The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Chapter 17: Writing a Letter

(Happy Mid-Autumn Festival to all my book friends, may you have a joyful reunion.)

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“Lord!” Scholar Hallis spoke cautiously.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed, the group advancing neither too fast nor too slow, with no pursuers behind them.

Scholar Hallis slowed down to walk alongside Ser Gregor, who was guarding their rear.

Gregor stared at Scholar Hallis.

“…If House Charlton accuses you, Lord, have you considered your strategy?”

“What good ideas do you have?”

“…I… to be honest…”

Gregor scrutinized Scholar Hallis until the scholar nervously turned his gaze forward.

Indeed, deceiving Tywin, with his high intelligence, would be extremely difficult.

In this primitive agrarian civilization, which also possesses supernatural powers, Gregor himself didn't feel particularly secure.

Consider it: in the north of this world, there are undead creatures like zombies that cannot be killed, and Others composed of ice elements, possessing supernatural powers; the Children of the Forest, a humanoid race, live in the haunted forests of the north; Green Seers, like the Three-Eyed Raven, can possess animals with their mental will; and true giants in the Mountains of the Moon stand four meters tall, making Gregor look like a dwarf in comparison.

Soon, on the eastern continent of Essos, three dragons that breathe fire will appear; Melisandre, the Red Priestess who can see glimpses of the future, will cross the Narrow Sea and land on Dragonstone.

Across the Narrow Sea in the Free City of Braavos, there are Faceless Men, top assassins who can change their shape and face at will; various expensive, invisible poisons are constantly being researched and sold worldwide from Lys, the base for poison development; and there are all sorts of strange gods and faiths in the world. However, most of the time, the gods in this world do not answer their devout followers. People must rely on themselves at all times.

So, what can Gregor rely on?

If it weren't for Tywin's power protecting him, Charlton's army would surely attack the small Clegane Keep. He is invincible in close combat, but how could he withstand thousands of Charlton's arrows? His armor and shield can protect him, but what about his horse? What about his followers and servants?

In a year, the Seven Kingdoms will be in chaos, embroiled in civil war. Two years later, the Others will lead hordes of undead into the haunted forests of the north; four or perhaps five years later, the long summer will end, snow will fall in autumn, and winter will come, and all humanoid life, human life, animal life on the continent of Westeros will face a dark moment of life and death.

The Others, leading the undead warriors they created—the wights, resurrected after death into unkillable zombie-like creatures—will use the power of winter to attack the Seven Kingdoms. That moment will be the end of the civilized world.

Gregor doesn't even know if he will live to see the Others attack the Seven Kingdoms.

Without making changes, in two years, in the 300th year after Aegon's Landing, he will end his life as a human being at King Joffrey's wedding.

Leaving here, leaving the continent of Westeros to go to the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea, all he could do is become a mercenary. Spending his days mingling with a bunch of mercenaries who don't speak the same language, spending all their money and getting drunk whenever they can, fighting and killing for a wealthy noble he's never met. No ideals, no future, no home, no faith, nothing but killing, burning, drinking, and sleeping.

For perhaps a single gold coin, he would have to take any job he didn't like.

It hasn't come to the point where he has to flee this land yet.

If he doesn't flee, then he needs a legion, a legion completely his own. Just like House Charlton, who can mobilize three thousand warriors at a moment's notice. These warriors only fight for their lord.

Gregor has never felt so urgently the need for a legion.

This legion must have at least a thousand men.

The warriors of the nobles usually come from the commoners in their territory. They may be farmers, hunters, fishermen, craftsmen, dockworkers, miners, servants, or any other occupation, but as soon as the lord issues a call to arms, they must put down their work, take up their weapons and armor, and enlist, following their lord to war.

Many warriors don't have a decent set of armor, and the swords they use are of poor quality.

Such a legion is not strong in combat. They also have very little military training and cannot compare to mercenaries.

This is a fundamental reason why great nobles like to hire professional mercenaries.

Mercenaries don't do any other work. Their regular job is to train in swordsmanship, horsemanship, and archery. Once they have a job, they have to shed blood and fight, providing strong violent protection, which further hones the mercenaries' combat power and professional military skills. In comparison, the military quality of a legion temporarily assembled from farmers, fishermen, or craftsmen with little military training cannot compare to that of a mercenary company.

But mercenary companies cannot be compared to family soldiers.

Mercenary companies have high combat power, but because they are paid to do things, their relationship with their employers is purely a monetary transaction, with no connection to loyalty, sacrifice, or national sentiment. In a word, they can help you fight, but they won't risk their lives for you.

Family soldiers, on the other hand, possess qualities that mercenaries completely lack: loyalty, sacrifice, unity, and honor.

Gregor's territory is too small, and he can't even summon a few miners to fight for him when something happens. If he wants to build a family legion, first he needs money; second, he can't stay by Tywin Lannister's side earning ten golden dragons a month anymore. Ten golden dragons is a fortune for ordinary people, but in the eyes of nobles, especially in the wealthy Westerlands, it's very poor.

The money Gregor earns in a month with Tywin isn't enough for Tywin's deformed second son, the Imp Tyrion Lannister, to spend three days in a brothel. Many times, the Imp spends ten golden dragons a day, and if he's happy, he'll give the prostitutes more than just ten golden dragons.

Gregor must find a way to make big money.

How to make money in the Westerlands?

Establish a small mercenary company to take on the job of guarding mines? Find opportunities to trade in the markets of Lannisport? Rob gold mines in disguise? Increase taxes wildly? Use the knowledge learned from his previous life to invent things? Gregor's mind was in chaos.

…………

Gregor silently looked at the azure sky.

The sky was blue, the air was fresh, without the hazy smog of his previous life, but there was no mobile phone network or industrial machinery either. Every civilization has its own troubles and crises.

“Scholar Hallis, I need to write a letter to Lord Tywin.”

“Yes, Lord. What should I write?”

“Just say that my headaches have worsened and I need to rest at home for a long period of time.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Also, mention that Alva Charlton snatched away my daughter Jyll and raped her in the Silverhill mines.”

“Yes, Lord. What about Alva Charlton's accidental death… should I mention it?”

“Mention it!”

“…How should I mention it…”

“We went to find Alva Charlton, asking him to return my daughter. I grabbed Alva and gave him a light shove, and his heart suddenly gave out, and he died.”

“Heart disease?”

“Yes, heart disease. Didn't you learn about heart disease from Grand Maester Pycelle?”

“…I… uh… haven't dissected… a corpse yet.” Scholar Hallis blushed slightly, his eyes flickering.

Gregor wasn't sure if heart disease existed in this world.

“Alva's sudden death from heart disease was purely accidental. After the accident, we returned Alva's body to Silverhall, but the Charltons attacked us, so we had to take Addam Charlton hostage back to Clegane Keep, demanding that House Charlton apologize and compensate for snatching my daughter Jyll and raping her.”

“…Uh… Lord Gregor… do you think Duke Tywin will believe what's written in the letter?”

“I don't know, but just write it like that.”

“Yes, Lord.”