Four barrels of Arbor wine were carried into the dining hall.
The castle's only cook and sole house servant quickly arrived, drawn by the news.
As the seals on the barrels were pried open, a rich, sweet aroma of wine filled the room. The liquid inside gleamed clear and golden, like molten sunshine; pure and radiant, as if it were gold in liquid form.
Raff the Sweetling quickly replaced the lid. "Ser Gregor hasn't arrived yet. The first cup must be his."
"Of course, Ser." Polliver replied, eyeing the barrels with envy, swallowing hard. He still admired Raff's rise to knighthood.
Maester Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Golden Arbor wine should be served in wooden cups. I once heard Grand Maester Pycelle say that the proper way to drink it is with goblets carved from the very vines that bear the golden grapes, it brings out the wine's full essence. Red Arbor wine is fine in glass, but for the golden vintage, wood is essential."
"We don't have wooden cups." Raff the Sweetling said.
"Should we swirl it first?" Dunsen asked the maester.
"Yes, a light swirl. Just look at that color, it's like golden honey." Raff said, clearly enamored.
At the base of each round wine barrel were three small spigots, each set at a different height. These weren't merely decorative, they were designed to control the wine's flow based on pressure. Opening the lowest spigot first would cause the wine to pour too fast, even splatter. But releasing the tapes from top to bottom allowed the wine to flow smoothly and gently. Only premium Arbor wine used this kind of refined design. Elsewhere, a barrel usually had just one tap.
…
In the Courtyard
Allen Serrett gave Ser Gregor a respectful bow. "Ser Gregor, please enjoy the wine. We'll take our leave now."
"Ado Serrett has already gone." Gregor replied coldly.
As soon as Ado had left the courtyard, he'd mounted his horse, and the sound of hooves echoed as the Serrett riders swiftly departed Clegane Keep.
"Yes, my lord. Ser Ado has departed. We'll be off too. Farewell." Allen said, already turning away. His four wine Pycelles followed closely.
"You're not leaving, Allen." Gregor said quietly, resting his hand on the hilt of his greatsword.
He hadn't asked him to stay, he'd told him he couldn't leave. It wasn't a suggestion, but a command. Gregor had always ruled with a heavy hand.
Allen paused mid-step, turning slowly. "Ser Gregor, is there something else you require?"
"I'd like you to share a drink with me." Gregor said.
From the beginning, Gregor hadn't trusted Allen in the slightest.
He believed in criminals more than he did in noblemen. That was one of his few unwavering principles.
"Gladly." Allen replied with a smile, as though he'd been waiting for just such an invitation.
Gregor watched him closely through the narrow slit in his visor. Allen's expression seemed genuine, his eyes clear. No sign of treachery.
"Your four men should join us as well." Gregor added.
"Thank you, milord!" the four Pycelles replied in unison, their faces lighting up in delight.
The contrast was revealing. The Pycelles were clearly thrilled, while Allen wore only a polite, practiced smile.
As captain of Alva's guard, Allen had likely never tasted golden Arbor wine before, it was a drink reserved for highborns. Only the count himself or his close family would have access to such a rare vintage. Any man would be overjoyed to drink it.
Allen's smile rang hollow. But Gregor couldn't draw conclusions from that alone. Perhaps Allen had tasted it before, maybe after some distinguished service, or if Ser Alva had offered him a sip. Or perhaps he simply loathed Gregor, and the idea of sharing a drink repulsed him.
Gregor led Allen and the four Serrett guards into the dining hall. On the long narrow table sat one round-bellied barrel. The other three had already been taken to the kitchen cellar.
Every home in the Seven Kingdoms had a cellar. When winter came, and it always did, it could last two or ten years. During summer, a family had to prepare enough food to last a decade. That's what the kitchen cellar was for. In noble houses, the underground storage was sometimes as large as the living space above.
Beside the barrel sat a row of drinking cups.
There were no wooden cups, only glass.
None of Gregor's men or servants would dare drink before their lord. Despite their fearsome reputations, Gregor's crew was tightly disciplined. Their loyalty, fierce and unwavering, was something few outsiders could understand.
When the others saw Allen and his men enter, they exchanged puzzled glances.
"Pour the wine." Gregor ordered.
He removed his heavy helmet and set it down on the table with a dull thud. It was cumbersome, but the weight didn't bother him.
Maester Harry turned one of the small spigots, and the golden wine flowed, fragrant and smooth.
Gregor tilted his head slightly, gesturing for Allen to take the first drink.
Allen smiled, lifted his glass. "To you, Ser Gregor."
Gregor nodded. Harry poured a second cup.
Gregor raised his glass but said nothing, waiting for Allen to drink first.
Allen held the cup beneath his nose, inhaled deeply, then closed his eyes, savoring the aroma. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and met Gregor's cold gaze with a calm smile. Then he slowly sipped, savoring each drop, and finished the glass.
"Exquisite." he said. "My lord, your turn."
A trace of gold lingered on his lips.
"You." Gregor said, handing the cup to one of Allen's guards. With his long arms, he reached across the table with ease.
The guard hesitated, almost in disbelief.
Was Ser Gregor really offering this wine to him first?
But a quick look from Gregor confirmed it. The man trembled with excitement and sipped slowly. The flavor was rich and smooth, he drained the glass in several careful swallows under the weight of every eye in the room.
"More." Gregor said.
Harry poured two more glasses and handed them to the other Serrett guards.
"Bring out a barrel of red." Gregor told the cook.
The cook obeyed immediately, returning with a barrel of red Arbor wine.
"Pour a cup for each of the five." Gregor said, settling into his chair with a creak that sounded like the wood might collapse.
He didn't remove his armor, nor unstrap his greatsword.
The chair creaked again beneath his weight, as though it might fall apart any moment.
As the red wine was poured, Raff the Sweetling and Maester Harry began to understand Gregor's intent: their lord didn't trust this wine, not for a moment.
Allen raised his glass of red and laughed. "Ser Gregor, such fine wine! Let us give toast to you. What's the matter, are you afraid to drink? Ha! Hahaha!" He downed the red in one gulp, grinning. "The mighty Mountain, scared to drink Serrett wine? I just wish I had more!"
He slammed the glass down. "Pour me another, Maester! Come on! The great Mountain is too afraid to drink, but what about the rest of you? Are you all cowards too? Rats, roaches, stinking fish!"
"I'll drink!" Polliver shouted.
Gregor glanced at him, expressionless. "Polliver, you'd drink wine sent by our enemies?"
"My lord, they've already drunk it, nothing's happened."
Gregor's voice turned cold. "They drank their wine. That doesn't mean we should."
The room fell silent.
At that, Allen Serrett's smile finally began to fade.
------------
Note: If you guys want to read up to 35+ chapters in advance of the current story, you can support me on Patreon. You can read up to chapter 61 there! patreon.com/vynthor