The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Tywin's expression remained impassive, but inwardly, his interest was piqued.

There was no tradition of grooming or preparation outside the city to receive a guest. This was yet another "innovation" by Ser Gregor.

Choosing a noblewoman's cosmetics as a gift for Jeyne was a thoughtful gesture, perfectly in line with a woman's natural deSere for beauty. But for someone as coarse and boorish as Gregor to come up with such a delicate idea, and actually choose items a woman would like, required not just effort, but insight.

Before entering the city, Gregor had Jeyne bathed, groomed, and made up. Then, with a simple phrase, "a gift from my lord", he presented the items. Immersed in the pleasure brought by her refined appearance, Jeyne had no way to refuse.

Moreover, Gregor employed a form of "deception" that Jeyne couldn't even call out, one could even say it was a kind of sleight of hand. He had received her under the name of Lord Tywin, so naturally, both the grooming and the gifts would seem like arrangements made by the Lord himself.

If Gregor had offered the gift in his own name, Jeyne might not have accepted it. But using Lord Tywin's name to deliver the gift while taking the action himself, that was a clever workaround.

The brilliance of the deception lay in the fact that Tywin couldn't disavow Gregor's move. After all, during the gift-giving, Julie had only said, "A gift from my lord." She never specified which lord. And in her eyes, "my lord" obviously referred to Gregor.

At the same time, Jeyne couldn't deny the joy she'd felt upon receiving the gift. Her upbringing, family honor, and pride wouldn't allow her to go back and reject that moment of happiness once she realized the truth. She had assumed the refined, high-quality gifts came from Lord Tywin. They didn't. That mistaken assumption was her own, not a result of Gregor's "deceit."

A simple gift. A simple trick. But an incredibly effective piece of political maneuvering.

The simpler the method, the better the effect.

Between two points, any slightly more complex path is longer than a straight line, and the shortest distance is always the simplest.

This little test made Tywin reassess Gregor.

He no longer saw Gregor as merely a brute. He now viewed him as a true general, not just in title, like so many noblemen, but a real one.

By contrast, Ser Kevan, standing beside Lord Tywin, was growing uneasy. How could the Mountain come up with such a subtle, seamless scheme? Since when could Gregor handle a tricky situation with such elegance and clarity? Was he still that vulgar brute?

Indeed, a heavy blade bears no edge; great skill often appears clumsy. Gregor's seemingly unremarkable act of gifting bore this very style.

He had made a bet with Tywin, and he won.

But Tywin had also won.

Through this minor incident, he'd accomplished his goal: he had come to understand Gregor. He was certain now, the Gregor who'd awakened after days of fever and coma was no longer the same brute he once was.

This didn't unsettle Tywin. Unlike Ser Kevan, Tywin had an unshakable core.

He'd shown rare military genius at seventeen, become Hand of the King at twenty, and for twenty years had ruled the realm with unmatched efficiency. He had never doubted his own iron-fisted ability to command.

Among the Seven Kingdoms' renowned generals, two stood out most: Jon Connington, now exiled across the Narrow Sea, and Randyll Tarly of the Reach under House Tyrell. Both were far more capable in war than their lords, but their lords still commanded them. And always had.

Gregor, though improving, still had a long way to go. He needed polish. He needed time.

And if Gregor ever disobeyed, he could always be eliminated. After all, the Rains of Castamere still echoed through Westeros, and had even spread across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities.

When Jeyne uttered the words "Yes, my lord." Gregor finally relaxed. Given Tywin's reputation for keeping his word and paying his debts, Gregor knew his only remaining task was to wash the sheets, make the bed, and wait for his beauty to lie down beside him.

Gregor Clegane, a man who had crossed into another world, had taken Jeyne Westerling, the girl who should have married Robb Stark, as his wife.

So, when the War of the Five Kings begins… will the infamous Red Wedding that crushed House Stark still take place?

Gregor didn't know. And he didn't care.

After all, the butterfly had already fluttered its wings, ever so subtly, stirring the air.

…

Night. 

Lord Tywin's Bedchamber.

"My lord, Lord Gawen requests an audience." said Grand Maester Pycelle.

Tywin stood by the window, gazing at the stone tower across the courtyard. It was seven stories high, symbolic of the Faith of the Seven, and brightly lit from within, housing the honored guests.

"Deny him."

"Yes, my lord."

Maester Pycelle quietly withdrew from the room, gently shutting the door behind him. He descended exactly seven steps, seven being the most auspicious number in Westeros, tied to the Seven Gods.

"I'm sorry, my lord." he said to Lord Gawen, waiting at the foot of the stairs. "Lord Tywin has retired for the night."

"He's asleep?"

"Yes."

"Oh, I apologize for disturbing you, Maester. Good night."

"Shall I relay a message to the Lord in the morning? If you'd like, you can tell me now what the matter concerns."

"...Oh… I only came to say goodnight to Lord Tywin."

"Truly?"

"Truly!"

"Well, that's unfortunate. Lord Tywin is already resting."

"Yes, yes, of course!" Lord Gawen responded quickly.

Pycelle didn't believe for a second that Lord Gawen had come just to say goodnight. But since that's what he claimed, the maester chose to accept it.

Gawen's real purpose was threefold: first, to express thanks; second, to complain about Gregor's rudeness during their reception earlier that evening; and third, to say goodnight.

He had simply underestimated how early Lord Tywin went to bed.

…

"My lord, Ser Gregor, requests an audience."

"Send him in."

"Yes, my lord."

Gregor ascended the seven steps and pushed open the chamber door. He cast a glance at the Grand Maester, and Tywin gave a slight nod. Taking the cue, the maester bowed, whispered "Good night." and exited quietly.

"What is it?"

"My lord, in three days, Jeyne will become your daughter. Nobles from across the Westerlands will gather to celebrate. She'll receive many gifts. I've recently raised a cavalry unit under my family banner, but I'm short on funds. I'd like to ask for half of Jeyne's gift money."

Tywin had known this hound wouldn't bring good news, but even he hadn't expected Gregor to so shamelessly ask for money.

His face hardened. Gregor had grown even more brazen. In the past, he'd at least paid lip service to meaningless notions like honor.

"Jeyne will indeed receive many gifts. But they are hers. Whom she gives them to, or not, is her decision. Are you asking me to order her to give you half?"

"I'm her husband. I'm entitled to half. If I don't take it, Lord Gawen will take it all. That would be unfair to me."

Tywin's sharp gaze pierced through Gregor, but the Mountain stared back without fear, shameless and unflinching.

"You're not her husband yet."

Gregor shrugged. "True. Not yet. So I humbly ask Your Grace, as your future son-in-law, and in recognition of my contributions, snow salt, signal horns, chopsticks, could you lend me a hundred gold dragons?"

A hundred gold dragons, equivalent to over a million yuan on Earth, was a huge sum.

Gregor had borrowed money from Tywin before, and never once repaid a single coin. He was shameless, always borrowing with the confidence of someone who had already paid his debts. His previous loans had never exceeded ten dragons. Now, he was asking for a hundred.

That was too much.

"The reward for your salt, horns, and chopsticks is Jeyne herself, something you insisted on. I'll adopt her and marry her to you. But not a single gold dragon more."

"If you won't lend me money, then I'll have to find another way. But if some... 'minor troubles' arise, I'm already your son-in-law. You can't punish me for harming your honor. I need money to feed my soldiers, support my noble-born wife, and defend my lands. I won't let what happened to my foster daughter Juli, who was kidnapped and raped by the Serrett family, happen again."

Tywin tensed at once.

All that earlier talk, just a preamble. This damn hound was clearly setting something up again. Trying another scheme. That last line, it wasn't just a plea. It was a provocation.

If it truly were a "minor" problem, Gregor would solve it himself.

Fine, Tywin thought. Let's see what kind of trick this mongrel has up his sleeve this time.

His pride flared.

Tywin hated to lose.

Once, when King Aerys defied him, Tywin resigned from twenty years of service as Hand of the King without hesitation.

"No swindling. No extortion. No forced dealings. No usury. You have my support to find your own way to earn money. Trade. Take mercenary work. Keep order at Lannisport docks. Do whatever you must. But if anything goes wrong, handle it yourself, and do not tarnish my honor."

Gregor hesitated, silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Yes, my lord. I will remember your words."

Tywin watched him leave.

He was long accustomed to Gregor's shamelessness, boldness, and brazenness, but this time… what was he planning?

In the cold green eyes of Lord Tywin, there was now a trace of caution, a glint of scrutiny, a flash of iron, and a spark of curiosity.

As Gregor left Tywin's chambers, he exhaled.

The "greeting" had been made. The Lord's "support" had been secured.

It was time to begin.

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