Bernarr Brune of the Dyre Den was a squire to Lord Alyn Stokeworth, who had served as Hand of the King to Aegon the First.
During the Battle of the Ruby Ford in the Usurper’s War, House Crabb and House Brune of Crackclaw Point had fought shoulder to shoulder, bathing in blood for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
Both were model loyalists to the House of the Dragon, the most trusted of the trusted.
Under the new Baratheon dynasty, they both fared miserably, the most wretched of the wretched.
Perched atop towering cliffs, the thick gates of the Dyre Den—which looked to be over forty meters high—were shut tight.
Grim decisively abandoned his plan to take it by storm.
Taking a well-defended castle through conventional siege methods would cost far too much, Grim felt.
The path to hegemony inevitably involved sieges, and without dragons, Grim needed to prepare more unconventional means and methods for taking castles.
Right now, Grim was unprepared for a siege of the Dyre Den.
If there was a chance to score some quick loot, he would take it; if not, he would decisively give up.
Grim consoled himself.
They were all impoverished lords; why should the poor make things difficult for the poor?
“When someone dares to defy you, you must answer them with iron and blood.
But when they bend the knee in submission, you must help them back to their feet yourself, elsewise no one will ever yield to you again.” Savoring the remembered words in his mind, he turned to Ser Mason.
“Mason, I leave the rest to you.
Handle the ransoms for the House Brune captives according to the usual rules.
For the sake of having once fought side by side for the Targaryens, we will spare them this once.
Warn them there will not be a next time.” Mason nodded in acknowledgment.
Grim then quietly instructed Ser Pell, “Leave the captives for Empara to escort.
Your Recon Company will stay behind to continue striking at the wildling clans, especially those friendly with House Brune.
Destroy their camps just like last time, and relocate all their people.
The old Crabb lands need a large number of farmers.” The semi-militarized farms Grim had planned were about to be implemented by Ser Mason in the newly reclaimed old Crabb lands.
Over time, House Crabb’s semi-militarized farms would spread across all the arable land in the eastern region of Crackclaw Point.
“As you command, my lord.” Grim gave a nod of affirmation and continued, “We have already crushed the main fighting strength of the wildling clans near the old Crabb lands, so there won’t be any fierce resistance.
But I still require you to treat every battle with caution.
If you encounter good hunters, absorb them into the Recon Company.
Recruit while you strike at the wildlings—this is a rare opportunity to train the troops.” “My lord, I will strictly follow your commands,” Pell said.
“As for House Brune…” Grim flicked his reins, and his horse moved to the side.
Ser Pell urged his mount to follow.
Riding side by side with Pell, Grim said, “Pell, talking with you always puts me at ease.
Yes, although they lost this time, House Brune will not submit to me.
For a while, there will be no force in the old Crabb lands capable of threatening House Crabb, which is the perfect time for us to properly digest our spoils of war.
At the same time…” “Aside from the twenty warhorses I’ve selected to take back, I will allocate all the remaining horses to you.
The Recon Company needs speed more than anything.” Grim turned his head to glance at the Dyre Den once more.
“House Crabb’s footsteps cannot stop.
We need to continuously raid to feed the population of our new and old territories.
We are expanding too fast, and the farmlands cannot support so many people.” “The only nobles in the eastern Crackclaw Point who can still cause us trouble are House Brune, and I cannot tolerate that.
One master is enough for the eastern Crackclaw Point, and that is House Crabb.” “Mason will stay behind to oversee the development of the old lands.
I will order him to coordinate with your campaigns.
Start by conquering the wildling clans friendly with House Brune, one by one.
I want you to blockade House Brune and make it impossible for them to move a single step, until they either submit or disappear.” A smile touched Grim’s lips as he patted Pell on the shoulder.
“I will be departing for King’s Landing shortly.
I cannot be in two places at once, so I can only rely on you.
Thankfully I have you.
Your loyalty and ability have always put my mind at ease.” “Ser Pell, for the glory of House Crabb.” Pell’s expression turned solemn.
He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head.
“My sword is forever at your service!” Monton Waters had a large round shield slung across his back and a warhammer tucked into his belt.
He was currently gnawing on a smoked sausage.
Beside him, Lyra said helplessly, “Fatty Monton, do you never get full?
Why are you always eating?” Monton Waters replied with a dopey grin, “Ah, I’m just scared of starving.
I could never fill my belly before.
Things are much better now.
Ever since I started following my lord, I haven’t gone hungry once.” Lyra rolled her pretty eyes at him.
“Never full, yet you’re still so fat and solid!” Monton Waters scratched the back of his head.
“Heh heh…” Lyra’s eyes shifted with a sly gleam.
“Fatty Monton, if you keep eating like this…
eat too much and you’d best beware the lord punishing you.” Monton widened his eyes, which seemed to lack the light of intelligence.
“Th-th-this…
I know I have a big appetite.
Should I go to my lord and confess my crime?” Lyra snorted first, then couldn’t help but clutch her stomach and burst into laughter, leaving Monton even more bewildered.
Fortunately, Grim’s voice drifted over just in time.
“Monton, Lyra is only joking with you.” Grim walked over and lightly tapped the top of Lyra’s head.
“He’ll take it seriously.” Lyra cried out in pain, clutching her head with both hands and squatting down.
Grim discreetly glanced at his own palm.
Monton suddenly tattled loudly, “My lord!
Lyra isn’t hurt!
She’s faking it!
I saw it!
She was just secretly laughing!
I saw it!” Monton Waters possessed a beast-like intuition.
From his very first day joining Grim’s camp, he had sensed that military discipline was closely tied to his own future.
To Monton Waters, Grim was the first person who hadn’t despised him for his massive appetite, and the one who ensured he no longer went hungry.
While constantly chewing the food in his mouth, Monton Waters had put in the hard work to memorize the rules by rote with his not-so-clever brain.
He had only been momentarily frightened by the cunning Lyra just now.
But then Monton Waters finally realized that eating too much did not violate military regulations, so naturally, he had to “retaliate.” Monton Waters hopped on his feet as he ruthlessly exposed her, his large belly heaving like waves of flesh.
*How did this guy suddenly get smart?* Lyra said pitifully, “Lord Grim, I beg your forgiveness…
I…” Monton scratched his head.
*Did I take the retaliation too far?* Grim waved his hand helplessly.
“Go on, fetch Monton some more food.
He’ll forgive you instantly.” King’s Landing, a corridor in the Red Keep.
Tyrion Lannister sat on the marble balustrade along the corridor, his short little legs swinging back and forth.
Holding the wine cup that seemingly never left his hand, Tyrion’s face bore a drunken flush.
“Brother, think of something pleasant.
You worry too much.
Sometimes I suspect your affection for our dear sister is unnatural.” Jaime Lannister cast another uneasy glance toward Cersei’s chambers.
With a long sigh, he sat down on the balustrade as well, his handsome face still lingering with anger.
“King Robert…
he has forgotten the meaning of honor.
I can no longer remember how many times he has laid hands on Cersei.” Tyrion shifted his arse closer to Jaime and reached out to pat his brother’s arm.
“You have to understand why I stopped you.
If you interfere, it will only make things worse.” Jaime rubbed his face with both hands in frustration.
“Tyrion, you are always so clever and rational.” Tyrion’s gaze grew deep, his tone carrying a rare seriousness.
“Our sister always thinks of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but in truth, she falls far short.
For one thing, Father has always been as ruthless and cold as a great glacier, whereas Cersei burns like wildfire the moment her temper flares.
Our King and Queen are like two raging fires; the slightest touch, and they blaze all the fiercer.” Jaime sighed deeply once more.
“I only want Cersei to live happily.”