Chapter Twenty One: Bonds

Prince Oberyn Martell had resided in the North for over two years. In that time, he had noted many similarities the Northmen shared with the Dornish. One was how quick they both were to respond to any threats to their homelands.

There was little of the Westerlands left in Lord Gregor Clegane. The only way he could have been any more a Northerner was if he had been born in the North. Indeed; he demonstrated their typical hastiness when he replied to Robert Baratheon's summons immediately after he received it.

Gregor Clegane had the entire Legion without Banners assembled within a day after the King's raven arrived. He informed them of the King's declaration of war against the Ironborn, and how he intended to answer it thusly.

He announced that he would be splitting the Legion's numbers. Half the Legionnaires would join the King's army in the south. The other half would remain garrisoned at Moat Cailin and continue executing the usual duties of the Legion.

They would not march south just yet. It would take Lord Eddard Stark at least a fortnight to amass the strength of the North. They would wait to receive Lord Stark and his bannermen before they headed down the Causeway.

Gregor and his top officers spent that time deliberating on who among them would go and who would stay.

Brynden Tully had been Gregor's second-in-command ever since he enlisted in the Legion. As such, the Mountain decided that he would be left in command of the company that remained at the moat. The Blackfish accepted the appointment gladly.

Under normal circumstances, Ser Brynden would have demanded to join the forces that went to war, and he would have accompanied them even without permission. Furthermore, one could argue it to be foolish to leave him behind, as he was a better swordsman than any other Legionnaire (including Oberyn and Gregor).

Even so, Gregor debated that he would need someone he could trust to direct the other half of the Legion. After all, that half would be no more inactive than the half that joined the King's forces. Many of Westeros' lords and their soldiers would be off at war. As such, much of the country's law-enforcement entities would be absent for a while.

There were some people in Westeros who would probably see that as an opportunity to engage in criminal activities without fear of being caught. Ser Brynden Blackfish's Legionnaires would ascertain that these deviants were kept under control.

Additionally, the Ironborn had ways of traversing the swamps of the Neck. If they wished to, they could besiege Moat Cailin and seize it. The integrity of the Legion and the defense of the North were both critical to maintaining the defense of Moat Cailin. As a Riverlord, Brynden Tully knew how to prepare against maritime attacks.

With all that said, his experience, his skills, and his expertise made the Blackfish the ideal person to lead the Legion without Banners in Gregor's absence.

Lyn Corbray and Osmund Kettleback were the only other members of Gregor Clegane's inner circle that would stay at Moat Cailin.

Oberyn Martell, Dacey Mormont, Smalljon Umber, Victarion Greyjoy, Allard Seaworth, Gerion Lannister, and Garth Hightower would all join the Mountain. In fact, Gregor had appointed Oberyn as his top general and right hand man.

Oberyn was not at all surprised that Gregor had agreed to bring his wife along. Although Lady Dacey had insisted that she partake in the fighting, her husband would have included her in their ranks anyway. The Ironborn had never attacked Bear Island in her lifetime, but she was well-versed in fighting off wilding attacks. Furthermore, she was as much a figure of authority and respect as her lord husband. It was she that had brought about the inclusion of women in the Legion without Banners.

If Dacey rode by her husband's side to war in the other parts of Westeros, she might inspire more strong-willed females to take up arms, as well.

There was also the simple truth that Dacey wanted to be with her husband, just as he wished to remain with her.

Nothing like mixing business with pleasure.

Gregor and Dacey had opted to bring Rickard with them, too. Oberyn could understand their wish to have their son nearby. For similar reasons, he had chosen to bring Ellaria, Nymeria, Elia, and Obella south, as well. They would provide the prince some company on the march.

Different forms of company, of course.

The Northern army arrived at Moat Cailin about a week after Gregor Clegane finished dividing up the Legion's numbers. Lord Eddard and his generals spent a night conferring with Lord Gregor and his officers. At first light the following morning, the two men and their combined forces proceeded down the kingsroad.

The long march down the Neck was rather quiet and uneventful. That was very unusual; normally the swamps were rife with sounds and movement of the indigenous fauna.

Either crannogmen had hunted everything in that region, or the wildlife had gone into hiding. The latter was more likely. But they would only hide from something they were afraid of. Given the hazardous conditions of the bogs, whatever was fueling their fear must have been truly horrible.

The Ironborn may be closer than we thought.

The non-Legionnaire Northmen seemed skeptical of the presence of the Ironborn Legionnaires. Fortunately, the Northern members of the Legion convinced their countrymen that all the assembled Ironmen could be trusted. Indeed, months ago, Victarion Greyjoy had sorted out which of his men were loyal to him and Gregor Clegane and which were loyal to Balon Greyjoy. Less than a quarter had selected his brother, and those who had had been left behind at Moat Cailin. Ser Brynden would keep them under tight scrutiny until the rebellion ended. If need be, he would have them all confined to the dungeons at the first sign of mutiny.

Progress down the Neck was very slow and gradual. Only so many soldiers could walk or ride abrest at any one time. When the units made the most of their space, they had to be very careful with their feet. One step off the path could land them in a pit of quicksand or a pool of murky water.

On a dozen occasions, a man slipped and fell into the marshes. Three of them had been consumed by the bogs before their allies could rescue them. After the third man was lost, the length of the column was decreased.

The entire journey was really a struggle of choosing between speed and safety.

After three days of moving at a plodding pace, the Northern army and the Legion without Banners were finally clear of the Neck. Once they emerged from the marshlands, they were able to quicken their stride.

A few days later, they arrived at the Crossing.

Oberyn was riding alongside Gregor and Dacey when they did. He noted that Gregor seemed to bristle when the Twins came within their field of vision. It was as though the mere sight of the Frey holdfast was enough to disgust the Mountain.

Not that Oberyn could blame him. The Red Viper was less than fond of House Frey, as well.

When he first came north, Oberyn and his entourage were unfamiliar with the Riverlands. They had been told by the locals that the quickest way through the region was along the Trident. Unfortunately, in order to ford the river, a toll had to be paid. As such, they had to make use of Lord Walder Frey's bridge.

Luckily, Oberyn had plenty of coin on him. He was able to use that to pay for passage. That was fortunate, as the only other option would have been to forge a marriage contract between a member of his family and one of Lord Walder's. In that field, Oberyn had had nothing of interest for the Late Lord Frey.

Lord Walder did not try to push for any betrothals between one of his descendants and the prince. The Red Viper was known for fucking any man and woman who was willing, and he would likely continue doing so even after he married (assuming he ever would). While Lord Walder had never been the most faithful husband to any of his own wives, he would not have any of his daughters or granddaughters disgraced in that way.

So instead, he had accepted the Dornishman's gold. Lord Walder had allowed Oberyn and his company to rest in his fortress for a night.

He had not been a gracious host, as Oberyn could recall very well. The prince had been treated fairly enough, but the Freys had been very cold to his companions, especially Ellaria, Obara, and Nymeria. The women's status as bastards was the primary reason for that. The Freys barely even tolerated their own baseborn kin. So naturally, they looked down on all other bastards as degenerate lowlifes.

Ellaria was spared the worst of the Freys' mistreatment, seeing as she was sharing a bed with Prince Oberyn at the time. Obara and Nymeria were not so fortunate. Their appreciation and knowledge of combat was another target of ridicule for many of Lord Walder's brood. Nearly every one of them thought the idea of a woman carrying and training with weapons ludicrous. A few of the less tactful Freys had even suggested that the girls try out one of their "swords." In response, Obara and Nymeria declared that if the first man who tried anything of the sort would LOSE his sword.

Although the Freys had been the worst hosts they had ever had, Obara and Nymeria did not let their crude treatment bother them. They had been raised to embrace their position in the world and accept themselves as they were. So they did not allow the Freys to provoke or hurt them in any way. Even so, Oberyn was not as tolerant or forgiving of slights made toward his family. But at his daughters' insistence, he had done and said nothing to aggravate Lord Walder or his relations.

As they approached the Crossing, Oberyn inwardly hoped that the Freys would be a little more courteous to Nymeria this time. There was a fair chance that they would be, now that she had been legitimized and that fighting women were more commonplace in Westeros.

Whenever the Legion's services were required in the western half of Westeros, they often had to make use of the bridge at the Crossing, as well. Lord Walder had grudgingly allowed them to pass without a toll, as the Legion's activities were regarded as "king's business," and even he dared not interfere with the affairs of the crown.

For that reason, Gregor Clegane was holding out hope that Lord Walder would let his and Lord Eddard's forces use his bridge free of charge, too. Otherwise, they would probably reach the Westerlands well behind schedule.

When they were a hundred meters from the Twins, they spotted a small group of riders coming their way. When the group was within earshot, Oberyn called out "Who approaches?"

The riders remained silent until they were ten feet from Gregor, Eddard, Oberyn, and Dacey. Then the man at the very front of the group separated from the others. His horse trotted forward a few paces, and he announced "Ser Stevron Frey, heir to the Twins."

"Ser Stevron," Gregor said in acknowledgment with a slight nod, "Please convey our respects to your lord father, and inform him we have need of his bridge."

Most Freys would have demanded an explanation or something more than that. Luckily for the Mountain and his colleagues, Ser Stevron was content with that much. He bowed his head slightly and declared "I shall do so, my lord. Follow us back, if you please."

Ten minutes later, the group of Frey retainers, the Legionnaires, and the Northern Army were at the eastern gate of the Twins. Ser Stevron and his men escorted Gregor Clegane, Oberyn Martell, and Eddard Stark inside the building. They brought them straight to the main hall.

Walder Frey was already seated in the lord's chair. His sons, grandsons, and bastards were assembled all around him.

The weasel lord adapted his trademark conniving sneer and muttered "Well, my lords… what business have you in these parts?"

"None in these parts, my lord," Gregor clarified, "West of these parts."

"Oh?" Walder Frey remarked, cocking his head.

"You may have heard," Oberyn remarked cheekily, "The Ironborn have rebelled. We're on our way to put down their insurrection."

"Ah, yes," Walder murmured drily, "Of this, I am aware. Earlier this week, the King's forces crossed the Trident at a place south of here. Why did you not do the same?"

"The Crownlords and the Stormlords were already closer to the Trident than to here," Eddard Stark pronounced, "If we had the time, we would have followed them. Alas, we don't have that luxury."

"So you chose to come to me instead," Walder Frey remarked.

"That is correct, my lord," Gregor Clegane affirmed. He stepped forward and said patiently "We… request the privilege to cross your bridge."

"Request or demand?" Walder countered.

"We are not in a position to demand anything of you," Gregor pointed out.

"You have numbers ten times that of mine," Walder noted.

"But this is your home," Oberyn stated, "No man knows better how to defend his house than he himself does."

"That does not mean you will not attempt to seize my home through force," Walder debated.

Why would we? There's nothing here that's even worth seizing.

"You have the option to simply deny us passage," Eddard Stark proclaimed, "But if you do so, you will be preventing us from carrying out our duty to the King. You will also be refusing to do your own duty to him."

"Ah, that is where you are mistaken, Lord Stark," Walder Frey refuted, "I assure you that I shall do my duty. I am sending a host of my own to complement the king's."

"Then why not have our forces march with yours?" Oberyn proposed.

"Because there is no need," Walder murmured, "The combined forces of the Stormlands, the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach are more than sufficient to defeat the Ironborn. They can manage without your forces."

Then they can definitely do without YOURS.

Gregor stepped forward, folded his arms, and decreed "We all swore an oath to go to the King whenever he summoned us. If we are unable to fulfill that oath, he will be gravely displeased. He will demand an explanation, and when we give him one, we will be certain to mention who was responsible for our detainment."

Walder sat up in his chair and snapped "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," Gregor sternly declared.

The next hour was comprised of similar dialogue. Arguments and counterarguments were given out by both parties. The discussion became very heated at certain points, but they never resulted to switching blows instead of words.

Ultimately, Gregor, Oberyn, and Eddard won the discussion. Walder Frey agreed to let the Legionnaires and the Northern army cross. The following day, his own host would ride with them all the way to the Westerlands.

Walder Frey insisted that the Northern lords and the top officers of the Legion dine with him that night. He claimed it was to solidify their temporary alliance. But he was fooling nobody. Oberyn knew that the true reason for the meal was Walder's ambitious nature. Obviously, the Late Lord Frey was seeking to further the influence of his house.

Indeed, at dinner, the Freys were much friendlier than they had been when Oberyn first supped beneath their roof. Their father's sway over them was evident; they had tried to create some marriage contracts of their own. Most of them knew how to approach the topic from a subtle angle.

Many of them were still far from chivalrous, but at least they behaved themselves. Most of them, at any rate.

Now that Nymeria was a Martell, the Freys seemed to have a newfound interest in her. Some of them came to her and asked her (for their curiosity, they claimed) if she had any plans for the future. She casually informed them that she planned to serve in the Legion for several years. When they questioned if she had plans to ever settle down, all she told them was "perhaps."

Whenever they propositioned themselves for her, Nymeria got out her whip and sharply cracked it against the ground once. The smart ones took that as their cue to end the conversation and leave the former Sand Snake alone. The foolish ones… they needed a more direct answer.

At one point that night, an inebriated Ryman Frey stumbled by Nymera's table. She hoped he was just passing by. Then he halted in front of her, and she realized he was not.

"Ser Ryman," Nymeria mumbled bluntly.

"My lady," Ryman rejoined. The scent of alcohol was heavy on his breath. The odor emanating from the rest of his body was even more unpleasant.

From the next table, Oberyn observed this exchange. He would only intervene if the situation got ugly. He was confident it would not; he knew Nymeria could handle herself. Especially against a half-wit like Walder Frey's eldest grandson.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Nymeria inquired disinterestedly.

"Yes, matter of fact," Ryman Frey stammered, "My son Edwyn is looking to get married. After my father and myself, he will inherit the Twins. He will need an heir of his own."

"Well, I bid him luck in his search," Nymeria said impartially.

"He needn't luck," Ryman contended, leaning forward a little, "I may have found a bride for him."

At that, Nymeria reached for her whip and brought it out. That gesture would have convinced most other men to move along. In his drunken stupor, Ryman Frey hardly even recognized the warning.

Evidently, Nymeria would have to be more direct with him.

"I appreciate the offer," Nymeria claimed, though her voice indicated she did not, "But I cannot accept it."

"Why not?" Ryman queried, apparently bewildered.

"I am needed in the North," Nymeria told him, "I intend to serve in the Legion without Banners alongside my father and Lord Gregor Clegane. I cannot do that if I am the lady of a noble house."

Oberyn smiled at that. Although Nymeria was as appalled by Ser Ryman's behavior as he was, she had not lost her composure or forgotten her courtesies.

Even so, Ryman proved to be quite stubborn.

"I would urge you to rethink your plans," he suggested, "The North is no place for someone as lovely as you."

Nymeria feigned a blush and uttered in a slightly sardonic tone "Thank you, ser. But tell me; have you ever been in the North?"

"No," Ryman professed, "But what could the North possibly have to offer that's better than what's here?"

It could take all night to give the full answer to that question.

"Plenty," Nymeria debated, "The Northmen believe in a sense of community and obligation. I have yet to see either of those qualities here. And I am fairly certain that if I ever do take a husband outside of Dorne, he will be of the North. At least there, women are not mocked and scorned."

Had he been sober, Ryman would have detected the slight meant by those words. Instead, he dimly countered it with "The only thing they know how to do is freeze their arses off. Go ahead and stay in the North… if you want to be cold for the rest of your life."

He would know much about being cold. So would his family, for that matter.

Nymeria swiftly returned her attention to the food on her plate. She avoided making eye contact with Ser Ryman. Maybe she thought that if she ignored him, he would let her be. But evading him was not so easy.

Ryman placed his hand on the table, leaned closer, and said softly "I'll let you in on a secret, my lady. There is one thing Rivermen can do that Northmen cannot."

He waited for her to ask what that was. When she did not, he told her anyway: "We can swim."

As little as she cared for this talk, Nymeria raised an eyebrow at that. "What makes you think a Northman cannot?"

"Oh, I've seen Northmen swim," Ryman disclosed, "Or try to. They're not very good at it. I say, what good is a man who cannot conquer water?"

Paying no mind to that last statement, Nymeria queried "When have you ever seen a Northman swim?"

"I'd say six or seven years ago," Ryman revealed, "Shortly before we rebelled against the Targaryens."

Although Oberyn had been listening in on that conversation, he did not become genuinely interested in it until that moment.

Ryman continued with "A month or two before the war began, there was this one fool that came from the North. He wasn't a knight, a lord, or anyone important. Anyway, he got the idea to ford the river on his own. He was not even halfway across before he and his horse fell beneath the surface. His body washed up on the shore a few days later."

Nymeria grimaced and muttered "That's horrible. Why didn't you help him?"

"It would have been pointless to do so," Ryman pronounced, "Besides, he got himself into trouble. There was no reason for us to get him out of it."

It was then that Oberyn decided to intercede. He sauntered over to the table and said in a deceptively cordial voice "Ser Ryman, may I have a word?"

The drunken Frey turned his attention to the Red Viper and nodded his head shakily. Oberyn coolly led him off to the side. Once they were out of sight from most of the others, Oberyn delivered a solid punch to Ryman Frey's head. Ser Ryman was knocked unconscious almost immediately.

Oberyn carefully placed Ryman against the wall as if he had passed out whilst sitting against it. After that, the prince returned to the celebration.

"Thank you, Papa," Nymeria said gratefully.

"Of course, dearest,"Oberyn assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Now you must excuse me. I have another matter to attend to."

Nymeria nodded and went back to eating her meal. Her father went off to find the father of the man he had just rendered unconscious.

Despite being the oldest of Walder Frey's many sons and his heir, Stevron was less like his father than most of his other descendants. He was actually a thoughtful and reasonable man.

It's a shame HE is not the Lord of the Twins.

Stevron Frey was mingling with his youngest son, a lackwit called Aegon. He was known better as Jingebell, due to the motley hat of bells he always wore on his head.

Oberyn came to Stevron Frey and Jinglebell Frey and bade the former "I would speak with you, Ser Stevron."

The older man looked to the Red Viper and said "Certainly, my prince."

There was no one else around, and it was very unlikely that Jingebell would develop a legitimate interest in anything that was said there. For that reason, Oberyn deemed it safe to talk with Ser Stevron then and there.

He apprised the middle-aged knight of the conversation that had just transpired between Nymeria and Ryman. Twice, Stevron apologized for his son's crass behavior. Oberyn assured the knight that he did not blame him for Ryman's drunkenness or rudeness. He was past the age when the parent can be blamed for the child's upbringing. So he was old enough to know better.

Stevron privately admitted that at times, even he could not abide his eldest son. Oberyn did not blame him for that, either. Stevron mentioned that if he could place Edwyn ahead of Ryman in the line of succession, he would do it. Edwyn was young, but unlike his father and great-grandfather, he had the capacity to be a good man.

When Oberyn got to the part about the Northman that had drowned south of the Crossing right before Robert's Rebellion, Stevron became a little tense. That led Oberyn to believing that Ryman really had been speaking truly on that affair.

Ser Stevron did not try to deny the episode. In fact, he remembered it well.

He recounted that a few months before Lord Jon Arryn called his banners, a man on a gelding had come from the North. The rider had been alone. He carried nothing but his weapons, the armor on his back, and a little baggage. He did not give his name, but he appeared to be a Stark man.

The rider had asked Lord Walder to allow him to cross his bridge. Since the rider had nothing of substance to use as a toll, he was initially turned away. The rider was persistent, though; he had tried incessantly to change Walder Frey's mind. At one point, the rider mentioned that he had an important message to deliver. Lord Walder actually seemed interested in that. However, when he requested to know who the message was for and what it was about, the rider claimed he was not permitted to divulge that information.

Stevron and some of his more rational half-brothers had tried to convince their father to simply let the rider pass without taxing him. Lord Walder was adamant in his refusal. All he did was repeat their house words: We Take Our Tolls.

Eventually, the rider realized that he was wasting his time at the Twins. So he left on his gelding and rode off to the south. He found a narrow part of the Green Fork a hundred feet away from the Crossing. Stevron and some of his kin had watched the rider as he boldly attempted to get himself and his horse across the river.

Just when it appeared he would succeed, the horse lost its balance. It and its master struggled to get to either of the Green Fork's shores. But the current was too strong for them. They ended up drifting all the way downstream

Against his father's wishes, Stevron had sent out a search party to locate the horse and the rider. They found both at the mouth of the Trident. The gelding had been entangled in a bed of reeds. The rider was lying face down on the western shore. His helmet had fallen off; his baggage was lost. All signs of life had disappeared from him.

The horse was left for the wolves. The search party brought the man's body and equipment back. Stevron wished to send his bones back north, but Walder persuaded him not to bother. He claimed that no one would miss a nameless rider who had been no more talkative when alive than when dead.

Ultimately, the Northman was simply buried a thousand yards east of the Twins. His grave was unmarked, and his weapons and armor had been appropriated by the Frey household.

When he finished recalling that event, Stevron let out a sigh and muttered "If you tell Lord Eddard of this, please let him know that had it been my decision, the rider would have been allowed to cross as soon as he came."

"I believe you, ser," Oberyn asserted.

I also believe that if you had been Lord of the Twins, the message would have gotten delivered. Things would be much different then.

Later that night, after nearly everyone had settled down for bed, Oberyn sought out Gregor Clegane and Eddard Stark. He enlightened them on everything he had learnt during the evening meal. They were stunned to say the least.

"So that's why the rider Lyanna sent to Riverrun never reached its destination," Eddard thought aloud.

"I cannot say I'm surprised," Gregor mumbled, "Walder Frey has never been very compliant or mindful of other people's worries. In fact, we probably should have expected something like this."

"It's certainly characteristic of him," Oberyn conceded.

Eddard placed his hand against his forehead and remarked uneasily "Why did he have to turn that rider away? I mean… if he let the rider cross, Brandon would have gotten the letter in time. He would have known the truth, and he would not have rushed to King's Landing when he heard the rumor that Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna."

Gregor placed a hand on the wolf lord's back and told him "The only one at fault here is Lord Walder, my lord. We will see that he answers for this."

"How?" Eddard snapped irately, "There is no way for you to confront him without making the true reason for Lyanna's disappearance known."

"That is true," Gregor admitted, "But there are other ways we can achieve justice for the wrong that Lord Walder has done."

"What ways?" Ned Stark queried in interest.

The Mountain did not reply right away. He just stood where he was and gazed off to the side, as though deep in thought. After a short while, he released a sigh and proposed "We can rid this country of him."

Eddard Stark's eyes widened at that. Oberyn Martell stayed quiet, but he watched the larger man closely

What is he doing?

"Lord Gregor, are you suggesting that we kill the head of a noble house?" Eddard Stark presumed, shocked.

"I never said that," Gregor countered, "I merely said we need to be rid of him. For that, he does not have to die. All we have to do is remove Lord Walder from power."

"Can that be done without his death?" Eddard enquired.

"Of course it can be done," Oberyn debated, "The father does not have to die for the son to succeed him."

"Precisely," Gregor concurred, "In the final years of his life, Prince Rhaegar schemed to dethrone his father. His insurrection may have worked, had he and Lady Lyanna not run off together."

"That may be," Eddard pronounced, "But what guarantee do you have that his heir will be any better?"

"The guarantee of my word," Oberyn responded, "I have spoken with Ser Stevron Frey. He is a good man. He is as different from his father as Balon Greyjoy was from his. Under his direction, House Frey can regain its honor."

Assuming it ever had any.

Eddard thought on this for a few minutes. At the end of his pondering, he looked around at the other two men and stated "Perhaps this idea does deserve some consideration. But let us speak no more on it for now. It is ignoble to speak of overthrowing a lord beneath his own roof. Especially when that lord has already given us guest right."

"I mean no offense, Lord Eddard," Gregor uttered slyly, "But I urge you not to be so complacent. I know for a fact that the Freys do not care much for guest right, either."

And just how does he know that?

"And just how do you know that?" Eddard asked suspiciously.

Wow. Lord Eddard and I really do think alike.

"I've… heard things," Gregor claimed meekly. Then he stated in assurance "We and our men are safe right now, I promise you. But under different circumstances… we would need more than bread and salt to protect us here."

"Thankfully, I always sleep with a spear in my reach," Oberyn commented wryly.

"Perhaps we should do the same," Gregor suggested, only half-joking.

"Perhaps," Eddard bluntly muttered. After a bit of silence, he stood up and told the other two men "I'll be turning in for the night. I'd advise you to do the same. We will continue the march at break of day."

Gregor and Oberyn nodded in agreement. After Ned Stark left the room, Gregor looked to the Red Viper and told him "When we return to Moat Cailin, we're going to have another meeting."

Oberyn smirked wickedly and asked rhetorically "Have you determined our next target, my lord?"

"Yes, I have," Gregor firmly proclaimed.

…

Tarrence Clegane had been the son of a kennelmaster, Alyver Clegane. The first decade of his life had been spent helping his father tend to the dogs of Casterly Rock. It was not glamorous, but he always believed he could do much worse.

All the same, he never thought he would do much better.

Then Alyver Clegane had saved Lord Tytos Lannister from a lion on the outskirts of Casterly Rock. He lost a leg and three of his best dogs in the process, but he gained a knighthood and the right to form his own house, as well. In addition to that, Tarrence had been taken on as Lord Tytos' squire.

Ser Alyver had died only a few years after Lord Tytos. All he left to his son was an impoverished keep on an unproductive patch of land and a small handful of incapable servants. For a time, Tarrence believed that life had been much more preferable as a kennelmaster's son, and he would have traded that lifestyle back for anything.

Tarrence Clegane had come a long way since then. The gods had given him a knighthood, a wife of high birth, and three strong children.

His firstborn was a member of King Robert Baratheon's Small Council and the head of a house of his own. His elder son had also helped extend the influence of the Cleganes to the North, and he was one of the most respected and beloved men in Westeros.

One might suppose that Tarrence Clegane was jealous of his son's widespread popularity and success. As it happened, he was not even marginally envious. Tarrence Clegane had never yearned for fame or fortune. He was proud just to have been the father of the Mountain That Rides.

Be that as it may, Tarrence would never turn down an opportunity to spread his family's domain. That was just what he had been doing for the past five years.

Just before Gregor went north, he had given his father a gift of seven thousand gold dragons. The Mountain said that he wished for them to be used for the betterment of the Cleganes of Clegane's Keep. They had served that very purpose. Clegane's Keep had been rebuilt and augmented tremendously. It was now three times larger than it had first been, and ten times as grand. Villages has been constructed on the adjoining lands, which were now capable of growing crops, as well.

Before long, the Cleganes were able to mine the land and harvest its natural resources just as their fellow Westerlords did. That was what truly heightened their prosperity and gained them recognition amongst the highborn houses of the west.

After five years, Tarrence Clegane had taken those seven thousand golden dragons and turned them into seventy thousand. House Clegane was now just a step below the main noble houses of the Westerlands. All that was missing was the title of lord for its master. Based on what his younger son told him, there was indeed a possibility that Tarrence Clegane would receive a lordship sometime in the near future.

But that would have to wait. Right now, there were more pressing issues that needed to be handled first. Mainly, there was the threat of invasion.

Near the start of the year, the Iron Islands had launched the full strength of their fleet. Most of their ships had sailed to Lannisport. There they attempted to ambush and burn the Westerlander fleet. They had assumed that the element of surprise was on their side. It was not.

Unbeknownst to Balon Greyjoy, all of Westeros had been alerted to the probability of an impending attack by sea. Thanks to a warning from Moat Cailin, Lannisport had been prepared for this assault months in advance.

The Ironborn only managed to set fire to a third of the Westerlords' ships. Of those, only half were destroyed or damaged beyond hope of repair. The surviving vessels managed to sink several of the Iron Fleet's vessels in retaliation. Before very long, the Ironmen turned their masts around and sailed away.

Despite the proximity to water, it took hours to put out the fires of that battle. For a while, the flames could be seen all the way from Clegane's Keep. It was dusk at the time; Tarrence could vividly recall seeing an immense blinding light in the horizon. The sight had been quite unnerving.

The Sun goes down in the west. Our fleet almost went with it.

Before the Sun reappeared in the east the following day, Lord Tywin Lannister had sent out a raven to each of his vassals. Ser Tarrence did not even have to open the letter to deduce that the lion lord was calling his banners.

Although Clegane's Keep was very close in proximity to Lannisport and Casterly Rock, Tarrence Clegane had wasted no time in assembling his soldiers. However, he would not march just yet.

A few days later, Tarrence found out that King Robert Baratheon had been informed of the Ironborn's violent uprising, and he had subsequently declared war on them. Needless to say, he would be on the side of the Westerlords.

Within a week, the other Westerlords had arrived with their forces. They set up camp in the vast empty space of land between Casterly Rock and Clegane's Keep.

Soon, it became known that the King was coming to the Westerlands. With him, he was bringing reinforcements from the North, the Riverlands, the Reach, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands. They would all be gathering at Casterly Rock in preparation for war.

The Reachmen were the first to come. Half came by ship; the other half by horse. Lord Paxter Redwyne headed the former half. He brought a significant portion of the Reach's fleet to strength the Westerlands' depleted numbers. The other half came by land, led by Lord Mace Tyrell himself.

The Riverlords arrived next. Lord Hoster Tully and his forces rode down from the Golden Tooth and came from the northeast. The Freys were notably absent from this procession.

The Stormlords and Crownlords appeared soon after. Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone supplied another formidable company of ships, and King Robert Baratheon rode at the head of a large column of gallant knights and hardened soldiers.

Terrance saw the King when his forces came from the east. Robert did not stop by Clegane's Keep, but he came very close when he passed it by. Tarrence managed to catch a glimpse of him. He thought the King looked both regal and magnificent. He had been clad in a full suit of armor with his warhammer in hand.

The Northmen and the Legion without Banners were the last to show. The Freys finally appeared, as well. They came from the same direction, but there was a notable amount of space between them and the Northmen and Legionnaires.

The Reachmen, the Riverlords, the Stormlords, and the Crownlords had set up camp in the same area as the Westerlords. As soon as they arrived, Lord Eddard Stark and his forces went to set up camp there, as well. The Legionnaires, however, went on a different route.

Whereas the other armies had merely gone around Clegane's Keep as though it was an obstacle, the Legionnaires had ridden directly towards the keep.

When Ser Tarrence Clegane was informed by the on-duty guard that the Legion was approaching, he had his household assemble in the courtyard. His lady wife Daliah was by his side, as always. On his other side was his second son and heir Sandor and his intended, Obara Martell. His daughter and youngest child Ellyn stood beside his wife.

Maester Velix, Ser Wallis Peckledon, and the rest of House Clegane's retainers stood in a straight line behind the landed knight and his family. In the distance, they could see a host of about fifteen hundred men coming towards them. Ser Tarrence and his company stood in relative silence as they waited for the host to reach them. There were no banners that anyone could see, so there was no question as to which company those units belonged to.

Indeed, at the very front of the column was a very tall man astride a huge black destrier. By his size, he could only be Lord Gregor Clegane himself.

Tarrence had not seen Gregor since he was Sandor's current age. He was even bigger than he remembered him to be. Of course, all three of his children had grown in that time. He now had to gaze slightly upward to look Sandor in the eye, and Ellyn stood an inch taller than her mother.

Maybe someday, all of Westeros will look up to my children.

That was very well possible. In more than one way.

Soon the Legionnaires reached Clegane's Keep. The majority of them remained outside. Only their commander and his officers trotted through the gates.

The commander was fully dressed in a suit of plate-and-mail. It covered him from head to heel. The only visible opening was a thin slit in the visor of his helm. He wore a bastard sword on his left side and a longsword on his right. Attached to his back was a shield of solid metal. Ser Tarrence would have quivered in uneasiness, had he not known who was beneath all that steel.

Gregor Clegane dismounted his destrier and landed on his feet with a loud Thump. The ground seemed to shake when he touched it. He gradually turned to face the household of Clegane's Keep, and slowly, he began to walk towards them.

After a minute of unbroken silence, Gregor stood directly before Ser Tarrence Clegane. At a glance, he appeared to be staring the older man down.

Finally, he reached his arms up, took ahold of his helm, and pulled it off his head. Once the helm was off, Gregor grinned kindly at his father.

Despite the friendly gesture, Tarrence was oddly inclined to be professional towards his son.

He's changed. He's now a person to be both feared and admired. I cannot greet him as my own blood. I must greet him as someone deserving of his station.

Ser Tarrence promptly returned the grin. He dipped his head slightly and declared "Welcome, my lord, to Clegane's Keep."

Gregor Clegane chuckled, placed his hands on his father's biceps, and stood him up straight. He remarked informally "Come now, Father. None of that."

Tarrence was a little taken aback. He hastily muttered "Forgive me; I simply assumed it was required of me. After all, you are a noble lord and a member of the King's Small Council."

Gregor lightly shook his head and proclaimed "You are still the master of the keep, and even the King must show proper respect to a man in his own home."

Tarrence just nodded, scoffed, and stated "If you insist, Gregor."

Suddenly, he felt very relieved.

In spite of everything else that is new about him, he is still every bit my son.

Gregor looked back at his officers and waved at them once. All at once, they proceeded to climb down from their horses. Most of them tended to their horses, but there were two that instead walked over to where their commander was.

One of them was short but thickset. And rather handsome, Tarrence had to admit. Over his shoulder he balanced a long spear. By his façade and his leather armor, he had to be a Dornishman. One look at Obara Martell, and Tarrence could already tell who he was.

The other… was a woman. She was as tall as Sandor, but as beautiful as a gold mine. Most women would appear odd in boiled leather and chainmail, but in the case of this woman, the armor she wore suited her well. Almost straightaway, Tarrence deduced her identity, as well.

When the two individuals were upon them, Gregor announced "Father, may I present my captains: Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell, younger brother to Prince Doran and the father of Obara, and Lady Dacey of House Mormont, eldest daughter of Lady Maege… and my lady wife."

This was the very first time when Tarrence Clegane came face-to-face with his gooddaughter. He had been somewhat frustrated that he could not meet her before the wedding. But he had not protested, as his elder son had been free to wed whomever he pleased.

At least now, he finally got to see Dacey Mormont in person. He smiled and extended his hand to her. She smiled back and shook it firmly. Tarrence shook hands with Oberyn, too, and he stated cordially "My lady, my prince, I bide you welcome."

"Thank you, Ser Tarrence," Oberyn affably told him in response.

"I am honored to finally meet you, goodfather," Dacey proclaimed gleefully.

Ser Tarrence took a step back, and then he looked around the vicinity and asked eagerly "So… where is my first grandchild?"

"Further back in the caravan," Gregor informed him, "We thought it best if he was kept with the civilian part of the convoy."

"Only when we were on the move, though," Dacey added in, "He's typically with us whenever we halt."

"You needn't worry, ser," Oberyn assured Ser Tarrence, "My paramour is watching over your grandson. I'm about to ride out and find her."

"Well, tell your paramour I am grateful," Tarrence told the prince, "And tell her she is invited to enter the keep, as well."

"As you wish, my good ser," Oberyn avowed. He swiftly returned to his garron, mounted it again, and rode back out the gate.

While the prince was gone, Ser Tarrence and his retainers escorted Gregor, his wife, and his officers inside the keep. Quarters had already been arranged for Gregor and his lieutenants. After they were shown to their rooms, the Legionnaires took some time to rest and recover from their journey.

Gregor and his officers joined Ser Tarrence and his household for the midday meal in the Main Hall. Gregor, Dacey, Rickard, Oberyn, Ellaria, and Nymeria sat on the dais with the Cleganes of Clegane's Keep. Elia and Obella were being tended to by Oberyn and Ellaria's personal servants.

After luncheon was served and eaten, Ser Tarrence Clegane was formally introduced to his grandson. When he had the chance to hold Rickard Clegane in his arms, he broke into a wide smile, and the feeling of pride was almost inexpressible.

Rickard was about eighteen months old, but he was the size of a child that has seen three or four name days. He had a full head of dark hair (which he obviously got from his mother), he could walk straight without stumbling, and he could talk in complete sentences.

As he cradled his grandson in his arms, Ser Tarrence looked over at Gregor and Dacey, and he inquired "Did he truly weigh seventeen pounds at birth?"

"He did," Dacey revealed with a proud smile, "I can attest to that."

Gregor then asked his parents "Do you recall how much I weighed?"

"About thirteen and one-half pounds," Daliah recounted, "However, Rickard is not quite as large as you were at this age."

"Really?" Gregor said in interest.

Daliah nodded and observed "So there's no reason to assume he'll be even taller than you."

"He'll still be a giant, no question of that," Gregor contended.

"Quite so," Tarrence conceded. He carefully handed his grandson back to his son, and then he said inquiringly "How long will you be in the Westerlands?"

"Just until the Ironborn rebellion is put down," Oberyn Martell

"And for the duration of the ensuing celebration of their defeat," Gregor commented. He quickly added in "Provided that there is one, that is."

"I'm fairly certain there will be," Daliah debated, "The King is said to love tourneys. He threw one for his brother's wedding, one for his heir's birth, and for one his first anniversary."

"Then he'll definitely throw one to celebrate his victory against the Ironborn," Gregor pronounced.

"First he has to beat them, Gregor," Sandor muttered, as if the Mountain needed reminding that the war had only just begun.

"Oh, he will," Gregor confidently pronounced.

With your assistance, no doubt.

Daliah Clegane hastily brought everyone's attention back to the subject her husband had addressed a minute earlier. She announced "We're hoping that after the Ironborn are defeated and after the resulting merriment, you might stay here a little while longer."

Gregor rubbed his chin and muttered "While I am here, Ser Brynden Tully is overseeing the affairs of Moat Cailin and the other half of the Legion without Banners. I believe he is the most qualified person to lead in my stead. Because of that, we are not in any rush to return to the moat. As such, there is no reason we cannot lengthen our visit."

Tarrence smiled once more and declared "You do not know how delighted we are to hear that."

"Well, I can imagine," Gregor cockily remarked, "Believe me, I share your glee, Father. I hope we can make up for lost time, too."

Tarrence chuckled and professed gladly "Oh, I do not want you to stay just to make up for lost time, Gregor."

"We have something much greater planned," Daliah Clegane revealed.

"What would that be, my lady?" Dacey queried.

Tarrence grinned and answered her with "A certain upcoming ceremony."

At that, he directed everyone to look towards the end of the dais. There Sandor and Obara were seated by each other. They rose from their seats so that they were now standing at each other's side, and he took her right hand in his left. They held their interlocked fingers in the air, and they both smiled widely.

It did not take Gregor, Dacey, Oberyn, and the others very long to catch on.

The Mountain looked to his father and presumed excitedly "Does this mean…?"

Tarrence nodded his head and proclaimed "After much deliberation, I have given Sandor and Obara my blessing. They will wed soon after the war ends."

Obara Martell has been at Clegane's Keep for nearly a year, and Ser Tarrence Clegane have come to know her very well. She cared not for wealth or power, and she cared greatly for family and security. She was strong in both mind and body, and she was as good a leader as she was a fighter. In his opinion, Sandor could not hope to find a better bride.

Gregor turned back to his younger brother and raised his tankard, saying "Then I hope to be the first to congratulate you, Sandor. You, too, Obara."

"I'll drink to that, my lord," Obara declared, raising her own goblet, "I suppose I should call you 'brother' now."

"Call me whatever you like," Gregor proposed, sipping his ale, "As long as it's appropriate for our family's ears, of course."

"Of course," Obara knowingly conceded, smiling a bit, "You needn't worry on that, Gregor. I know better than to say spiteful things about my allies and relatives."

Sandor gave a nod and stated humorously "We can be certain of that, Princess,"

At that, Obara's grin shifted to a grimace. She glared at her betrothed and groaned "Sandor…"

Sandor smirked and murmured cheekily "What's the matter, Princess?"

"You know I hate that," Obara mumbled in annoyance.

"But it's true, is it not?" Sandor contended, "Your father's a prince, and you're now his trueborn daughter. That makes you a princess in every sense."

"He makes a point, sweetling," Oberyn told his eldest daughter.

Obara opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first.

Nymeria was the one who spoke first instead. She rose from her seat and interjected "Hold on. Papa, if that's the case, then does that mean that I too…?"

Oberyn merely smirked and nodded his head.

Nymeria grumbled and sank back into her chair.

"I wish to be disowned," she muttered, her voice laden with sarcasm.

"Wish declined," Oberyn drolly said in response.

It was here that Obara found her voice again. She also found a comeback. She grinned deviously and told her fiancée "Well, think on this, Sandor: whenever someone highborn marries someone of lesser rank, the latter rises in rank, as well. So after you and I are wed, going by your logic, you'll be a prince."

Sandor looked to be at a loss for words when he heard that statement. He stared down at his hands and muttered "I hadn't thought of that…"

"Now I've made you think of it," Obara slyly rejoined, "So tell me, how does it sound?"

Sandor slowly let out a sigh and remarked sardonically "Fine. If it bothers you so greatly, I won't call you 'princess' without your permission."

If he's wise, he won't call her that even with her permission.

"Thank you," Obara said appreciatively. She lightly pecked Sandor on the cheek, and his grin swiftly returned.

Shortly after the meal ended, Tarrence asked to speak with Gregor in private. The Mountain decided he could afford his father a few minutes. While Dacey went to their chambers with Rickard, Gregor headed to his father's solar.

"What is this about, Father?" Gregor asked in interest.

Ser Tarrence opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated for a moment. He tapped the fingers of his right hand against the surface of his desk.

Ever since Gregor arrived, Tarrence Clegane had been careful to keep his left hand out of sight as much as possible. He wondered if his son had noticed that.

Even if he hasn't, he'll have to know eventually.

Finally, Tarrence looked up at Gregor and stated inquiringly "Do you know when your forces will be going off to battle?"

Gregor shrugged and commented "We're the last to arrive, so the King must plan to get underway soon."

Tarrence nodded his head in acknowledgment, and he muttered "In any case, I want to wish you the best of luck."

Gregor raised an eyebrow and presumed "You won't be going with us?"

His father solemnly shook his head. He needs to see.

It was here that Ser Tarrence brought out his left arm and held it in the air. His hand was shaking uncontrollably.

"What…?" Gregor began uneasily.

"Maester Velix believes it is the early stages of palsy," Tarrence grimly informed his son.

"Palsy?" Gregor whispered in shock.

Tarrence merely nodded.

"He could be wrong," Gregor suggested hopefully.

"He could," Tarrence admitted, "But whatever it is, one thing is certain. I am unfit to fight or sail. Our units must not be seen being led by a man who cannot even keep his own hand steady. What would the other lords say?"

"You shouldn't care what they'd say," Gregor debated.

"It happens that I do care," Tarrence Clegane proclaimed, "I will not be a liability to my house or my men. I beseech you not to try to change my mind; it is already made up."

Tarrence knew that normally, Gregor would have made a persistent effort to convince his father that he had too little faith in himself. But since he had pleaded with him, Gregor agreed not to argue this point any further.

"Very well, Father," Gregor coincided, a little diffidently.

Tarrence was notably relieved that his son had chosen not to resist his decision. He sat back in his chair and commented "Now because I cannot go, Sandor will lead our soldiers in my place."

"Wasn't Sandor already going as Lord Tywin's squire?" Gregor recollected.

"Yes," Tarrence verified, "But now he must go as the leader of House Clegane's units, too. I assume you know what that entails."

"It means that he and his forces will be entering the fray alongside Lord Tywin," Gregor conjectured.

"Precisely," Tarrence affirmed, "Lord Tywin will witness firsthand what our men are capable of. If he likes what he sees… it could mean great things for us. This could be what finally convinces Lord Tywin to raise this house to lordly status."

Gregor raised an eyebrow and remarked "If they serve and fight well, that could certainly happen."

"That's the other reason I wished to speak with you," Tarrence revealed, "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything," Gregor consented.

Tarrence looked him in the eye and said "If possible, try to keep a close eye on Sandor. I'd like you to ensure that he fulfills his duties to both his house and his liege lord. At the same time, I need you to ensure his safety. Do you understand?"

Straightaway, Gregor nodded his head and pronounced "Yes, Father. I won't let any harm come to him."

I know you want. But it is comforting just to hear those words from your mouth.