Maester Aehl of the Whispers, in order to increase credibility, described the campaign of House Crabb reclaiming their old lands to the Citadel in as much detail as possible.
Maester Aehl did not intentionally leak House Crabb’s secrets; it was merely out of his usual rigorous academic habits and a slight desire to show off.
The past lords of Crackclaw Point were brave enough, but lacked learning.
Grim had been taught by Maester Aehl since he first learned to read.
The old man liked to reminisce, and looking back now, he felt a great sense of accomplishment.
Maester Aehl’s knowledge was rich enough, but he was not a commander after all.
Strictly speaking, he had inadvertently leaked a portion of intelligence.
Under the embellishment of Maester Aehl’s quill, House Crabb’s warfare took on a rather artistic flair.
However, aside from a small number of observant individuals, most of the nobles of Westeros scoffed at it.
*It’s just fighting wildlings, I could do that too!* Randyll’s eldest son, Samwell, who was eager to gain his father’s approval, was one of those few observant individuals.
The contents described by Maester Aehl, upon reaching the Citadel, would be further simplified from the original text, and then sent by raven to the maesters of “friendly” lords across Westeros.
In Randyll’s Horn Hill, only Samwell, who spent his days reading all sorts of things, noticed it.
He even requested the maester of Horn Hill to ask the Citadel for the more detailed original copy.
* * * Under Randyll’s imposing presence, Samwell always stammered when he spoke, which only resulted in Randyll disliking him even more.
“F-father, I…
I studied the warfare of House Crabb.” Randyll acted as if he had not heard.
Samwell continued speaking on his own.
For him, taking the initiative to stand here and offer advice to his father had already taken all the courage he could muster.
“I looked up a lot of records.
The wildlings of Crackclaw Point are natural-born warriors…
They are not weak.
That Baron Grim could defeat them with a small number of soldiers makes him worthy of attention.
His methods of warfare differ from what we are familiar with…” The renowned commander Randyll was proud, and his battle record gave him ample reason to be.
During the Usurper’s War, the army he led inflicted the only defeat Robert Baratheon’s forces suffered, at the Battle of Ashford.
Randyll Tarly was blunt and rigid, but possessed an iron will and shrewdness.
He had even been praised by Kevan Lannister as the man most capable of ending the wars in Westeros after Tywin Lannister’s death.
Randyll had naturally read the brief reports of the battles that took place on Crackclaw Point.
With his eldest son being a coward and his youngest still too small, he merely sighed in regret that the boy was not his own son.
Samwell’s words were cut short by Randyll.
“And what is the use of you studying all this!” Randyll snapped.
“If you met on the battlefield, could you defeat this Crabb?
Or do you think you would be braver than wildlings who do not fear death?
In the face of roaring warhorses, could you even hold onto the sword in your hand?” “Get out.
Vanish from my sight.” Samwell felt both terrified and anxious.
He believed there was definitely something highly unusual about House Crabb’s archery that required deeper investigation.
Horn Hill needed to understand and grasp this information in advance, and there were many more details he needed to advise his father on.
Samwell was instantly drenched in sweat, the perspiration sliding from his forehead to his jaw like rain before dripping down.
“Get out!!” Samwell violently shuddered.
Under Randyll’s icy glare, the courage he had so painstakingly gathered completely dissipated, and he fled the dining hall in a panic.
* * * Tyrion came looking for him again, and informed Grim that Her Grace the Queen was recovering from her injuries.
She would not grant Grim an audience until the bruises on her face had completely faded, as it would affect her noble image.
After quietly sharing this “classified” intelligence, Tyrion dragged Grim off to drink and listen to music.
For five consecutive days, Grim saw Tyrion’s small frame swaying into his line of sight every evening.
Every time, there was a reason that made it impossible for Grim to refuse, compelling him to go along.
Grim was very familiar with Tyrion’s playbook; he had used it himself in his past life.
*Start with the most sincere advice, leak some seemingly important secrets to quickly skip the stranger phase, instantly close the distance between both sides, throw in some fine wine and beautiful women, and then…
if all goes smoothly, the target drops their guard and has no more secrets to hide.* Grim actually really wanted to tell Tyrion that the highest-tier hunters often appear in the guise of prey.
Grim followed Tyrion, experiencing the extravagant lifestyle of King’s Landing’s nobility, while very earnestly playing the persona of an outstanding lord who embodied humility, honesty, compassion, wisdom, valor, justice, sacrifice, and honor all in one.
A serious Grim was a terrifying thing.
He got so deep into character that, in the end, even he believed it.
* * * The Red Keep, the gardens.
Sporting heavy, dark circles under his eyes, Tyrion sat on a wooden bench, staring blankly as his nephew Tommen and niece Myrcella played.
Tyrion reached out a small hand, catching a tossed apple, and took a large, crisp bite out of it.
Jaime looked at Tyrion’s state with amusement and sat down beside him, his expression softening as he watched Tommen and Myrcella.
Tyrion let out a long burp reeking of wine.
“Jaime, I have decided.
Starting tomorrow, I shall stay far away from all fine wine, as the Seven are my witness!” Jaime laughed cheerfully.
“I cannot even remember how many times you have said those exact words.” “Well, I am always forgetful.
But I do need to rest for a few days.” “You are getting along well with the little wildling?” Tyrion nodded.
“Young in years, yet neither hasty nor anxious.
Hailing from a savage land, yet eager to learn and thirsting for knowledge.
He has desires, but is not greedy.
And what is truly rare, he possesses a kind heart.” Jaime leaned back comfortably against the bench.
“Are you evaluating yourself, my dear brother?” Tyrion paused, then broke into a grin.
“My dear brother, am I truly so magnificent in your eyes?” Jaime turned his head to look at the grinning Tyrion.
“It seems you admire this little wildling quite a bit.” Tyrion shifted his arse closer to Jaime and lowered his voice.
“If I were Cersei…” Tyrion lifted his chin, and Jaime’s attention shifted toward Myrcella.
“I would consider the little wildling you speak of as a match for Myrcella.
He is worthy.
This is a…” “Enough!” Jaime interrupted angrily.
Tyrion was not frightened by Jaime’s sudden shout, but instead looked puzzled.
“Jaime, is your reaction not a bit excessive?
You must trust my judgment after careful consideration.” Jaime stood up and paced back and forth a few steps, tightly gripping the hilt of the longsword at his waist.
“Tyrion, Myrcella is still very young.
I do not want you scheming to use her in any of your political games.
I will ensure she stays far away from strife and remains happy forever.
The sword in my hand will cleave through any dark claws that reach for her.” Tyrion blinked, seemingly digesting Jaime’s current state.
Jaime recovered his composure, his face a little embarrassed.
Sighing, he sat back down and gently patted Tyrion’s small shoulder.
“I am very sorry.
I simply despise marriages made for profit so much that I lost my reason.
Tyrion, I hope I did not hurt you.
I was not directing that at you.” Tyrion shook his head, his voice solemn.
“When Father arranged for Cersei to marry Robert, it was the first time I saw you lose your reason, the first time you argued with our esteemed father.
I can try to understand how you feel.
I am also very fond of Myrcella; she embodies all the goodness I can possibly imagine.” “It was a sincere suggestion, not for the sake of some exchange of benefits.
I am Myrcella’s uncle, too.” “However, I still want to give you an additional reminder, my dear brother.
Our name is Lannister.
A Lannister…” “Think no more of it.
You know I like to joke, Jaime.” Jaime remained silent.
He clasped his hands tightly together, unable to keep his brows from furrowing.