Bang!
A punch slammed into the wall.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
Lord Tywin had always placed great trust in the Serrett family, assigning them the responsibility of guarding the Goldroad and awarding them the silver-rich mountains of the Silverhill.
But the actions his sons had taken behind his back were disastrous. Their behavior had clearly displeased Lord Tywin.
Tywin's authority was not something to be trifled with.
From the bedroom, the sound of Lady Serrett's sobbing echoed.
The news of their youngest son Alva's death had devastated her.
This northern journey, which Tyger had planned to strengthen his relationship with Queen Cersei Lannister, had originally been an opportunity for his wife to bond with the queen during their two-month journey. The long and exhausting travel time made it clear that Queen Cersei needed a companion to alleviate her fatigue and loneliness.
"Stop crying." Tyger snapped.
"My son... he's dead... that damn... Mountain... that monster should be torn apart!"
Tyger stormed toward the bedroom door. "You're here venting, but don't you realize disaster is upon us? Have you never heard of 'The Rain of Castamere'?"
The 'The Rain of Castamere' was a song sung across the Seven Kingdoms that sent chills down the spine. The two most powerful families of the West had been wiped out for offending the Lannisters, their ancestral lands abandoned and overgrown with weeds.
Lady Serrett raised her tear-streaked face, her crying abruptly ceasing. Shock replaced her grief.
"...Is it really... that serious?"
"Look at this letter."
"The letter doesn't say anything about Lord Tywin blaming us."
"That's right, it doesn't. Lord Tywin only told Maester Pycelle that I need to handle my sons. The next line says, if I don't, he will. Don't you understand what it means for Lord Tywin to handle my sons for me?"
Lady Serrett gasped, instinctively covering her mouth.
Her face went pale, and she trembled.
"But... but Ser Gregor said... the poisoning and the cavalry raid had nothing to do with our Silverhill Serretts. It was all Allen Serrett's doing."
"Do you believe that?" Tyger sneered.
"...I... believe it…"
"I don't, and neither does Lord Tywin."
"...Why...?"
Lady Serrett felt her body begin to shake uncontrollably, a coldness spreading through her.
"Allen Serrett, a mere mine guard captain, without our Serrett family's approval, how could he have obtained the wine to give to Ser Gregor? Without Silverhill Serrett's backing, how could he have gotten his hands on such an expensive and secret poison?"
She was immediately silenced.
"My only concern right now is that Lord Tywin thinks I knew about all of this."
"...So what should we do?" Lady Serrett's tears had dried. She suddenly stood up. "You need to reply to Lord Tywin immediately. I'll go to Maegor's Holdfast and explain everything to Queen Cersei. We know nothing about what happened in the West. It wasn't your command, and it wasn't mine." she said in a jumbled, panicked manner.
She rushed out of the bedroom, then hurried back, opening the wardrobe to search for clothes. "Tyger, which one should I wear? White? Red? Pink or silk? No, no, I need to do my makeup first. Oh, Kesha, where are you? Damn Kesha, I'll cut off your head! Hurry up and do my makeup, you stupid fool."
"Can you calm down?" Tyge growled. "When everything happened, we were in King's Landing. Lord Tywin still isn't sure whether I ordered Gregor's poisoning. We need to seize this opportunity to clear things up and get Gregor's forgiveness."
"...No, why do we need to get that damn the Mountain's forgiveness? All we need is Lord Tywin's trust." Lady Serrett protested.
"You don't understand anything... sit down and do your makeup. I need to write letters to Lord Tywin, Ser Gregor, and Ado Serrett. You hurry up and get ready to see Queen Cersei at Maegor's Holdfast."
…
The Westerlands, Casterly Rock
Gregor stood atop a high staircase, looking down at the eleven dark figures below. These men were his subjects, summoned by a military draft order.
Once the draft order was issued, Serrett Mines had to immediately settle its accounts and release the men.
Each lord had absolute control over the military service of their subjects.
Eleven men, eleven miners, one family had three men, two families had two men each, and the remaining four families each had one man. This meant that four of the men had died in the mines. Thomasson's son, who had just returned, was killed in a cave-in the previous day.
These men represented the entirety of Gregor's male workforce.
But they were not seasoned warriors.
In Gregor's eyes, a true warrior needed to be trained.
Farmers, fishermen, hunters, and miners were not fit for combat unless they had undergone rigorous training.
This draft order was not only to put them in armor and swords for battle, it was also to put them to work mining.
Gold mining.
The veteran soldier, Thomasson, now in charge, led the miners after delivering a stammering speech. The miners stared at him, silent, full of questions. But with Gregor standing nearby, along with a few of his infamous henchmen, they were too scared to speak out.
"I can tell you all have something to say. Go ahead, speak your minds. I won't punish you. Whoever speaks first, I'll reward you with a bag of salt, a fine horse, a suit of armor, and a good sword." Gregor said. His voice, unusually devoid of malice, carried through the air.
The room fell silent.
The men knew that Gregor had recently been involved in a vicious encounter with the Serrett family and had come into a fortune.
A bag of salt, a fine horse, armor, and a good sword, a reward so generous that they couldn't believe it. They would never earn this much in their entire lives.
Just the price of one good sword could cover twenty years of mining.
"Scribe."
"Yes, milord."
"If no one speaks up in three heartbeats, deal with them one by one."
"Yes, how should I handle them, my lord?"
"Cut off their tongues. Since they don't like speaking, their tongues are unnecessary."
"Yes, my lord." the scribe chuckled.
Sweet-talker Raff, executioner Dunsen, and the brainless Polliver all smiled eagerly.
They relished this kind of work, blinding people, cutting off tongues, hacking off limbs.
A brief silence was broken by a stammering voice: "Ser Gregor, the place you've arranged for us to mine isn't even in our territory."
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