The midday sun baked the walls of Willow Town, warming every brick.
Behind the battlements, a guard yawned. The noon sun was so bright he could barely keep his eyes open, and a few tears gathered at the corners.
Leaning against the wall, he complained to his companion, "Have you noticed how changeable the weather's been lately,
one minute cold, the next hot?"
"And I really can't figure out why Ser Gyles wants us to be on such high alert."
"It's all because of that Black Lion fellow." His companion curled his lip and spat, as if Suleiman were standing right there. "He beat a few thousand Wildlings, and now everyone in the Riverlands is talking about him. He's bragging that he's coming here."
"I heard he lives inside a mountain. I bet he's too scared to even come out of his cave."
"Exactly! A title he got for wiping the lord's backside! If it were me... I wouldn't want it either!" The guard laughed. The sight below the walls made him even lazier, and his jealous, angry words kept spilling out. "Black Lion? More like a black rat!"
"Honestly! We're on alert every day! We haven't heard a thing! Even if they really are attacking, they can't come straight here!"
The gates stood wide open, and a crowd of townsfolk was jostling about in the entrance.
Farmers carrying hoes wanted to enter the castle and sell their vegetables to the lord. Merchants waited with packhorses to be inspected before going in to trade, while many villagers had come to the gate to seek the lord's judgment over one dispute or another.
The crowd was a mess, but everything was as usual: peaceful, even a little dull.
In the queue, a sharp-eyed farmer suddenly stopped complaining. He turned and rubbed