"My Lord, Tywin sent this man to insult you. Should we throw him out?" Sandor Clegane muttered, leaning close to Jon's ear.
Jon looked around at his council of nobles and commanders. Every face was grim.
Black Walder Frey, living up to his name, wore an expression darker than usual. He had volunteered to lead the first wave of the assault today, only to return with over three hundred casualties. Old Lord Walder would likely flay him with words when he heard the news—unless they managed to take Casterly Rock.
Others, like Brynden Tully, believed they should have focused on seizing as much territory as possible rather than wasting time and men on this impregnable fortress. They felt there was no profit to be made here.
If Jon simply dismissed the envoy without a strong response, it might damage morale.
"No," Jon said calmly. "Let him in."
When Addam Marbrand entered the tent and saw Jon, Loras, Garlan, and the others—men his age or even younger—a sense of disdain rose within him. In his eyes, these boys could never breach Casterly Rock, not while Tywin Lannister himself held it.
They might siege the Rock for a year or two, but eventually, they would have to leave. Even if they had the supplies, soldiers could not endure endless war.
The day's battle had already proven that Jon was helpless against their defenses. He had even foolishly wasted his efforts attacking a worthless target.
Thinking this, the fear inspired by Jon's battlefield reputation began to fade.
Under the gaze of the assembled lords, Addam spoke with a haughty tone. "Lord Jon, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, has bid me tell you this: Casterly Rock is not something you can touch. It is not a place a bastard can defile! You did well to trick Ser Daven and enter the Westerlands, but if you do not wish to die beneath our walls, you should retreat while you can. Lord Tywin says if you are willing to remain in the West as a bannerman, he might grant you the Golden Tooth as your seat."
As Addam spoke, his eyes darted nervously to his attendant. If not for this spy watching him, he would have spoken more politely.
But he had to report back to Tywin. He had no choice but to deliver the insults verbatim.
Given Jon's current status, it wasn't his place to stoop to arguing with a messenger.
"Our Lord was legitimized by King Stannis long ago," Martin Rivers retorted sharply. "Unlike Tywin's precious 'Kingslayer' son! Fucking his own sister whenever he pleases—who does he think he is, a Targaryen?!"
Jon's eyelid twitched slightly. Well said, Martin. Don't say it again.
"I think you and Tywin have lived too long!" Sandor growled menacingly, stepping forward.
He was not just Jon's captain of the guard; he was his enforcer. Jon didn't like him calling himself a "dog," but Sandor knew when to show his teeth.
Before anyone could react, Sandor's heavy hand clamped onto Addam's shoulder.
Addam looked up at the giant towering over him and instinctively shrank back.
The sight of that burned, twisted face was enough to give a man nightmares for three days.
Addam had served in the Lannister army for years and knew of the Hound, but he had never been this close.
"Sandor," Jon said from his chair, raising a hand to stop him.
Seeing that Jon was reasonable, Addam breathed a sigh of relief. He softened his tone, trying to be more respectful. "Lord Jon, perhaps you do not know. Casterly Rock does not rely on those wells or springs for water. That water is merely... sweeter. Our true water comes from the rains granted by the gods. Unless you can fly into the sky and stop the rain, you will never thirst us out."
Addam glanced around the room, then lowered his head, signaling he had said his piece.
To everyone's surprise, Jon chuckled. "Heh. As a matter of fact, I do have a way to stop the rain."
"What?" Addam blinked, thinking he had misheard. The others in the tent looked at Jon with equal confusion.
Loras Tyrell scratched his ear, certain he had heard wrong.
In the corner, even Melisandre, usually as still as a statue, showed a flicker of human curiosity for the first time.
"By the way, what is your name?" Jon asked.
"A-Addam."
"Addam, do you know? The stronger the fortress, the easier it is to break from within. If you are willing to help me, to help me secure my title as Lord of Casterly Rock, there will be a place for you at my side."
"That is impossible, my Lord. I am a Lannister. I will never bend the knee to you," Addam said stiffly, realizing Jon was trying to turn him.
Through his raven spies, Jon already knew everything about this Addam. But arguing with him now would be beneath his dignity.
"Fine. Just remember, my offer stands."
Jon waved his hand dismissively.
Neither Addam nor Jon's own commanders—Brynden, Black Walder—believed him.
Stop the rain from the sky?
Was he joking?
Intercepting water on the ground was hard enough.
Jon didn't bother explaining. He signaled for the envoy to leave.
Once Addam was gone, Brynden could no longer hold back. "Jon... Lord Jon, do you truly have a way to stop the rain?"
Jon had proven himself a capable commander. He had avenged his father and even declined a dukedom once before. In their eyes, he was an honorable man, not prone to boasting.
Even Loras, who had been muttering about Jon bluffing, looked at him with a hint of expectation. He didn't like Jon, but he admitted the bastard didn't usually lie.
Could he really stop the rain?
Jon noticed even Melisandre was watching him with interest.
"Yes, I can. But to stop the rain in the sky, I need ships on the water," Jon said cryptically, sounding almost like a line from a song. He turned to Garlan. "Ser Garlan, has Lord Redwyne's fleet set sail?"
"Yes," Garlan nodded. "They likely stopped at Highgarden for supplies, but they should be here soon."
"Why do you need ships to stop the rain?" Loras asked, his curiosity getting the better of him despite his skepticism. "How does that work?"