"Bernie, give it a try!" Bernie said.
Foulmouth froze on the spot.
The exact words he had just spoken were now coming out of Bernie's mouth, down to the inflection, the rhythm, even the tone. If he hadn't known he hadn't opened his mouth, he would've thought it was himself speaking.
My gods… this guy's a natural!
"What else can you do?" Foulmouth asked, his expression full of disbelief, which Bernie found immensely satisfying.
He loved seeing others stunned by his abilities. It gave him a thrill, a sense of superiority and satisfaction. He lived for that feeling of being remarkable.
Then, one after another, Foulmouth heard barking dogs, chirping birds, rushing water, blowing wind, the clatter of hooves, the howls of wolves.
Each sound, Bernie produced flawlessly, effortlessly. Vivid and realistic.
Passersby began stopping in their tracks, drawn by the unbelievable variety and precision of the sounds.
Every noise was so lifelike that it was impossible to find a single flaw, even in the subtlest details.
This was exactly what Ser Gregor had asked for: a special talent, something unique, something unmatched.
But… what use would this be in the army?
Foulmouth couldn't figure it out.
When the enemy charges, what was he supposed to do, mimic the sound of arrows to scare them off?
Then again, that wasn't his problem to solve.
If Bernie's vocal mimicry fit the Lord's command, then that was all that mattered. No need to hesitate, bring him in.
The official draft was still five days away, but just looking into Bernie's eyes, Foulmouth could tell: this guy wasn't soldier material. A talent this rare couldn't be left behind. And even if he were to be dismissed, that call would be made by Ser Gregor himself, after seeing the talent firsthand.
"Get up. You're coming with me," Foulmouth said.
"…Where to?" Bernie's voice trembled.
Only now did he realize the terrifying aura this young man carried, an aura of someone who treated killing like sipping wine.
"I serve Ser Gregor Clegane. Where do you think we're going?"
"Are you going to punish him?" the Bull asked, stepping in front of Foulmouth protectively.
Foulmouth smirked. "Sister, can't you tell? This guy has no respect or affection for you. Best let him go."
"No," she insisted. "He's a good man. He saved my life."
"Oh really?" Foulmouth gave her a thorough once-over.
He was a man of loyalty and honor, who valued gratitude and repaid kindness. He respected people who shared that mindset, and clearly, this woman did. Even after Bernie treated her like garbage, she endured it out of gratitude for his saving her life. And now, even in danger, she stood in front of him to protect him.
"Sister, don't worry. I'm taking him to join the army," Foulmouth said.
"Really?"
"Really. Isn't that what you wanted? I'm telling you now: once he's under Ser Gregor's command, if he ever tries to bully you or desert, I guarantee he'll regret ever being born."
"You don't have to go that far… just scare him a little," the Bull said, so earnestly that Foulmouth sighed inwardly.
She was as honest and straightforward as they came.
Foulmouth had grown up on the streets. He could read people like books. And Bernie? He'd already seen straight through him.
If the Bull hadn't brought in two gold dragons that day, Bernie wouldn't have bothered coming home with her at all.
Foulmouth had tailed them long enough to figure Bernie out completely: a slick, lazy drifter. Loyalty and integrity meant nothing to him, they were like a wad of phlegm he could spit out whenever it suited him.
Bernie's eyes darted nervously. He hated being controlled and couldn't handle hardship. Ever since he'd discovered his talent for mimicry, people had fawned over him. Every household in the village welcomed him with food and drink just to hear him imitate a few voices. He'd grown up spoiled, never truly knowing struggle.
Aside from his stunted height, his vocal skills had only improved with age. As an adult, he was a master impersonator. Whatever he saw, he could mimic; whatever he heard, he could reproduce. It was uncannily real. Because of this, even Lord Banklow had taken a liking to him. He'd occasionally been invited to entertain the nobles, performing comic skits and enjoying their lavish praise, and rewards.
Thanks to his talent, Bernie had also seduced more than a few girls. The nobles laughed, the girls swooned, and the money flowed, straight into alehouses and brothels.
Though small and dwarfish in size, he was quick and agile. And while not as generous with prostitutes as the infamous Tyrion Lannister, he wasn't stingy either.
But today, luck had turned on him. Foulmouth had seen straight through him. If Bernie wanted to escape now, there was only one way: bite his tongue and kill himself.
But Bernie was a coward. He valued his life, and he hated pain. So, that was out of the question.
Fine. He'd go.
The Bull was still uneasy. Foulmouth, fond of this strong, simple, and kindhearted woman, called for her to come along to Casterly Rock.
When Ser Gregor had sent Foulmouth out, he'd said: if the sturdy woman was from a poor background, or could be persuaded, bring her back to serve as Lady Jeyne's maid.
Gregor had a sharp eye for people. A loyal and uncomplicated woman like her would make a perfect servant: someone who would protect her mistress even without being told.
She was tall and muscular, stronger than most men. With a bit of training, no ordinary person could best her. Loyal and blunt, she was the kind of presence that gave Gregor peace of mind. And with his responsibilities increasing, Lady Jeyne would need more than one fiercely loyal maid.
═══════✧❁✧═══════
That night.
Inside Gregor's chambers.
Bernie stood before him like a doll , trembling before a towering giant.
The size difference was comical, if not for the overwhelming dread in the air.
Only now, face to face, did Bernie feel the real pressure.
Back in the crowd of thousands, watching Gregor from a balcony, his aura had been diffused. But now, up close? Bernie felt like dying.
"Listen to me carefully," Gregor said. "If you ever lay a finger on her again, I'll cut off every one of your fingers."
Bernie couldn't speak. He knew that when Gregor said something, it was law. If he ever struck the Bull again, his hands would not remain attached to his arms.
"And you, stop calling her 'the Bull.' If Bernie dares use that name again, let me know. I'll cut out his tongue."
Lady Jeyne interjected, smiling, "Gregor, don't scare the newlyweds. Since she's so happy and willing to serve as my maid, I'll give her a new name. Considering how patient and forgiving she's been toward her husband, let's call her Griselda. From today on, Griselda, you are my sister."
"Thank you, Lady Jeyne," Griselda said, eyes welling with tears.
She was truly happy and grateful to be her maid.
Gregor tapped the terrified Bernie on the head.
"Bernie, your wife is now my wife's sister. Do you still think you can just hit her or insult her as you please? Let me tell you something, listen well. From now on, your entire soldier's pay will go to your wife. No brothels. You may drink, but you may not seduce girls. I know all your dirty tricks. I see right through you."
Bernie felt like he couldn't breathe. His head buzzed. The change was too sudden, too shocking. His little heart needed time to catch up.
"Now then," Gregor continued, "starting now, you are my wine steward. Tomorrow morning, the two of you will begin dagger combat training. Bernie, your vocal talents can be used to entertain, but never to boast or manipulate. Understood?"
"…Yes… Ser Gregor…" Bernie stammered, feeling like he was standing on a pile of cotton.
"Good. Bernie, take Griselda back to your quarters and sleep. Be good tonight. Don't you dare mistreat her."
Lady Jeyne laughed. "Bernie, if you bully Griselda again… I'll know."
Bernie quickly swore up and down, promising the couple he would never harm Griselda again, no hitting, no insults, no humiliation. Only kindness and devotion.
As the two newlyweds left meekly, Gregor felt incredibly satisfied. Bernie's unique gift, in the coming wars across the Seven Kingdoms, could prove more useful than an entire army.
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