The flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows on the low, timbered walls of the inn. Gresella Clegane, the Mountain, sat at the rough-hewn table, her broad shoulders hunched as she devoured a hunk of bread and meat. Her armor, bloodied from the recent sack of a nearby castle, still gleamed in the firelight. Around her, the stench of sweat and iron mingled with the scent of burning wood.

The owner, pale and trembling, stood at the counter, his hands shaking as he refilled Gresella's goblet, his eyes darting nervously to the men sprawled about the room. His son, a boy, did his best to appear steady as he served the Mountain's men, though his fear was evident in every clumsy movement.

"Make sure it's enough wine," Gresella growled at the owner, her voice a low rumble that sent a chill through the room. "Or I’ll be tasting more than just your wares tonight."

The owner’s eyes flickered to his son, who silently poured another drink for the Clegane woman’s men. She knew the mountain was no kind woman so he of course feared for his son's life. As Gresella Clegane took another swig from her goblet, she leaned back in her chair, her gaze settling on the nervous serving boy.