The Garrison

"Some victories are won with swords and spears; others require pen, paper, and ravens."

This had once been the Old Lion's maxim. Clearly, the lords great and small of the Westerlands had all grown accustomed to the ravens' long-distance—micromanagement.

House Banefort, House Brax, House Crakehall, House Islann, House Falwell, House Farman, House Jast, House Kenning, House Lefford, House Leyton, House Marbrand, House Moreland, House Prester... As Gryn recalled the contents of Genealogies and Histories of the Principal Noble Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, he moved his quill across blank sheets of parchment.

Gryn's eyes were calm. One sheet after another, the letters he had written had formed a thick stack.

More than half the candle on the stand had burned away. Its flickering flame cast light over Gryn's slightly weary face as he set down his quill and rubbed the space between his brows.

The Lannisters were undoubtedly a vast family. Beyond the main Lannister line, they had countless cadet branches, such as the Lannisters of Lannisport, the Lannys, the Lannys, the Lantells, and... all manner of intertwined marriage alliances.

Gryn tapped a finger lightly against the tabletop, setting aside his personal feelings as he reviewed his political objectives in the Westerlands.

First, the Lannisters' crime of rebellion had to be settled.

Second, he had to seize the Lannisters' gold mine revenues.

Finally, he had to promote and cultivate forces friendly to House Crabb, thereby directly and indirectly controlling the entire Westerlands.

Knock, knock, knock.

A light knock came at the door. After receiving permission, an attendant entered, skillfully replaced the candle, and quietly departed.

Leaning back in his chair, Gryn shifted his gaze to the map of the Seven Kingdoms hanging on the wall. The first objective was for the nearly ten thousand Crabb soldiers stationed at Golden Tooth