The Mountain of Ice and Fire

"My lady, you are truly beautiful. I would like you to stay with me tonight." said Gregor.

"...As you wish, my lord... It would be an honor to serve you." Lady Serrett replied, a blush rising to her cheeks, making her even more radiant.

Gregor had never considered himself a noble man. Goodness and nobility were distant concepts to him. In fact, he believed he was rather devious. After transmigrating into this world and taking on the monstrous nature of the Mountain, he was no longer just a man of science and engineering, but he wasn't entirely the Mountain either.

"My lady, you've only just arrived today, and you suffered greatly at Silverhill under Serrett. I suggest you spend a peaceful night resting with your son, Andy Serrett." he said.

Andy Serrett, her beloved seven-year-old son.

Lady Serrett looked up, stunned by Gregor's sincerity. In her mind, and by everything she'd heard before, Gregor Clegane was a brutal beast without a shred of humanity, especially when it came to women.

Gregor was infamous for his insatiable lust, having raped countless peasant women and even tarnished the reputations of noble ladies. He had a notorious reputation.

No dog would give up a bone, especially a bone that still had tender meat on it. Lady Serrett was young and attractive, her most striking feature being her large, expressive eyes. Compared to the rough-skinned farm girls he'd once ravished in the Riverlands, bedding a knight's widow would have been far more gratifying.

But Gregor, using unexpectedly polite words, declined her unspoken offer.

Lady Serrett left Gregor's room and went to the apprentice quarters on the second floor. As she cradled her sleeping son, her mind was in turmoil, struggling to believe what had just happened.

That night, she could not sleep.

Andy, comforted by his mother's presence, slept soundly and sweetly. But Lady Serrett tossed and turned, unable to find peace.

Gregor's considerate and respectful attitude toward a woman was something she'd never imagined possible. This version of Gregor seemed completely unlike the ruthless monster from the stories. He wasn't the savage brute she had feared.

What surprised her even more was Gregor's intelligence. He had come up with a clever method for purifying rock salt. From the design of the filtering cross-frame, to the removal of bitterness through boiling, Lady Serrett realized that Gregor possessed the mind of a Maester.

As she left his room earlier, she glanced back. In his eyes, she had seen deSere, he clearly admired her beauty and maturity. He wouldn't mind taking her as a mistress, yet he had prioritized her physical exhaustion and emotional trauma. For a woman who had just arrived in Clegane Keep after being caged like a criminal, her pain and fatigue were very real.

She had lost her husband. She had been falsely accused and humiliated by Serrett at Silverhill. She had been torn from her home and her freedom. These were scars that wound the soul.

Yet, ever since arriving at Clegane Keep, none of her family had been abused. This was in stark contrast to the brutal mistreatment they had suffered before.

Compared to the cruel Serrett, it was clear who the true monster was.

…

Night. Casterly Rock. The Lannister Keep.

Lord Tywin Lannister, bald-headed and meticulous, had one peculiar hobby: he liked to groom his golden beard over and over while gazing into the mirror.

Knock knock knock!

A knock interrupted the silence.

"Enter." said Tywin.

The bedroom door opened, and Grand Maester Pycelle stepped in, holding a rolled parchment.

"Read it." said Tywin.

"My lord, this letter is somewhat unusual."

"Oh?"

The maester spread the upper part of the letter on the desk and used a ruler to flatten its corners. It was a long letter, complete with illustrations and text.

Tywin, his expression unreadable, focused his pale green-gold eyes on the drawings.

The first image showed a clay jar filled with salt, labeled as mined salt. The second illustration depicted a man pouring salt from a wooden scoop into a large pot of water, flames licking beneath the pot.

The third image was a strange wooden cross-frame, from which hung something like a cloth pouch, with a large wooden bucket underneath. The caption read: Snow Salt Filter. The accompanying text described how to build and use the filter in detail.

The final image showed the filtered brine being boiled again in a pot, the water evaporating until only pure white salt remained.

As Tywin read, Maester Pycelle discreetly studied his reaction. Tywin's expression remained unchanged, but his eyes gleamed sharply.

"Maester Harry's drawings are acceptable. His handwriting, however, is atrocious."

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell Maester Harry to be careful, lest the Mountain kills him."

"My lord, this letter was written on the orders of Ser Gregor himself."

Tywin stopped and looked up, his eyes narrowing.

"Gregor told Harry to write me this letter?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Is he still Gregor? These ideas… he could never have conceived them. None of us did."

"Yes, my lord. It looks simple, yet not one of us thought of it. The process of making snow salt is deceptively clever."

Tywin's gaze sharpened.

"Maester, do you believe Gregor came up with this?"

"By the Seven, I do not believe it, not for a second!"

"Nor do I."

Maester Pycelle hesitated before continuing. "My lord, there is another invention mentioned in the letter."

"Oh?"

The maester unrolled the second half of the parchment. There was a drawing of something Tywin had never seen before, it resembled the number six.

"What is this?"

"Ser Gregor has named it a war whistle."

"war whistle?" Tywin echoed, intrigued.

His eyes moved to the explanatory notes:

A war whistle, formed of two concave iron plates, with a small iron bead inside the hollow. When the flat mouthpiece is blown, air rushes in, spins the bead, and creates resistance. The airflow escapes through a narrow slit, producing a sharp whistling sound. With training, the tone can be varied in length and pitch. Its piercing sound is ideal for battlefield signaling, providing countless tactical advantages.

Tywin studied the diagrams and text closely.

"There are two narrow slits, how does the iron bead get inside?"

"My lord, the bead is placed inside first, then the two halves are sealed together."

In this world, ironwork was already highly advanced. Decorative ironwork took the form of flowers, animals, even mythical beasts.

"This whistle too, Gregor invented it?" Tywin's voice and expression changed.

"That's what Maester Harry wrote, my lord. He also says Clegane's soldiers are already using them in training. Very effective."

"Write to Gregor immediately. Order him to bring the whistles and his troops to Casterly Rock tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." the maester bowed. "Also, Ser Gregor has invented something else… called chopsticks. Maester Harry says he uses them instead of knives, forks, or spoons."

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