While the boorish King Robert continued to suppress Queen Cersei, Gryn Crabb needed to build himself a ladder to climb.
If he were to request a direct audience, the proud Cersei Lannister would almost certainly look down on House Crabb, dismissively labeling them “semi-wildlings.” The ravens were merely a prelude; the key lay in seizing an opportunity to demonstrate his ability and strength.
*** The lands of Crackclaw Point were mostly barren and rugged, dominated by bogs, forests, and deep valleys.
In Crackclaw Point, every dark valley had its own lord, and neither the lords nor their smallfolk trusted outsiders.
Most inhabitants of Crackclaw Point were descendants of the First Men.
When the Andals had attempted to conquer Crackclaw Point long ago, they were battered at every turn.
When the people of Crackclaw Point were not fighting external enemies, they slaughtered one another internally.
Their family blood feuds ran as deep and murky as the mountain bogs.
Occasionally, a hero would bring temporary peace to Crackclaw Point, such as Clarence Crabb, the legendary ancestor of House Crabb.
But once he died, everything reverted to chaos.
During the Conquest, Aegon the Conqueror sent Visenya Targaryen to Crackclaw Point to bring them into the fold as direct vassals.
Ever since, Crackclaw Point had remained fiercely loyal to House Targaryen.
*** Gryn Crabb handed the finished letter to Head Steward Hershel.
After a moment of silence, Gryn ran his long fingers through his dark, medium-length, wavy hair.
Roughly a hundred miles east of Whispers Castle, slightly to the north, lay a vast stretch of land relatively suitable for farming compared to the rest of Crackclaw Point.
That land had once belonged to the sphere of influence of Whispers Keep, House Crabb’s ancestral seat.
According to Head Steward Hershel, that territory had enabled House Crabb to maintain a thousand elite house troops, securing their absolute rule over the surrounding region.
After Robert’s Rebellion, under pressure from both within and without, Gryn’s mother had led the remaining household to this military fortress—which was relatively safe at the time—and renamed it Whispers Castle.
More than a decade had passed.
The ancestral seat of Whispers Keep was now in ruins, and House Crabb had long since lost control of those lands.
*** “Surana, my mother must have suffered back then.” “My young master, even now, looking back brings a chill to my heart.
In the beginning, Her Ladyship slept with two swords beneath her pillow.
The longsword was for the mountain wildlings who might attack at any moment, and the shortsword was for herself.” Gryn let out a soft laugh.
“She was remarkable indeed.” A faint smile softened the usually cold face of Lady Surana.
“Her Ladyship passed away in peace, my lord.
You were her greatest pride.” Gryn chatted with House Steward Surana for a while.
After she left, he pondered her final, implicit warnings.
As the harvest season drew near, the local mountain wildling chieftains had implicitly set their sights on House Crabb, which had just lost Lady Crabb.
Everyone was poor, but by comparison, House Crabb’s farmsteads had always been an attractive target.
The opportunity was golden.
Right now, the master of the Crabb domain was merely a young boy who had lived under his mother’s protection for years.
The mountain wildlings had united for a rare moment.
If they didn’t rob him, who else would?
The advantage was theirs!
Surana wasn’t actually worried about the military outcome for the domain.
House Crabb possessed two knightly retainers whose families had been enfeoffed for generations: Ser Pell Peerie and Ser Marson Beck.
Over hundreds of years since House Crabb’s founding, they had bred the most reliable retainers in this world.
Under the treacherous environment of Crackclaw Point, House Crabb maintained over two hundred standing soldiers, every single one a battle-hardened veteran.
Among them, twenty wore full plate armor.
Against unarmored mountain wildlings, one could easily stand against ten.
Surana herself had accompanied Gryn’s mother in numerous campaigns; she was quick and agile, and rumor had it few could match her with a shortsword.
What Surana truly feared was Gryn’s youthful impetuousness.
Facing his first command in battle, he might let blood rush to his head, charge at the front lines, and accidentally end up dead.
House Crabb had only one male heir left.
If anything happened to Gryn, everything under the Crabb banner would collapse in short order, and House Crabb would vanish into history.
Gryn actually wanted to tell Surana directly: *I’m extremely cautious.
I won’t do anything reckless.* However, for the sake of a lord’s prestige, one had to project courage at all times, so such things could not be spoken aloud.
Since transmigrating and completing the integration of his memories, Gryn felt a noticeable improvement in his physical capabilities every time he woke up.
His sword had long been itching for action.
Yet, possessing a mature mindset, Gryn constantly reminded himself that this was merely one of the classic illusions brought on by physical enhancement.
*You are a lord.
You have troops.
Stay steady, don’t throw your life away!* *** Aside from a cousin three years older than him who had been married off four years ago, Gryn was the sole surviving line of House Crabb.
For an ancient noble house, this was a perilous situation.
The Crabb domain was far from peaceful; a lord had to lead his men into battle constantly, big or small.
Now that Lady Crabb was gone, Gryn’s life as the Lord of Crackclaw Point would resemble that of his ancestors: fight, fight, and fight some more.
Being a lord in Crackclaw Point was a high-risk profession.
What if the last Crabb met with an accident?
Anyone with half a brain would feel a sense of crisis, and people’s hearts would begin to waver.
House Crabb held a hereditary barony.
Fitting their current awkward standing in the kingdom, Gryn’s marriage prospects were indeed a problem—too high for lowborns, too low for high nobility.
Normally, a fifteen-year-old noble like Gryn should at least have a betrothed.
Surana understood that a lord’s marriage was not a simple matter of romance.
The origins and aftermath of Robert’s Rebellion served as a constant warning to nobles never to let love blind their judgment.
Therefore, Surana believed that even a bastard would do; Gryn needed to produce an heir, noble traditions and laws be damned.
This wasn’t cursing Gryn, but rather securing the hearts of his smallfolk.
Only with an heir could a lord approach marriage with room to maneuver.
Surana had a son and a daughter.
Her eldest son, sixteen, was already married and learning under Head Steward Hershel.
Her youngest daughter, Callaia, was thirteen, having reached her maiden’s flow a month ago.
She was healthy, exceptionally fair, and above all, trustworthy.
Surana had watched Gryn grow up and knew he was not a cruel or ungrateful man.
Though siring a bastard lacked prestige, for the Crabb domain at this moment, it would be a noble service.
The child could not inherit the Crabb name and would bear the bastard surname Waters, but they would still carry Crabb blood.
To father a child with Crabb blood right now meant the mother would receive at least a farmstead and live comfortably for the rest of her life.
She would live better than most women, and that would be enough for a lifetime.
It would be good for everyone.
*** When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
Gryn was only glad he had fully merged with the original host’s memories.
With those memories, his words and actions wouldn’t seem out of place, allowing any changes to unfold naturally over time.
As a former loyalist to the Dragon family, he could not leave any obvious handles for his enemies to grasp.
Under the Faith of the Seven, stepping too far out of line invited the label of heretic, and believers of the Seven were everywhere in Westeros.
*Thirteen years old…* Gryn leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a long while.
The moral conflict in his heart was too great.
He decided to table the matter for later.
*** After a few days of quiet census-taking, Gryn determined that he had roughly two thousand direct subjects.
Their main livelihood was hunting, supplemented by farming.
Around one thousand people were gathered near Whispers Castle, while the rest were scattered across ten villages of varying sizes.
One of these villages lay to the south of Whispers Castle, by the sea, with a population of over two hundred who made their living by fishing.
It was named Fishing Village—a terrible name that needed changing.
At the very least, “Village” should be upgraded to “Port.” Once this busy period passed, he would have to make a personal trip for a field inspection before drawing up plans.
The domain was poor; he needed a mountain of Gold Dragons.
*** Ser Marson Beck, a knightly retainer who had been dispatched three days prior, was executing Gryn’s orders to survey and tally all the blacksmiths, carpenters, and artisans in the domain.
Head Steward Hershel had already begun arranging people to clear out vacant rooms.
The plan was to consolidate all resources within the domain, streamline production, divide labor, and train skilled workers to establish a cold-arms factory.
The Crabb domain possessed an abundance of fine yew trees.
Training a force of longbowmen from the populace would yield a massive advantage.
An elite longbow unit required more than just archery skills; it demanded rigorous discipline, and Gryn understood that such things took time to build.
His immediate priority was to mobilize every bit of strength the domain possessed, raise an army to the maximum extent, and crush the nearby mountain wildlings once and for all, securing a relatively stable environment for the domain’s growth.
Above all, they were simply too poor.
Gryn intended to temporarily adopt a new house motto: *Better to Seize Than to Till.* He could always change it back once he was rich.