"What are your doing, Pate?" Pup asked. Half past midnight and he was rounding up his men, or at least the archers who had to compete early in the morning. Pup expected them to run a bit wild at tournament. He hadn't expected to find a man who was supposed to be back home, minding Clegane Keep.

"Making room for more ale." Pate sniggered, after vomiting in the alley.

Pup had brought his family, retainers, and best fighting men to the harvest tournament in Silverfield. It was a minor tourney, not like the kind he had often been to at Casterly Rock and Lannisport, before the War Between the Lions. But he preferred to go to smaller events where his men, still green, could do well. At least that is what he told Baelor. Pup could never take Piety to a big tournament in the northern half of Westerland - someone might recognize her. This was her first time away from Clegane lands since he brought her home after the war, nearly eight years ago. He had wanted to take her out and show her the countryside, let her wander freely among vendors, and be entertained with song and dance. He wanted to do something nice for her, and he thought the time and place was safe.

Pup put a big hand on Pate's chest, stopping him from returning to the makeshift tavern set up among the tournaments tent camp.

"What are you doing here, stinkin' drunk and telling stories?"

"I was bored at the Keep." Pate whined. "Ain't been to tourney in years. Missed out on the bit of fun against Greyjoy..."

"Because you were so drunk you missed the boat."

"Yeah, sad to say but I blame Fulk - we was drinking partners and he was supposed to be soberer 'n me that time. "

"He wasn't, and if he hadn't been such a drunkard on the ship, he might have pulled through."

"Really? 'Cause I thought he died of wagging tongue, not sea sickness."

Pup grabbed Pate by his throat and lifted him onto his toes. Not off the ground, though that would have been easy. It was just a little threat.

"If you think wagging tongue is so deadly, why were you wagging yours in that tavern?"

"Was I?" Pate was sobering up. "No, I wern't. I wern't, I'm sure."

"Talking about pretty Lady Clegane, who plays the harp like highborn, but don't know Rains of Castamere 'cause no one's allowed to sing it in front of her? How does that sound, Pate?"

"Was only you who took that wrong. It don't mean a thing. Lots of ladies don't sing war songs, don't like 'em."

"You were very specific, Pate."

"Spessi what? Don't you talk nice, kennel boy. Learned to read and talk nice as a squire. Talking even nicer around the wife. Getting so I can't make out a word you say, but we come from the same place."

"Yes we do, so you know not to fuck with me and mine, don't you, Pate?"

"Fuck you, talking to me like that!" Pate spit out. "I know who you are. Your old man's true father was a Wildling. And his ma? Some Astapori whore, what come free with a pack of hounds." He chuckled. "They called her 'desert soil' - easy to plow but nothing grows. Nothing 'cept your Pa. No one ever seen such a mutt as yer father. Half the kennel men and stable boys at the Rock was afeared your father was theirs, 'til they saw how big he was and knew the Wildling had done it. Clegane is the name of the man what owned your people. Not your name, no. Cleganes... ain't you fucked up? Your old man, pretending to be all uppity landed noble now, when he's a slave's bastard. And you? You get your dirty paws on a highborn girl and try to pass her off as a camp slut. Can't decide if you're clawing your way up or clawing your way down, can you?"

Pate laughed. He was sober enough to know what he was saying. He'd wanted to say it for a long time, until it started eating him up. They'd grown up together, running barefoot among the hounds and the horses. Cleganes were the lowest born servants at the Rock and his mother didn't like him playing with those boys. Now Pup Clegane was a knight with nearly one hundred men in his service and Pate barely had a seat at his table.

"You can't pass for a Ser without all that armor on, can you? Not on your best day, and we both know it. But your pretty wife can pass for a whore now that you broke her in and learned her to like it rough, eh?"

Now Pate's feet left the ground. It should have made him come to his senses, but it didn't.

"You should tell Tywin Lannister." Pate winked, "He won't be mad, old friend. Think about it - Courage Reyne's daughter spreading her legs for a slave's grandson? Whelping little bastards? Your children are bastards cause your marriage was done with false names. I asked a Septon once, as a lark. That's worse fate than killing her, in noble folks' eyes. Tywin will get a laugh out of it, he will. I laugh so hard about it sometimes, I piss myself."

"Piss on this." he tightened his grip on Pate's throat, not enough to crush, just enough to keep him from screaming over what came next.

(******)

Piety stirred in the cot as her husband slipped under the covers.

"Hmmm, did you find them?" she asked.

"Aye." he said and she thought his voice cracked. She reached over to touch him and his hair was wet. He'd put himself under the pump before coming in to the tent. She reckoned he'd been washing off ale, after joining his men for a final round.

"Is everything all right? Was there trouble?" she asked. Men could get into arguments so quickly when they came together to compete. Old rivalries were remembered, and new ones started.

"Go back to sleep." he whispered.

"I can't. I'm wide awake. Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Pup's mind was racing. Specific. Pate was very specific. Piety could have been any of a dozen Reyne relations, any of a score of knights' daughter, even a servant of the nobles would be pretty and refined. Why was Pate so sure Pup's wife was Piety Reyne, of all people? Had he slipped? Had Piety slipped? Then he recalled the slow song playing as he spotted Pate in the tavern.

A pious girl, her virtue kept,

prayed silently within the Sept.

The girl whose death he did feign,

and help escape from Castle Reyne.

A damned song...

With skin of wheat and honey hair,

The novice loved the maiden fair.

Her harp did make the free bird sing,

each eye invoked a golden ring.

Piety kissed him, troubled that he was troubled.

"Such a patient man, you are. I am slow. Slow to tell you things you need to hear from me." She put his hand on her belly, just starting to swell with their third child. "I love you."

He did not say anything. He had felt everything he possibly could for this woman. He had hated her when he first saw her. He had seen so many men and horses and dogs die during that brutal war, die for those noble bastards and their spoiled wives and capriciously cruel children. These were the kind who looked down on and abused his family. He wanted to make one of them pay for it all. He wanted to make her beg, and she did beg him, that last night of the war. She begged him not to hurt her so he raped her. She begged him to kill her so he refused. That was the only reason she lived through the night - until the dawn came and the anger burned away.

When he looked at the broken girl in the morning light, he could not believe what he had done. That was how evil men treated poor women like his grandmother. He, of all people, should have known better. He was ashamed of himself and afraid of the monster that had been inside him. He always feared that something like this would happen, because he knew that slave-blood was only ever half slave-blood. The other half was that of the worst abusers and defilers that ever lived. That was his true heritage, and he'd been fighting it since he was a child.

He took Piety to safety as his penance. He pitied her. He was anguished when he learned she was carrying his child. He took her choices away from her, thinking this had to be the will of The Seven. His guilt nearly crushed him when he saw her suffer in childbed. He was confused and disappointed that she did not love Gregor the way Aelinor had loved Baelor. But he came to respect her as she healed herself. He was grateful for her hard work in making their home comfortable. He admired her generosity, and many small acts of kindness. He felt a great weight lift from his soul when she forgave him. He enjoyed her friendship and then the pleasure of her body, freely given. He knew he loved her. But it did not feel holy, like forgiveness of the Gods should. He loved her so much, he had just killed his oldest friend to protect her. One monster died in him but another was waking up. Seven men had seen him take Piety from Castamere, and he'd had to kill three of them. He wasn't going to wait until fear or greed or jealously tempted the rest into betrayal. He was going to kill them all for love of her.

"You are thinking too much again, husband." Piety whispered. "Don't try to tell me how you feel. Show me." and she kissed him.

She had no idea what he was thinking. She never could guess what was in his mind.

(*********)

Piety sat with her father-in-law after the funeral. "You did well today, Father." she complimented him.

He'd given the eulogy for Pup's men that had died in the rockslide. Terrible tragedy. Baelor was not much for public speaking, but he came up with the words, heartfelt and sincere. The Septon conducted a beautiful service, and the men were put in the ground. They were the last four of the old guard, as Baelor liked to call them, the first soldiers to come to Clegane Keep. They were men they knew from the Rock who were looking to get ahead in this world. They wanted a chance to work their own land, or fight for their own glory instead of being stuck polishing the boots of soldiers and knights.

The only other old guard was Pate, and he had disappeared on them a few months ago, while the family was away at tourney.

'Good riddance to him.', Baelor thought. Pup should have let him go a long while back, but Pup was loyal. Baelor didn't like Pate's attitude, always making jokes about where the Cleganes came from, and looking Glynnia up and down like she was a fine draught of ale. Made the lass uncomfortable, though she would not say anything about it. Never a word of complaint from her.

Pup could not be at the funeral. He was sick. He had stayed out in the pouring rain trying to dig the men out, even after it was clear none could have survived. Pup took it hard, blamed himself. But the rains had been heavy and no one could have predicted that the mountain road would wash out like it did. Pup was lucky he was not dragged down with them.

"I'm going to check on my boy." Baelor said. It had been hard to convince Glynnia not to tend to her husband, but she was with child and the maester told her to stay away from Pup and leave the nursing to a Septa. Glynnia slept in her old bedroom, now Lanna's room.

Baelor climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, reminded of why he chose to bunk on the ground floor. Stairs were hard on his stump. Pup liked the highest room, though, picked it for himself when he was barely sixteen and came to the finished Keep for the first time. He'd been so proud of his father's accomplishments and their new home.

Baelor knocked softly and was let in by the Septa.

"He's not eating." she told him.

"You're giving him broth like he's some frail infant, woman. He's the biggest damned knight in the Westerlands. Fetch him a steak and some ale from the kitchen, and he'll eat."

The Septa took off in a huff.

That will keep her a while, Baelor thought. Besides, he knew he had the right idea. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Pup's head.

"Fever broke. That's good. You'll be on your feet tomorrow." Baelor patted his son on the shoulder. He wasn't sure Pup was listening. Baelor thought he did not want to know the answer to the question that was nagging him, but he asked it anyway. "Do you remember what happened?"

Pup turned away.

"I had a good talk with Septon Daemus, and the men, including the lead lumber man. They wanted you to know, the work we've been putting into that mountain - it's put roofs over heads and food in bellies for years, and will for years to come. You never know what the Seven plan, but life is good here, better than most places."

"I love Glynnia." Pup said.

Baelor laughed. "You say it like you're confessing a sin. A man is supposed to love his wife."

"She said she loved me. She'd seen the worst of me and she could still love me. But she hadn't seen the worst of me. You won't tell her, will you?"

By the Seven, Pup could be strange. Why was he pairing talk of Glynnia with talk of the accident? Baelor had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Those four men were among the fifty that had followed Pup in the War Between the Lions. They'd been in the smaller group that returned home last, lagging behind with the supplies and spoils. They had been with Pup when he picked up Glynnia, that orphan girl by the side of the road.

Glynnia had turned into the perfect Lady Clegane. She knew all the soldiers by name, knew their families, even knew the names of their horses and dogs. But those four might as well have been invisible to her. Baelor never saw her speak to them. Now they were gone, with whatever secrets they might have held.

"You're an easy one to love, you are." Baelor assured his son. "You protect your family. There's nothing else to tell."

Sometimes he forgot that this big hulking man had been just a little boy when his loved ones began to die one by one. Children don't completely recover from that, Audra had told him once, and she would know.

Bolt had been such a perfect blend of all of his grandparents, and all of their strengths. But Pup was different, as if he got something rare from the very soul of each of them. He was always looking over his shoulder, like Audra's haunted mother, Evlyn. He was smart like Aelinor - mapped out those mountain passes better than the surveyor. Pup seemed to calculate what people were thinking, like Audra's father did on the battlefield. Baelor did not want to imagine what Pup might have got from the Thenn.

But Pup maybe had something else that Baelor did not want to think about - the other part of Aelinor. Baelor's mother was deadly as a viper. She admitted to Baelor that she overcame her fear of the fighting dogs, trained them to work in groups of three, and within a month, they tore apart that Thenn. Aelinor had to protect her unborn child from its father, knowing the next rape might make her lose the baby. Aelinor never felt guilty about that, or any other murder she'd played a part in, and there had been more than just her Master's free-born son.

Pup wasn't as free in his soul as slave-born Aelinor, though. Pup suffered guilt the way Audra had, like chains around him. Baelor wished he could take them off, but he didn't know how. He had not tried to fix what he did not realize was broken since childhood. He had no idea how many chains were on his son.