CHAPTER 90
Deepwood Motte, Hall of a Thousand Beasts.
Garon sat at the head of the hall, looking down at the four clan chiefs whose expressions were somewhat awkward.
"You intend to withdraw your troops?"
The four exchanged glances before the chief of the Forest Clan finally spoke first.
"Yes, Lord Garon."
He looked at Garon warily and explained, "We answered the ancient oaths and came here, but the North's southern campaign does not involve us, and there is no war at Deepwood Motte now. It would be better for us to return to our clans first."
Garon shifted his gaze toward the other three chiefs and asked, "Is that your intention as well?"
The chief of the Tree Trunk Clan nodded. "Yes, it has already been more than half a month since we returned from Winterfell. We cannot remain here forever."
The chief of the Tree Clan quickly followed up. "It is not that we are unwilling to stay, but there truly is no battle here. Instead of remaining idle, we might as well return home."
The chief of the Branch Clan also echoed their thoughts. "Now that the long summer is nearing its end, we must also prepare supplies for winter so our people can survive the cold season. Lord, we truly do not have time to continue delaying here!"
The four clan chiefs spoke one after another, all hoping Garon would permit them to lead their men back to their clans.
Garon listened with a headache forming behind his eyes. He naturally understood that these reasons were merely excuses.
Ever since returning from Winterfell, the four chiefs had already wanted to take their newly conscripted soldiers back home.
However, Garon had long sensed that a great war was approaching, so how could he possibly allow them to leave?
Thus, relying on his prestige and authority, he forcibly kept them stationed at Deepwood Motte.
But ten days had passed, and not only had no Ironborn landed, not even a single kraken sail had appeared along the coast.
Meanwhile, every single day at Deepwood Motte consisted of nothing but relentless drilling and military training.
For soldiers already accustomed to discipline, this was nothing unusual.
But for these newly conscripted clansmen, the training was unbearable.
At first, they endured it because they believed war was imminent.
Yet now there was still no sign of battle, and they were still forced to maintain such grueling routines every day. Naturally, resentment had begun to spread among them.
So the clansmen sought out their respective chiefs and pressured them to lead everyone home.
Faced with such pressure from their own people, even the clan chiefs found it difficult to continue resisting.
That was why the four of them had finally come together today to speak with Garon directly.
"I understand what you mean."
Garon frowned and patiently tried to persuade them.
"But you are all aware of the current situation. The Iron Islands may attack at any moment. I need your support!"
He paused, carefully observing the expressions on their faces before continuing.
"As for winter supplies, you do not need to worry. I guarantee that when winter arrives, I will provide enough provisions for your clans."
"I am sure all of you know that I have already ordered wooden houses built precisely so your people will have shelter when winter comes."
Hearing him speak to this extent, the chief of the Forest Clan finally stopped hiding his true thoughts.
"Lord, then I shall speak plainly."
"It is not about the supplies. It is the training."
His face was troubled as he sighed.
"The daily drills are simply too harsh. The children cannot endure them anymore."
The chief of the Tree Clan also sighed and added his own complaints.
"As for supplies, we recently stockpiled enough furs to exchange for necessities. That alone should be enough to survive the winter."
He paused before continuing.
"Lord, I understand that soldiers need training, but does it truly need to be this strict?"
"Amos from my clan was whipped ten times simply for arriving one minute late, and now he is still lying in bed unable to move."
"He is the finest hunter in my clan. Every day he remains bedridden means his family goes hungry."
The chiefs of the other two clans also nodded repeatedly in agreement.
"That is right. Many men from my clan have complained about being assigned to clean latrines."
"Lord, my people are excellent hunters. In the Wolfswood, they can smell prey from a mile away. Yet now they are forced to stand in formation like women?"
"Exactly! Before, we tolerated it because we were told the training was necessary to impress Winterfell. But now we have already returned, so why are we still learning these cursed formations?"
"Lord Garon, Lord Galbart never trained soldiers like this…"
As complaints and doubts filled the hall one after another, the mention of Galbart caused anger to flash across Garon's face.
However, he quickly suppressed his emotions and sighed inwardly.
"So this really is the issue…"
Just yesterday, Robert and Jon had already warned him that more and more of the conscripted soldiers had recently begun violating military discipline and openly disobeying orders.
Jon was especially worried that continuing to enforce such harsh punishments would eventually provoke outright resentment among them.
"My vassal's vassal is not my vassal. These men are not fighting for me, but for their clan chiefs."
"Simply applying pressure cannot solve everything."
"It seems I need to find another method."
Garon fell silent for a moment, his eyes sweeping across the determined yet pragmatic faces of the four chiefs.
Then he suddenly understood.
It was not that they were unwilling to train.
They simply could not see any value in remaining here and continuing this training.
What they needed were practical and immediate benefits.
Garon's thoughts raced, and he quickly decided to change his approach.
He took a deep breath as the anger faded from his expression, replaced instead by the shrewd look of a merchant negotiating business.
"Clan Chiefs."
His tone softened noticeably.
"You are correct. Exceptional hunters should not be wasted cleaning latrines. Wolfswood furs, especially those from this season, are of exceptional quality and can fetch very high prices in White Harbor or even King's Landing."
The four chiefs froze, clearly not expecting him to suddenly change the subject, and looked at him in confusion.
Garon stepped down from the high seat and walked toward the long table. He picked up a jug and calmly poured five cups of ale as though casually chatting.
"The long summer is ending, and an unprecedented winter is approaching."
"This year is different from all previous years. Soon, I will marry the Stark lady of Winterfell."
"For the honor of Deepwood Motte, I require a large quantity of furs to make winter cloaks and blankets and to decorate the castle."
He turned around, smiling as he handed the cups of ale to the four chiefs one by one.
"I am willing to purchase your furs at prices one-tenth higher than normal."
"As long as the quality is good, I will buy however much you can hunt. Payment can be made in silver stags, or exchanged for grain and iron tools if you prefer."
The hall immediately fell silent.
The four chiefs held their cups as they exchanged glances, the frustration on their faces gradually replaced by the calculating expressions of experienced traders.
A stable buyer offering prices ten percent above normal?
That meant even if the coming winter lasted for years, their clans would still possess stable and generous income instead of merely surviving on scraps.
"Is what you say true, Lord?"
The chief of the Tree Clan could not help but ask.
"Of course."
Garon nodded firmly, causing joy to gradually appear on the faces of all four chiefs.
"Training is certainly difficult, but think carefully. If the Ironborn invade, do you believe they will spare your forest cabins and stored meat and furs simply because you are excellent hunters?"
Garon shook his head while pressing the advantage.
"No. They will burn everything and steal everything. Only by stopping them outside Deepwood Motte can the Wolfswood remain your safe hunting ground."
He paused before revealing his final bargaining chip.
"Remain here and complete the training."
"You are fighting to protect your homeland, and at the same time you are fighting for the prosperity of your clans."
"During the training period, any clan whose soldiers successfully complete their daily drills will receive an additional five percent increase on the first batch of furs they sell to me this year."
Compared to threats or punishment, tangible profit was far more convincing.
Garon observed the expressions of the four chiefs, all of whom were already visibly tempted, before smiling and raising his cup.
"What do the clan chiefs think?"
"Haha, Lord Garon speaks wisely!"
The chief of the Tree Clan was the first to raise his cup and clink it against Garon's.
"Those children have simply become lazy. I will personally reprimand them later and ensure they obey your commands, my lord!"
"Exactly, exactly! If they dare disobey again, I will personally beat them myself!"
The other three chiefs also laughed and raised their cups together with Garon.
Seeing this, Garon drained the ale in his hand in one gulp.
The four clan chiefs quickly followed suit.
"Hahaha!"
For a time, laughter once again filled the Hall of a Thousand Beasts.
At the very same moment that Garon settled matters with the clan chiefs, the Iron Islands' first wave of attacks against the North had already begun.
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