To bolster his credibility, Maester Al of Whispers Castle described the battle of House Crabb reclaiming their ancient lands to the Citadel in as much detail as possible.
Maester Al had no intention of leaking House Crabb’s secrets; it was merely out of his usual rigorous academic habits and a tiny bit of vanity.
The lords of Crackclaw Point through the generations had been brave enough, but they lacked education.
Green had been taught by Maester Al since he first learned to read.
The old man loved to reminisce, and looking back on it now, he felt a great sense of accomplishment.
Maester Al was highly knowledgeable, but he was no general after all; strictly speaking, he had inadvertently leaked a portion of their intelligence.
Under the embellishment of Maester Al’s quill, the Crabb campaign was painted with artistic flair.
Most of the nobles of Westeros, save for a few observant individuals, sneered at it.
*Isn’t it just fighting Wildlings?
Put me in, and I could do it too!* Randyll’s eldest son, Samwell, who was desperate for his father’s approval, was one of those few observant people.
Once Maester Al’s accounts reached the Citadel, the contents were simplified further before being dispatched via raven to the maesters of Westeros’s “friendly” lords.
In Randyll’s Horn Hill, only Samwell, who spent every day reading all kinds of books, noticed it.
He had even requested the maester of Horn Hill to ask the Citadel for the more detailed original text.
*** Under Randyll’s imposing presence, Samwell always stuttered when he spoke, which only made Randyll dislike him even more.
“F-father…
I…
I studied House Crabb’s campaign.” Randyll acted as if he had not heard.
Samwell kept talking.
For him, taking the initiative to stand here and offer counsel to his father required every ounce of courage he could muster.
“I looked up many records.
The Wildlings of Crackclaw Point are natural-born warriors…
They aren’t weak.
For Baron Green to defeat them with so few soldiers, he is worthy of attention.
His way of fighting is different from what we are familiar with…” The famous commander Randyll was proud, and his military record gave him every right to be.
During Robert’s Rebellion, the army he led handed Robert Baratheon’s forces their only defeat at the Battle of Ashford.
Randyll Tarly was blunt and rigid, but he possessed an iron will and sharp shrewdness.
He had even been praised by Kevan Lannister as the man most capable of ending the war in Westeros after Tywin Lannister’s death.
Naturally, Randyll had read the brief report of the campaign that took place in Crackclaw Point.
With his eldest son being a coward and his younger son still too small, he had merely lamented, *A pity he isn’t my son.* Samwell was cut off by Randyll.
“So, what is the use of you studying all this?
If you met them on the battlefield, could you defeat Crabb?
Or do you think you would be braver than those Wildlings who do not fear death?
Face-to-face with roaring warhorses, would you even be able to hold your sword?” “Get out.
Get out of my sight.” Samwell was terrified yet anxious.
He felt there must be a major secret to the Crabb archers’ bows that needed deeper investigation.
Horn Hill should understand and master this information in advance, and there were many more details he needed to suggest to his father.
Instantly, Samwell broke into a cold sweat, perspiration dripping like rain from his forehead down to his chin.
“Get out!!” Samwell shuddered violently.
Under Randyll’s icy gaze, the courage he had managed to muster completely evaporated, and he fled the dining hall in a panic.
*** Tyrion came looking for him again, informing Green that Her Majesty the Queen was recovering from her injuries.
She would not grant Green an audience until the scars on her face completely disappeared, as it would affect her noble image.
After quietly sharing this “confidential” intelligence, Tyrion dragged Green out to drink and listen to music.
For five consecutive days, Green saw Tyrion’s short frame swaying before his eyes every evening.
Each time, Tyrion had a reason that made it impossible for Green to refuse.
Green was very familiar with Tyrion’s tactics; he had used them himself in his past life.
First, start with the most sincere advice, reveal seemingly important secrets, quickly skip the stage of unfamiliarity to draw the two parties closer, and then add fine wine and beautiful women…
If things went smoothly, the other party would let down their guard, leaving no more secrets.
In truth, Green really wanted to tell Tyrion that high-level hunters often appeared in the guise of prey.
While following Tyrion to experience the extravagant life of the King’s Landing nobility, Green very seriously played the role of an exemplary lord who combined humility, honesty, compassion, wisdom, valor, justice, sacrifice, and honor.
A serious Green was a terrifying thing.
He immersed himself so deeply in the role that eventually, even he believed it.
*** The Red Keep, the gardens.
Tyrion sat on a wooden bench with dark circles under his eyes, staring blankly at his nephew Tommen and niece Myrcella playing.
With a stretch of his small hand, Tyrion caught a tossed apple and took a large bite with a loud crunch.
Amused by Tyrion’s state, Jaime sat down beside him, looking at Tommen and Myrcella with a gentle expression.
Tyrion let out a long burp that reeked of wine.
“Jaime, I’ve decided.
Starting tomorrow, I am staying far away from all wine.
The Seven as my witness!” Jaime smiled amusedly.
“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve said that exact same thing.” “Fine, I’m always forgetful.
But I really do need a few days of rest.” “You’re getting along well with that little Wildling?” Tyrion nodded.
“So young, yet showing no haste and no anxiety.
Living in a savage land, yet he is good at learning and eager for knowledge.
He has desires but is not greedy.
What is rare is that he possesses a kind heart.” Jaime leaned comfortably back against the bench.
“Are you describing yourself, my dear brother?” Tyrion paused, then grinned.
“My dear brother, do I stand that grand in your mind?” Jaime turned his head to look at the grinning Tyrion.
“It seems you really appreciate that little Wildling.” Tyrion shifted closer to Jaime and whispered, “If I were Cersei…” Tyrion raised his chin, and Jaime’s attention shifted back toward Myrcella.
“Myrcella’s marriage could consider that little Wildling you mentioned.
He is worth it.
He is—” Jaime cut him off angrily, “Enough!” Tyrion was not startled by Jaime’s sudden shout.
Instead, he asked curiously, “Jaime, isn’t your reaction a bit too extreme?
You have to trust my judgment after careful consideration.” Jaime stood up and paced back and forth a few times, his hand tightly gripping the hilt of the longsword at his waist.
“Tyrion, Myrcella is still very young.
I don’t want you plotting her into any political schemes.
I will definitely keep her away from conflicts and keep her happy forever.
The sword in my hand will cleave any dark hand that reaches for her.” Tyrion blinked, seemingly processing Jaime’s current emotional state.
Jaime snapped out of it, looked a bit embarrassed, and sat back down with a sigh, gently patting Tyrion’s small shoulder.
“I’m very sorry.
I just detest marriages of convenience so much that I lost my composure.
Tyrion, I hope I didn’t hurt you.
I wasn’t targeting you.” Tyrion shook his head and said in a low voice, “When Father arranged for Cersei to marry Robert, it was the first time I saw you lose your composure, and the first time you argued with our respected father.
I can try to understand how you feel.
I also like Myrcella very much; she possesses every beautiful quality I can imagine.
“My advice was sincere, not for some so-called exchange of interests.
I am also Myrcella’s uncle.
“But, as an aside, I still want to remind you, my dear brother, our surname is Lannister.
Lannister…” “Don’t think about it anymore.
You know I like to joke, Jaime.” Jaime remained silent.
Jaime clenched his hands tightly, his brow furrowing uncontrollably.