since spread among the crew.
Now, Sandor was seriously regretting it. He figured it wouldn't be long before word of his loose lips reached Jon's ears.
Sandor cleared his throat gently before knocking on the door.
"My Lord, we're almost there."
"I know."
Inside the cabin, Jon was mostly dressed. Even on the return journey, he hadn't forgotten to use his ravens for scouting and early warnings, so he had started getting ready well in advance.
Margaery, meanwhile, was still fast asleep on the bed, her thick, lustrous brown hair spread out beneath her like a cloud.
Her pale, delicate skin—especially around her collarbones and shoulders—still carried a lingering, rosy flush.
Days of uninterrupted intimacy had allowed them to thoroughly explore every inch of each other.
"Lady Margaery, we've arrived at Casterly Rock~"
Hearing Jon's voice, Margaery slowly opened her eyes. Her brown eyes were still bright, but they now held a watery gentleness and a trace of disorientation.
"Arrived? Arrived where?"
"Casterly Rock."
"Already?!"
Margaery was startled. She tried hard to recall the journey, but her memory of the trip was a complete blank. All she felt was a deep, aching soreness all over her body; even the slightest movement sent an exhausting numbness through her bones.
She frowned slightly, forcing her brain—which had practically melted from days of unbridled passion—to start working again. That was when she realized they hadn't left this room once since they first entered it.
The air was thick not only with her natural scent but also with a lingering, musky aroma.
A maiden's blush crept back onto her cheeks.
No, she wasn't a maiden anymore.
Beneath the blanket, Margaery's hand drifted down to her lower stomach. She could almost feel the seeds planted within her, and she had a strong premonition that she would soon be taking on a second new role.
Jon opened the window, letting in a cool but gentle sea breeze that helped clear her mind significantly.
Yet, despite her best efforts, she still couldn't summon the strength to move even a single finger.
"Shall I call your maids in?" Jon asked, noticing her predicament.
She pulled the blanket up over half her face and nodded.
Jon stepped out of the cabin, leaving the steamy atmosphere behind as he breathed in the refreshing, somewhat warm sea breeze.
"How are you holding up, My Lord?" Sandor asked with a wicked grin.
"For gossiping about my private affairs, I'm docking your pay for a month."
"Huh? Oh."
Sandor couldn't figure out how Jon found out, but then again, a Duke who could summon rain from the sky wasn't someone he could easily comprehend.
"However, you've been diligent and responsible during this trip. Starting next month, your pay gets a twenty percent raise."
"Ah! Thank you, My Lord!"
Even without an education in math, Sandor knew Jon was rewarding him. Compared to a twenty percent raise, losing one month's pay was nothing.
Seeing that Jon didn't actually seem angry, Sandor relaxed and emboldened himself to speak his mind.
"My Lord, the weight of the entire Westerlands rests on your shoulders now. You really must have as many sons as possible with Lady Margaery; only then will your rule be secure."
"Alright, I know." Jon waved him off, feigning impatience, but Sandor happily trotted off to a respectable distance.
Jon knew this was what most people were thinking. In the future, countless lives and fortunes would be tied to him and Casterly Rock. If he didn't produce sons with Margaery soon to secure a solid line of succession, many factions would remain on the fence, hesitant to fully commit to his cause.
Not to mention, there was still a significant number of Lannister blood relatives in the Westerlands, and their influence could not be ignored.
Speaking of children, Jeyne had apparently given Robb twins—a boy and a girl. For Winterfell, which had just endured a grueling war and lost the Old Wolf, this was a massive cause for celebration.
Jon made a mental note to send gifts to them soon.
Jon used his ravens to survey the fleet behind them. Because of the incident with Alerie, Mace and Willas had insisted on sending an escort.
As a result, ten full warships were accompanying Jon and Margaery back to Casterly Rock.
Aside from Jon's own hundred retainers, there were a thousand Tyrell soldiers acting as an escort.
Of course, these thousand soldiers would be stationed directly in Casterly Rock, bolstering the castle's defenses.
Beyond the soldiers, the cooks, stablehands, maids, and servants were almost entirely "sponsored" by Highgarden—adding up to nearly two or three hundred people. Jon naturally knew it would be better to use his own people.
But the staff at Casterly Rock were all Lannister holdovers, and he absolutely refused to trust them. Since he had no time to recruit and vet a new staff himself, he had no choice but to rely on the Tyrells' people for now.
However, Jon knew he had to train his own loyal staff as quickly as possible, otherwise, he would end up in the exact same predicament as King Robert.
Right now, he and Margaery were deeply in love, and having recently saved Alerie, there were no immediate issues. But in the long run, depending entirely on another house's people was a bad idea.
Yet, this was the true power of an ancient, established house. It was something Jon couldn't buy with gold; it could only be accumulated slowly over time.
Based on his calculations, the first wave of migrants from the Mountain Clans should have already arrived at Casterly Rock. According to his plans, they would be settled in the towns surrounding the castle.
Their children would be sent to schools to learn to read and write. The boys would eventually train as warriors, while the girls would serve as maids and servants in Casterly Rock.
The adult men would undergo daily military training, while the women managed the households.
They wouldn't be required to pay taxes in gold; instead, their future tax would be paid in blood.
Jon had classified these Mountain Clan people as "military households." They would be bound to military service for generations.
This system might become rigid and flawed in the future—for instance, drafting men who simply weren't cut out to be soldiers.
But for the next few decades, or even a century, Jon and his successors could rely on this registry system to maintain a large standing army at an incredibly low cost.
Overall, the benefits far outweighed the drawbacks.
About half an hour later, the silhouette of Casterly Rock grew distinct. Supported by her maids, Margaery came to Jon's side.
Her primary maid was Falia, the girl Jon had rescued. In addition, several of Margaery's other companions, excluding Alla, had joined her on the journey to Casterly Rock.
Margaery's steps were slow and cautious, as if she were walking barefoot over sharp stones, but she tried her absolute best to maintain the poise expected of the Lady of Casterly Rock.
"This will be our home from now on," Jon said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"Home..." Margaery murmured softly. Whenever she thought of "home," her mind still instantly conjured images of that beautiful castle covered in blooming flowers and creeping vines, not this unfamiliar, imposing fortress before her.
But then she realized that Jon had only arrived here a month before she did. This place was just as foreign to him. A strange, unique feeling welled up in her heart.
It felt as though the two of them were holding hands, stepping into the dark to explore an unknown cavern together.
With this thought, Margaery leaned her body closer to Jon's.
Jon naturally sensed Margaery's shift in mood. Casterly Rock was indeed a place they needed to build and manage together.
The sun setting over the Sunset Sea cast a brilliant, golden glow, bathing the world in a warm, amber light. The scenery and the atmosphere were absolutely perfect for forging beautiful memories.
Just as subduing vassals required specific tactics and attention, a strong bond with a wife also needed to be carefully built and nurtured.
"Do you want to know what it feels like to fly?"
"Fly?"
Jon stepped behind Margaery, intending to walk her up to the high, swept bow of the swan ship.
However, taking even a slightly larger step made Margaery let out an involuntary whimper of discomfort.
Jon simply scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bow.
"Come on, close your eyes. Spread your arms, and imagine your hands are wings."
Following Jon's gentle instructions, Margaery spread her arms, feeling the force of the wind against her palms.
Standing at the very tip of the bow, Margaery realized her field of vision was completely unobstructed. With the waves rushing rapidly beneath her feet, it truly felt as though she were flying.
She felt an unprecedented sense of freedom and sheer joy.
Combined with the solid, warm chest supporting her from behind, the dual sensations of absolute freedom and total security lifted her higher and higher, as if she were touching the clouds.
In that moment, Margaery was absolutely certain: if she had married Renly or Joffrey, she never would have felt anything like this.