Gregor said calmly, "Ser Ado, I need you to swear, in the name of the Seven Gods and with the honor of the Ado family, that you will never be enemies with the Westerling family or the Clegane family, not now, not ever."
In a world where gods and faith held sway, an oath was the strongest bond a person could be held to, even stronger than laws. Faith in the gods was something to be wielded and relied upon.
Gregor had no desire to offend the entire Northern nobility, only to have them stab him in the back during future conflicts. Swearing by the Seven Gods and family honor was the best kind of guarantee. Not foolproof, perhaps, but at least ninety percent effective.
For Ser Ado, there was no hesitation or resistance in making this oath. His mind had already been numbed by the madness of Polliver.
"Ser Gregor, I, Ado, swear by the Seven Gods and the honor of the Ado family that I will never be enemies with the Westerling family or the Clegane family. Never."
"Good, Sir," Gregor said, "I trust your oath. I believe you never intended to be our enemy. It was all because of Lord Damon. Lord Damon is Lord Tywin's cousin, and his family is powerful. It's understandable you feared him."
"Yes, Ser Gregor. I'm a minor noble. I dare not disobey you or Lord Damon. Sir... I..." Ado stammered.
Gregor cut him off. "Ser Ado, you may leave now. Polliver, cut the ropes on the sir's wrists. He is a good man, let him go."
"Oh!" Polliver drew his short knife with a snap. The other captive nobles held their breath, watching anxiously as the knife slid between the ropes on Ado's wrists. Nearly every one of them secretly feared the madman might suddenly slash off Ser Ado's hands.
But the ropes were fully cut without a single scratch on Ado. Not a single drop of blood.
Ado quickly thanked Gregor and Polliver. He requested a horse, and after receiving permission, he stepped out of the hall. His legs suddenly gave out, almost causing him to fall.
While Polliver cut the ropes, Ado had held his breath, his legs already weak and trembling. He forced himself to stay calm with one deep breath, but as he stepped forward, that breath escaped, and his whole body went limp, nearly collapsing.
"Coward!" Cheswick silently scorned the Northern nobles.
If it had been one of his brothers, no matter the fear of having his hand cut off, he would never have shown such weakness. If it were him, he wouldn't fear even beheading.
Nobles who'd lived comfortable, pampered lives for sixteen years could not compare to the hardened, blood-soaked street thugs surviving on sheer grit and iron will.
When it came to killing and toughness, street thugs far surpassed most pampered nobles.
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The Maester's Tower
"Maester, you need to stop the bleeding! The herbal ash isn't working!" Lord Gawen panicked.
Lord Damon's body trembled violently, as if seized by cramps.
The Maester explained it was massive blood loss causing Damon's body heat to drain away, making him cold all over and triggering the violent shivering.
If the bleeding wasn't stopped quickly, it was obvious Damon's life was in grave danger.
The severed hand was already extreme enough, but if Damon died in The Crag, the fallout would be enormous. Lord Leo, Lord Gawen, and Gregor, none would escape blame.
The Maester was skilled in medicine, able to treat humans and animals alike. If the city's horses fell ill, he treated them. He even healed Lady Sybell's pet lynx, pure white, lively, and affectionate.
Jeyne had also learned medical skills from the maester. Together, they bandaged Damon's arm, but the fresh blood kept seeping through layer after layer of bandages, soaking them and dripping outside.
Lord Leo was stunned. He helped from the side, handing things, clean water, bandages, steadying the patient, but Damon's body was growing colder and his trembling uncontrollable.
Leo panicked.
It was Leo's decision that had opened the Golden Tooth!
He and Damon were on good terms, but Leo's actions caused this misfortune.
The severed hand was Gregor's doing, so Leo still had an excuse, but if Damon died from the injury, it would be a disaster. The Marbrand family and the Leford family would become mortal enemies, and Lord Tywin's impression of Leo would sour forever.
"Maester, do something, now!" Leo roared.
Lord Gawen's face was pale, cold sweat pouring down his forehead. "Maester, Jeyne, stop the bleeding, quick!"
Jeyne's hands were soaked in blood. She peeled off the blood-soaked bandage and wrapped on a fresh one filled with herbal ash, but it was no use. Damon's body shook harder, his face turning blue and purple. The blood from the severed wrist flowed like a spring, unceasing.
What to do?
He must not die!
But why wouldn't the bleeding stop?
The herbal ash was a powerful hemostatic, why wasn't it working?
The Maester's face grew desperate.
It made no sense!
"Bind his arm tight, right now!" Jeyne suddenly said.
Since the maester's method had failed, they had to risk using her grandmother's old method.
Jeyne never formally learned the blood magic spells or techniques from her grandmother, the witch. She only helped with chores before the witch found an apprentice.
But Jeyne had seen her grandmother stop bleeding once, first by tightly binding the muscle above the wound.
Why? The witch never explained, Jeyne wasn't a blood magic apprentice. But Jeyne guessed it was to stop blood flow through the muscles from other parts of the body.
That was one way.
The second, more effective way was chanting strange syllables in a unique tongue, the High Valyrian blood magic spell.
Jeyne never deliberately studied the spell, but she'd heard her grandmother say it often enough to recognize it.
Damon's lips were now blue and purple; his eyes rolled back, unable to focus. Whether or not it would work, they had to try.
But blood magic was forbidden, feared, and despised by many.
"Everyone else, leave. Just the maester and I," Jeyne said.
Lord Gawen and Lord Leo exchanged uncertain looks.
"Go! There's no time. You won't help, only hinder us," Jeyne ordered sharply, her gaze cutting like a blade at Leo.
Leo and Gawen exchanged a look, then hurried out, closing the door behind them.
"Maester, quickly find a rope. Bind Damon's arm tight, as tight as you can," Jeyne said firmly.
The maester hurried off.
Left alone with Damon, Jeyne's mind echoed with the strange syllables her grandmother had chanted during the bleeding ritual. She didn't know if it would work, but they had no choice.
Jeyne whispered the strange syllables in a low voice.
⚔────────
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