King's Landing, 287 AL.
Alexios.
"If your enemy cry about honour, fighting them like a real man or your supposed cowardice, continue what you are doing. It is because you are winning, and they don't like either losing or having to adapt." Captain Alexios Andreios.
The house had been a coach and wagon repair shop and the large spaces on the lower floor under arched stone and brick roofs suited the Captain and his recruits well. The garden at the back was also good for verious exercises, such as setting up camp after two or three full days without sleep. One of the two forges had been converted to a kitchen, while the other served to repair the equipment of the recruits.
The dozen or so recruits were mostly young men from a commoner background. He made clear that the position paid well, but also required tolerating very, very hard training and even harsher discipline. He had to fire two men who had an attitude and would not cease even after a good beating or two. Another had proven to have run from a crime. He did not oppose taking in criminals, but as was as usual garnishing most of the rapist's wages and paid them in restitution to the victim and her family.
Training was going well and after a lengthy session of a reverse tug-of-war, where they split in two teams and made two shield walls and tried to break through or push over the other side they had taken a common bath, shared stories, eaten well and then it was time for the week's pay and then the men's night and following day off. A bit more than six weeks had passed since he and the Equites had found themselves in this place, and he was finding his routine quite well. He sat at the simple table with coins stacked up and gave each man his due as they came up from the line. The men, except the two on guard duty left to drink or visit their parents (he did not recruit married men if he could avoid it) and he sat down with some leather straps and a bag of newly made steel lamellar plates to make a new cuirass for one of the lads who was still growing, and had added quite a bit of girth around his chest from the physical training and large amounts of food with lots of beans, peas and meat.
"Someone to see you, Captain." one of the guards said and he looked up from his work.
"Send him in." he replied. The guard nodded. It was usually someone trying to get to the Equites through him – with business offers, requests for loans or charity, sometimes someone selling something or someone wanting him to take care of a crime or extract vengeance. He usually rebuffed them.
The young man who entered was already taller than himself, and almost as wide. He wore his hair long to hide disfiguring scars on the side of his face. He seemed well fed – of course, it was rare for the lower class to grow that large with less meat and dairy and the frequent disease and malnourishment to stunt your growth – and strong.
"Your business?" he asked, letting any facade of politeness and concern fall.
"I heard you beat my brother. Messed up his face with pebbles." the young man said.
"And now you are here for revenge?" the Captain asked back. That was unfortunately not common, but families tended to learn after losing two or three sons.
"No." the large young man replied.
"Then why are you here?" the Captain looked at the young man – or youth, rather, his patience wearing a bit thin. Two men of few words seemed to be a bad mix when you wanted to get things done and away with.
"I heard you were recruiting." the youngster finally said.
The Captain nodded. Interesting. "I am. Do you think you can pass my tests?"
The young man shrugged. "I'd like to try." The Captain smiled a grin that his stiff scars turned into a bloodthirsty grimace. The young man met the gaze of the man, and did not waver. The grimace made the las feel equally afraid and excited for what might come. There had been stories. Numerous stories. The lad had no idea how many of them were true.
"Your name?" he asked.
"Sandor Clegane." he replied, still meeting the strong brown-eyed gaze of the older soldier.
"Very well, Aspirant Clegane." the Captain said, put down the steel lamellar plates at the table and rose. "We start immediately." A man with a last name was usually a Lord, or his family, and this man was evidently, or at least claimed to be, the brother of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Lordlings did usually not take well to unlearning their duellist ways nor to taking orders without question, and he had already failed one or two that tried to become recruits.
The young man nodded.
"First of all, we cut your hair. Kaisar's Condottieri will not have hair or beard long enough to be grabbed in combat. It could be a disadvantage that kills you."
The younger man did not look to happy, but eventually nodded and sat down on a chair the Captain placed on the middle of the floor and pointed at. Producing a sharp pair of scissors the Captain quickly snipped the young man's hair short.
"You wore it long to hide your scars?" he asked.
"Yes." the young man replied.
"Why?" he asked as he finished the haircut.
"They're ugly." the young man said with a shrug. The Captain walked around him and with a hand signalled him to rise. Then he drew two fingers over his own scars in the face.
"Wear your scars with pride, Aspirant Clegane. Someone tried to kill or break you. Are you dead? Are you broken?"
"I am alive. But I don't think I am whole." the young man's shoulders slumped.
"Do you fear and obey the one who did it to you?" the Captain asked.
"I hate him." there was fire in the dark eyes of Aspirant Clegane now.
"Good. You are not broken. Let your hate burn, draw strength from it. Stand straight and tall with your scars. Let them be yours. Did you break, Aspirant Clegane?" he said, raising his voice.
"No!" the young man replied back, and straightened his back and squared his shoulders.
"That is, 'No, Captain!' to you, Aspirant." he bellowed.
"No, Captain!" the young man replied, equally loud.
"You're quick. Good. Now, we'll find you some equipment, then we'll go for a little run." he said with a predatory smile. The young man was not sure wether or not the scars in the Captains face was responsible for that smile being predatory.
He grabbed a torch and lit it in the still smoldering forge and brought it up close to their faces as they walked towards the heavy door of the storage. As the toch came close to Aspirant Clegane, he flinched.
He eyed the young man a bit, stopped and brought the torch close again. The Aspirant flinched again.
"Are you afraid of fire, Aspirant Clegane?"
The young man clenched his teeth, but did not reply. So he brought the torch close again and the Aspirant flinched again.
"Fear lives in all of us." he said with a dark tone and opened the door, shoving the young man in front of him. "Discipline overcomes fear, but it must be learned. We fix this. Now." he said, closing the heavy door behind them.
Up on the second floor, Equites Lysander Asimachos was at work, writing a letter when the stone walls of the entire building trembled as a muffled roar could be heard from down below. He rolled his eyes a bit and sighed, and went back to work. 'Andreios and his methods.' He thought as it was repeated.
