To secretly mine, or even openly mine, gold, the first thing one needed was people. The second: money.
Gregor had neither.
But with enough money, people would come. So, at the root of it all, he needed wealth.
Gregor watched as Ado Serrett clinked tankards with Raff the Sweetling, arms slung over each other like old friends. Raff's silver tongue was something the nobles loved, Lord Tywin among them.
There was a saying in his past life's homeland: "Flattery will get you everywhere." That principle, he found, held true in this world as well.
The only hitch? Raff the Sweetling was a commoner.
But that didn't matter to Gregor. He had already made up his mind to promote Raff, to put that gift of gab to good use in high society. If he was to build power and wealth, he needed someone like Raff working the room.
Back in his previous life, during a college internship selling insurance, the company manager often spoke about "salesmanship." There were two levels: the lower was selling products; the higher, selling yourself.
Raff was a natural at the latter.
Gregor was a man of action. No hesitation. No delay. He was known as a villain, a brute, a monster. The upside of such a reputation? He didn't have to care what anyone thought.
He rose from his seat, towering and broad, like a god of war made flesh.
"Thomasson. Bring me my sword."
"Yes, milord." Thomasson answered with due reverence.
Everyone at the table froze. Shocked.
Ado Serrett turned pale.
He feared Gregor. Feared death. He looked to Raff with pleading eyes, hoping the man he'd just shared ribald jokes and bawdy songs with might speak up for him.
Thomasson returned, struggling under the weight of Gregor's massive greatsword, longer than a man was tall.
Gregor took it in one hand as if it weighed nothing.
"Raff. Kneel."
Raff 's full name was Rafford, but most simply called him Raff. Like many commoners, he had no surname.
Raff rose and dropped to one knee.
"I hereby bestow upon you the honor of knighthood." Gregor declared. "Let Maester Harry and Ser Ado Serrett stand as witnesses."
Raff was stunned, joy bursting in his chest like fireworks. He felt as if he might float right off the ground.
Maester Harry scrambled to his feet, rushing to fetch the prayer book. Knightings required a formal oath; long, ceremonious. Gregor hadn't warned anyone, so Harry was entirely unprepared.
Ado Serrett, meanwhile, felt the blood rush back to his head. His spine was soaked in cold sweat. Relief flooded him.
Elsewhere around the hall, the executioner Dunsen, the quiet scribe Mark, and the ever-loyal Polliver all looked on with envy. Each had dreamed of being knighted by Ser Gregor, their idol. And more than anything, they hoped one day he would grant them a surname, Clegane.
All four of Gregor's closest men had no surnames, no noble standing. Mark could do basic sums, but his literacy was still poor.
…
In this world, there was no multiplication table like in Gregor's past life. Instead, calculations were done through a strange method of intersecting lines.
For example: 11 × 11.
You'd draw two vertical lines for the multiplier's tens and ones, then two horizontal lines for the multiplicand. Count the intersecting dots, bottom right for ones, the sum of top right and bottom left for tens, and top left for hundreds. The result: 121.
With his modern scientific education, Gregor held a huge intellectual edge over the Maesters of this world. In Oldtown's Citadel, he could easily earn himself a chain as a maester.
Math. Mechanics. Physics. Chemistry. Poetry. Storytelling, he could dominate them all.
…
In front of the gathered men, Gregor laid his greatsword across Raff's shoulder.
He spoke a line of the knight's oath.
Raff repeated.
Again. And again.
When the final vow was spoken, Gregor tapped the blade gently on Raff's right and left shoulder, then raised it above his head.
"Rise, Ser Rafford Clegane."
Raff froze. Stunned.
He had been granted the Clegane name.
Dunsen, Mark, and Polliver were thunderstruck. Jealous beyond words.
Not only had Gregor knighted Raff, he had also given him his surname. That was the greatest honor of all.
Raff, usually so glib, was speechless. But inside, he was ablaze with joy.
For this name, for this glory, he would die for Gregor a hundred times over, willingly.
"Congratulations, Ser Raff." said Ado Serrett, clapping.
Maester Harry, Julie, Thomasson, Dunsen, Mark, and Polliver all joined in, applauding the newly-dubbed Ser Raff Clegane.
Like Ado, Raff was now a knight. The difference? Raff was a landless knight; Ado held property.
…
The higher the rank of the person doing the knighting, the greater the honor for the knight.
Gregor himself had been knighted by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen of the former dynasty, a distinction orchestrated by Lord Tywin Lannister himself.
Outside of a king, there was no one more prestigious.
Just a year later, Rhaegar was slain by Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident. Tywin, ever the pragmatist, chose the winning side.
He led the armies of the West in feigned surrender to King Aerys. Then, to help Robert establish a new and "righteous" regime, Tywin allowed Gregor to handle the dirty work.
Gregor murdered Rhaegar's infant son. He raped and killed the prince's wife.
Tywin had passed on the chance to knight Gregor himself, letting Rhaegar do it instead, proof of how much he valued his rabid dog.
…
Now, Raff's face flushed, the veins on his neck bulging. The words he spoke trembled with emotion.
"My Ser Gregor, I, Raff the Sweetling, once again swear upon the Seven, upon the old gods and the new:
No matter what trials lie ahead, no matter how strong the enemies we face, even if the Silverhills crumble or the Sunset Sea dries to dust, my loyalty to you will never waver.
In your darkest hour, I will not hesitate to give my life for you."
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