Deepwood Motte, the Hall of a Thousand Beasts.
Galon sat high upon the seat of honor, looking down at the four great clan chiefs below him, whose expressions were all tinged with awkwardness.
"You intend to withdraw your men?"
The four exchanged glances. In the end, it was the Forest Clan chief who spoke.
"Yes, Lord Galon."
He cast a cautious glance upward and explained, "We came in response to the ancient oaths, but the southern campaign of the North never called upon us.
Now Deepwood Motte itself faces no battle. It would be better to allow us to return to our clans first."
Galon turned his gaze to the other three. "Is that also your view?"
The Trunk Clan chief nodded. "Yes. We've already been back from Winterfell for over half a month. We can't just keep lingering here forever."
The Wood Clan chief followed at once. "It's not that we're unwilling to stay, but there truly is no fighting here. If nothing is happening, we might as well return."
The Branch Clan chief added, "Long summer is nearly over. We must prepare supplies for winter so our people can survive the cold. My lord, we truly cannot afford to delay any longer."
One after another, the four clan chiefs spoke, all pressing the same point. They wanted Galon to allow them to take their men home.
Listening to them gave Galon a headache. He knew these words were little more than excuses.
Ever since returning from Winterfell, the four clan chiefs had wanted to bring their levied men back. But Galon sensed that a great war was coming and had never dared to let them leave.
So he had used his authority to keep them at Deepwood Motte by force.
Yet more than ten days had passed. Not only had the ironborn failed to land, not even a single raiding ship had appeared.
The men remained at Deepwood Motte day after day, doing nothing but training.
For soldiers already accustomed to discipline, this was manageable. But for these newly levied clansmen, it was unbearable.
At first, they had endured it because the training was said to be for war.
But now, with no sign of battle at all and such harsh training continuing every day, resentment naturally began to boil over.
So they turned to their own clan chiefs, asking them to step in and lead everyone home.
As more and more people came forward, even the clan chiefs found it hard to withstand the pressure.
That was why the four of them had finally steeled themselves to come together and speak with Galon today.
"I understand what you mean," Galon said, his brow furrowed as he spoke patiently. "But you are not ignorant of the situation. The Iron Islands could strike at any moment."
"I need your support."
He paused, watching their expressions, then added another assurance.
"As for supplies for winter, you need not worry. I guarantee that when winter comes, you will be provided with ample provisions."
"You should also know that I have already ordered wooden lodges to be built, precisely so that when winter arrives, you will have shelter from the cold."
With matters laid out so plainly, the Forest Clan chief no longer bothered to hide his true concern.
"My lord, then I will speak frankly."
"It is not about supplies. It is about the training."
He said with frustration, "Such harsh training every day is more than the children can bear."
The Wood Clan chief sighed and took up the thread. "As for supplies, we have already stockpiled a batch of furs to trade for daily necessities. It is enough to see us through the winter."
He paused, then continued, "My lord, I understand that soldiers need training, but is it really necessary for it to be this severe?"
"One of my clansmen, Amos, was whipped ten times simply for being one minute late. He's still bedridden and unable to stand."
"He is one of the best hunters in my clan. Every day he lies there, his family loses a mouthful of food."
The other two clan chiefs nodded in agreement.
"That's right. Many in my clan complain they're being sent to clean latrines."
"My lord, my people are all fine hunters. In the forest, they can scent prey a mile away. And now they're made to stand in formation like women?"
"Exactly. Before, when it was said this was to earn Winterfell's regard, we endured it. But now we're back, why must we still learn these damned formations?"
"Lord Galon, even in Lord Galbart's time, there was never such training…"
Complaints and doubts came one after another. When the Branch Clan chief even mentioned Gawbert by name, a flicker of anger showed on Galon's face.
But he quickly restrained himself and sighed inwardly. 'As expected, this is the real issue…'
Just yesterday, Robett and Jon had already come to him to report that in recent days, there had been more and more levied men violating discipline and refusing to obey orders.
Jon worried that continuing to punish them harshly would only deepen their resentment.
'My vassals' vassals are not truly my vassals. These soldiers do not fight for me, but for their clan chiefs.'
'Blind pressure cannot solve everything.'
'It seems I must find another way.'
Galon fell silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the firm yet practical faces of the four chiefs.
Then he understood.
They were not unwilling to train. They simply could not see the value of training here.
What they needed was something more tangible, more immediate.
Galon's thoughts turned, and he decided to change his approach.
He took a deep breath. The anger on his face faded, replaced by the keen look of a merchant.
"Chiefs," he said, his voice gentler. "You are right. Skilled hunters should not be wasted cleaning latrines."
"The furs of the Wolfswood, especially at this season, are of excellent quality. In White Harbor, even in King's Landing, they fetch a fine price."
The chiefs were taken aback. They had not expected him to suddenly speak of this and looked at him in confusion.
Galon descended from the high seat and walked to the long table, filling five cups with ale as if making casual conversation.
"The long summer is coming to an end. An unprecedented winter is approaching."
"This year is different from the past. Before long, I will be marrying a Stark lady of Winterfell.
For the honor of Deepwood Motte, I will need large quantities of furs to make winter garments and blankets to furnish the castle."
He turned and handed four cups of ale to the clan chiefs, smiling.
"I wish to purchase your furs at a price ten percent higher than usual.
As long as the quality meets the standard, I will take as many as you can hunt. Payment will be in silver stags, or in grain and iron tools you may need."
The hall fell silent.
The four chiefs held their cups, exchanging glances. The complaints on their faces gradually gave way to sharp calculation.
A stable purchase at ten percent above the usual price?
That meant that no matter how long or harsh the coming winter might be, their people would have a steady and generous income, not merely scrape by.
"Is this truly so, my lord?" the Wood Clan chief asked, unable to restrain himself.
"Of course," Galon nodded.
At once, smiles spread across the chiefs' faces.
"Training is indeed hard," Galon continued, pressing his advantage, "but consider this.
If the ironborn come, will they spare your forest huts and stored meat and furs just because you are skilled hunters?"
He shook his head. "No. They will burn everything and take everything."
"Only by keeping them outside Deepwood Motte can the Wolfswood remain your safe hunting ground."
He paused, then laid down his final card.
"Stay. Complete the training."
"You will be fighting to defend your own homes, and at the same time, fighting for the wealth of your clans.
During the training period, for every clansman who completes the daily requirements, the first batch of furs your clan delivers this year will earn an additional five percent in profit."
Clear, visible benefit was far more persuasive than any discipline or threat.
Galon looked at the four chiefs, whose faces now showed clear interest, and raised his cup with a smile.
"Well then, chiefs, what say you?"
"Haha, Lord Galon speaks with reason!" the Wood Clan chief laughed, clinking his cup against Galon's. "Those youngsters have grown lazy. I'll go scold them myself later and make sure they follow your orders!"
"Exactly, exactly! If they dare disobey, I'll deal with them personally!"
The other three chiefs laughed as they raised their cups to Galon.
Seeing this, Galon drained his ale in one gulp.
The four clan chiefs did the same.
"Ha—"
For a time, laughter echoed through the Hall of a Thousand Beasts.
At the same moment, as Galon finished settling matters with the clan chiefs, the Iron Islands' first wave of attacks against the North had already begun.
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