Crackclaw Point had its legendary hero, a man named Clarence Crabb.
During the reign of Jaehaerys I, grandson of Aegon the Conqueror, there was a knight of the Kingsguard named Clement Crabb.
At the Battle of the Trident during the Usurper’s War, the great houses of Crackclaw Point fought alongside Prince Rhaegar to the bitter end.
The people of Crackclaw Point proudly declared themselves model subjects of the House of the Dragon.
Robert Baratheon won.
House Crabb, never a populous family to begin with, suffered heavy casualties.
The only male heir left was Grim Crabb, still in his mother’s womb at the time.
The Whispers was a curved military keep built into the mountainside.
Around the keep, a few small houses were scattered sparsely.
Inside the lord’s hall of the Whispers.
[A perfectly integrated transmigrator, Grim Crabb.] Grim Crabb sat upright behind the long table, a man and a woman standing to his left and right.
The man was about forty, around five foot seven, bald and stout, dressed in a blue round-collared robe.
The woman was in her thirties, also about five foot seven, with long curly brown hair, wearing a blue gown with a low, plunging neckline.
The two were the chief steward, Herschel, and the household steward, Surana.
At this moment, an old farmer knelt respectfully in the center of the hall, his voice filled with cautious reverence.
“Yes, my lord, I am certain…
During the day, when I go out at dawn to work the fields, my neighbor, Marty, always sneaks into my house and…
with my…
my woman…
engages in all sorts of heavy breathing exercises.
Many times now.” Having finally listened to the old farmer’s halting account, Grim Crabb’s expression remained unchanged, save for a slight purse of his lips.
The lord’s hall fell silent for a moment.
Seeing that his young master had no intention of speaking, the chief steward Herschel gave a light cough and said, “Old Pell, from what you’re saying, you’ve caught them in the…
act.
Did you not…
teach them a lesson?” The old farmer, Old Pell, fell silent for a moment before replying, “I was very angry, but I am no longer young.
Marty is young and strong compared to me.
I couldn’t beat him…” “And your wife?” “I couldn’t…
beat her either…” *Oh, the women of Crackclaw Point really are built tough!* *Given the local customs, the old farmer would probably soon earn a resounding moniker, like ‘Pell the Weak’ or something similar.* *To be a proper lord, protecting the weak was an absolute duty.
Only when the weak were protected could the soil of loyalty be cultivated.* *Grim Crabb understood even better that, from another perspective, everyone was just a baby needing protection.
Yeah, himself included.* The voice of the fifteen-year-old young lord, Grim Crabb, still carried a hint of youth.
“Old Pell, your lord has heard your petition.
I will arrange for two swordsmen to accompany you.” With that, Grim Crabb’s grey eyes turned to a tall, middle-aged man in iron armor standing to one side of the hall.
He continued, “Ser Pell, arrange for two sharp-witted men-at-arms.
If there are no complications, apprehend him immediately…” Grim Crabb asked his chief steward, Herschel, “Where are my lands short of men right now?
Somewhere…
dangerous.” Chief Steward Herschel seemed to have the answer prepared.
“The lands will always need laborers capable of heavy lifting, my lord.
But I suggest you give him a sword.
The mountain clansmen are growing restless again, and you need more fighters.
You are merciful; you should always give your people a second chance.” *Alright then.
Young and strong, huh?
Like stealing other men’s wives, do you?
Full of energy?
Here’s a sword, go risk your neck against the wildlings.
If you’re lucky enough to survive, it’s all thanks to the merciful grace of your lord.* *Be grateful, grip your sword tight, and keep grinding.* Grim Crabb gave a slight nod and waved his right hand dismissively.
Old Pell’s eyes were red.
He bowed deeply to his lord.
Though bent over, he felt as if his spine had straightened, his body brimming with strength.
He secretly resolved over and over to tend the fields well for his lord.
With a good harvest, he could definitely hand over more wheat this year than last.
*The lord seems too thin.
It must be because he isn’t eating enough.
If I tend the fields well and bring in a bigger harvest, the lord can eat more and put on some meat.* “Next.” “My lord, my farming tools are broken…” “My lord, my son’s belly has been aching for days, I beg of you…” “My lord, that was my kill!
The mountain clansmen stole my…” “Merciful lord, the mountain clansmen are always prowling near our village.
The villagers are very worried…” “Yes, they usually travel in packs of five or six.” The morning’s task of hearing the smallfolk’s petitions was finally complete.
Grim Crabb no longer had to maintain his seemingly dignified posture.
He stretched lazily and stood up from the tall wooden chair.
*Bloody hell, this noble posture where you have to sit as still as a painting is exhausting.* “Mistress Surana, fetch a basin of hot water to the study, and have my midday meal sent there as well.
Also, tell Maester Aehl to ready a raven.
I want it sent out the moment I finish my letter.” Inside the castle study, Grim Crabb finished his meal.
After clearing the table, he picked up a quill.
Today he was writing his third letter.
The recipient was the current queen, Cersei Lannister.
After the Usurper’s War, he was the only male heir left in the main branch of House Crabb.
Because he was still in his mother’s womb at the time, the chivalrous Eddard Stark had persuaded the new king, Robert Baratheon, to spare Grim Crabb’s mother from execution.
By a stroke of immense luck, House Crabb had kept its embers burning.
However, following the Usurper’s War, the Hand of the King for the Baratheon dynasty, Lord Jon Arryn, had not forgotten to use every means possible to suppress the former model houses of the dragon, including House Crabb.
He had done so relentlessly for over a decade.
Next year, the grand curtain of the Song of Ice and Fire would rise, and the game of thrones would begin.
Grim Crabb had a great many things to do.
To step onto this stage as a noble of the Crownlands, he first had to ease relations with the Red Keep.
Over a decade had passed, and Jon Arryn was finally old.
His energy was far less than before, and according to the plot, his days were numbered.
House Crabb could finally catch its breath.
He couldn’t just drift with the tide.
He couldn’t be satisfied with the status quo.
House Crabb, mocked as half-wildlings, might not have known how to play the game before, but now Grim Crabb—he had arrived.
Grim Crabb halted his thoughts and prepared to channel his inner sycophant.
*To Her Grace the Queen, the embodiment of courage and beauty:* *Driven by profound admiration, I send you my most sincere greetings, and beg forgiveness for my presumptuous intrusion.* *The war has been over for fifteen years.
At that time, your humble servant was still in his mother’s womb, quietly enjoying a warmth of which I hold no memory.* *Since I came of age to understand, I have constantly been grateful for the realm’s mercy, which allowed House Crabb to survive.* *Your servant is now fifteen years of age, capable of wielding a sword and drawing a bow.* *I dare not slacken, nor dare I forget my house words—Strength in Unity.* *As I grow older, my understanding deepens.
The core of House Crabb’s words lies in loyalty.* *The dragons have been gone for fifteen years.
Though House Crabb endures, we have lost our way.
In the past, out of loyalty, House Crabb marched willingly toward certain death without looking back.* *Because of that past loyalty, House Crabb has lost all trust in this new world.* *Without trust, House Crabb’s loyalty has nowhere to rest.* *Noble as you are, would you be willing to grant House Crabb a chance?* *I have heard that Your Grace will soon hunt in the Kingswood.
House Crabb yearns for the glory of riding at your side and serving you.* *A guard captivated by Your Grace’s charm—Grim Crabb.* Grim Crabb set down his quill.
Step one: Either Queen Cersei or the Mother of Dragons.