Chaos Is a Ladder

Whispers, banquet hall.

Long tables stood in the middle of the hall and along both sides.

The tables were laden with greasy roast meat, fresh fruit, and all kinds of drinks.

As he watched the young maids bustle back and forth through the hall, Gryn's thoughts were elsewhere.

The maids wore blue, round-necked dresses that fell below the knee.

The traditional dresses worn by the maids of the Whispers were so long that Gryn worried they might trip over them—or be stepped on—and fall flat on their faces. They also kicked up dust easily, so he privately dubbed them "Mop Skirts."

Seeing the maids swaying before his eyes every day had become too much for Gryn. In Kalaia's name, amid the many pressing affairs at hand, he had made a point of arranging for someone to shorten their skirts to just below the knee. He had also provided each of them with a pair of brown, mid-calf soft leather boots.

Add a headscarf, and the Crabb Maid Outfit was born.

After the changes, Gryn finally found the maids easy on the eyes.

He had used Kalaia's name because he worried that if he made the changes under his own, word of the skirt incident might spread. Given the customs of Westeros, he could end up saddled with an embarrassing title like the Skirt Baron.

Dragon Mother: "Descendant of Old Valyria, Queen of the First Men and the Andals, Ruler of Westeros and Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea's Dothraki, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons!"

Gryn: "... The Skirt Baron!"

No. He absolutely refused to acknowledge it.

All credit belonged to the naturally clever Kalaia.

Amid the laughter, everyone kept raising their cups, and the atmosphere in the hall grew even livelier.

Gryn sat alone at the lord's table, with only Kalaia, holding a wine jug, attending him.

By custom, only the lord's family or honored guests could sit with the lord at his table.

Gryn: "Kalaia, leave the jug here. Go enjoy the feast too. Look, your friends are sitting at that table."

Kalaia's little face showed clear hesitation.

Gryn smiled and took the jug from her. "Go on. I'll call you if I need anything."

"Then... I'll go over and see. I'll be right back!"

Not long after Kalaia left, a pair of slender, delicate hands appeared before Gryn, holding out the wine jug and pouring him a drink. "My lord, you're going to spoil Kalaia."

"Lady Surana, whenever I need something, you always appear right on time."

"I'm grateful for your confidence in me. I'd be even more grateful if you could lighten my workload a little."

Lately, Herschel and Surana had been kept constantly busy with one task after another assigned by Gryn.

"Have you run into a problem?"

"They call themselves healers. Do healers really not need to trim their nails? I'm sure they haven't cut them once since birth. And that awful stench never goes away. I've had no appetite since yesterday. The physicians of Whispers are furious with them. Gathering them all together was a disaster in itself. I even thought about the dagger I haven't used in a long time."

Gryn understood. "It seems the healers don't realize they're prisoners."

After a pause, he continued, "Surana, we have to admit that they have their own skills when it comes to treating wounds and using herbs. The Crabb Soldiers need more healers. With more healers and good medicines, we'll be able to save many more soldiers."

"Veterans who have survived many battles are a precious asset to us."

"You've thought it through, my lord. I understand. I just couldn't help wanting to draw my sword and frighten the ones who wouldn't listen."

Gryn nodded. "Yes. As I just said, they're prisoners, so you've already found the right approach. Arrange for it to be done. Whether it's trimming their nails or scrubbing them clean with a brush, first have the soldiers hold their swords to their throats. You'll find it much easier."

"Thank you for your help, my lord."

As she spoke, Surana looked toward the other side and frowned almost imperceptibly.

Kalaia held a wine cup in her slender hands, happily chatting with the other maids her age.

Following Surana's gaze, Gryn looked at Kalaia's flushed little face. "Kalaia learns quickly. As her mother, you should be proud of her."

"You have a kind heart."

"Young shoots need time to grow, Lady Surana."

Only Amparo and Lena among the Thorn Legion were entitled to attend the banquet.

It was the first time either of them had attended a banquet hosted by a lord. At first, both Amparo and Lena were reserved, but after a few cups, swept up in the heady atmosphere of the feast, they began talking loudly and drinking freely.

Surana glanced at Amparo, then blinked. "I hear you're quite pleased with her figure."

Maester Al... Gryn chuckled softly. "Amparo is an honest, straightforward warrior."

Somewhere in King's Landing, inside a dimly lit room.

Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, had gray-green eyes and graying hair. He was small and slender, and his dark gray robes were neat and orderly, making him look like a septon.

Petyr Baelish lifted his head, a graceful smile curling his lips. "Lord Crabb, Gryn. That's a name I don't recognize."

"Yes, my lord. Her Majesty the Queen seems quite interested in him. I looked into him. He's fifteen, a half-wildling noble from Crackclaw Point."

"A model loyalist of the Targaryens..."

Petyr Baelish kept his pleasant smile, his gaze calm. "You can't rely on what's visible on the surface. Anything that hasn't been verified cannot be trusted. The magic of King's Landing draws ambitious men in with every passing moment."

"My lord, forgive my ignorance, but should we send someone to investigate him more thoroughly?"

Petyr Baelish gave a slight shake of his head before answering. "There's no need to send anyone in particular. Since our Queen has taken an interest, the young man will soon appear in King's Landing. The Red Keep has no secrets."

Petyr Baelish murmured, "Chaos is a ladder."

One month later.