Early spring arrived sooner on Crackclaw Point than in King's Landing. Morning dew froze into frost on the stockade of the Crabb lands, dyed into shattered gold by the rising sun. The air was filled with the scent of wood ash from burnt-out bonfires, mixed with the salty tang of the distant coast.
Daemon stood at the edge of the square, watching soldiers reinforce the fence. Rayford Rosby was directing several young followers to stack stones, while Mycah Rivers, the bastard of House Mooton, squatted aside sharpening a spear. His profile looked exceptionally calm in the morning light, completely devoid of the rawness of yesterday's battlefield.
"Prince." Rupert Crabb's voice interrupted his thoughts. The boy held a neatly folded cloak in his hands. "Father says there is wind today and asked me to bring this to you."
Daemon took the cloak, feeling the heavy wool through his fingertips. "How is your father?"
"Much better." A smile appeared on Rupert's face. "The Maester says he can get out of bed in a few days." He paused, looking toward the town entrance. "I heard the royal envoy arrives today?"
Daemon nodded. Just as he was about to speak, the sound of disciplined hoofbeats came from the distance. Several royal guards escorted a Kingsguard in white armor and white cloak, riding slowly along the coastal road. The Kingsguard's breastplate was engraved with the swamp marigolds of House Crabb.
"It's Ser Clement!" someone from Crabb's land shouted. Daemon squinted; the upright knight at the front was indeed the Kingsguard, Ser Clement Crabb.
He was younger and more imposing than his brother, Lord Crabb. His silver armor gleamed coldly in the sun, and the scabbard of the longsword at his waist was inlaid with blue enamel—the mark of the Kingsguard.
The group stopped in the center of the square. Clement dismounted with cat-like agility. He removed his helm, revealing a hawk nose similar to Lord Crabb's, but his eyes were sharper, like blades quenched in ice.
"Prince Daemon," he bowed, his voice resonant as a bell. "By order of His Grace the King and the Small Council, I am here to read a decree."
Lord Crabb, leaning on a cane and supported by Renfred, walked over. Bernarr Brune followed closely.
The young heir of House Brune wore a brand-new suit of black armor, the sigil of House Brune embroidered in silver thread on his chest, though his brow still carried unconcealed fatigue and sorrow.
"Please read it, Ser." Lord Crabb's voice was still weak, but carried unquestionable solemnity.
Clement took a scroll of parchment from his tunic, the wax seal stamped with the royal three-headed dragon. He unfurled it, cleared his throat, and read in that unique, emotionless tone: "In the name of the Seven, I, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, hereby proclaim:
"In view of the bravery and loyalty of House Brune, especially the outstanding merits of the late Lord Brune in quelling the wildling rebellion on Crackclaw Point, the Crown hereby grants his eldest son, Bernarr Brune, the title of Lord of the Dyre Den, inheriting all lands and titles of House Brune, hereditary forever. May he uphold his father's will, guard the peace of Crackclaw Point, and be loyal to the Crown until death."
"In view of House Crabb's generations of service to the Crown as 'Queen's Men,' producing numerous Kingsguards from the time of the Conqueror to the present, their loyalty and valor renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the Crown hereby grants Lord Crabb the title of Lord of the Whispers, granting jurisdiction over his ancestral seat, the Whispers, and surrounding ownerless lands. May he restore the ancient castle, comfort the people, and work together with the Lord of the Dyre Den to govern Crackclaw Point."
"Furthermore, the funds required for the restoration of the Whispers shall be raised by the new Lord of the Whispers himself; the Crown shall not provide allocation. This is a test, and an honor—let the Seven Kingdoms witness that the hands of House Crabb can wield swords as well as rebuild homes."
"So ordered." Clement's voice echoed in the square. When the last syllable faded in the wind, everyone fell silent.
Daemon looked at Bernarr Brune's tense profile, then at the complex emotions flashing in Lord Crabb's eyes, and suddenly understood his "Grandfather's" deep intent—this wasn't just a granting of titles, but a meticulously designed balance of power.
Bernarr had just inherited his title and lacked prestige; the Iron Throne's decree was the strongest backing, allowing him to rule the Dyre Den legitimately.
House Crabb was lower in rank than House Brune, but by lifting up the glory of the "Queen's Men" and the Kingsguard, they leaped to become Earl of the Whispers, equal in rank to Bernarr.
But the clause about "raising funds himself" was like an invisible shackle, forcing Crabb to pour energy into restoring the Whispers, leaving no time to vie for power on Crackclaw Point, invisibly giving Bernarr time to accumulate strength.
A masterful use of balance, and the two key figures must be grateful to the Crown... Daemon sighed inwardly. Truly the "Conciliator"! This ruthless and seasoned political maneuvering lives up to its reputation.
"Bernarr Brune," Clement turned to the young heir, "do you accept the Crown's investiture and swear allegiance?"
Bernarr took a deep breath and knelt on one knee. "I do. I, Bernarr Brune, swear by the name of the Seven to be forever loyal to King Jaehaerys, to House Targaryen, to guard Crackclaw Point, with no second heart."
"Lord Crabb," Clement looked at the Baron, "do you accept the investiture?"
Lord Crabb, leaning on his cane, slowly knelt. Though his movements were slow, they were exceptionally firm. "I do. I, Crabb, swear by my family's honor to restore the Whispers, comfort the people, and govern the peninsula together with Lord Bernarr, living up to His Grace's trust."
Clement put away the scroll, finally revealing a hint of relaxation on his face. "His Grace also said," he added, "that the peace of Crackclaw Point requires not only swords, but wisdom. He hopes both Lords understand his painstaking efforts."
After the ceremony, Lord Crabb suddenly walked up to Bernarr and opened his arms to hug him. "It's alright, child." The old Lord's voice was a bit hoarse. "From now on, I will treat you like Renfred and Rupert."
Bernarr stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, hugging him back with red eyes. "Thank you... Uncle."
Daemon stood aside watching this, his chest feeling warm. The game of thrones was indeed filled with calculation and checks, but beneath these cold rules, sincere emotions never seemed lacking.
Crabb and Brune had fought all their lives, yet at the end could let go of grievances. This openness was perhaps the brightest light of human nature.
"Prince." Rupert's voice sounded again. The boy held a sword with both hands, kneeling before Daemon. "I, Rupert Crabb, wish to offer my sword to follow Your Highness, in life and death."
Daemon looked at the boy. In his past life, he had faced such scenes many times, but this boy reminded him of an old friend—Gwayne Corbray...
It's a pity that old friend chose to serve my brother Daeron back then...
Returning from his thoughts, Daemon steadily gripped the hilt, helping Rupert up. "I accept your allegiance. I swear, there will always be a place for you by my hearth, and you shall drink and eat meat at the same table as me. I swear never to ask you to do anything unrighteous. I swear this by the longsword Blackfyre in my hand and the Old Gods and the New."
Just then, Bernarr Brune also walked over. He unbuckled the sword at his waist and offered it with both hands, his movements even more solemn than Rupert's. "I, Bernarr Brune, Lord of the Dyre Den, wish to lead all members of House Brune to follow Prince Daemon Blackfyre Targaryen forever. From this day forth, the Prince's enemies are our enemies; the Prince's glory is our glory."
Clement was about to say this was against protocol, but was stopped by a look from his brother, Lord Crabb. The old Lord shook his head gently, signaling him not to speak.
Daemon looked at the determination in Bernarr's eyes, then at Clement's hesitant expression, and suddenly smiled.
He took Bernarr's sword, the House Brune sigil on the pommel still warm from the boy's body.
"I accept your allegiance, and wish to swear the same." His voice carried clearly across the square. "But I want you to remember, following me is not for the name Daemon Blackfyre, but to guard the land beneath your feet and the family you cherish."
Bernarr nodded heavily. "Yes, Prince."
Crackclaw Point at dusk was dyed golden-red by the setting sun. Daemon's retinue assembled in the square of Crabb's land. Gael and Mysaria were mounted on Dreamfyre, while The Cannibal circled above the cliff, the black dragon's shadow cast on the ground like a giant ink stain.
Bernarr Brune and Lord Crabb brought their people to see them off. Rupert and Renfred stood at the front, holding dry rations prepared for Daemon.
"Take care on the road, Prince." Bernarr's voice choked up a little. "The 'Sea Snake' of High Tide... is not easy to deal with."
Daemon patted his shoulder and laughed. "I know, but no matter how difficult the 'Sea Snake' is, I have the 'Queen' covering me. Manage things well here. When I return, I hope to see a different Crackclaw Point."
He mounted his warhorse, with Rayford Rosby and Mycah Rivers following close behind. The bastard of House Mooton was much steadier than when they first met, the longsword at his waist polished bright, his eyes holding less timidity and more grit.
"Move out!" Daemon commanded, and the retinue slowly moved out of Crabb's land.
Listening to the shouts of Bernarr and the smallfolk behind him, Daemon looked back. In the afterglow of the setting sun, the fences and houses of Crabb's land shrank gradually. The figures of Bernarr and Lord Crabb still stood waving.
He suddenly remembered Jaehaerys's decree, Lord Brune's last words, and the light in the eyes of those young followers. His heart was suddenly clear.
Power might be tempting, checks and balances might be exquisite, but ultimately, what supported this land was perhaps never cold rules, but those willing to stand up for their home and beliefs.
The retinue moved along the coastal road, The Cannibal's roar echoing in the sky.
Daemon knew the "Sea Snake" of High Tide was waiting for him. The road of the tour through the Seven Kingdoms was still long, but his heart was firmer than ever before.
Night fell, and the moon and stars rose. The party camped in a sheltered bay. As the campfire rose, Daemon watched the dancing flames, suddenly remembering Gael's smile, Mysaria's timidity, and the faces met in Rosby, Maidenpool, and Crackclaw Point. He drew Blackfyre, the blade gleaming in the firelight, reflecting the fire in his eyes.
"Tomorrow is another new beginning." He whispered, as if swearing to himself, and to this sleeping land.
The distant waves crashed against the reefs, making a low sound like an ancient song, playing the prelude of the road ahead for this party marching toward High Tide.
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