The Mountain of Ice and Fire

The kitchen was spacious, noble kitchens always were.

Even a modest noble household typically had a kitchen capable of serving over three hundred guests.

Clegane Keep rarely hosted visitors, and even less often did it entertain other nobles. The fact that only a single chef was employed here made it clear: guests were not welcome. It was also a testament to how poor Gregor Clegane's social standing was among the nobility.

Yet the kitchen itself remained generously sized, easily able to serve two hundred people at once.

Lady Serrette, who had followed Gregor into the kitchen, appeared calm on the surface, but her heart was uneasy.

Neither she nor her late husband Allen had ever done kitchen work.

If Ser Gregor preferred to conduct his pleasures in the kitchen, then she had no right to refuse.

Her husband's two younger brothers had already been conscripted into the ranks of the mine-soldiers. Her seven-year-old son, Andy Serrett, had been apprenticed to Maester Harry. The rest of her family, her aged parents and other relatives, had all been assigned various tasks within the keep: some under the stablemaster, others under the stewards, some in the kitchens, others in the poultry coops or livestock pens.

And she herself… it seemed she had been assigned to Gregor Clegane.

Lady Serrett's greatest fear wasn't death, it was whether her body could withstand the physical demands of this monstrous man. His sheer size was terrifying. Rumor had it his previous two wives had died from his abuse.

Gregor could see the tension in her posture, the fear in her smile, anxious and feigned.

She was a mature woman, still with some beauty left. But Gregor had no intention of laying hands on her, at least not in that way.

Even kings weren't immune to poison. They employed food tasters, ensuring every dish and drink was safe before touching it themselves. Imported delicacies from foreign lands or noble gifts were sampled by professionals first.

A rabbit doesn't eat the grass around its burrow, it needs the cover to hide from predators.

To survive longer in this brutal world, one had to treat their own people well, win their gratitude and loyalty. Like Polliver, for instance.

"Madam." Gregor said, pointing to a wooden lid. "Open that."

"Yes, my lord."

Lady Serrett lifted the lid and saw a large earthen jar full of yellow salt.

Mineral salt, mined straight from the hills. She was well familiar with it. Her family had always used this kind of salt, even though they were among the wealthier locals thanks to her husband's knighthood.

"Open the one beside it." Gregor ordered.

"Yes, my lord."

The neighboring jar looked identical. Lady Serrett removed its lid and found it filled with a snowy-white substance.

"What is this, my lord?"

The soft glow from a thick red candle revealed the fine, glimmering white crystals.

"Salt." Gregor replied.

"Salt?" she echoed, surprised.

"Snow-salt." he said. "A name given by Lord Tywin himself."

"I've never seen salt like this before, my lord."

"Taste it."

"Yes, my lord."

Lady Serrett dipped her fingertip into the snow-salt and touched it to her tongue. It was salty, of course, but unlike the yellow salt, it lacked the bitterness.

She suddenly remembered tonight's meal, the soup and dishes, none of them had that bitter, astringent taste she had grown used to. But in her nervousness and fear of Gregor, she had failed to notice it until now.

Salt, the king of flavor, the cornerstone of taste.

"My lady, would you do me a favor?" Gregor asked.

"…As you wish, my lord…"

"I'd like to appoint you as my kitchen steward, tasked with producing snow-salt for the people of Clegane's Keep. I'll also be giving some to the great houses of the Westerlands."

Lady Serrett found it hard to breathe for a moment. The legendary Mountain That Rides was now addressing her with respectful words.

"…As you wish, my lord…"

"Good. Let me show you how to turn bitter yellow salt into our snow-salt. The technique is simple, but I'll need your sworn secrecy."

"I swear." she stammered, raising her right hand, "In the honor of House Serrett and in the name of the Seven."

Gregor nodded. Oaths sworn before the Seven were powerful, it was a sacred ritual deeply rooted in this world's culture.

"Let's make a batch now."

"Yes, my lord."

Lady Serrett's fear slowly eased as she realized Gregor had no ill intentions toward her. When they had entered the kitchen together, her body had been wound tight like a bowstring.

Gregor filled a large pot halfway with water, then poured in half a scoop of yellow salt and began stirring.

"Light the fire." he said.

She obeyed, sparking the hearth to life.

As the water heated, Gregor added more salt, then more water, stirring steadily. The salt dissolved as the temperature rose.

"When it stops dissolving, stop adding salt." he instructed.

"Yes, my lord."

"Now boil it."

"Yes, my lord."

Once all the salt had dissolved, Gregor held a thick candle to the pot and scooped the bottom with a ladle.

"What do you see in the water?" he asked, holding the ladle up for her to inspect.

She saw black and brown flecks, tiny particles.

"Salt residue, my lord."

"Correct. Keep boiling."

"Yes, my lord."

As she watched, Lady Serrett's fear gave way to fascination.

"Come with me." Gregor said, moving to a wooden structure shaped like a cross.

It was her first time seeing one like it, a wooden cross with a rope hanging from its top arm. The whole frame could rotate freely. A large iron nail held the two wooden beams together at the center.

Gregor opened a large chest nearby and pulled out pieces of cloth, some thick, some smooth like silk. He tied the corners of the cloth to the wooden cross.

"Once the boiling stops and the water cools a little, we'll pour it through this cloth filter. The clean brine will fall into a barrel below. The residue will stay on the cloth."

"What a clever idea!" she exclaimed.

"Boiling removes bitterness, but full refinement requires several rounds of filtering and boiling."

"How many rounds?" she asked.

"You'll have to experiment. Try different fabrics, different layers, find what works best."

"Yes, my lord."

"Then pour the filtered brine back into the pot and boil it dry. The salt will crystallize again. But be careful, if the fire's too hot, it'll scorch and waste the salt."

"I understand, my lord." she said, excited. "We could sell snow-salt across the Seven Kingdoms!"

"No. Snow-salt is not for sale."

"Yes, my lord."

An hour later, Gregor and Lady Serrett emerged from the kitchen, chatting pleasantly. Her face was flushed, a healthy color returning to her cheeks. She followed him into his chambers, whatever was to happen next, she was ready to face it.

Gregor needed her to manage the kitchen, oversee food purchases, recruit new servants, and most importantly, make snow-salt. She now felt assured her family's safety was secure.

If she could also please Ser Gregor at night, win his favor, then her son Andy could grow up safely under Maester Harry's guidance. Her fear was gradually transforming into accommodation… into willingness.

Gregor saw the look in her eyes. He knew that with a bit more kindness, her compliance would become gratitude. Gratitude would deepen into loyalty. And if Maester Harry brought her to the Sept for a private ceremony, an oath of fealty to The Mountain in the name of the Seven, she would become a loyal supPycelle. A devoted mistress.

Among the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, keeping mistresses was common. There was no limit to how many.

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