Marigold Ale

The villagers reported that the Mountain Wildlings nearby had grown more active.

Gryn, who habitually strove for perfection, had planned to let the army train together for a few more days and refine a few more details.

But unrest was spreading through the territory, and Gryn realized he could delay no longer. He had no choice but to go to war.

If he waited any longer, his subjects might think he was too cowardly to face the Wildlings.

After inspecting the Thorn Legion's volley training, Gryn led the others toward the lord's meeting hall in Whispers. His steps remained steady.

Whispers, the lord's meeting hall.

Gryn sat high in his seat. The back of the lord's chair bore the marsh marigold sigil of House Crabb.

Gryn took the wineglass Kalaia handed him and sipped the red wine with a frown.

He had to admit, this sour red wine grew rather intoxicating once you got used to it!

The Crabb household retainers stood in two lines along either side of the hall.

Ser Mason spoke first. "My lord, negotiations with the Wildlings are complete. The meeting is set for after sunrise tomorrow."

"How many have they gathered?"

Ser Pell, who was in charge of the Survey Corps, replied, "An estimated thousand."

Gryn rested the back of one hand against his cheek and gave a mocking snort.

At the lord's scornful laugh, the hall fell quiet for a moment. Then everyone began making fun of the Wildlings.

Disdain for the Wildlings was a strategic necessity. It could raise morale without anyone even noticing.

It was already an established custom in the territory.

But Gryn would never underestimate the Wildlings tactically.

Gryn gestured for everyone to quiet down. "Herschel, are the shields ready?"

Steward Herschel answered, as respectfully as ever, "Yes, my lord. There are thirty shields reinforced with iron in the storeroom, plus seventy oak shields made in the carpentry shop. All one hundred have been handed over to Ser Mason."

Gryn handed his wineglass back to Kalaia. "Steward Herschel, well done."

Herschel bowed.

"I'll go over the battle plan once more."

"The Thorn Legion's 120 longbowmen will each carry two quivers, with twenty arrows in each."

"The Crabb Longbow has ample range, as you've all seen for yourselves."

"When the Wildlings charge us, the first thing they'll face is a volley from the Thorn Legion."

"Mason, during the first phase of the battle, your task is to use the one hundred shields and lead the household troops in holding the line and protecting the Thorn Legion until every arrow in their quivers is gone."

"Once the Thorn Legion has finished firing, the first phase of the battle will be complete."

"After taking 4,800 arrows from the Thorn Legion all at once, who knows how much of that laughable courage the Mountain Wildlings will have left? Remember to check whether they've wet themselves, too."

The people in the hall burst into laughter.

Gryn continued, "In the second phase, the plate-armored warriors will take the front, while all the household troops advance steadily. We'll engage them at close quarters and crush them completely."

"Meanwhile, the Thorn Legion will rest where they are and wait for my command."

Afterward, Gryn had each officer repeat his part of the battle plan.

Gryn's war councils were quite different from the territory's usual practices. As lord, he needed to be patient, communicate repeatedly, and make sure everyone truly understood what he intended.

They had to take the first step sooner or later. Time was on Gryn's side.

Gryn tapped his knee with a finger, thinking, This should be enough.

The Crabb Territory's first formal joint operation between its different troops was about to begin, prepared in haste under the pressure of time.

Gryn's lunch consisted of onion-roasted mutton, vegetable soup, honey bread, and a jug of ale.

Gryn took a sip of the ale and frowned again.

It tasted awful, bitter as could be.

Why did the ale's flavor keep changing? He remembered it being quite good last time!

Gryn didn't want to drink any more. As a broke lord, he didn't want to waste it either, so he picked up the jug and poured the rest of the ale in his cup back inside.

Gryn smiled warmly at Kalaia. "The ale is excellent today. Herschel has been working very hard lately. Take this jug to him."

Herschel was broad and stout. This was the lord's way of showing him some care.

Kalaia nodded and faithfully carried out her lord's command.

In the hall, Steward Herschel was dining with everyone else. To the envy and cheers of those around him, he took the jug from Kalaia.

Herschel really had been working hard these past few days. Gryn had kept him running all over the place until he was practically thin on his feet.

This was the lord's recognition of his abilities. All of Herschel's fatigue vanished, and he felt full of energy.

The ale put Gryn in mind of Mermaid Harbor as he ate.

He thought of one of the harbor's main sources of income: alcoholic drinks.

Relying entirely on imported drinks could easily cause problems in the future.

It would be best to have a famous drink of their own to produce and sell, like Arbor's wine.

Given the resources of the Crabb Territory, developing ale was the best choice.

Gryn had long noticed that, outside the castle, people seemed to have no concept of hygiene.

He suspected that poor sanitation had a lot to do with the inconsistent taste of the territory's ale.

One thing Gryn sometimes appreciated was that he could issue laws without having to justify them.

Otherwise, just explaining what a hygiene problem was would exhaust him.

For example, sanitation in brewing could be addressed through strict regulations. No one would openly defy rules set by the lord.

There would surely be all kinds of problems during implementation, so effective oversight and a proper monitoring system would also be needed.

Thinking of this, Gryn felt that giving away the ale just now had worked out perfectly. Steward Herschel's workload had just increased again.

The ale needed a catchy, elegant name, too. A good name meant half the battle was won.

Mermaid Ale?

It wasn't closely enough connected. Too much of a stretch.

Marsh Marigold Ale?

That could work. Ale itself was golden in color.

The word "marsh" had to go. It sounded low-class.

It would be called Marigold Ale.

After lunch, Gryn had been feeling a little drowsy, but a reply from King's Landing instantly woke him up.

He read the letter several times, then couldn't help snapping his fingers.

According to the letter, around the middle of the year, in about two months, Her Majesty the Queen would leave King's Landing for the Kingswood Hunt, and Gryn would be responsible for part of her escort.

Gryn would gather the escort himself from within his territory. The quota was twenty men.

Gryn's goal was to use Queen Cersei to get the chance to appear at the Red Keep.

The Game of Thrones was about to begin, and Crackclaw Point was too far away.

Seeing Gryn so happy, though he rarely showed much expression, Kalaia found her own mood lifting as well. "Lord Gryn, it's rare to see you so pleased. Would you like a glass of red wine?"

Gryn turned to her. "Sure. Pour one for yourself, too. Let's have a glass together to celebrate."

Gryn raised his glass to Kalaia, then drained it in one gulp.

Thank you, Your Grace Cersei.