Lady Marbrand stared fixedly at the reply from Lord Tywin, her eyes never blinking.
Maester Byrd stood silently behind her, not daring to make a sound, let alone peek at the letter. The Marbrands had a strict hierarchy, and the Lady was never known for her gentle temper.
After a long pause, Byrd finally heard her voice, low and cool:
"Maester, come and have a look. What do you make of this letter from Lord Tywin?"
"Yes, my lady," Byrd replied with the utmost respect.
The Lady handed him the letter. Byrd took it, glanced at it, and instantly forgot to breathe. He couldn't even speak.
The Lady's voice turned even colder.
"Maester, what is Lord Tywin trying to say with this? One of his rabid dogs bit a member of his own family, and now… silence?"
A chill ran down Byrd's spine. He looked again at the letter, just a single blank parchment. Not a word written on it.
What exactly was Lord Tywin's intention?
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In the Westerlands, few noble lineages were older and prouder than House Westerling of The Crag by the sea.
Yet House Westerling had long been in decline, their once-rich gold and silver mines exhausted generations ago. In the time of Lord Gawen Westerling, he had married Sybell Spicer, not of noble birth, charmed by the dowry her spice-merchant family offered.
Their family's fall from grace reflected a broader trend in the Westerlands. When the other noble houses also ran dry of gold and silver, they too would face the same fate. Those who mocked House Westerling today were merely laughing at tomorrow's mirror.
The lands of House Westerling had been sold off for cheap, a process that began with Gawen's father and worsened under Gawen himself.
Despite their decline, the Westerlings still had two strong men who hadn't yet had their chance to rise.
The first was Ser Rolph Spicer, Gawen's brother-in-law and Sybell's older brother. When Sybell married Gawen, Rolph followed her to The Crag. Gawen knighted him, raising him from commoner to a landless noble.
Rolph was a hulking man with a short fuse. During his time in Lannisport, he got into a fight that broke his nose, which remained crooked and indented ever since. He also sported a neatly trimmed gray beard. He looked the part of a brute, and truly was one. Yet under Gawen's soft leadership, he had little room to show his might.
His weapon of choice wasn't a longsword, but a heavy axe, proof of his immense strength.
The second was Gawen's eldest son and heir to The Crag, Reynald Westerling, brother to Jeyne, and the Mountain's brother-in-law.
Reynald was just nineteen, with a friendly smile, tall and robust, bearing thick, curly chestnut hair and a dense matching mustache that made him look mature beyond his years. Despite being of marriageable age, the family's dwindling fortunes meant he hadn't even secured a betrothal.
Like his sister Jeyne, he was caught between ranks, too good for the low, not good enough for the high.
Besides his exceptional swordsmanship, Reynald was known for two qualities: honor and loyalty.
Although the Mountain had barely spoken to Reynald in the past, he now saw Reynald's true worth. A man you could entrust things to without fear of betrayal.
In the Mountain's original worldline, after Jeyne married Robb Stark of the North, Reynald remained fiercely loyal to Robb. During the Red Wedding, he tried to free Robb's direwolf Grey Wind but was shot multiple times by Frey archers. Eventually, he drowned himself in the river, choosing death over dishonor.
So when word reached The Crag that the Mountain had led twenty-two men in a single night to sweep across the northern noble houses, Lord Gawen and Lady Sybell went weak in the knees with fear. But two men rejoiced: Ser Rolph Spicer and Reynald Westerling, the two boldest and most responsible men in the castle.
Reynald, upon hearing the news, jumped up from his seat in excitement. His admiration for the Mountain began from that moment. Ser Rolph, meanwhile, lost all respect for the soft Lord Gawen and began to view the Mountain in a new light.
When the news arrived, Lady Jeyne and her escort, Ser Rafford "Sweetmouth" Clegane, had just returned to The Crag. They had traveled swiftly by horse, one day, one night, and another half-day. Though Sweetmouth kept a cheerful face, inwardly he was sour.
Such a grand feat, and yet the Mountain had sent him off to escort the lady, denying him the chance to draw blood and earn glory. He was even more bitter at the thought of that loud-mouthed oaf, Chiswick, swaggering beside the Mountain, cutting down foes and storming castles.
That fool had only followed the Mountain for a few days, yet had already seized a golden opportunity to distinguish himself, using his own brothers as soldiers, no less. The unfairness grated on Sweetmouth.
But his frustration was soon interrupted by more shocking news: The Mountain had captured twenty-seven Northern lords and was now "inviting" them to The Crag… for a family wedding.
This sent Lord Gawen into a panic.
"Jeyne, after your wedding to Ser Gregor, what are we supposed to do? We can't possibly defend The Crag from retaliation by over twenty Northern houses!"
"We've reclaimed our lands," Jeyne replied calmly, already no longer a maiden but a woman with grace and poise. "Now we must build a standing garrison, at least a thousand strong."
"Reclaiming the land is one thing. But how are we going to pay for a thousand men?"
"Ser Gregor said we are family now. He'll find a way."
"Find a way?" Gawen scoffed. "There's no gold mine on his land. Goldenleaf Bay still belongs to House Sarwyck. Even two thousand men wouldn't be enough to stand against House Marbrand. Ser Gregor's actions were reckless! He didn't even consult me at first. We could've talked to Lord Damon before starting a war!"
"Ser Gregor conquered over twenty noble houses in one night with just twenty-two men, and you're worried?" Sweetmouth said with a grin, but inside, he was seething.
The Mountain had risked his life, and all Gawen offered was complaints.
Sweetmouth would've loved to draw his dagger and stab the man in the gut, if only he weren't the Mountain's father-in-law. All he could do was smile, though his teeth were clenched with frustration.
"Ser Rafford," Gawen replied, "Ser Gregor's success wasn't pure strength, it was strategy. He underestimated those lords… Lord Damon and the others are still powerful. Their hands were just tied… That's all…"
Normally glib and sharp-tongued, Sweetmouth was rendered speechless by the sheer cowardice.
Reynald spoke up. "Father, perhaps you're missing the point. If Ser Gregor had no fear attacking them, do you think he fears their revenge?"
Ser Rolph added, "We don't go looking for trouble. But if someone tries to trample us, we hit back, hard. With Ser Gregor behind us, we've nothing to fear anymore."
Lady Sybell said nothing, but Sweetmouth could tell she shared her husband's cowardly mindset. His distaste for the couple only deepened.
"My lord, my lady, Lady Jeyne," Sweetmouth said, forcing a smile. "I'm off to welcome Ser Gregor."
He turned and left, smiling on the outside, but fuming within.
"I'll go to welcome my brother-in-law too!" Reynald called, not waiting for permission as he hurried after Sweetmouth.
"As an elder of The Crag," said Ser Rolph, "I should also greet our goodbrother." He followed suit.
Lord Gawen turned awkwardly to Jeyne. "Jeyne, what I said earlier wasn't a weakness… just caution…"
"Father," Jeyne interrupted gently, rising to her feet with elegance, "Ser Gregor has worked hard. So have his twenty-two brothers. Even if he made a mistake, please, when he arrives, don't complain to his face. He might say nothing, but his men will hear. And they'll remember."
With a graceful smile, she added, "Father, Mother, I'm going to welcome Ser Gregor too." And with that, she swept out of the hall.
Lord Gawen looked at Lady Sybell. She gave a small nod with her lips. Gawen called out after his daughter:
"Jeyne, wait, I'll go with you!"
Lord Gawen was the kind of man who talked tough at first, but when things got serious, he always flinched.
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