Fifty household guards, fifty suits of plate armor, thirty shields, fifty longswords, twenty spears, thirty longbows, thirty warhorses, three healers, three grooms, one barber, and three handmaids.
The steward managing the retinue was Surana.
This was the size of the party for Grim’s journey to the Red Keep.
The total cost of booking passage on a merchant cog to the Red Keep was fifty-two gold dragons.
Steward Herschel had arranged with the merchant to pay in furs of equal value.
Not having to part with actual gold dragons brought Grim a small measure of comfort.
He sighed, thinking that once he had the means, he would need to build his own seafaring ships.
Mermaid Port now averaged one or two merchant ships docking each day.
It was no longer the desolate stretch it had been at the start; it was finally beginning to look like a proper port.
Grim had arranged everything he could.
The rest would simply require time to accumulate.
“My lord, Steward Herschel has inquired with several merchants and confirmed that the local price for buying an Unsullied in Astapor is one hundred gold dragons.
That price does not include the cost of transport.” *The Unsullied?* Grim remembered asking Steward Herschel to inquire about the price of the Unsullied with friendly merchants when he had the chance.
Now, Grim no longer had his initial enthusiasm for the Unsullied.
After the battle, House Crabb’s absorption of the mountain wildlings had gone much smoother than expected.
Grim was highly satisfied with his zero-cost wildlings.
*Fierce and built like brick shithouses—just hand them a weapon and they’re ready to fight.* Once Grim ensured they were well-fed and warmly clothed, their loyalty proved exceptionally high.
With reinforced training and discipline, they were all formidable soldiers.
*One hundred gold dragons a head.
Ten Unsullied would cost a thousand gold dragons, a hundred would be…
In the future, the Mother of Dragons uses a single bait to instantly acquire eight thousand Unsullied.
That’s the equivalent of eight hundred thousand gold dragons.
Damn!* *She barely lifted a finger and bagged the treasuries of several major Free Cities.
Damn!* Thinking of this, Grim’s intense envy birthed a sliver of jealousy.
*House Crabb bled for the dragons!* House Crabb was a model of loyalty to House Targaryen.
Since Robert’s Rebellion, House Crabb had not known a single good day, suffering over a decade of suppression from the Red Keep.
*When the time is right,* Grim thought, *I should scheme up a way to ‘scam’ some gold dragons out of the Mother of Dragons, just to soothe my wounded soul.* “I understand, Surana.
How has Lyanna been lately?” “After the news from Gulltown arrived, Lady Lyanna locked herself in her room for an entire day.
Since then, she has been in very good spirits.
I can feel that she is at peace here; she trusts you deeply.” “Keep a close eye on her.
I am not as attentive as you are.
Also, pay more attention to matters of her heart.” Surana, her chin slightly lowered, had a faint tremor in her eyes.
“My lord, I will arrange for the right people and report to you promptly.” Hearing Surana’s reply, Grim raised an eyebrow, shifting his gaze from the sea to her.
“Surana, thank you for understanding my intentions.
House Crabb now consists only of my cousin Lyanna and myself.
Lyanna is too kind-hearted.
It is a virtue worthy of praise, but it also makes her easily exploited by those with ulterior motives, especially in matters of the heart.” Grim’s gaze returned to the vast expanse of the sea, and he let out a soft sigh.
“You have watched Lyanna grow up since she was a child.
I know you have always been fond of her.
You need not worry too much.
I am the lord, and as lord, I have duties I must bear, but I will do my utmost to ensure Lyanna remains safe and happy in the future.” Surana looked up and pursed her lips.
“In truth, you should have Lady Lyanna sign a document renouncing her claim to House Crabb.
That would offer her greater protection.
I had intended to advise you on this matter, but then I considered that you do not yet have an heir, and I hesitated.
Others say I am too rational, but I know myself well—often, I am plagued by indecision.” Grim rubbed his right thumb against his index finger.
“Lady Surana, in my heart, you are like family.
Before me, you may always speak your mind freely.
Leave the decisions to me; you should not trouble yourself over them.
As for my cousin Lyanna’s claim…
I would much rather she find her own love.” “As you command, my lord.” King’s Landing.
The Red Keep.
The Tower of the Hand.
Petyr Baelish leaned against the balcony railing, his gaze fixed on the distant view, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
*The Lord of Sheepshit, a half-wildling noble…
Both existences mocked by all, yet…
Heh!* Through the standard ravens of the maesters, in a Westeros that had long known peace, the reputation of Baron Grim Crabb spread swiftly.
As a fresh point of interest, a great deal of intelligence regarding Grim had gathered on Petyr’s desk.
Blessed by the grace of his ancestors, when House Crabb reappeared in their old lands with formidable strength, despite a gap of over a decade, they reclaimed their power with effortless ease, as if it were the will of the people.
*How enviable, the deep-rooted authority brought by bloodline.* *How distasteful, the bloodline that represents power.* The traditional power that revered blood was so stubborn that even uncivilized wildlings were deeply influenced by it.
*Compared to noble blood, ability is reduced to a mere afterthought.* *Therefore, chaos is a ladder.* Petyr Baelish’s gaze grew even more profound.
“Lord Petyr, how curious.
I actually smell a certain anger upon you.” Varys, completely hairless and bald, his plump frame draped in loose, brownish-red silk robes, stood with his hands clasped together.
Petyr calmly withdrew his gaze.
As his grey-green eyes turned toward him, Varys offered a demure smile and bowed his head in greeting.
Petyr Baelish elegantly curled the corners of his mouth.
“Master of Whisperers, are you always so full of curiosity because it is your duty?
But I must tell you, this time your nose has failed you.” Varys’s smile did not falter.
“Lord Petyr, since the day I met you, all I have ever read upon you is unhurried elegance and peerless intellect.
Even the slightest change in you catches my attention.” The elegant Petyr admitted to himself that he was growing increasingly weary of the Spider.
He warned himself that he must act with caution, always remembering that the little birds were watching him.
No matter what he thought in his heart, Petyr Baelish maintained a proper smile.
“Truly the sweetest tongue in King’s Landing.
Every conversation with you brings me joy.” Varys bowed his head once more.
“It is Lord Petyr’s demeanor that exudes sweetness; I merely bask in your light.” Petyr spread his hands, having no interest in continuing to discuss tongues with Varys.
His grey-green eyes shifted imperceptibly as he changed the subject.
“Our esteemed Queen, I hear, is suddenly in a joyous mood.
Usually, she would remain displeased for many days.” Varys stepped to Petyr’s side, casting his own gaze into the distance.
“Her Grace retains the pure heart of a maiden.
When she obtains something she fancies, she naturally forgets her temporary sorrows.” Petyr’s voice was raspy, full of magnetism.
“Something she fancies?
Lord Varys, there is a hidden meaning in your words.”