When the people of Ashemark heard that the Mountain had broken through a city, and then heard him bellowing Addam Marbrand's name like thunder rolling through the sky, they were terrified to their bones.
Ordinary citizens cowered in fear. Some hid their daughters, others fled to their cellars, some reached for weapons, and some shook their families awake and gathered neighbors to prepare. The whole city was a clamor of panic and chaos.
The city's garrison of a thousand scrambled out of their bunks as bugles blared throughout the barracks. Centurions rushed to gather their men. All around the walls, alarm horns blared in eerie succession, signaling an enemy assault.
For sixteen years, the soldiers had grown lax in comfort. Now they fumbled to don armor, find their weapons, strap on boots and belts, grab swords and helmets, utter disorder reigned.
By the time the defenders were assembled and dispatched in three units toward the southern gate, Addam Marbrand, the heir of Ashemark, had already gathered fifty of his house knights and soldiers from the main keep and rushed like a storm to confront the Mountain's arrival.
The Mountain's force consisted of just twenty-two men, formed in a wedge formation with the Mountain himself at the point.
Mounted and wielding his massive sword, the Mountain was an awe-inspiring sight. Draped limply over his horse's saddle was Lord Damon Marbrand, awake but powerless, face down, his back exposed, with the Mountain's left hand gripping the scruff of his tunic like a sack of grain.
Behind him, in the second row, were two men: to the left, the executioner Dunsen; to the right, the big-headed Chiswick.
The third row had three: on the left, Julie Clegane, who had reloaded her repeating crossbow with fresh bolts; in the middle, a scarred and savage-looking member of the Warblades, Foulmouth, Chiswick's most trusted brute, the very man who once left that large blade scar on Chiswick's forehead. Before joining Chiswick, Foulmouth had been the thug king of eastern Lannisport. On the right, grinning maniacally and twitching with excitement, was Polliver.
The fourth row had four men, Foulmouth among them.
The fifth had five.
And the last row, with eight riders, was led by the seasoned horseman Thomasson, who was in charge of caring for the Mountain's steed.
Addam Marbrand had thought the Mountain would arrive with hundreds. Instead, it was just twenty-three. Yet far from relief, his heart chilled.
Ashemark had high walls, thick defenses, and over a thousand soldiers, yet the Mountain dared to attack it with only a few dozen men? That kind of fearless audacity made Addam's blood run cold.
He wasn't afraid of a bully, he was afraid of someone who didn't care if they lived or died.
The Mountain was not only a brute; he was suicidal and shameless. That kind of madness was terrifying.
The city wall guards had already assembled before Addam arrived. They stood far off, eyeing the Mountain's small force with dread. No one dared step forward, not only was no one a match for the Mountain, but he also held Lord Damon hostage. Who would risk that?
Not even Addam dared act.
Under the flickering light of countless torches, the southern gate glowed as bright as day.
The Mountain said calmly, "Addam, do you dare come exchange yourself for your father?"
Addam seethed with rage but forced himself to speak evenly. "Mountain, release my father and I'll come over, do whatever you will with me."
The Mountain gave a cold snort. "Addam, this is your city, your turf. Your soldiers are all around. Your people fill the fields beyond. And you think I'll release your father first? You, who claim to be a knight, won't even trade yourself for your own father? You have no courage, no filial piety. What face have you to call yourself a knight? You don't even match the bravery of a young girl. If I were you, I'd have already taken my own life."
Addam could no longer hold back. He leapt from his horse, unclipped his sword belt with a clack, and hurled it to the ground with a clang. "Mountain! I fear death less than I fear you!"
Ah, the fire of youth, impulsive, reckless, driven by pride and provocation.
Lord Damon cried out, "Addam, don't come! The Mountain wouldn't dare kill me!"
But before the words finished, the Mountain flipped Lord Damon face-up in the saddle, sheathed his greatsword, freed his right hand, and, SLAP!, delivered a thunderous blow across Damon's face in full view of all.
"Father!" Addam was incensed to see his father, a noble lord, publicly humiliated. He marched forward and shouted, "Mountain! Let my father go! I'll be your hostage instead!"
The Mountain raised a hand. Dunsen and Chiswick dismounted and wrestled Addam down, binding him with the ropes they'd prepared.
Addam didn't resist. "Mountain, in the name of your family's honor, of knightly virtue, and the old and new gods alike, release my father!"
The Mountain, still astride his horse, cast him a sideways glance, like a lion eyeing a bleating lamb. He didn't even bother to reply.
Lord Damon pleaded, "Mountain, "
SLAP!
Another brutal backhand. This one was worse. Pain layered upon pain. Damon Marbrand passed out cold.
"Mountain, you!" Addam shouted, his rage bursting like a flame from his skull.
BANG!
Chiswick, ever the brute, threw a steel-hard punch that split Addam's lip and knocked out several teeth.
The knights of House Marbrand roared in fury and drew their swords with a chorus of shing!. But the Mountain casually hoisted Damon Marbrand by one arm like a doll.
"Anyone moves, and I tear him in half."
Instantly, the dozen knights froze. Not one dared move.
The advancing soldiers of the city guard also stopped dead in their tracks.
Any other enemy, they might have risked it. But this was the Mountain.
His blood-soaked cruelty and unrelenting violence were legendary. No one dared test his patience.
As over a thousand armored defenders finally stormed the southern gate in three directions, the Mountain slowly backed out with the bound Addam and unconscious Damon. He covered the retreat alone, sword in hand. All Ashemark's soldiers could do was watch as he stepped back across the drawbridge and vanished into the night.
The clatter of hooves echoed like a storm. The Mountain and his men galloped away, taking both Addam and Damon Marbrand with them. His voice called back, echoing into the city:
"Tell the Lady: bring the Westering family's land deed to The Crag. If she wants them back, she knows what to do."
Aside from the knights left reeling in shock, the most distressed person galloping through the darkness with the Clegane force was, Lord Leo Lefford.
═══════✧❁✧═══════
The nearest stronghold to Ashemark was Angus Keep.
Calling it a "city" was generous, it was more of a fort, surrounded by a mere three-meter stone wall. Barely a wall, really.
In all of the northern Westerlands, only two places deserved the title: Ashemark, seat of House Marbrand, and The Crag, home of the Westering family. Though the Westerlings had declined, their land still stood proud.
Even a dying camel is larger than a horse.
At the gates of Angus Keep:
Dunsen pressed a dagger to Damon Marbrand's back. Chiswick stood to his side, hand on hilt.
The Mountain held Addam by the collar behind Damon, and said politely but coldly, "My lord, call for the gates to open. If not, I'll take Addam's right hand. He'll never wield a sword again. Try me, if you doubt it."
Damon wisely chose not to test the threat.
"Lord Angus!" he shouted, pounding on the gate. "It's Damon Marbrand! I was delayed by hunting, open up, let me rest!"
A torch appeared atop the low wall, its flames swaying. A voice called out: "Is that really Lord Damon?"
Chiswick cursed, furious. "Which mutt is on duty?! Can't recognize Lord Damon?! Open this damned gate, he's injured from a fall while hunting! One more word outta you and I'll break down this rotten door!"
Chiswick dismounted, grabbed a rock from the ground, and started pounding the gate.
BANG BANG BANG!
"Open the gate, now!" Damon shouted, his tone harsh and cold.
As the iron-bound oak door cracked open a sliver, the Mountain slammed it inward and stormed through. Dunsen and Chiswick rushed in behind, cutting down the two startled guards with swift strikes. The Clegane riders thundered inside, dragging the Marbrand father and son straight toward the main keep. By the time Lord Angus stumbled out of bed, groggy and confused, a sword was already pointed at his hairy chest.
Swift as lightning.
Angus Keep had fallen. Its lord was captured.
That night, the Mountain's group didn't stop. With Damon forced to summon each gate, they swept through the northern lords who had once rallied under House Marbrand. By dawn, they had marched two hundred miles, taken twenty strongholds, and captured twenty-seven minor lords and knights.
The news spread like wildfire, shaking every noble house in the Westerlands to their core.
The Mountain's brutality, dominance, and terror reached a new, dreadful peak.
That same night, the Lady of Ashemark did not sleep. She sent out ravens into the dark.
By morning, one of those ravens reached Casterly Rock, carrying her tear-stained plea.
Lord Tywin read the letter and replied at once.
By evening, when the Lady opened his response, her eyes widened, her breath stopped, and she was struck speechless.
⚔────────
Visit my Patreon for more: patreon.com/vynthor
Extra Content Already Available:
The Mountain of Ice and Fire (GOT) – 56 advanced chapters!
Naruto: I Am Nara Shikamaru – 30 advanced chapters!
One Piece: Summoner of the 3D Zone – 38 advanced chapters!
That's a total of 184 chapters ahead of public updates!
With your support, I release 10 chapters per fanfics every week, keeping the stories alive and growing.
Thank you so much for being part of this journey!