Not just any noble had the privilege of sitting at Lord Tywin's breakfast table.
Seated at his sides were Ser Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane and Lady Jeyne. Beside Jeyne sat her biological father, Lord Gawen Westerling, whose face was marked with concern. After all, last night had been the legally sanctioned "flower-plucking" of his daughter by none other than the Mountain.
Tywin regarded Jeyne with the eyes of a father. Though he said nothing, Jeyne could read the meaning behind his gaze. Tywin was the kind of man who had no qualms asking about anything, even his daughter's intimate life, as casually as commenting on the weather. To Lord Tywin, social niceties were mere rubbish.
An elephant does not concern itself with the opinions of ants.
Two fathers sat at the table, both worrying about her physical well-being.
After all, Ser Gregor Clegane was a beast, more terrifying than any wild animal.
"I'm fine," Jeyne replied, her lovely face tinged pink. "Ser Gregor… he truly loves me." Her voice dwindled to a whisper by the end.
Tywin didn't seem to care, but Jeyne did.
He gave a nod and gestured for the servants to bring the food.
Gawen Westerling, expressionless, quietly let out a breath of relief.
Gregor treating Jeyne with such restraint was likely thanks to Tywin's looming authority. Jeyne was his foster daughter, and the Lord's honor was not to be taken lightly.
Gawen gave Tywin a grateful look.
Tywin, stone-faced, offered no response, no nod, no glance, as if the man's gratitude simply didn't exist. His imposing silence put unease in everyone's hearts.
A procession of rich and diverse dishes began arriving like a flowing river, and in a short time, plates upon plates covered the table.
Seated beside Gregor was Lord Auren.
Lord Auren, a Lannister and one of Tywin's close retainers, was well within his rights to sit near Lord Tywin.
"Ser," said Lord Auren thickly, speaking with some difficulty, "your men knocked out several of my teeth last night."
"My lord," Gregor said, "if they hadn't knocked out a few of your teeth, I'd have broken a few of your bones myself. Look, both of my fathers are sitting right here, and all the major lords of the Westerlands are present. Let me make this clear: from now on, no one is to touch my wife for any reason. Otherwise, it won't just be a few teeth or bones broken. Those of you who enjoy your little games with mistresses, keep them out of our affairs. Don't use some lady's embroidery circle or sewing group to draw her into your filthy tricks. Don't bring that ugliness near the Clegane name. I won't tolerate it."
The assembled lords and knights were visibly uncomfortable.
In a world without modern diversions, no plays, no tournaments, no shows, the nobility of peaceful times, with their wealth and power, often sought pleasure in the basest ways. Affairs and lovers were common, if not expected.
Gregor's crude and brutal honesty tore through that genteel façade like a sword through silk. No one at the table, not even the Lord, was spared embarrassment. Even Lady Jeyne blushed deeper at his bluntness.
Mistresses and lovers were part and parcel of noble society, an open secret. Yet here was Gregor, airing it in the presence of Tywin himself, with no shame and no filter.
Lady Jeyne, astute as she was, broke the tension with a gentle tone.
"Ser Gregor, won't you serve Father some soup?"
And so, Ser Gregor Clegane ladled soup for the fearsome and imposing Lord Tywin.
The awkward air dissipated thanks to Lady Jeyne's clever redirection.
Since the death of his wife Joanna in childbirth twenty-five years ago, Lord Tywin had never taken another woman to his bed. Many silver-tongued matchmakers had tried, and been driven away in shame. He had never set foot in a brothel, which he loathed.
It was said that when Joanna died, she took with her all of Tywin's warmth. Since then, the Lord of Casterly Rock had never smiled again.
Joanna had been his cousin, and theirs was a rare noble marriage built on affection. There was a popular saying at the time: "Lord Tywin rules the Seven Kingdoms; Lady Joanna rules Lord Tywin."
After Joanna's passing, Tywin became nothing but cold severity. He abhorred the mistress culture among nobles but chose not to speak of it.
Gregor, on the other hand, had shattered that silence, loudly and publicly, at the breakfast table on the morning after his wedding.
Everyone at the table was someone of status: Lord Marbrand of Ashmark, kin to the Lannisters; Lord Lefford of the Golden Tooth; Lord Crakehall of Crakehall Hall; Lord Swyft of Cornfield; Ser Kevan, Tywin's brother and his shadow; and though Lord Sarsfield of Sarsfield would normally qualify for this table, he was presently in the North at Winterfell with the King and Queen. His heir was too junior to be seated here.
As Gregor finished serving Tywin, the others began to eat.
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"Father," Jeyne said with a radiant smile, "may I ask something minor?"
They say women are the school from which men learn, but the truth is, men are the ones who teach women, and women often graduate fast. After last night, many could only imagine what kind of night she and Gregor had shared.
Tywin's eyes locked onto Jeyne Westerling.
"Father, the Clegane lands are small, and our people few. We were thinking of establishing a mercenary company in Lannisport, to take on contracted work from nobles and earn some extra coin. Would that be acceptable?"
Tywin stared at her in silence.
Under the table, Lord Gawen lightly kicked Jeyne's foot.
Lord Auren's heart skipped a beat.
He'd been beaten last night, and now Jeyne was proposing to start a mercenary company in his city. That raised a red flag. Especially since one of Gregor's new recruits, a man named Chiswick, used to command the now-defunct "Warblades ," a notorious mercenary band.
Chiswick had already promised to track down his old comrades, stop their pirating, and bring them into the Lannisport fleet. It was a verbal agreement he'd made with Gregor. So why was Jeyne now raising the idea of forming a separate mercenary force? It seemed to contradict that promise… though if her company only took land-based jobs, perhaps it could still work.
Lord Auren glanced at Gregor, who looked equally surprised.
"Girls really can't be kept at home," Gawen Westerling jokes. "One day into her marriage, she's already planning how to support her new family. I raised you for fifteen years, clearly, in vain!"
Ser Kevan chuckled. "Jeyne, Ser Gregor just won a gold mine from House Sarsfield. You won't need to worry about food."
"A small vein of gold, from a place even the Sarsfields had given up on. How long can it last? That little mine will be empty before long. We're married now. We'll have children in the future. I don't want to rely on Father's help to feed them."
Kevan stiffened.
He recalled last night, in the maester's tower study, the way Tywin had looked at him, a warning in his eyes. The Westerlands' future was in jeopardy. The gold mines had been tapped for over a thousand years. The yield was waning. The mines, the very foundation of the realm's wealth, armies, and rule, were nearing exhaustion.
Casterly Rock itself had been built from a hollowed-out mountain.
And the famed wealth of the Westerlands was nearing the end of its golden age.
Lady Jeyne's anxiety about her family's future was, in truth, a microcosm of the region's coming crisis. Yet none but Tywin had sensed the danger looming.
While the rest of the nobility indulged in pleasure, intrigue, and rivalry, Tywin saw the coming fall with terrifying clarity.
He nodded. "Jeyne, I support House Clegane establishing a mercenary company in Lannisport."
He shot a look at Lord Auren, whose face had gone slightly pale.
In fact, Gregor had once told Tywin he wanted to find his own way to make money, real money. Tywin had suggested he take on mercenary work in Lannisport, where trade and traffic meant there were always jobs.
He hadn't expected Jeyne to bring it up again at the breakfast table, framed as a casual daughter-to-father question.
A clever move. Clearly done to make sure Lord Auren heard it loud and clear.
And Lord Auren did understand.
A creeping suspicion began to gnaw at him. He remembered last night, getting beaten. A feeling of dread rose in his chest.
Could it be? Could Gregor have somehow found out about the 'well-meaning advice' he'd given Tywin in private, at Ser Kevan's house?
Or did Jeyne suspect something?
But how could she?
A name and a shadow began to form in his mind.
The Witch.
A cold sweat broke out on Lord Auren's forehead and nose. But mingled with the warmth of the room, no one noticed.
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