As long as I describe the fugitive's features, and as long as anyone enters this area, she can give me clues?!
Gods!
Isn't this exactly the network I've been dreaming of? Why should I even care about Hammer's optional mission now?
Originally, Jon Snow only had a vague idea about how to hunt players around the Crossroads Inn. He hadn't yet figured out many of the specifics.
For example, how to find reliable mercenaries, how to make sure they kept quiet, and how to explain to them why they were arresting people here.
Another example — if they found someone with suspicious equipment, how would they confirm if he was a player?
The biggest problem was: once they attacked someone who looked like a player, how could they avoid getting noticed by other players? How could they keep the locals from seeing the fight and spreading word, causing an uproar?
Jon had no solid plan for any of these problems yet. He had been planning to figure it out later.
He hadn't expected a "super tool" like Martha to walk right into his lap!
Jon looked at Martha. She felt his gaze and shrank a little, almost trembling.
"Ser Lucien? About my offer?" Martha asked carefully.
"Oh, Martha, my dear friend," Jon smiled and shook his head lightly, "I think you can help with something far bigger than simply gathering a few clues."
"Bigger?" Martha blinked, confused.
Of course, something bigger. You know the local mercenaries and can round up a group of skilled fighters for me. You have your own intelligence network that can keep an eye on the whole area, watching everyone who checks in or even just passes by. You run the inn, meaning you can drug the food and quietly knock out any suspicious players without raising an alarm.
You're a walking goldmine!
"Of course, something much bigger," Jon said, pushing the pile of golden dragons toward Martha.
Just as she reached out to take them, he pressed his palm firmly over the coins.
"You said just now — as long as someone enters this area, you can get clues about them. How much of that was an exaggeration?"
"Exaggeration? You think I'm lying?" Martha looked panicked. "No, Ser, I swear I'm telling the truth!"
"Then how exactly do you plan to do that?"
"I know a man — Black Falcon Morgan," she said quickly. "He leads a mercenary band. From Harrenhal to Qoherys Ferry, the mercenaries and rogues along the northeastern shore of Divine Eye Lake are all on good terms with him. If you want to track someone around here, just ask him — it'll be accurate."
Black Falcon Morgan?
Jon frowned. This was the second strange name he'd heard.
First, there was that so-called "Ghosts of Whitewalls" group. According to Martha, they were a gang of raiders camped near Whitewalls, robbing and terrorizing travelers and even noble houses, so the local knights banded together to wipe them out.
A strong bandit group, yet they never appeared in the original story.
And now there was another: a mercenary leader with influence across the whole north shore of Divine Eye Lake — again, never mentioned in the books.
Very suspicious.
After all, there was only about a year left before the War of the Five Kings broke out. Once that war started, a powerful group like that should have been either wiped out or heavily involved — yet there was no trace of them.
None of them were ever mentioned.
"Tell me about this Black Falcon," Jon said coldly.
"What do you want to know?" Martha asked carefully.
"Everything."
"I actually don't know much," Martha said with a sheepish smile. "He showed up about seven years ago. During a drunken fight, he killed the old leader of the mercenaries — twin brothers — one against two. After that, he took over and became the new boss."
"That's it?" Jon raised an eyebrow.
"That's all, Ser. How could I dare hide anything from you?" she said quickly.
"And what's your relationship with him?"
"Just a business arrangement. He uses my inn as a base for his men. I sell them food and drink at low prices, and in return, they protect my inn from bandits."
"Your inn was ransacked anyway," Ian thought sourly.
During the War of the Five Kings, Lord Tywin himself had marched through here with twenty thousand Lannister troops. He had used this inn as his headquarters — and had "thanked" the proprietress by hanging her from the gallows.
Tyrion was kidnapped right under their noses, and Tywin was furious.
Even if your Black Falcon were the King of the Seven Hells, there's no way he could have protected your inn against that kind of force.
Then Ian paused, considering.
Maybe that's why this so-called Black Falcon never appeared in the original story? Maybe Tywin had him hanged directly? Or maybe, fearing Lannister revenge for letting Tyrion be snatched, he fled early?
If that's the case, it actually makes sense. Someone like Tywin wouldn't bother to even mention a mercenary leader who was either casually strung up or scared away.
Still…
Although the Black Falcon might be nothing before Tywin, for the local knights and the bandits at Whitewalls, he would have been a force to reckon with.
So why would Sir Wilder bother recruiting foreign knights instead of turning to this powerful mercenary?
Is it because he couldn't afford him?
Or—Is it because the "bandit threat" was orchestrated by the Black Falcon himself?
After all, mercenaries need bandits to exist. No wars, no money — no bandits, no work.
If that's true, then everything lines up perfectly.
First, after Black Falcon was hanged (or fled) when Tywin arrived, both the Black Falcon mercenaries and the "Ghosts of Whitewalls" disappeared, which is why they don't show up in the original story.
Second, because most of the local mercenaries were tied to the Black Falcon, Sir Wilder had no choice but to look for "foreign knights" — outside help — to avoid word leaking out.
But what about Martha? If she's been working with the Black Falcon all this time, how could she also be helping Sir Wilder without either side suspecting her?
That doesn't add up at all!
"Ser Lucien?" Martha's voice interrupted Ian's thoughts. She was breaking out in cold sweat, clearly anxious at his silence.
Ian snapped out of it, and sneered inwardly.
What was he worrying about? As long as the Black Falcon's mercenaries and information network could serve him, why should he dig deeper into their messy little secrets?
"Where can I find this Black Falcon?" he asked casually.
"Boss Morgan is staying right here in our inn," Martha said quickly. "He arrived this afternoon."
"So you said you could get me an answer before noon tomorrow? Can you convince him to help me?" Ian asked.
"This..." Martha hesitated, her face showing clear difficulty. "It won't be easy. He's very arrogant. We can ask for his help, but it'll depend on—"
"Look at this first," Ian interrupted her, his voice calm.
He slowly lifted his hand from the pile of golden dragons on the table, letting their shine spill out across the wood.
"Look at these golden dragons. I wonder, Martha, have you ever seen so many at once?"
Martha's eyes were immediately drawn to them, as if magnetized.
"Never," she admitted, her voice almost trembling.
Of course she hadn't. Even though the Crossroads Inn sat at an important crossroads, this was an era of terrible roads and slow travel. Very few nobles ever passed through.
Most of the guests were rough mercenaries without a copper to their name, or penny-pinching merchants counting every last coin.
The mercenaries were willing to spend — but had nothing to spend. The merchants had plenty — but wouldn't part with a single silver unless their lives depended on it.
Over time, all the pretty serving girls had left for King's Landing in search of better opportunities. The ones who remained were—Well, let's just say they weren't much of a draw anymore.
The inn's income? Miserable.
What normal business could you expect to do? Food and drink barely brought in any profit. And that slim profit still had to cover local lord taxes and the cost of hosting mercenaries who often ate and drank without paying a thing.
Honestly, it was a miracle the place hadn't gone bankrupt already.
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