Black stones, black roads, black trees, all Maester Harry could see were shades of black. Even the air seemed black.
He couldn't see anything at all, only following the horse ahead. He couldn't understand how the Mountain and his four killers were able to navigate the forest so well.
The Gold Road was fine, but once they turned off onto the narrow mountain trail, he completely lost his sense of direction, time, and even his ability to see.
Leading the way was the elderly Thomasson, serving as their guide.
Normally, one could follow the Gold Road directly to the Silverhill of the Serrett family, but Mountain had insisted Thomasson lead them first to the mine guards.
Thomasson had once been an old miner and knew the area well.
"Who's there?" A booming voice suddenly called out from the darkness.
"It's me, Old Stick!" Thomasson's voice came calmly in response.
Maester Harry immediately huddled low on his horse's back. He remembered a knight once telling him that this was the best way to avoid arrows in the dark.
"Old Stick?"
"Yes, I've come to deliver fine wine and food to Lord Alva."
"Oh, so early today?"
"Didn't want your lord to wait too long." A familiar voice of the scribe interrupted, suddenly cheerfully laughing.
Before the words were even finished, Harry heard a short, sharp "ah!" as if someone's throat had been sliced.
Harry felt himself shivering.
Looking around, everything was pitch black, and he couldn't see what terrifying creatures might be lurking. A feeling of constant threat filled the air, though his well-trained horse kept moving steadily forward, following the horse ahead.
There were seven people in Gregor's party, along with ten warhorses.
Warhorses were different from regular horses. They could fight, recognize paths, march through the night, carry heavy loads, and even climb rugged mountain trails. Gregor's immense size meant he had three of the best warhorses, two carrying his armor and one for his massive sword and shield. In battle, the extra horses would be used to replace the others.
When they turned off the Gold Road onto the mountain pass leading to the mine guards, Gregor donned his armor and sword.
A faint, bloody scent hung in the air.
Has the scribe killed someone?
Harry couldn't be sure if the unfortunate sentry had been killed.
If it had been just a conversation, they held the absolute advantage. But if people started dying, everything changed, , hey would be in the wrong.
But the Mountain was always the one in the right, and his right was his fists and sword. Except for Tywin Lannister, there was no one he feared.
Suddenly, a flicker of light appeared ahead, a row of small flames.
Without realizing it, they had crossed the mountain road and arrived in a flat area.
In front of them were rows of houses, the trees on either side of the road were gone, and the stars in the sky were visible as the clouds parted. Harry's eyes could now make out objects a few meters ahead.
"Watch out for the mine shafts." Thomasson's voice warned.
Along the sides of the narrow road, black, gaping mine shafts appeared, just beside the path.
The horses walked along the edges of the shafts, and Harry glanced down; pitch black and bottomless.
He heard small stones tumbling into the depths, but no echo came back for a long while.
He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.
Luckily, they passed the treacherous "big mouths" of the mine shafts safely and reached an open area in front of the houses.
They dismounted, and the entire mine guard team was asleep.
Thomasson pointed to a door, and the Mountain strode forward, kicking the wooden door open with a loud crash.
Bang!
The noise startled the sleeping guards, and three sentries, who had been dozing by the fire, leapt to their feet.
They were met with the gleaming blades of swords pointed at their faces: Raff was grinning; Dunsen's eyes gleamed like a cat's; Polliver's left hand trembled slightly with excitement, not fear; and the scribe's face was full of cruel anticipation, his sword stained with blood.
Maester Harry clumsily drew his sword, the Mountain had ordered him to take part in the fight. He hesitated, trembling, as he stumbled forward, his shaky sword pointing toward the throat of one of the mercenaries.
He felt unsure, lowering the blade to the chest instead, then down again to the man's stomach, his eyes flickering nervously.
"Don't move…" he said in a voice full of nervous tension.
The Four Iron Fists laughed uproariously.
Bang!
A figure was hurled from the room.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The Mountain emerged like a beast, his massive sword drawn. The man on the ground, Lord Serrett was stunned by the impact, immediately recognized who it was.
"Ser Gregor!"
His voice was filled with fear.
More than a dozen guards, swords drawn, rushed out of the room but quickly stopped in their tracks. Inside the barracks, soldiers were scrambling to find shoes, armor, and weapons when they heard Lord Alva Serrett's agonized scream: "Gregor!"
Everyone froze.
"Julie, where is she?" The Mountain roared, startling birds from nearby trees with their frantic flight.
Gregor's massive boot landed squarely on Alva's chest, his great sword pointing at his head.
Unexpectedly, a foul smell filled the air.
Alva Serrett, the youngest and most beloved son of Lord Tyger, the sharpshooter, had soiled himself in terror.
From that moment on, his knightly honor would be lost, slipping away like water flowing eastward.
In moments of extreme fear, the body loses control of certain muscles, resulting in involuntary accidents like this.
"...My lord... my lord..." Alva's mind went blank, his chest crushed under the Mountain's boot, unable to breathe. "…Julie… who is Julie?" His voice was weak.
The Mountain had a daughter?
No one had ever heard of such a thing.
The Four Iron Fists, nor Maester Harry, knew that Mountain had a daughter named Julie.
But Thomasson knew. By claiming Julie as his daughter, Gregor now had a rightful reason to attack the Serrett family, Julie had become a noblewoman.
Gregor had already decided before they left that Julie was his daughter. As for the exact nature of that daughter, he hadn't figured that part out yet. In any case, Julie was no longer just a poor girl.
This was the art of manipulating the truth, or as it's commonly known, "peddling fake claims."
In the Seven Kingdoms, it was common for nobles to raise daughters or keep illegitimate children. So, no matter what the nature of Julie's relationship to Gregor was, her status was now that of a noble. There were no DNA tests in this world, making it all the more convenient to fabricate the truth.
Back in Gregor's homeland, it was like using a small piece of evidence to outsmart the entire Serrett family. Just like the tactics used by those who avoid helping the elderly in the streets, by throwing out accusations, creating falsehoods, making noise, or even using force to intimidate, Gregor had his own way of applying pressure.
"Ten days ago, your guard passed by my Clegane Keep and took away a girl from the poppy fields. Her name is Julie, and she's my daughter." Gregor bellowed.
------------
Note: If you guys want to read up to 37+ chapters in advance of the current story, you can support me on Patreon. You can read up to chapter 48 there! Patreon.com/Veltoria