The city guard of Lannisport was one of the strongest in the Seven Kingdoms.
For a long time now, the Ironborn hadn't dared to raid Lannisport, not only because of its powerful fleet, but also because its city guard was too formidable. The moment the Ironborn set foot ashore, the guard would strike them down without hesitation.
Except for the slums, the rest of Lannisport's bustling districts were orderly and well-managed. Taverns, inns, brothels, blacksmiths, gold and silver markets, vegetable stalls, livestock markets, cloth alleys, perfume shops... countless businesses lined the streets in neat order.
Every day, in addition to the soldiers stationed on the city walls, soldiers patrolled the main thoroughfares with their troops. In Lannisport, coercion or extortion was simply not tolerated.
It didn't matter whether you were noble or commoner, everyone was treated the same. The people followed the laws, and the markets thrived in harmony.
If trouble arose, calling the city guard was easy and effective. Just like the phrase that one university mutt used to hear all the time before getting reincarnated into the Mountain: "Call the soldiers if something happens."
But, of course, there were always exceptions.
When Dunsen Clegane and Polliver Clegane stormed into the city's busiest street with over a dozen thuggish brutes in tow, claiming they had "business" to do, conflict was all but inevitable.
….
Lord Auren looked at the bruised and battered soldiers in front of him, a fire smoldering in his chest.
The moment his men had come to report the incident, and he learned the Mountain was involved, Auren had turned around and walked away, that alone had spoken volumes. Still, the Mountain's goons had gone too far. Beating up city guards? That was beyond unacceptable.
But the real problem was that it was already done. His men were beaten. The Mountain's thugs had walked off. Everyone had returned to the Lord's hall, licking their wounds.
Auren knew perfectly well it was the Mountain's men, riding high on their master's infamy, acting like lawless tyrants. And the worst part? He couldn't just give the order to chase them down and strike back.
That was what really made him fume.
The Mountain and his band of cutthroat mutts hadn't even left the city yet. But could his men even win in a fight if they tried?
The answer was clear: absolutely not.
Lord Auren was not weakling himself. He was a veteran commander, the reason Ironborn hadn't dared to raid the Westerlands in years. His soldiers were no slouches either, yet here they stood, some with split lips, others with blackened eyes, swollen cheeks, or bloody noses plugged with cloth.
The enforcers of law and order in Lannisport looked utterly humiliated.
"What happened?" Lord Auren asked sharply. He knew it was the Mountain's dogs behind this, but as a noble, he had to maintain his dignity.
A lord must carry himself with dignity.
….
Auren had long established a rule in Lannisport: if the city guard ever came to blows with any noble's retainers, they must win.
Fistfights were one thing. Drawing blades was another.
If knights brawled barehanded over words, it was seen as a controlled scuffle. No serious consequences, no lasting political fallout. The outcome was mostly a matter of pride, either satisfying or humiliating. But still, pride mattered.
And that's why winning mattered.
Over the years, this rule had never once been broken.
The Mountain, feared by all, had mostly stayed in Casterly Rock or patrolled the Westerlands' borders under Lord Tywin's orders. If he ever came to Lannisport, it was alongside Lord Tywin himself. His thugs stayed close, never causing trouble for the city guard.
But now?
That rule was on the verge of breaking.
The Mountain no longer lived in Casterly Rock. Tywin no longer needed him to patrol the borders. He was back living in the Clegane lands.
And the Clegane lands were very close to Lannisport.
…
"It was the Mountain's men." admitted Ser Bard Lannys, shame coloring his voice as he touched his bruised face.
"So what if they're the Mountain's men?" Lord Auren raised his voice, tone steely. "I am the lord of Lannisport. I respect Lord Tywin, and I acknowledge that the Mountain's wedding is only ten days away. Otherwise, I'd already have led my men after them to pay them back!"
Righteous indignation, laced with just the right amount of cowardice.
The captains knew the Lord's bluster all too well.
Everyone was aware, but no one said it aloud.
Yes, he was brave, fearsome, even. But the Mountain? The Mountain was no ordinary man. He was a beast in human skin. And those lunatics who followed him weren't normal either.
No sane man would willingly follow the Mountain, let alone take pride in becoming his lackey.
Ser Bard Lannys hesitated, then said, "My lord, we didn't actually fight the Mountain's mad dogs."
In other words, their injuries weren't from a brawl.
The other captains nodded.
It looked like they'd hurt themselves.
"Then what happened to your faces?" the lord frowned.
He knew dealing with the Mountain's men was a headache. That brute wasn't even human. Anyone foolish enough to follow him was clearly no better.
Ser Bard Lannys spoke up. "My lord, Dunsen and Polliver were going around delivering noodles to every tavern in the city…"
"Noodles?" Lord Auren blinked.
Ser Bard quickly corrected him. "Not delivering, my lord. They were selling them. Forcing the tavern owners to pay upfront, then giving them the noodles."
"What do you mean?" Lord Auren looked puzzled. "How could they possibly make that much noodle in the first place?"
Noodles were almost unheard of in Lannisport's taverns, only the two most upscale ones served them, catering to highborn nobles and landed knights.
In the Westerlands, in the Seven Kingdoms, across the whole continent, everyone ate bread. That went for both lords and peasants alike. Noodles were a delicacy, something made at home by skilled servants for the nobility. They were hard to prepare, spoiled quickly, and required high-quality flour. Common folk and poor knights ate coarse black bread.
Noodles had to be made fresh, were soft and moist, and would stick together in no time if packed. How could you possibly carry them door to door?
Lord Auren couldn't make sense of it.
Ser Bard saw the confusion on his lord's face and explained.
"My lord, these noodles are unlike anything we've seen before. They're dry and very thin. They even have a name, Clegane Dried Noodles. They come bundled in cloth strips, each marked with the Clegane sigil, three black dogs. Dunsen and Polliver promised the tavern owners the noodles would keep for a long time, and that they'd never stick together."
"That's impossible." Lord Auren said flatly.
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