While the rough and wild King Robert continued to keep Queen Cersei firmly under his thumb, Grenn Clegborn needed to find a way to climb upward.
If he were to request an audience directly, the proud Cersei Lannister would most likely dismiss the so-called "half-wild" Clegborn family.
The raven-letters were merely groundwork; what mattered was seizing the right moment to showcase his ability and strength.
The lands of the Crab Claw Peninsula were mostly barren and harsh, filled with marshes, woods, and shadowed valleys.
Each dark valley on the peninsula had its own lord, and both the lords and their people trusted no outsiders.
The people of the Crab Claw were largely descendants of the First Men. When the Andals tried to conquer the region, they met resistance at every turn.
When they were not at war with outsiders, the locals turned inward and slaughtered one another. Feuds between families ran deep and dark, like the bogs in the mountains.
Every now and then, a hero would bring a brief peace—such as the legendary Clarence Clegborn—but when he died, everything always returned to chaos.
During the War of Conquest, Aegon the Conqueror had sent Visenya Targaryen to bring the peninsula to heel. She made them vassals directly sworn to the crown. From that day on, the Crab Claw had remained fiercely loyal to House Targaryen.
Grenn Clegborn handed the finished letter to Steward Herschel.
He was silent for a moment, then ran his long fingers through his inky-black, shoulder-length curls.
Roughly 100 miles east of Whispering Keep, slightly to the north, there was a large swath of land—fertile, at least by Crab Claw standards.
That land had once belonged to the Clegborns' ancestral domain, Whispers Hold. According to Herschel, it was thanks to those fertile lands that the Clegborns had once maintained a thousand elite soldiers, enforcing total dominance over the surrounding regions.
But after the Rebellion, under immense pressure from within and without, Grenn's mother had fled with what remained of their retainers to the then-safer military outpost, renaming it Whispering Keep.
Over a decade had passed. Whispers Hold had long since fallen to ruin, and the Clegborns had lost all claim to the land.
"Sulana, my mother must have endured hell back then."
"My young lord, even now, thinking back to those days makes my heart tremble. In the early days, the lady would sleep with two blades under her pillow—one long sword for wildling raiders… and a short one for herself."
Grenn chuckled softly. "She was truly formidable."
The ever-stern Sulana allowed herself the faintest smile. "She died at peace, my lord. You were her greatest pride."
After chatting with his household steward for a while, Grenn reflected on Sulana's final, subtle words.
The harvest season was nearing, and the mountain clans had begun eying the Clegborn farmlands now left without the formidable Lady Clegborn.
Everyone was poor—but by comparison, the Clegborn farms had always stood out.
Now was the perfect opportunity.
With only a young boy, long shielded beneath his mother's wings, in charge, the mountain lords—usually scattered—had, for once, united. If they weren't going to raid him, who else? The odds were in their favor.
Sulana wasn't overly concerned about the outcome of battle itself.
The Clegborns still had two knightly retainers, Ser Peryl Pirry and Ser Mason Beck, families bound in service since the founding of House Clegborn.
They were the most loyal vassals a house could hope for, forged by centuries in one of the harshest regions of Westeros.
There were over 200 trained soldiers in Whispering Keep's standing force—every one of them hardened by countless skirmishes.
Twenty of them wore full plate armor. Against the unarmored mountain men, each could fight ten.
Sulana herself had followed Lady Clegborn through many campaigns. Agile and deadly, it was said few could match her with a short blade.
No, what truly worried her was Grenn's youth—his hot blood and inexperience. This would be his first time leading troops in the field. If he let his passions drive him forward recklessly, it might cost him his life.
And if Grenn fell, the last scion of House Clegborn would be lost. All who lived under his banner would scatter or be slaughtered. House Clegborn would become nothing but history.
Grenn really wanted to just tell Sulana, "Don't worry—I play it safe. I don't take reckless risks."
But a lord must always project courage and dignity, so such words could not be spoken aloud.
Ever since fusing with his new body after arriving in this world, Grenn could feel tangible improvements in his physical capabilities every time he woke up.
His sword had long been itching for action.
But with a mature mind, Grenn constantly reminded himself—this was just one of the "top ten illusions of increased physical prowess."
You're a lord. You command troops. Hold steady, don't go charging off!
Aside from a cousin three years older who had been married off four years ago, Grenn was the only heir left of House Clegborn. For a noble house with a long lineage, this was extremely dangerous.
Clegborn lands were not peaceful; the lord had to constantly lead his men into both large and small battles.
With Lady Clegborn now gone, Grenn—as the new lord of the Crab Claw Peninsula—would live a life just like his forebears: battle, battle, and more battle.
Being a lord on the Crab Claw Peninsula was a high-risk profession.
What if something happened to the last Clegborn?
Anyone with half a brain would sense the crisis looming. The people's hearts would begin to waver.
The title of House Clegborn was that of a hereditary baron.
And just as awkward as the house's current standing in the realm, Grenn's marriage prospects were equally problematic—not high enough to aim upward, but too noble to settle downward.
By normal standards, a fifteen-year-old noble like Grenn should at least have a betrothed by now.
Sulana understood that a lord's marriage was not just about passion and romance. The cause and consequences of the Rebellion remained a constant warning to the nobility: falling in love can destroy you.
Therefore, Sulana believed that even a bastard child would be better than none. Grenn needed an heir—noble customs and laws be damned.
It wasn't a curse—it was about securing the loyalty of their people.
Once an heir existed, even an illegitimate one, a lord's eventual marriage could proceed more smoothly.
Sulana had a son and a daughter. Her eldest son, now sixteen, had already married and was currently apprenticing under Steward Herschel.
Her daughter, Kaleia, had just turned thirteen and had her first moon's blood a month ago.
She was healthy, beautiful, and—most importantly—trustworthy.
Sulana had watched Grenn grow up. She knew he was not a cold or selfish man.
Though bearing a bastard child might not be respectable, for the current state of House Clegborn, it would be an act of service.
The child could not inherit the Clegborn name, only the bastard surname Waters, but would still carry Clegborn blood.
At the very least, bearing a child with Clegborn blood would earn the mother a farmstead, and she'd live the rest of her life in comfort.
Better than most women, and enough for a lifetime.
Everyone would benefit.
Now that he lived here, Grenn was glad he had fused with the original owner's memories.
With those memories, his behavior and speech wouldn't seem out of place. He could change gradually, naturally.
As a loyal subject of the former Dragonlords, he couldn't afford to leave behind any glaring signs of oddity.
Under the Faith of the Seven, standing out too much would earn the label of heretic—and followers of the Seven were everywhere in Westeros.
Thirteen… Grenn leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a long time.
The conflict in his heart was too great. He'd have to revisit the matter.
After a few quiet days of counting, Grenn estimated he had around 2,000 direct subjects, with hunting as the main means of survival and farming as a supplement.
Roughly 1,000 people were concentrated around Whispering Keep, the rest scattered across ten villages of varying sizes.
One of those villages, south of Whispering Keep by the sea, had a population of about 200 and lived off fishing.
It was currently called "Fishing Village"—a terrible name. That needed to change.
At the very least, the "village" should be renamed to "harbor."
Once he had the time, Grenn planned to inspect it personally and draw up a proper plan.
The lord was poor. He needed a lot of gold dragons.
Ser Mason Beck, one of the household knights, had been away for three days, carrying out Grenn's orders to survey all blacksmiths, carpenters, and other skilled craftsmen across the domain.
Steward Herschel had already begun organizing empty buildings.
The plan was to concentrate all resources, centralize production, divide labor, and begin training specialists—all to prepare for building a cold weapons factory.
Clegborn lands had abundant stands of high-quality yew trees. Once they could field an army of longbowmen, the advantage would be theirs.
But elite archers required more than just marksmanship—they needed discipline, and Grenn understood that this would take time to build.
For now, Grenn's first task was to mobilize all available forces based on the current strength of the domain. He had to raise an army quickly and crush the nearby mountain clans to secure a stable environment for growth.
But most of all, they were just too poor. Grenn was even considering temporarily changing the family motto to:
"Seizing beats sowing."
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