The Mountain of Ice and Fire

At the summit of Casterly Rock, beneath the watchtower, cold night wind blowing, stood Gregor Clegane's two fiercest enforcers, the most ruthless executioner, Dunsen, and his most loyal, if somewhat dimwitted soldier, Polliver.

Out of the sixty-three mounted brothers, Gregor had chosen these two to handle this little task. The rest were inside Lord Tywin's castle, drinking and revealing, their raucous laughter and shouting drifting up in waves.

Though it was a small matter, the reward was overwhelming, according to a drunken slip from sweet-talking Raff Clegane. If they handled this job well, upon returning to Clegane Keep, Gregor would knight them and grant them the Clegane name.

Such an honor was worth dying for in Dunsen and Polliver's eyes. To be knighted and take the Clegane name was their ultimate glory.

Polliver was ready to die for it.

At this moment, Polliver was staring down the cliff, slowly edging closer to the precipice.

For some unknown reason, looking into the bottomless blackness below, he felt as if a beautiful pair of eyes in the void was staring back at him, silently urging him to jump.

When you gaze into the night, the night gazes back at you.

Polliver knew this truth all too well.

Jumping from the Keyan watchtower meant plunging over seventy meters, twenty-plus stories, onto jagged rocks below. Death was certain.

Polliver was a fellow soldier nobody wanted to deal with except Gregor himself. Neither Raff nor Dunsen, nor even the nimble and obedient scribe, liked him.

Raff killed with "grace and elegance." Dunsen with "one deadly strike." but Polliver was all about "fragmented artistry", if a single strike could end it, he'd rather use seventeen or eighteen, leaving mutilated flesh and blood everywhere. The more carnage, the happier he got, his eyes glowing green with excitement.

He was cruel not just to enemies, but to himself.

When his spirits ran high, he liked playing deadly games.

Before every drinking spree, every battle, or mission, Gregor would remind him: "Don't fixate on anything. No self-harm. No suicide. Three no's. Got it?"

Polliver always answered, "Got it." and followed the rules to the letter.

To Polliver, Gregor was a super idol.

A chilling light flickered in Polliver's eyes. The right side of his face twitches occasionally, like a mild spasm, his nervous energy palpable.

"What are you doing, Polliver?" Dunsen called out, his tone dismissive.

"I want to jump." Polliver said.

"Wait a bit before you jump!" Dunsen smiled.

"I want to jump now." Polliver stood at the cliff's edge, the wind catching his clothes, one misstep away from falling. "Dunsen, why do I always want to jump when I look down there?"

"When we finish what Ser Gregor asked, I'll jump with you." Dunsen whistled casually.

"Really?"

"When have I ever lied to you?" The words were flippant, utterly untrustworthy.

"Alright then, let's finish Ser Gregor's task quickly." Dunsen kicked his foot off the edge, swinging it playfully over the abyss.

On the ground beneath the watchtower, several young knights were tied up, eyes wide with fear and anxiety.

The giant torch atop the watchtower blazed fiercely, flames licking the sky like a fiery sword.

Faced with this madman, these once-arrogant youths were completely terrified.

The center figure was Ado Serrett.

The others were nobles from the northern border of the Westerlands, neighbors to the Westerling family who controlled Crag. Much of the castle's land had been sold or mortgaged to their families.

Ado's lips were split, all his front teeth knocked out. His elegant dress was stained with blood. His teeth had been smashed out one by one by Polliver, who gleamed with excitement each time Ado tried to cry out, because Polliver had made a silent bet with an invisible figure in the air: if Ado screamed, he would drive a dagger into his eye.

One by one, the teeth fell, but Ado never made a sound. He endured it all.

Polliver was deeply disappointed.

The young knights with Ado were his drinking and dining companions. They'd been caught because that afternoon, in their drunken boasting, they encouraged Ado to make Jeyne Westerling his mistress tonight, spinning wild fantasies.

It was juvenile horseplay, every group of boys talked about girls they fancied, and girls chatted about handsome knights.

But the speaker meant nothing, while the listener took it to heart.

Gregor's position had changed. Many cunning nobles had begun to curry favor with him, intentionally or not.

Gregor, now the prospective son-in-law of Lord Gawen, heard these drunken "truths" from the boys. Learning that several of them, aside from Ado, were nobles from the northern Westerlands border near Crag, he reported it to Tywin.

Gawen's face betrayed no reaction, as if he hadn't heard a word. When Gregor asked to confront them, Gawen said nothing, just waved his hand dismissively.

So, that evening, Polliver and Dunsen invited Ado and his friends up to the watchtower for a "heart-to-heart."

Except for Ado, the others bore bruises but were lightly wounded.

Even Ado, despite his broken lips and lost teeth, was only lightly hurt.

What crushed them more than physical wounds was the terror of Gregor's gang.

They had been at the mercy of a killer and a madman for half an hour now.

"They're coming up." Dunsen whispered.

Polliver quickly moved from the cliff edge and hid behind the watchtower.

He and Dunsen peeked out, seeing a youth hurrying over, carrying a black cloak.

The black cloak was Polliver's.

"He carried her up. I won the bet." Polliver said excitedly. "You owe me a gold dragon."

"How do you know Lady Jeyne is loyal to Ser Gregor? She doesn't love our lord."

"I can tell by looking in her eyes, she's a good person, the only noble without any arrogance toward servants and commoners. Only she deserves Ser Gregor. They're both good people."

Is Gregor a good man?

Nobles who heard that would laugh.

But Ado and the others didn't dare laugh.

They were convinced that this bald, black-bearded man was truly mad, capable of terrible things beyond imagination.

And Dunsen, the executioner by his side, was a killing machine. They had once tried to swarm him but were effortlessly defeated, with Polliver's sword at their throats.

"Get out!" Dunsen sliced the rope binding Ado's hands with a single, precise cut, eyes barely flicking to his work. "You said you were going to see Jeyne. Now go."

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