Margaery's heart skipped a beat.
Cans?
Of course she remembered the agreement that could change the fate of all Westeros!
She had thought that after the humiliating "negotiation" last night, this man would completely tear up the previous agreement.
After all, she had already become Lynn's plaything.
Unexpectedly, Lynn still remembered the agreement.
And after conquering her completely in that manner, he casually placed this gift, which would make any king crazy, in front of her.
Carrot and stick.
No, this was no longer a carrot.
This was a mountain of gold.
A mountain of gold that she, and the entire House Tyrell, could not refuse.
Margaery followed Lynn with trepidation, while Myranda trailed behind like a loyal shadow, keeping a respectful distance.
They passed through the castle to an area in the back enclosed by high wooden walls.
Unlike the rest of the castle, this place was filled with a strange "vitality."
Thousands of wildlings were busy here, divided into different groups, each performing their own duties.
Some were mixing a special clay, some were firing something, and others were processing fruits that emitted a sweet, cloying scent.
The whole scene looked primitive and rough, yet possessed a sense of order.
"This is my workshop."
Lynn pointed to the bustling site before them.
Margaery's gaze fell on the center of the site.
There, a dozen huge deep pits had been dug. The openings were covered with heavy wooden planks, leaving only narrow gaps.
A faint, strange smell, a mix of sour fermentation and earth, wafted out from the gaps.
"My Lord, is this..."
Margaery began uncertainly.
In her imagination, a workshop capable of producing such miraculous cans, even if not magnificent, should be some place of intricate complexity.
Not this place... which looked like a campsite left behind by a migrating wildling tribe.
"Correct."
Lynn led her first to a group of wildlings mixing mud.
These wildlings mixed a grey-white clay with water, stomped on it repeatedly, and then a group of them shaped it into huge clay jars.
The clay jars were ugly, their surfaces uneven, but the walls were exceptionally thick.
"This is the container."
Lynn knocked on one with his knuckles, producing a dull sound.
"It must be strong enough to withstand temperature changes and isolate the contents from the outside."
Margaery nodded, committing this detail to memory.
Next, Lynn led her to another side.
Several huge wooden barrels were filled with mashed blueberries and some unknown wild fruits.
The barrels were covered with coarse cloth, and many tiny bubbles were constantly rising and bursting on the surface.
"What is this?"
Margaery asked curiously; the sweet and sour smell came from here.
"You can understand it as a seed."
Lynn's explanation was simple and straightforward.
"I call it yeast."
"Mash the fruit, put it in a warm place, and it will appear on its own."
"Then, feed it to water with added sugar."
Lynn pointed to another row of larger wooden barrels nearby.
The liquid in those barrels was churning violently as if boiling.
"It will 'eat' the sweetness inside, then 'spit out' a very heavy gas."
"This gas has no color, no smell, but it sinks to the bottom."
"And it slows down food spoilage."
"Although it cannot stop changes in the food itself, it is enough."
Margaery's eyes widened.
Though she couldn't understand the principles Lynn spoke of, she understood what she saw.
This was knowledge she had never encountered, knowledge more magical than what those old maesters in the Citadel studied for a lifetime.
"My Lord, your wisdom is enough to shame the maesters of the Citadel to death."
Margaery sighed sincerely.
"This isn't my wisdom, just the laws of nature."
Lynn was noncommittal.
He led Margaery to the deep pits in the center of the site.
Two wildlings worked together to move the heavy wooden planks covering one of the pits.
That strange sour smell surged out from the bottomless pit.
Margaery looked down.
At the bottom, several fired huge clay jars were stacked neatly.
Another team of wildlings was carefully filling those jars with grain sent from the Riverlands.
"And then?"
Margaery felt her heart pounding.
She knew the most crucial step was coming.
Lynn didn't answer, just made a gesture.
Several wildlings pushed the large wooden barrels fermenting violently to the edge of the pit, then aligned the mouths of the barrels with the pit and slowly tilted them.
Margaery didn't see anything being poured in.
But she could feel something invisible continuously pouring into the deep pit from the barrels.
The light of the torches at the bottom of the pit began to flicker unstably, shaking violently a few times, then extinguished with a "poof."
"Air makes food rot."
Lynn's voice sounded in Margaery's ear.
"And this heavy gas will squeeze all the air out of the pit."
"Only this heavy gas will remain in the jars."
Margaery subconsciously took half a step back.
She could feel the air near the pit opening becoming somewhat oppressive, making it hard for her to breathe.
This was incredible!
He could control invisible air!
After the last glimmer of fire extinguished at the bottom of the pit, Lynn ordered again.
"Wait one hour for the gas to completely displace the air."
Soon, the time was up.
"Seal the jars!"
A dozen sturdy wildlings waiting aside immediately sprang into action.
Each took a deep breath, expanding their chests to the limit.
Then, holding the prepared heavy clay lids, they jumped unhesitatingly into the deep pit filled with "heavy gas."
"They..."
Margaery let out a low cry, covering her mouth subconsciously.
In a place without air, they would suffocate!
But the wildlings moved excruciatingly slowly, afraid their movements would drag air down with them.
They placed lids on every clay jar, then immediately scrambled hand and foot to climb out of the pit.
The whole process took about two minutes.
When they climbed out, everyone's face was flushed red from holding their breath, panting heavily.
Some even collapsed on the ground, coughing violently.
But no one complained.
Instead, their faces bore the satisfaction and pride of completing a task.
"For food, they are willing to take any risk."
Lynn explained.
"To have a full belly in winter is more important to them than life."
Margaery fell silent.
Sealing complete, the last group of wildlings came up.
They carried wooden buckets filled with a milky white viscous liquid.
It was a sap called "tree milk" by the wildlings, found by Tormund.
It was very common beyond the Wall.
The wildlings used wooden spoons to apply this "tree milk" heavily to the gaps of the jar lids, and also brushed a layer on the jar bodies.
"This is the final step, sealing."
Lynn explained.
"When this tree sap dries, it becomes very elastic; wet water and air cannot enter."
"Finally, put them in a cold enough place."
Lynn pointed to the bottomless pit.
"Here, they can be preserved for two years, three years, or even longer—longer than the coming Long Night."
"Until we want to eat, then we take them out."
With that, Lynn had someone take out a can that looked to have been stored for a long time from another sealed pit.
The jar was covered in frost, the sealing "tree milk" turned dark yellow and hard as stone.
"This is roughly the final product."
"Soon, all of Dragonstone and even the entire North will tighten their belts and store all remaining food using this method."