Semi-Military Farm

Borne Brune of Dyre Den had once served as squire to Lord Alyn Stokeworth, who was Hand of the King to Aegon I.

During the Battle of the Ruby Ford in the War of the Usurper, the houses of Crabb and Brune on Crackclaw Point fought shoulder to shoulder for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

All were model loyalists of the Dragon House, trusted among the trusted.

Under the new Baratheon Dynasty, they fared miserably—the wretched among the wretched.

Perched atop a high cliff, the thick gates of Dyre Den, standing over forty meters in height, were firmly shut. Gryn decisively abandoned any plan to storm and seize it.

Taking a well-fortified castle through conventional siege methods, Gryn felt, would cost too much. The path to dominance could not avoid siege warfare, but without a dragon, Gryn needed more unconventional means and strategies.

For now, Gryn had no preparations for besieging Dyre Den. If an opportunity arose, he'd fatten up; if not, he'd let it go without hesitation.

Gryn consoled himself: they were all poor lords. Why should the poor make life harder for the poor?

"When someone dares challenge you, you must answer resolutely with iron and blood. When they kneel in submission, you must lift them up with your own hands—otherwise, no one will ever willingly surrender."

Turning over the words from memory in his mind, Gryn said to Ser Mason, "Mason, it's over to you now. Handle the ransom for the Brune captives as per the usual rules. For the sake of their past battles alongside the Targaryens, let them off this time—but warn them there won't be a next time."

Mason nodded in acknowledgment.

Gryn then quietly instructed Ser Pell, "Hand the captives over to Amparo for escort. Keep your Survey Corps here to continue striking the wildling tribes, especially those allied with House Brune. Same as last time—smash their settlements and relocate the population. Crabb's Lands needs plenty of farmers."

The semi-military farmsteads Gryn had planned were to be implemented by Ser Mason in the newly reclaimed Crabb's Lands.

As time passed, these semi-military farmsteads would spread across all arable land in the eastern part of Crackclaw Point.

"As you command, my lord."

Gryn nodded with a grunt and continued, "The wildling tribes near Crabb's Lands have already had their main forces broken by us. There won't be fierce resistance anymore, but I still demand you treat every battle with caution. Recruit any good hunters you find into the Survey Corps. Recruiting while striking the wildlings—this is a rare chance to train troops."

Pell said, "My lord, I will follow your orders. As for House Brune..."

Gryn tugged at the reins, turning his horse aside, and Ser Pell urged his mount to follow.

Riding side by side, Gryn said to Pell, "Pell, talking with you always puts me at ease. Yes, though we lost this round, House Brune won't bend the knee to me. For a time, no force in Crabb's Lands will threaten the Crabb name—perfect for us to digest our gains. At the same time..."

"Aside from the twenty warhorses I've picked to take back, I'll allocate all the remaining horses to you. The Survey Corps needs speed more."

Gryn glanced again at Dyre Den. "The Crabb advance can't stop. We need constant raiding to feed the populations of both old and new lands. We've expanded too fast; the farmland can't support too many people."

"The only noble in eastern Crackclaw Point who can still cause us trouble is House Brune. That I cannot tolerate. One Crabbs is enough as master of eastern Crackclaw Point."

"Mason will stay behind to oversee the development of the old lands. I'll order him to coordinate with your campaigns. Start with the wildling tribes allied with House Brune, one by one. I want you to blockade House Brune—make every step impossible for them—until they submit or vanish."

A faint smile touched Gryn's lips as he patted Pell's shoulder. "I'm heading to King's Landing soon. I can't be in two places at once, so I'm relying on you. Good thing you're here—your loyalty and ability have always been what I trust most."

"Ser Pell, for the glory of House Crabb."

Pell's expression turned solemn. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head. "My sword is ever at your service!"

Mutton Waters carried a large round shield on his back, a warhammer tucked at his waist, and was chewing on a smoked sausage.

Beside him, Lena said helplessly, "Fat Mutton, do you ever get full? Why are you always eating?"

Mutton Waters replied with a simple grin, "Ah, I'm just scared of hunger. I never had enough to eat before—now it's so much better. Ever since I followed the lord, I've never gone hungry."

Lena rolled her pretty eyes at him. "And you're still this fat even though you never had enough!"

Mutton Waters scratched the back of his head. "Heh heh..."

A sly glint flickered in Lena's eyes. "Fat Mutton, eating like that... eat too much and the lord might punish you."

Mutton's eyes widened with a look lacking any glimmer of wisdom. "Th-this... I know I've got a big appetite. Should I go confess to the lord myself?"

Lena snorted first, then couldn't help clutching her stomach with laughter, leaving Mutton even more bewildered.

Luckily, Gryn's voice came just in time. "Mutton, Lena's just joking with you."

Gryn walked over and lightly tapped Lena on the head. "He'll take it seriously."

Lena yelped, clutching her head as she crouched down, while Gryn glanced at his own palm without changing expression.

Mutton suddenly blurted out in complaint, "My lord! Lena's not hurt! She's faking it! I saw it! She just snickered! I saw it!"

Mutton Waters had a beast-like intuition. From his first day in Gryn's camp, he'd sensed that the camp rules were tied to his own future.

To Mutton Waters, Gryn was the first person who hadn't scorned his huge appetite and who'd made sure he never went hungry.

Mutton kept chewing his food as he spoke, having forced his dull mind to memorize the rules through sheer effort.

He'd just been startled by the sly Lena for a moment, but now he'd finally caught on—eating too much wasn't against the rules. Naturally, he had to "retaliate."

Mutton Waters hopped up and down, ruthlessly exposing her, his big belly rippling like waves of fat.

When did this guy get clever?

Lena said pitifully, "Lord Gryn, I beg your mercy... I..."

Mutton scratched his head. Did I overdo the revenge?

Gryn waved a hand helplessly. "Go on, get Mutton some more food. He'll forgive you soon enough."

King's Landing, a corridor in the Red Keep.

Tyrion Lannister sat on the marble railing along the corridor, his short legs swinging back and forth.

A wine cup, seemingly never far from his hand, was clutched in his grip, his face flushed red from drink. "Brother, think of something pleasant. You worry too much. Sometimes I wonder if your care for our sister isn't a bit unnatural."

Jaime Lannister cast another uneasy glance toward Cersei's chambers, let out a long sigh, and sat down on the railing as well. His handsome face still held traces of anger. "King Robert has forgotten what honor means. I've lost count of how many times he's laid hands on Cersei."

Tyrion scooted closer to Jaime and reached out to pat his arm. "You have to understand why I stopped you. If you got involved, it would only make things worse."

Jaime rubbed his face with both hands in frustration. "Tyrion, you're always clever and rational."

Tyrion's gaze turned deep, his tone carrying rare seriousness. "Our sister thinks she's Tywin Lannister with tits, but she's nowhere close. For one thing, Father is as cold and composed as a great glacier, while Cersei flares up like wildfire the moment her emotions get the better of her. Our king and queen are like two raging flames—touch them together, and they burn even fiercer."

Jaime sighed deeply once more. "I just want Cersei to live happily."