The Crab Claw Peninsula once had its own legendary hero, a man named Clarence Crabb.
During the reign of King Jaehaerys I, grandson of Aegon the Conqueror, there was a Kingsguard knight named Clement Crabb.
At the Battle of the Trident during Robert's Rebellion, the great houses of the Crab Claw Peninsula fought alongside Prince Rhaegar to the bitter end. The people of the Peninsula proudly proclaimed themselves the model vassals of the true dragon bloodline.
After Robert Baratheon won the war, the Crabb family—never large to begin with—suffered devastating losses. Only one male heir survived: Grenn Crabb, who was still in his mother's womb at the time.
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Whispering Town, a crescent-shaped military fortress built against a hillside. Scattered around the fortress stood a few small houses.
Inside the Lord's Hall of Whispering Town.
Sitting tall in the high-backed lord's chair was Grenn Crabb—a traveler between worlds who had now fully merged into this life. Behind him hung a great banner emblazoned with a golden marsh marigold.
Standing to his left and right were a man and a woman.
The man was about forty years old, around 5'7" tall, balding and stout, wearing a blue, round-necked robe.
The woman appeared to be in her thirties, about 5'7" as well, with long, curly brown hair, dressed in a blue gown with a low-cut slit neckline.
They were Herschel, the steward, and Sulana, the housekeeper.
At this moment, an old farmer knelt respectfully at the center of the hall, speaking in a voice both cautious and deferential:
"Yes, my lord, I swear... I went out at dawn to tend the fields, and my neighbor Matty would sneak into my house and... with my woman... all manner of... gasping activities. It's happened many times."
After painstakingly listening to the old farmer's halting accusations, Grenn Crabb's expression remained mostly unchanged. Only the faintest press of his lips betrayed a reaction.
The Lord's Hall fell silent.
Seeing that his young lord had no intention of speaking, Herschel cleared his throat and said:
"Old Piel, from what you're saying, you caught them in the act... and you did nothing?"
The old farmer, Piel, was silent for a moment before replying:
"I was angry, but... I'm no longer young. Matty is younger, stronger. I couldn't beat him..."
"And your wife?"
"I... couldn't beat her either…"
Ah, the women of the Crab Claw Peninsula—indeed, fierce and formidable!
By local custom, Old Piel would soon earn himself a mocking nickname like Piel the Weak.
A qualified lord had a duty to protect the weak. Only when the weak were protected could loyalty grow strong.
Grenn Crabb understood this well: if you thought about it, everyone needed protection—himself included.
The fifteen-year-old lord's voice, still bearing a trace of youthful softness, rang out:
"Old Piel, your lord has heard your plea. I will send two swordbearers to accompany you."
He turned his gray eyes toward a tall, armored middle-aged man standing to the side of the hall and added:
"Ser Pell, choose two sharp men for the task. If there are no objections, arrest them on the spot."
Then Grenn slightly tilted his head, speaking in a low voice to Herschel:
"Where do we need more hands? Preferably somewhere dangerous."
Steward Herschel, as if already prepared for this, answered without hesitation:
"My lord, there is always work for strong arms within the domain. But if I may suggest—give him a sword. The hill tribes are stirring again. You need more warriors. Show your mercy, and offer him a chance."
Very well—young, strong, full of stolen passion. Here's a sword. Go fight the wildlings. If you survive, it will be thanks to the mercy of your lord.
Remember it well. Grip your sword tightly—and live to fight again.
Grenn nodded slightly and waved his right hand.
Old Piel, eyes reddened, bowed deeply before his lord. Though bent with age, he felt as though his spine had straightened, his body filled with renewed strength. In his heart, he vowed fiercely to serve his lord well, to work the fields diligently, and to yield a better harvest this year.
The lord is too thin, he thought. He must be going hungry. If I till the land better and grow more crops, the lord will eat more... and grow stronger.
"Next."
"My lord, my farming tools are broken…"
"My lord, my son's belly has been aching for days, I beg you..."
"My lord, the wildlings stole my prey..."
"Merciful lord, the wildlings keep lurking near our village. The villagers are growing fearful..."
"Yes, they usually come in groups of five or six."
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By late morning, the petition sessions were finally complete.
Grenn Crabb, no longer needing to maintain his rigid posture of lordly dignity, stretched lazily as he rose from the towering wooden chair. Gods, these noble poses are exhausting.
He turned and said:
"Lady Sulana, bring a basin of hot water to my study. And have lunch delivered there as well. Also, tell Maester Al to ready the ravens. I want the messages sent out as soon as I've finished writing."
Inside the castle's study, Grenn Crabb finished his lunch. After tidying up, he picked up his quill.
Today marked the third letter he would write.
The recipient: the current queen, Cersei Lannister.
After Robert's Rebellion, the Crabb family's main bloodline was reduced to a single male heir—himself. At that time, he was still in his mother's womb. Out of knightly honor, Eddard Stark persuaded the new king, Robert Baratheon, to pardon Grenn Crabb's mother, allowing the Crabb family's flame to survive by a stroke of fortune.
Yet in the years that followed, Jon Arryn, Duke of the Vale and Hand of the King, never forgot to suppress the once-proud vassal families loyal to the Targaryens, the Crabb family included. He did so tirelessly for over a decade.
Next year, the grand tale of A Song of Ice and Fire would begin.
The Game of Thrones was about to unfold.
And there was much Grenn Crabb needed to do.
To step onto the stage, as a noble of the Crownlands, he first needed to ease relations with the Red Keep.
After more than a decade, Jon Arryn was now old, his vigor fading fast. According to the story's timeline, his days were numbered.
At last, the Crabb family could catch a breath.
But Grenn Crabb would not drift aimlessly with the tide.
He would not settle for mere survival.
The Crabb family, once mocked as half-wildlings, might have been ignorant or incapable in the past—but now, Grenn Crabb was here.
He shook off his musings, ready to channel his inner flatterer.
To Her Grace, the Queen, Bringer of Courage and Beauty:
In humble admiration, I offer you my most sincere greetings. Forgive my bold intrusion.
Fifteen years have passed since the war. At that time, I was yet unborn, nestled quietly within my mother's womb, warmed by memories I could never keep.
Since coming of age, I have been ever grateful for the kingdom's mercy that allowed the Crabb family to endure.
Out of reverence and fear of forgetting, I have long lived by our family's ancient words: United in Purpose.
As I grow older, I have come to understand more deeply:
At the heart of our house words lies Loyalty.
The dragons have been gone these fifteen years. Though the Crabb family remains, we are adrift…
Once, House Crabb stood firm for loyalty, knowingly marching to death without hesitation.
Yet in this new world, the loyalty of House Crabb has found no place to rest—trust has been stripped from us.
Without trust, our loyalty is like a sword without a master.
Noble as you are, would Your Grace be willing to bestow upon House Crabb a second chance?
Word has reached me that Your Grace is soon to undertake a royal hunt.
House Crabb humbly yearns for the honor of riding at your side, to serve you faithfully and well.
Your devoted guardian,
Grenn Crabb
Grenn set down his quill.
The first step:
Cersei, or Daenerys.
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.
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