"Jeyne, leave us. I want to speak with the maester alone."
"Yes, Father."
"Tell Ser Gregor to come see me. He's returned, hasn't he?"
"As you command, Father."
Jeyne curtsied and withdrew. The study door closed quietly behind her.
"Lord Tywin," Maester Harry hesitated, his brow creased, "I fear Ser Gregor may not be able to restrain himself... He could harm the northern nobles."
"I fear the opposite," Tywin said flatly. "I fear he won't."
"Oh? Why would you say that, my lord?"
The Lord of Casterly Rock didn't answer. Instead, he slowly opened a drawer and laid out several items on the table: military whistle schematics, a diagram for making snow-salt, a red silk-wrapped pair of chopsticks, coinage blueprints, a machine diagram for dried noodles, and plans for the submerged latrine bend.
The maester's eyes widened.
"These... Ser Gregor gave you all of these, my lord? Even the latrine bend plans?"
"I had them before Lord Auren brought up the noodle machine or the latrine," Tywin replied, his voice cool and composed.
The maester was speechless.
So Lord Auren's 'report' was meaningless. The Lord already knew everything about Ser Gregor Clegane's undertakings, even his brilliant inventions.
"Gregor gave them to me himself," Tywin added, noting the maester's stunned expression.
"And he admitted he designed all of this?" the maester murmured, suddenly realizing he knew far less about Ser Gregor than he had assumed, far less than the Lord, certainly.
Tywin didn't respond. For matters he didn't want to discuss, silence was the answer enough.
"Maester," he said instead, holding up the snow-salt diagram, "the gold mines in the Westerlands won't last much longer. What then, if the mines run dry? What will become of the Westerlands?"
"Snow-salt could become the Westerlands' second gold mine," he continued, "but it's not enough."
The maester nodded gravely.
"Using wood instead of iron for chopsticks, 'wood for metal', in three months' time, will effectively reduce weapon costs and lessen our reliance on iron from the Iron Islands. Still, we must increase our stockpiles of ore, not reduce them."
"Yes, we should begin stockpiling iron discreetly."
"The whistles, drums, and horns will strengthen our legions. With them, we'll surpass our enemies in military coordination and battlefield effectiveness."
Though the maester was no military expert, he knew Tywin Lannister was a master of war. At seventeen, Tywin had earned renown in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. At eighteen, he had crushed two of the most powerful houses in the West, root and branch, leaving no survivors.
"Yes, my lord."
"Noodles can be sold across the Seven Kingdoms, and even beyond the Narrow Sea, but these gourmet noodles cater only to the nobility. Let Gregor and Lord Auren keep the profits. Casterly Rock will collect only a modest tax."
"You are wise, my lord."
"The submerged latrine bend? All it does is keep the stench out of privies. Once word spreads, anyone can replicate it. There's not much coin to be made there, it's negligible."
"Indeed, my lord."
"But the coin minting," Tywin said, finally picking up the blueprint Gregor had given him, "is by far the most effective way to increase the Westerlands' wealth. When the gold mines are gone, our own coins will become a hidden gold mine."
He looked over the coinage plans with genuine appreciation.
"Yes, my lord," the maester replied carefully.
Coin minting... done in secret by Gregor... and yet the Lord praised it? Could it be that Gregor wasn't minting for himself alone, but for Tywin as well?
The thought sent a chill down Harry's spine.
For a nobleman to mint coins privately, it could be a minor offense, or it could be treason. At worst, the king could strip him of his title, lands, and power. But at best... it could all vanish in silence. After all, the king was his son-in-law. The queen is his daughter. The princes and princess his grandchildren. Behind closed doors, they were all family.
Still, Tywin had clearly told Jeyne: He knew nothing about Gregor's minting.
So if the scheme were ever discovered, only one man would bear the consequences: Gregor Clegane.
The answer was painfully clear.
Another chill sweat broke out on the maester's back.
He had served Tywin Lannister for decades and still found him unfathomable, worthy of respect, but also of fear. Respect for his brilliance. Fear for his ruthlessness.
"But all of this," Tywin said, his voice suddenly wistful, "is just a minor gain."
"The Lannister name has endured for a thousand years. When the gold runs dry, we must find a new way to survive, or how can our house endure another thousand? The name Lannister is worth more than my life a hundredfold."
He fixed the maester with a razor-sharp gaze.
"Maester Harry, do you have any ideas?"
Harry felt utterly lost.
Until the Lord had mentioned it, he hadn't even realized the gold mines were close to exhaustion. Every month, carts laden with ore rolled to King's Landing down the Goldroad in a parade of power and wealth, who would have guessed it was the last flicker of light before the sun set?
"No, my lord," he said honestly, full of dread. "I have no ideas for the future of the Westerlands."
Lying to the Lord was suicide. Tywin saw through people like glass.
And then, suddenly, Harry understood. He understood why Ser Gregor had confessed all his secrets to Tywin. He understood why the Mountain, feared and hated across the Seven Kingdoms, could thrive comfortably at Tywin's side.
Because there were no secrets between Gregor and the Lord.
Gregor had followed Tywin since he was twelve. Twenty years had passed since then. For twenty years, he had kept nothing from his lord.
All those who thought they were whispering damning secrets about Gregor in Tywin's ear, every petty informant, were only confirming what Tywin already knew, and knew better.
Trying to bring down Ser Gregor with gossip in front of the Lord? Impossible. Tywin knew more than anyone. The only person who could destroy the Mountain... was Tywin himself.
And now, with Gregor's sudden burst of intellect, as if blessed by the Seven, and his rapid string of innovations, he had opened a new path. A sliver of light for the worried Tywin Lannister, a path forward for the Westerlands.
Maester Harry began to sense it, vaguely. He couldn't be sure if his instincts were right, but one thing he knew for certain:
Never again would he speak ill of Ser Gregor in front of the Lord. Never.
Between Tywin and Gregor was a deep, unique bond, one that no outsider could ever understand. A tie unlike any Tywin shared with anyone else.
And with that realization, Harry finally understood what Tywin had meant earlier: "I fear he won't hurt them."
A reformed Gregor who no longer killed, who let old grievances fade, that might be the one thing Tywin Lannister feared most.
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