Bichir Tavern
"My lord, these are the Clegane dried noodles." the tavern owner said respectfully, holding out a bundle of noodles with both hands.
Bound together with a red cloth strip was something Lord Auren had never seen before.
Judging by sight alone, the bundle of noodles was roughly the length of a dagger. Each strand was a pale yellow, neatly tied with a red band, though no knot was visible. The cloth closed into a seamless loop without a single wrinkle. Emblazoned on the red cloth was the unmistakable crest of House Clegane: three black dogs.
Lord Auren took the bundle and ran his fingers through it. To his surprise, every strand of noodle was uniform in size and thickness, completely dry to the touch, and none of them stuck together.
Despite being a highborn noble with a taste for fine things, he had never seen noodles crafted with such precision. Even the most skilled chefs couldn't achieve this kind of uniformity.
Dry, smooth, non-sticky, perfectly uniform, this was unlike anything Lord Auren had ever heard of, let alone seen.
He plucked a few strands and held them in his palm. They lay there stiff and straight like twigs, completely unlike any noodle he'd encountered in his decades of life. The noodles he knew were always short, thick, and misshapen, freshly made by kitchen servants, irregular in every way.
A circle of soldiers and the tavern owner stood around him, their expressions reverent. To them, the noodles looked like some exotic treasure brought from across the Narrow Sea.
"Are they any good?" Lord Auren asked.
Though his tone remained calm, the noodles had already impressed him deeply. Just the sight of such orderly, identical strands gave him a kind of aesthetic satisfaction, like a perfectly drilled line of soldiers standing at attention. It was a beauty he had never imagined noodles could possess.
"They're very delicious, my lord." the owner said, grinning so widely that his wrinkled face looked even more unpleasant. "Ser Polliver said the noodles contain eggs, a special seasoning broth, and snow salt."
"Oh?" Lord Auren was skeptical. "And how do you prove that?"
The owner chuckled awkwardly. "My lord, I can't prove the egg part… but there's definitely seasoning and snow salt."
"So, you've tasted it."
"My lord, the Clegane noodles can be eaten raw. You can try some right now."
That made Lord Auren pause.
Raw noodles? He had never even heard of such a thing.
He picked up a strand, placed it in his mouth, and cautiously bit down. There was a faint crisp snap as it broke. He chewed. A delicate, savory-salty flavor spread across his tongue, light yet incredibly fresh.
It was a taste unlike anything he'd experienced before.
A known gourmand himself, Lord Auren could identify the snow salt and the spice blend right away, though he couldn't quite pick out the egg. Still, he was stunned.
Noodles that could be eaten raw, this was entirely new to him.
"Boil a bowl. I want to try them cooked." he said, keeping the calm tone of a nobleman.
Lannisport had long been a hub of trade with the rest of the world. Lord Auren was well-traveled and well-informed. The Citadel in Oldtown produced many new inventions each year. So unlike the average provincial lord, Lord Auren was neither sheltered nor narrow-minded when it came to novelty.
"Yes, my lord!" the owner said respectfully.
Lord Auren casually took a small handful of noodles as a snack and returned the rest to the owner. The man bowed, nodded, grinned, and scurried away.
Lord Auren noticed several soldiers eyeing the noodles in his hand.
"You've never tasted them?" he asked, curious.
The soldiers all shook their heads.
"Dunsen didn't give you a sample?" Lord Auren asked in disbelief. "Well then, tell me what happened."
Bard Lannys forced a smile. "My lord, I stepped in to stop Dunsen from beating the tavern owner, but he misjudged his swing and punched me in the eye. We weren't trying to fight him, he's a brute, and we're civilized men. If we'd fought back, things could've gotten ugly."
"Dunsen beat the owner?"
"Yes, my lord. Dunsen and Polliver showed up to sell noodles, but they demanded payment first before handing any over. Then they declared the owner had to supply a monthly quota of high-quality flour to House Clegane. They'd process it into noodles and sell it back, charging five copper pennies per pound in 'processing fees.' Absolutely outrageous." Bard Lannys rubbed his bruised nose.
...
The wad of cloth he'd used to stop the nosebleed was gone now. The bleeding had finally stopped, but just one punch from Dunsen had done the damage.
In over a decade of peace in Lannisport, the city's merchants had never dealt with this kind of extortion. Dunsen and Polliver hadn't even shown the noodles beforehand. Since dried noodles had always been a hard sell, none of the tavern owners were interested at first. Though House Clegane had a fearsome reputation, Lannisport had strict laws, and people had come to trust the city's Watch in times of trouble.
These merchants, living in peace and comfort, didn't fear "The Mountain" nearly as much as the nobles did, ignorance breeds boldness.
But once Dunsen and Polliver started using violence in full view of the city watch, the tavern owners quickly gave in.
Bard and Barro looked a little worse for wear, but in truth, most of them had only taken a single punch or kick before the owners realized what kind of thugs they were dealing with. Even the once-proud soldiers, symbols of authority in Lannisport, dared not raise their weapons against Clegane's men. All they could do was try to talk them down and then rush back to report to the Lord Auren.
They weren't lying when they said they didn't fight back. And none of them were truly angry about the punches either, Dunsen and Polliver hadn't drawn swords. For thugs like them, known to draw steel at the slightest provocation, this restraint was almost... polite.
Besides, even if all the soldiers teamed up, they might not be able to take Dunsen alone. He might be with the Cleganes now, but back in Casterly Rock, he already had a reputation as a murderous brute. And Polliver, well, he was infamous for being both cruel and unhinged. Both were among the most vicious of Lord Tywin's five hundred elite guards.
If even Lord Tywin could tolerate them, and they ran wild in Casterly Rock, then here in Lannisport... best to keep the peace.
At least they were only using fists, for now.
...
After hearing the full account, Lord Auren fell silent. He made no immediate judgment on the Mountain's business practices. Instead, he shared his handful of "snack" noodles with a few trusted retainers. Everyone took a few strands, popped them into their mouths, and bit down.
Crunch. Crunch.
For all of them, it was a first. And every man chewed with curiosity and delight, nodding at each other in amazement.
Though these Clegane noodles were far from the Mountain's ideal, lacking the pure whiteness and refined quality he remembered from a past life, they were a marvel in this backward, half-agricultural, half-pastoral society. Novelty and rarity carried weight. Lord Auren and his men had been utterly won over by these raw noodles made with egg, snow salt, and carefully crafted spices.
No bread they'd ever eaten, no matter how fresh, could compare.
And when a large, steaming bowl of fragrant, hot Clegane noodles was brought out at last, everyone's throat visibly twitched. Tongues watered. Swallowing hard, they waited, eyes gleaming.
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