Rational Loyalty
While the rugged King Robert kept Queen Cersei firmly in his shadow, Grenn Crabb knew he must find his own foothold to rise.
A direct audience with Cersei would likely end in dismissal—she would never deign to spare a glance for one from the "half-wildling" Crabb family.
Letter ravens served only to lay groundwork. What mattered was timing the display of power and capability.
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The lands of the Crab Claw Peninsula were harsh and infertile, dominated by marshes, forests, and shadowed valleys.
Each gloomy ravine was ruled by a local lord—and neither lord nor people trusted outsiders.
Most were descendants of the First Men. When the Andals sought to conquer, they found defeat at every turn.
If not battling outsiders, they were fighting each other. Family feuds ran dark and deep, like the fenland bogs.
Occasionally, a hero—such as the legendary Clarence Crabb—would bring fleeting peace. But his death meant the old chaos swiftly returned.
During Aegon's Conquest, the Conqueror had sent Visenya Targaryen to bring the peninsula into the fold. Sworn directly to the Iron Throne, the region remained steadfastly loyal to House Targaryen.
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Grenn Crabb handed his finished letter to Steward Herschel.
Moments passed in silence. He then ran long fingers through his ink-black, shoulder-length curls.
Some 100 miles east of Whispering Keep lay a stretch of arable land—rare in the peninsula.
Once part of the ancestral domain of House Crabb—Whisper Hold—this rich land had once funded a thousand elite warriors under House Crabb.
After the Rebellion, Grenn's mother fled with their retainers to the military stronghold—renamed Whispering Keep. Whisper Hold fell into ruin.
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"Sulana, my mother suffered greatly in those days."
"My lord," Sulana replied, "I still tremble at the memory. She slept with two swords under her pillow—one long for wildling raids, one short for her own defense."
Grenn smiled. "She was formidable."
Sulana, always composed, offered a rare smile. "She died in peace. You were her greatest pride."
As Sulana departed, Grenn pondered her final words. With harvest season approaching, the mountain clans had turned their covetous gaze toward Crabb lands—especially now that Lady Crabb was gone.
All were poor, but the Crabb farms were known for productivity.
It was the perfect opportunity for raiders.
Only a boy remained to defend the lands. The clans, usually scattered, were united—for once—in targeting him.
Sulana's concern wasn't about war per se.
House Crabb still retained two knightly vassals—Ser Peryl Pirry and Ser Mason Beck—loyal for centuries.
In Whispering Keep, some 200 hardened soldiers remained, twenty of them clad in full plate—each a terror to unarmored wildlings.
Sulana herself had fought at Lady Crabb's side. Agile and deadly with her short blade.
No, her true fear was Grenn himself. His first campaign could see the flames of youthful zeal burn too bright—and consume him.
He was the last hope of House Crabb. If he fell, the banners would collapse. The house would vanish.
He wanted to reassure Sulana: "I'll be careful. I won't charge blindly."
But a lord could not admit fear. He must project valor.
Since merging memories in this world, Grenn had felt his strength increase—each dawn finding him physically more capable.
The blade had cried out within him.
Yet, in his wiser mind, he reminded himself: these were illusions conjured by newfound strength.
You are lord. You hold soldiers. Stay steady. Do not throw your life away.
Aside from a cousin three years his senior who had wed four years ago, Grenn was House Crabb's only male heir. For a venerable house, the danger was stark.
This domain was no peaceful idyll. A lord here fought constantly, large battles or small.
With Lady Crabb gone, Grenn's life would follow the ancestral pattern: fight—fight—fight.
To be lord in this peninsula was to accept daily risk.
What if the last Crabb died in battle? It would spark a crisis. Hearts would waver.
Their title was hereditary baron.
In the kingdom, they were neither prestigious enough for elite matches nor suitable for lesser alliances.
Typically, a fifteen-year-old lord would already be betrothed.
Sulana understood the stakes: marriage was not mere affection. The Rebellion warned all—love could lead to ruin.
She believed an heir—even bastard-born—was better than none. Customs be damned.
To secure loyalty, the house needed an heir.
Her own children—son and daughter—were grown and trustworthy. The daughter, Kaleia, had come of age a month ago.
Though illegitimate, a child with Crabb blood would merit a farm and lifelong security. Better than most women could hope for.
Betterment for all.
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Adaptation to local custom was prudent. With fused memories, Grenn's speech and actions would adjust naturally.
As a sworn vassal of the Dragonlords, he must avoid drawing attention. Under the Faith of the Seven, heresy could be a blood ticket—and followers were everywhere.
At thirteen… Grenn stared at the ceiling long and hard.
That internal conflict would require reflection.
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After days of quiet census, he found he had roughly 2,000 direct subjects. They survived by hunting first; farming second.
Around 1,000 lived near Whispering Keep; the rest in ten villages.
One coastal village south of the Keep numbered about 200—fishing was their trade.
"Fishing Village" was a poor name. It must be renamed—at least to "Harbor."
Once settled, he'd inspect it and plan accordingly.
The lord was poor. He needed gold dragons.
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On the third day, Ser Mason Beck surveyed all blacksmiths and carpenters by Grenn's orders.
Herschel began preparing empty buildings.
They mobilized all forces—centralizing production, dividing labor, training artisans. A cold-weapons manufactory in the making.
Local stands of high-quality yew promised a future corps of longbowmen.
Bows would not suffice—discipline must be forged over time.
Grenn's first task was total mobilization—raise an army and break the wildlanders to ensure stability.
Poverty remained. He even considered temporarily changing the family motto to:
"To seize surpasses to sow."
They could restore the old one once gold rivers filled the coffers.
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