A Heart-to-Heart Between Mother and Daughter

Knight Pell's voice carried a note of pride. "My lord, I command a hundred men as easily as I move my own arm."

He was just a centurion. Gryn sneered inwardly at how pleased Pell was with himself.

In his past life, he'd commanded tens of thousands of soldiers in battle with ease.

Well, this was Age of Empires in real life now. It wasn't the same.

The Crackclaw Point was vast and sparsely populated, and had long been plagued by conflict. By the scale of warfare, it really was the countryside. The battles here were little more than brawls.

They were all a bunch of people who'd never seen a major battle. That was a problem.

Someone like Pell, who'd spent half his life at war and had a knack for command, was practically invincible in this region.

He had every right to be proud. Gryn understood.

Gryn smiled with satisfaction and continued on with Knight Pell.

After a period of strict management, the Whispers had become clean, and the various unpleasant smells had faded away.

These small changes made Gryn's steps lighter.

He'd have the kitchen add a dish to dinner. A little encouragement now and then never hurt.

At a training ground in the Whispers.

More than twenty men had gathered there. Each was tall and powerfully built, standing like a tower.

They were the Crabb family's most elite warriors, able to fight in full plate armor.

The Mountain Wildlings called them Iron-Skins.

When they saw Gryn and Pell approaching, they stopped what they were doing and bowed one after another.

Gryn picked up a wooden training sword from the rack, gave it a few swings, and said, "Who wants to spar with me?"

The group fell quiet, each man looking at the others.

Gryn pointed at one of them at random. "Yes, you."

The man had started out looking rather nervous, but as he walked over, he relaxed. He said earnestly, "My lord, my name is Foley... You might get hurt."

Gryn chuckled. "If you hurt me, I'll have a roast leg of lamb added to your lunch."

"A nice, fatty one dripping with grease."

The burly man swallowed and nodded.

Word that the young lord was going to spar at the training ground spread through the castle at an incredible speed. People flocked over.

By the time Gryn took off his cloak and handed it to a servant, then returned to his place, a huge crowd had already gathered. They'd arrived so fast it was unbelievable. It made no sense.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh!"

"Roar! Roar!"

The burly Foley was fired up, tempted by the roast leg of lamb and swept along by the crowd's excitement.

The burly Foley was quick, but he held back.

Foley had his own little plan. If he really injured the lord, the roast lamb probably wouldn't taste so good anymore. He'd just make the hot-blooded young lord realize he was outmatched, while letting him save face.

When Foley brought his sword down from above, Gryn easily blocked it with one hand. He shoved forward, and Foley's body instinctively resisted the sudden force, but he still staggered back three steps.

"My warrior, take this seriously. Let me see what you can really do."

"Oooh, yeah!"

"Foley, did the owner of the Old Ken Tavern make you stay over last night? You look like you're all spent."

"What the hell are you talking about? Get over here and die!"

"Haha, all spent!"

The burly Foley's dark face turned faintly red.

Damn it, what were those idiots going on about? The lord really was strong. What did they know?!

The burly Foley planted his feet. His grip on the hilt loosened for a moment, then tightened again as he entered the battle-hardened state he'd forged through countless trials.

Thud! Bang!

Dust billowed, then settled. The burly Foley lay on his back, looking utterly defeated.

I really did my best...

Silence.

Then cheers erupted!

Gryn kept his smile composed and waved lightly at the crowd, returning the warmth of his people.

The gloomy air that had hung over the Whispers since Gryn's mother died seemed to vanish all at once.

The place no longer felt so bleak.

Knight Pell was shocked by the strength Gryn had shown.

Pell's swordsmanship was seasoned, so he could tell that Gryn hadn't even come close to using all his strength. He'd beaten Foley with ease.

Foley wasn't as skilled with a sword as Pell, but he was strong enough that Pell would have to be careful facing him. At best, Pell could hold his own.

The lord had grown up. He was getting stronger and stronger. House Crabb had a bright future.

On a wooden platform beside the training ground, Surana stood with her second daughter, Kalaia, watching Gryn's retreating figure.

"My daughter, Lord Gryn is strong. His children will be as sturdy as little bulls."

Kalaia's hair was the dark color common across Crackclaw Point. As the steward's daughter, she took good care of her slightly curled hair.

Kalaia was nearly five feet three inches tall.

Kalaia turned her deep green eyes toward Surana. "Mother, but... a bastard... I want to marry a dashing knight. I don't want to be a mistress who bears bastards."

"Every maiden in Westeros dreams of marrying a dashing knight. But, my poor daughter, your station isn't high enough. Wealthy knights won't look twice at you. The only ones who might are destitute knights or widowers. Could you get used to living in poverty? Would you really want to serve some old man?"

Kalena stubbornly kept silent.

"Your mother would never harm you. You can't live on love. It changes."

Kalaia turned away angrily. "My opinion doesn't matter anyway. Why don't you just strip me naked and throw me into Lord Gryn's bedchamber!"

"You..."

Everyone had always thought of Surana as stern and unsmiling, a walking ice statue.

She gave all her tenderness to her most beloved daughter, Kalaia.

Surana watched her sulking daughter blink, then stepped closer and rested her soft chin on Kalena's head.

"If it were that simple, your mother's life would be so much easier."

"I tested the waters yesterday, but it seemed I was rejected. I don't think Lord Gryn is interested in you."

Kalena broke free of Surana's embrace and met her eyes, checking whether she was joking.

I'm the prettiest girl in our village! Kalaia's face was full of disbelief.

Are you serious?

Surana looked over her daughter's beauty with satisfaction, then reached out and stroked her cheek.

Her skin was as white as milk, soft and smooth.

"Your mother is only a steward. She has a place in Crabb lands, but her station isn't noble. If you were plain, I wouldn't have to worry about this and that."

"As the years passed, you blossomed like a flower. All sorts of people will set their sights on you for all sorts of reasons. Sooner or later, your beauty will become your ruin."

"My many years of life have taught me just how cruel the world can be. Of all the people I know, the only one who won't mistreat you and can protect you is Lord Gryn."

Kalena's eyes reddened. She hugged Surana tightly, breathing in her familiar scent. "Mother..."

Surana stroked Kalaia's hair and said, "There may be someone better out there, but I don't want you to leave, and I'd be even more worried about you being alone. Would you be willing to leave your mother?"

No, never... Kalaia shook her head fiercely in Surana's arms.

"I spoke to Lord Gryn about you yesterday, but... he didn't react at all. I tossed and turned all night and couldn't sleep."

Muffled in Surana's ample embrace, Kalaia gave a soft hum.

Gryn spent most of the afternoon busy at the blacksmith's and the carpenter's workshops. After dinner, he had a long talk with Knight Pell about the Mountain Wildlings.

At last, the day's work was done. Gryn relaxed in the hot water of a wooden tub.

He sighed contentedly and thought about Amparo, the most famous Spearwife in his lands, whom he planned to receive tomorrow. She was said to be an excellent hunter, with exceptional skill with a bow.

Creak.

The sound of the wooden door opening was especially jarring in the quiet night.

The footsteps were light. They didn't belong to anyone he recognized.

Gryn's heart stirred, and his hand went to the short sword leaning beside the tub.

The footsteps drew closer.

Gryn's deep brown eyes flickered.

The olive-green dress was made of thin linen, with a low, slashed neckline.

"Forgive my boldness, Lord Gryn."

"I'm Kalaia, the daughter of your steward, Surana."