Within the Westerling family's territory, in a village neighboring Lord Banklow's land, lay the small village of Alexis.
"Hey, what are you still dawdling for? Hurry up and pack!" shouted a short man dressed in fine clothes, glaring at his wife with beady eyes.
His name was Bernie. He had a remarkable talent for mimicking all kinds of natural sounds and could imitate people's voices with such precision that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference. This skill had earned him invitations to perform at noble knights' banquets, where his vocal mimicry made him both money and a certain level of fame.
In Alexis village, Bernie was the wealthiest man by far. Naturally, he was well-known throughout the surrounding area.
Lord Banklow was quite fond of him.
After the Westerling family sold Alexis village to Lord Banklow, Bernie was frequently invited to noble festivals by the Lord and other family knights to showcase his uncanny animal and character impressions.
Bernie's wife was much taller and sturdier than he was, broad-faced, thick-lipped, and strong-built. She had no name, no family name either; Bernie had picked her up from the streets when he performed his vocal tricks in the Riverlands. Out of some cruel joke, he called his formidable wife "The Bull."
Over time, the nickname stuck, and "The Bull" became her name.
The Bull was timid and introverted, clearly intimidated by her much smaller husband.
She started packing reluctantly, picking up a piece of clothing, then putting it down; lifting a delicate wicker box, then setting it aside.
Bernie, on the other hand, packed quickly. Outside their house, the sound of running footsteps echoed, as if the village was gearing up for a war with a neighboring settlement.
"Bernie!" The Bull finally mustered the courage to speak, "I don't want to leave the village. I like it here. I don't want to go wandering around..."
"Are you an idiot?" Bernie roared from inside the house, rattling his copper stars, silver bucks, and a few gold dragons as he counted. "The village doesn't belong to Lord Banklow anymore, it's been returned to the untrustworthy Westerling idiot Lord."
"And that idiot Lord married his daughter to 'The Devil of Hell,' The Mountain. You know who The Mountain is, right? He's taller than our house, comes out at night to kill and cook people. He wants to conscript soldiers across the entire territory and make us mercenaries to earn money for him. On top of that, he wants to tax us so heavily that we can't even pay. Damn him! He's a Clegane, living hundreds of miles away. What right does he have to tax us here?"
The Bull was speechless, unsure what to say.
She wasn't much of a talker. Bernie was rarely home throughout the year, and she was content to work the land quietly, happy and comfortable. She avoided arguments, stopped caring about people's insults, or being scolded for eating too much and doing too little. She had grown fond of this place and refused to leave.
"You go, I'll stay!" The Bull said timidly. "You can come back anytime. This place will always be your home. You'll always be my man."
"No!" Bernie stormed in and slapped her, but she grabbed his wrist firmly, she was surprisingly strong. "I'm not leaving. They want to tax us, and I don't have money!"
"Ouch! Let go, you fool! If you don't leave, a woman as... beautiful as you... and The Mountain sees you, you're finished, finished for life. He'll rape and kill you again and again, then kill and rape, kill and rape! He's a bloodthirsty demon."
The Bull didn't understand a word of what Bernie was saying.
She let go of his wrist, looking at him nervously.
She noticed the red marks on Bernie's wrist and worried she had hurt him. Bernie had a rough temper, often cursed her, beat her when drunk, and frequently brought prostitutes home to sleep with. Yet the Bull didn't mind. Bernie was a good man, and she was grateful to him.
After being kicked out by her family, surviving by scavenging scraps on the street, Bernie had saved her and given her a stable home, even a few renovated stone houses.
"You really won't leave?" Bernie shook his wrist, eyeing the red marks again. Time was tight, the whole village was moving out, relocating to Lord Banklow's land to start fresh. Bernie wasn't going. Instead, he planned to take his vocal mimicry on the road, making money while traveling, and making sure to sleep with every local girl he met along the way.
His ultimate dream was to sleep with women all across the Seven Kingdoms.
"I'm not leaving!" The Bull shook her head firmly. She had no memory of The Mountain, but the beatings and starvation she'd suffered on the streets at the hands of her family would haunt her forever.
"All the villagers will be gone, and you'll be the only one left here. When The Mountain comes, he'll tear you apart, like this: chop off a hand, chop off a leg, chop off your head, bang a kick to your face. Tell me, are you scared?"
The Bull stared at Bernie in silence.
Bernie realized with despair that she probably didn't understand a word he was saying.
"If you really don't leave, I won't leave you a single coin. I swear it," Bernie said, raising his voice to show how shameless he could be.
"Take all the money, and bring plenty of food. When you're out there, don't drink too much. Don't trust the girls, they're all out to scam you."
"Nonsense!" Bernie scoffed, turning to leave. "You're such a fool, lecturing me. Get lost!"
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Across the Westerling family's reclaimed lands, in village after village, rumors spread like wildfire, terrifying tales of The Mountain murdering and raping women, whispers of conscription without pay, families forced to pay extra taxes to support soldiers, with an added silver buck tax each month. If the villagers couldn't pay in money, they had to pay with food.
Rumors of a full-scale war breaking out between The Mountain and northern nobles swirled too.
These rumors had no wings, yet they flew freely from every direction, all with the same message: flee the Westerling lands, and leave before it's too late.
Bernie packed his belongings, most importantly his coins, slinging a bag over his shoulder. Half the village was already gathered outside, scrambling noisily, rummaging through their things.
"Let's go!" Bernie was the village celebrity; everyone watched him closely.
"Bernie, where's The Bull?" someone asked.
"She's not leaving. We'll go without her. We need to reach Lord Banklow's lands before dark to be safe," Bernie said.
"Then let's hurry!" came a voice.
"Take The Bull with you, she's a good woman, Bernie," an older lady said.
"It's not that I won't take her, she's possessed or something. Refuses to budge," Bernie replied, whistling cheerfully.
The villagers followed him in a chaotic stream toward the village outskirts.
Suddenly, a young man came racing down the village road on a bull, shouting, "Go back! Hurry back! The Mountain's men are coming! The Three Dogs banner, the Three Dogs banner!"
Bernie and the villagers stopped dead in their tracks.
To be safe, two boys had been posted up in a tall tree outside Alexis village to watch the road, ready to alert the village at the first sign of trouble.
Escaping quietly was the only option. The Mountain was rumored to be merciless, anyone caught by him would vanish without a trace.
The villagers were terrified, their faces pale.
Bernie made a quick decision. "Go back!" he said. "We'll leave after dark!"
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