The Mountain of Ice and Fire

Chapter 525: The Unsullied - Death of a Backbone

(Guaranteed chapter, 5000 words)

*

While the Mountain was at the Great Sept of Baelor, Cersei was comforting her steward in Maegor's Holdfast in the Red Keep. Nine-year-old King Tommen Baratheon sat beside her.

"Ser Oswell, I am so sorry," Cersei said to her steward. "The High Septon has made his judgment. Osney has been sentenced to hang. I pleaded with the High Septon, but I was powerless."

Osney's father, Oswell Kettleblack, knelt on one knee, head bowed, his voice somber: "Your Grace, Osney slandered the honor of the royal family and succumbed to the evil of the High Sparrow. He violated his knightly vows and brought it upon himself."

Cersei was expressionless, coldly watching the top of Oswell's brown head: "Ser, I requested the High Septon to allow you to collect Osney's body, transport it home, and grant him his final rest. The High Septon has agreed."

"House Kettleblack is grateful for Your Grace's kindness! We will forever remember it!" Oswell said sincerely.

Cersei was pleased with Oswell's attitude: "Ser Oswell, rise and get some rest early. My condolences."

"Yes, Your Grace." Oswell slowly stood up, bowed his head, and silently left.

Tommen watched Oswell's departing figure, a hint of doubt in his heart: "Mother, I don't see any sorrow from Ser Oswell?!"

"His sorrow is in his heart, Tommen."

"I feel like he's trying hard to pretend to be sad," Tommen said.

"You're still young. When you grow up, you'll understand that parents' grief and love often appear ordinary on the surface."

"Did Littlefinger recommend Oswell to Mother?" Tommen asked.

"Yes, but in public, you must not say Littlefinger. You must say Lord Petyr Baelish."

"I understand, Mother." Tommen was well-behaved and innocent.

"Who mentioned to you that Petyr recommended Oswell?"

"The Grand Maester."

"Qyburn?!"

"Yes, Mother. The Grand Maester said that after Littlefinger left, the expenses of the royal palace have become increasingly tight. He hopes Littlefinger can return sooner. The position of Master of Coin cannot be vacant for too long, otherwise, we will face increasing difficulties in all aspects."

"All aspects?"

"The Grand Maester said that the City Watch, the Royal Fleet, the courtiers and military officials in the palace, and the resolution of various government affairs all require money. His academic research also requires money."

"Did Qyburn apply for expenditures from the treasury and not receive the amount he wanted?"

"He didn't mention that to me."

Cersei laughed: "It's alright, the new Hand will solve our money problems for us."

"Doesn't Uncle Kevan lack ability?" Tommen asked innocently.

"Who told you that? He's very capable!"

"But he's not the one who rescued you."

"His martial skills can't compare to the Mountain."

"Then can he grind a gold coin and turn one into two?" Tommen's big eyes blinked.

"No one can grind a gold coin and turn one into two."

"Littlefinger can! I've heard many people say that."

Cersei smiled: "Tommen, Littlefinger can't either. It's just that everyone praises him for being good at business, investing, and collecting taxes. Lord Petyr uses the treasury's money to earn more money through business."

"Will he come back after he leaves King's Landing?"

"Yes, he will come back. He is a member of the Small Council, and he is still our Master of Coin."

"But if it were me, I wouldn't come back after I left," Tommen said seriously.

"Oh? Why not?" Cersei was amused by Tommen.

"I'm very good at making money. Why wouldn't I make a lot of money for myself? I heard the Grand Maester say that Littlefinger owns Harrenhal. Harrenhal is the largest castle, even taller and grander than our royal palace. Harrenhal's territory is vast and fertile, with abundant grain and fish. He can live very well. Why would he come back to the royal palace to be the Master of Coin?"

Cersei's smile gradually became awkward.

If Littlefinger married Lysa Tully, controlled the Vale, and obtained Harrenhal, who could do anything to him if he didn't come back?

Send Randyll Tarly to attack the Vale?

But Randyll Tarly hasn't even completely conquered the Riverlands yet!

Without dragons, unable to fly over the Bloody Gate from the sky, no one can force the Vale to submit. Use the Mountain's method to build walls outside the Bloody Gate, station troops, and block the Vale people from coming out? How long would that take? Taking the territory outside the Vale wouldn't hurt the foundations of the Vale's nobles.

The Vale's basin is self-sufficient. If pushed too hard, they can also travel by sea through the eastern islands.

"Tommen, Petyr will come back. He has hundreds of… houses in King's Landing."

"Oh, when will he come back? The Grand Maester said that if Littlefinger doesn't come back, the royal palace must find a new Master of Coin, otherwise everything will be in chaos. Mother, are we really poor? Do we owe a lot of high-interest loans?"

"That's not true. The Westerlands have gold. Kevan will solve our money problems for us. I never worry about that."

"Oh, that's good. I feel sorry for the Grand Maester when I see him sighing! Mother, I'll tell the Grand Maester tomorrow not to worry about money. Uncle Kevan has money."

"Yes, Tommen, it's time to sleep!" Cersei said softly.

"Okay, Mother." Tommen nimbly slid off the stool and beckoned to his mother. Cersei bent down, and Tommen's red lips touched his mother's face: "Good night, Mother."

Cersei smiled sweetly and brilliantly: "Good night, my King!"

The maid led the King to rest. Cersei watched the little King's figure, her eyes filled with touching smiles.

*

The night was deep, and Cersei walked to the window, overlooking Maegor's Holdfast. The night was dark, and the patrolling soldiers occasionally called out commands. The square walls around Maegor's Holdfast were brightly lit.

Cersei looked at the night sky, thinking of Jaime Lannister.

She knew she would be sleepless again tonight.

She not only missed Jaime but also her daughter: Myrcella Baratheon. More than three hundred Dornishmen were all detained in the Stone Cells of the Red Keep. The body of the Red Viper was also collected, waiting for good news from Dorne. Cersei would then release the Red Viper's body and the three hundred Dornishmen.

Sleepless night!

Cersei's sleeplessness was a mental illness, but some places were inherently sleepless.

The Flea Bottom's underground casino was such a place.

The biggest boss who ran rampant in the Flea Bottom's underground casino was Black Bear Rolger. He specially raised a person and trained him to fight dogs. This person was named Fang.

Rolger and Fang became the chief enforcers in the Mountain's legion.

After these two left Flea Bottom, the Flea Bottom's underground casino did not disappear. It continued until Burnie Clegane, on the Mountain's order, entered Flea Bottom to take over Varys's little birds' intelligence system.

Burnie, with the Mountain's ten elite guards, mingled in Flea Bottom. It didn't take long for him to unify the Flea Bottom's rogue gangs.

After Rolger and Fang 'reformed,' one of his former underlings quickly rose to become the boss of the underground casino. This person was named Solo.

When the Mountain led his troops into King's Landing, Rolger and Fang followed. When Rolger sent a soldier to see Solo, Solo was subdued by merely flashing Rolger's name. Later, Solo became one of Burnie's underground informants, loyal and devoted. Because he understood that his real boss was actually the Mountain, who shook the Seven Kingdoms.

As the Mountain's status and prestige continued to rise, Burnie became a knight, a member of the Small Council, and Solo also rose, becoming the underground boss of Flea Bottom, recently unifying the city's underground casinos, and his business was booming, earning him a fortune every night.

The underground casino, Flea Bottom's sleepless place.

*

"Hey, brother, judging from your accent, you're from across the Narrow Sea?" A gambler slapped a silver stag on 'Big' with a snap. "It's been 'Small' for seven consecutive rounds. This time, it must be 'Big'."

In the Kingdom of Westeros, one gold dragon is equal to thirty silver stags, and one silver stag is equal to seven copper stars.

The exotic man beside the gambler was well-proportioned, wearing a slanted shoulder robe, revealing his muscular left shoulder, an arakh at his waist, and the sleeves of his robe tied neatly, speaking a broken version of the Westerosi Common Tongue.

"I am from the Dothraki," the Dothraki man placed a copper star on 'Small'. In his large palm were more than twenty copper stars, stacked neatly in several piles.

The croupier was a local, with a shrewd face and a pair of small eyes rolling around, constantly shaking a black cylinder in his hand, inside which were three dice rolling around.

"Bet on 'Big'! This round is definitely a turnaround," the local gambler familiarly advised the Dothraki man, but the other party was unmoved and looked impatient. Unfortunately, this overly friendly guy didn't stop. "Dothraki, warriors on horseback, the arakh is invincible. Are you a mercenary?"

The Dothraki man glanced at the somewhat overly enthusiastic fellow beside him and barely said: "Escorting a batch of wine from Qarth and a batch of pelts from the Night's Watch for a noble lord."

"Oh, you're making a lot of money on this trip."

The Dothraki man didn't have the patience to waste words, stared at the dealer, and stopped responding to the gambler's nagging. He didn't like to talk, especially to this Westerosi man who didn't seem comfortable.

"Any more bets?" The dealer glanced around the room, shaking the dice cup in his hand with a rattling sound.

No one wasted any more words. Everyone stared at the dealer's hand.

The small-eyed dealer shook the cup with one hand, his movements skilled. In a burst of rapid rattling, the dice cup fell with a 'thud'. He stared at the faces, these faces with rich expressions: tense, relaxed, serious, or eager. "Any more bets? Last chance to make money."

"Open 'Big'!" the nagging gambler shouted.

"'Small'!" A large group of gamblers roared.

The dealer slowly, very slowly, opened the dice cup: 'Small'!

A roar of cheers and disappointed curses sounded at the same time.

The Dothraki man won. The persistently losing gambler lost.

An hour later, the Dothraki man went upstairs. There were women from the brothels upstairs, specializing in relaxing the minds and bodies of wealthy patrons.

The Dothraki man walked upstairs, and footsteps sounded behind him. The persistently losing gambler also came.

"Dothraki warrior, you won a lot."

"Hmm!" The Dothraki man snorted, not wanting to pay attention to him.

"Let me buy you a drink. Money is just an external thing, it's nothing to me!" The persistently losing gambler snapped his fingers. He was familiar with the person in charge of the second floor, and two women immediately brought two glasses of wine.

The Dothraki man took the wine, his indifferent expression softening.

The persistently losing gambler clinked glasses with the Dothraki man: "This is our good wine. Damn it, come on, drink up."

The two rough men drank it all in one gulp.

The wine was poured again!

"I heard that dragons have appeared on the continent of Essos. Is it true?"

"Dragons? Of course, it's true." The Dothraki man's eyes lit up, and he became talkative.

"Wow, damn it, it sounds unbelievable. Dragons have really appeared?"

"Yes, we sailors all know that dragons have appeared. Some of them have seen it with their own eyes. Ships from the eastern Slaver's Bay, many people have seen those three dragons with their own eyes, a black iron dragon, a bronze dragon, and a white dragon. The owner of the dragons is a woman, once the wife of the most powerful Khal on our grasslands. She conquered Slaver's Bay with the three dragons."

"Slaver's Bay? That's far away from here! I know there's a city called Meereen in Slaver's Bay. You just said that your Khal's wife owns those terrifying dragons?"

"The Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Stormborn of Dragonstone - Daenerys Targaryen. She is currently in Slaver's Bay, liberating Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor. Daenerys's husband was married to the most powerful Khal on our grasslands: Khal Drogo. After Khal Drogo died, his khalasar abandoned their Khaleesi, but soon, the Khaleesi hatched dragons, and she now calls herself the Mother of Dragons. In Astapor, the Mother of Dragons has eight thousand Unsullied legion."

"What a legendary story, as unbelievable as the Others. I know the Unsullied. I once went across the Narrow Sea and saw the Unsullied guards. They're like mercenaries, they work for whoever pays them."

The Dothraki man laughed: "You don't know what the Unsullied are at all. They are not mercenaries, they are slave soldiers, slave warriors trained by the Astapor slave masters who are bought and sold in units of one hundred. Whoever buys them is their master. They have no freedom, they are all slaves. If the master wants him to die, he will immediately kill himself without hesitation."

The persistently losing gambler was dumbfounded!

"I heard they are all eunuchs, and their status is determined by the number of spikes on their bronze helmets."

"That's right. They are castrated from a young age and then receive training from the slave masters. Only one in three can survive the various cruel training. The successfully trained Unsullied lose their souls, thoughts, and all desires. They only know absolute obedience to their master, and they never know fear in the face of death and war."

"Why castrate them all from such a young age? It's too cruel! What's the point of a man living if he can't be intimate with women? Slave owners are so barbaric." The overly familiar gambler waved his hand, and two women came forward to pour wine and serve them.

"Castrated men don't cause as much trouble. The slave owners only want killing tools, not living beings with desires. The Unsullied never rob or rape. They are disciplined and obey their master's orders in everything they do."

"They couldn't rape even if they wanted to!" the garrulous gambler laughed. "Even if you gave them a woman, they'd be helpless."

"Don't look down on them. They are true warriors. One of our Khals once led fifty thousand elite soldiers to besiege a city, and they were stopped in formation by three thousand Unsullied. They were all infantry, armed with spears and shields, bronze armor, and short swords. They killed thousands of Dothraki cavalry, repelling wave after wave of their charges, until the bodies of horses and riders were piled up half a man high in front of them. In the end, the Khal had to withdraw, admitting defeat. After that battle, they became even more valuable."

"Wow, by the Seven Gods, what formidable fellows! They must be blessed by the Seven."

The Dothraki man glanced contemptuously at the annoying fellow beside him: "Don't think that just because they're no longer men, they don't have their own faith. They worship a goddess, whose true name they keep secret. Outsiders don't know what goddess they worship. We call their goddess 'The Lady of the Spear, the Bride of War, or the Mother of the Unsullied'."

*

As dawn broke, the overly familiar gambler walked out of the underground casino and turned into a small alley. He strode forward, and a nondescript, skinny fellow with shifty eyes and the air of a thief walked towards him.

The overly familiar gambler hummed a little tune. The two brushed past each other, and a sharp, pointed weapon suddenly stabbed into his body, causing him to shudder.

"Brother, take all the money. It's not much, two copper stars," the overly familiar gambler said. "I am Arabella, Solo's brother."

"I'm Pigou, also Solo's brother." Pigou, the shifty-eyed one, withdrew his dagger and stabbed Arabella repeatedly. The movements were smooth and flowing.

Arabella fell, his body convulsing, blood spurting from his mouth: "Wh... why...?"

Pigou didn't answer. He bent down and slashed Arabella's throat with his dagger.

Orders from above: Arabella must die!

*

The next day, the throne room. After the administrative conference, a meeting of the Small Council was convened.

The Hand, Kevan, sat at the head of the table. On either side were the Master of War, the Mountain; the Master of Laws, Mace; the Grand Maester, Qyburn; the Commander of the City Watch, Ben Plumm; the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Loras (absent); the Master of Coin, Littlefinger (absent); the Master of Whisperers, Burney; and the Master of Ships, Wagstaff.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, Osmund Kettleblack of the Kingsguard walked in, went straight to the Hand, and whispered something in his ear.

Hand Kevan nodded slightly, his heart churning, but his face remained expressionless. The body of his informant, Arabella, had been found discarded in a garbage heap in Flea Bottom. A member of a cadet branch of House Lannister – Turls Lannister, whom Kevan had placed in charge of outside intelligence – had requested to return. This was the eleventh intelligence operative he had developed to be killed.

Since Burney Clegane became Master of Whisperers, the backbone of Kevan's intelligence network had been constantly killed, and it didn't look like it would stop.

Kevan looked at the Mountain, and the Mountain was looking at him.

*

ps: No more for today.