In the corridor on the second floor of the main keep, Lords Damon, Leo, and Gawen stood together.
The clang of training and shouts of mock battle rang in their ears. Out in the massive parade ground, hundreds of soldiers were training with intense effort. The centurions' sharp whistles echoed one after another, coordinating the drills.
The army had two chief training officers: Ser Rafford Clegane, nicknamed "Raff the Sweetling", and Ser Rolph Spicer.
At that moment, Sweetmouth was sparring with Reynald using training swords. Both moved quickly, Sweetmouth attacked ruthlessly, showing no mercy, while Reynald's swordplay was calm and precise. No matter how fiercely Raff struck, he couldn't break through Reynald's guard. But when Reynald counterattacked, his technique was sharp and elegant, quickly gaining the upper hand.
Yet even with superior technique, Reynald couldn't manage to defeat Raff.
On the surface, Reynald had the edge in skill, while Raff was more vicious. A single blow from Raff could force Reynald back, but Reynald always found a way to regain control, dodging and parrying just enough to stay in the fight.
Reynald had the advantage of noble birth. He had trained since childhood under proper swordmasters, with a structured regimen covering strength, footwork, speed, and technique. It was a far cry from Sweetmouth's street-brawling, vicious style. His training was the real thing, techniques forged in combat, not flashy but deadly.
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Lord Damon spoke. "Lord Gawen, your son-in-law, the Mountain, seems hell-bent on raising a thousand-man infantry. He's up before dawn every day drilling them. I must say, it doesn't feel quite normal."
Lord Gawen replied, "Lord Damon, Lord Tywin has ordered the entire Westerlands to begin military training. Surely you received that command?"
"I did. They began drills, as the Lord ordered. But up before dawn? Recruiting on such a scale? That seems excessive."
Lord Leo chimed in, "Ser Gregor's training makes it feel like he's heading off to war tomorrow. The men he's recruiting are all cutthroats and desperadoes, only motivated by coin. I can't say I'm impressed by the Mountain's troops."
Damon added, "The real question is, where is he getting the money for this? He's offering tax exemptions, buying milk, and raising a private army. Don't tell me Lord Tywin's footing the bill. That's clearly impossible."
"Secondly," Damon continued, turning his gaze toward Gawen, "who exactly is he preparing to fight? Has Gregor confided anything in you? If there's a threat to the Westerlands, we should know. And if there isn't, then why the frenzy to raise an army? At Ashemark, we follow the Lord's orders, an hour of drills after breakfast, another after lunch. That's more than enough."
Leo added, "There are no enemies in the Westerlands. The Seven Kingdoms are united. The king is Lord Tywin's son-in-law. The queen is his daughter. Lannister blood runs through the Red Keep itself. If Gregor isn't preparing for war, then what's the training like this for? It doesn't make sense."
Both Damon and Leo were no fools. The more they discussed it, the more they sensed that something was very wrong.
Lord Damon joke, "If Gregor's plotting a rebellion, he's far from ready. Even with ten thousand men, he wouldn't stand a chance."
Leo laughed. "Indeed. If the Mountain tried to rebel, the entire Westerlands would rise up against him, even if he had elite troops."
Gawen said seriously, "Let's not joke about rebellion. If Ser Gregor hears that kind of talk, even if he wouldn't dare kill you two, he might very well hang you upside down and beat you bloody. And that's not a threat to take lightly."
Damon and Leo both fell silent, their faces awkward.
Gawen sighed. "Don't think I'm not afraid of him too. I'm his father-in-law, and I even tread carefully. If he wants to raise troops, buy milk, train an army, I dare not say a word. I could order him to stop, but my daughter, Jeyne, is his wife. If he takes out his anger on her, or decides to give me a beating in Westerling, what could I do? My son Reynald, and even Ser Rolph, my armsmaster, they all follow Gregor now. Lady Sybelle and I discussed it. Our decision is to neither support nor oppose him. Just let it play out."
Lord Damon sneered. "That speech of yours… If you ever take issue with us, you could just claim we insulted your son-in-law, and have him give us the beating. Spare us the act, Gawen. The Mountain may be violent, but I've seen how he treats you, with respect. All this talk of him lashing out at you or your daughter, you're using that to pressure us, aren't you?"
Leo added, "You say you're just expressing concern, but really, you're warning us through the Mountain's shadow."
Gawen flushed red. "If I'm deliberately threatening you, may the gods strike me, "
Before he could finish, Damon raised his severed arm. "No need. The Mountain's already taken my hand. There's not much more he can do to me. Honestly, I don't fear him."
"I don't fear him either," Gawen replied, "but none of us can beat him. So let's not throw around wild talk about rebellion. If he hears something like that and decides to cut off your left hand in a rage…"
He trailed off deliberately, then quickly added, "Forgive me, Lord Damon. I spoke out of turn."
Gawen may have a timid streak in a true crisis, but when it came to wordplay, he gave no quarter.
Damon's face turned purple with anger.
Leo's heart sank. The last thing he wanted was to be hung up and whipped by the Mountain. Just the thought of being publicly flogged in the training yard was unbearable. His honor would be reduced to ashes.
"Come now, Lord Gawen, let's not be strangers," Leo said with a smile. "We were only jesting. Words said in jest disappear with the wind, no one heard a thing."
"They're already forgotten," Gawen agreed.
Damon's face alternated between pale and flushed. "Lord Gawen, I'll be leaving after breakfast, returning to Ashemark. But thank you for the hospitality of House Westerling."
"No need to rush!" said Leo quickly. "Let's wait four days. Then we'll see what comes of Ser Gregor's recruitment drive."
Gawen added, "Yes, stay a little longer. We've all been unsettled by the Mountain's plans. If you stay and see the turnout yourself, maybe it'll ease your concerns, and mine."
Damon hesitated, then forced an awkward laugh. "Very well, I'll stay a few more days."
If Gregor truly managed to recruit a thousand infantry, House Westerling's strength would grow immensely. Among the northern lords, the balance would shift. At that point, they wouldn't have to worry about others taking their share, they'd be the ones threatening to take from others.
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Four nights later, Lord Gawen was awakened by a strange noise.
Outside the keep came the sound of galloping hooves and sharp military whistles.
Slightly puzzled, he closed his eyes again. But then another group of riders stormed out from the barracks beside the keep, shouting commands as they went.
Gawen sat up, alarmed. Something was clearly happening at Westerling.
He dressed quickly, took his sword from the wall, and opened the door, only to be hit by a wave of noise. Outside the keep, a loud commotion filled the air. Countless unknown people had gathered.
Looking east, he saw the first hints of dawn. It should have been the most peaceful time of night.
Lord Damon arrived quickly at the balcony that overlooked the great training yard. Gawen and Leo were already there.
Below the keep, fires blazed. Torches lined both sides of the main road, lighting up the darkness.
Crowds of people milled about under the torchlight, herded into the training yard by mounted knights and foot soldiers. On the road beyond, more figures continued to stream in.
"What is going on?" Damon exclaimed.
"It's the first recruitment day for the initial three hundred soldiers," Gawen explained, sounding almost smug. "Seems like everyone had the same idea, they've all come before dawn to line up. Ser Gregor had to deploy cavalry and infantry just to maintain order. What a headache!"
He sighed in feigned exasperation. "Every new soldier is another mouth to feed. More expense!"
Damon was speechless, his jaw hanging open. He felt a sharp pain twist in his gut and a wave of weakness washed over him.
No one enjoys watching their neighbor rise in power. Lord Damon was no exception.
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