King's Landing, within the Red Keep.
Tyrion Lannister's mop of curly, tawny-gold hair fell across his brow. He wore a soft leather jerkin embroidered with a roaring lion. Barely over four feet tall, with a large head atop a small body and a pronounced brow, his gait was distinctive and strange.
"Hey, brother—didn't see me coming? Where are you off to? Has my dear sister made you her personal courier?"
Jaime Lannister gave a small shrug and slowed his pace.
Tyrion matched his stride. "Jaime, you should learn to come to me of your own accord. My most important role in House Lannister is to stand beside you, to make your greatness shine all the brighter."
With a sigh of resignation, Jaime said, "Fine, you win. I'll tell you without a fight—I'm delivering a letter."
Tyrion's face lit with a mischievous smile. "So my lonely sister finally couldn't resist finding herself a lover? Come on, let me see it."
The corner of Jaime's mouth twitched as he raised the envelope. "Sadly, it's sealed."
He shifted his grip just enough to dodge Tyrion's small, grasping hands. "It's not a state secret—I can tell you what it says."
"Oh? Then I guessed wrong."
"Mm. Don't always assume the worst about Cersei. She's your sister."
"Aha—should I hope my dear sister will kiss my sweet little face? Only if the Seven are napping."
"Tyrion, don't blaspheme the Seven."
"The Seven don't care what I say, brother."
Tyrion patted Jaime's thigh. "Go on, tell me."
"It's about a minor baron from the Crab Claw Peninsula. Cersei intends to bring him along for the royal hunt."
"Well, that's a surprise. Sounds like she's in high spirits."
"The young baron wrote to her first. The lad's a flatterer."
"Ha! Sounds like you don't care for him—afraid he'll steal your sister's affection from you?"
"For once, you and I agree. And no, I'm not that petty. Young men should put their energy into the sword, not into flattery."
"Then all the better. As a Kingsguard, you can take the opportunity to give him a proper lesson for his own good."
Tyrion's tone shifted, thoughtful. "Brother, the Crab Claw Peninsula is a gods-forsaken place. You're a Lannister—you'll never understand what it's like to be poor. When you can't fill your belly, who has the mood to play with swords? Down there, swearing direct fealty to the queen is a family tradition—it's what they're good at."
"This is a good thing, really. At least the little baron isn't stupid—he knows the Lannisters have gold, doesn't he?"
Jaime gave a sheepish smile. "You always have the logic. I'm just the errand boy."
Three days later, under a flawless blue sky.
In Whispers Hall, inside the bowyer's workshop—
Gawen picked up a newly finished longbow from the wooden table. Nearly two meters in length, it drew at about one hundred and ten to one hundred and twenty pounds.
In House Crabb's lands, most folk worked the fields and hunted for their livelihood. Nearly everyone could use a bow. This draw weight was good for a beginner—easy to adapt to.
With proper training, the long-term plan would be to produce bows of one hundred and thirty or even one hundred and fifty pounds.
The design was taken from the English longbow of Gawen's past-life memory—simple to make, with impressive range.
(Hunting was a vital means of survival in the domain; bow staves were always kept in reserve.)
"My lord, I can make three of these a day now."
"So can I!"
"Same here."
…
The replies came from the carpenters—about ten in all—men who had made their living crafting bows and arrows.
Gawen had originally planned to divide the longbow-making process into stages, creating a simple assembly line for efficiency.
But he'd dropped the idea. The first problem: no skilled foreman to oversee the work. Without effective management, both quality and output would fall.
Since demand for longbows wouldn't spike overnight, current production was enough. Better to keep the craftsmen working in the same space—able to see each other's pace and create a touch of healthy competition. It was a small step forward.
He reminded himself not to overreach—take it step by step, or risk tearing something fragile.
Satisfied overall, he tested several bows at random, gave a few more instructions, and then announced to the workshop that the new weapon would be named the Crabb Longbow.
Ser Pell's reputation in the domain got results quickly.
The hundred-strong Scout Corps was already beginning basic formation drills.
Most of them were hunters, armed with their own bows and short swords.
That suited Gawen's plan perfectly—the Scout Corps would be equipped with shortbows and shortswords as standard.
He envisioned them as light infantry in mountain leathers, tasked with reconnaissance and raids.
The fact that they brought their own weapons eased the burden on Whispers Hall's armory, which was far from rich.
But one thing did not meet his standards: their arrows. Most were handmade by the hunters themselves, varying wildly in quality.
The arrowheads lacked killing power, so the castle smithy's current priority was to produce sturdy, uniform arrowheads.
Still, the to-do list was endless.
Helmets were another issue.
The armory had no spares—the 200 household guards of House Crabb had already stripped it bare to equip themselves.
Gawen thought of the headscarves common among pirates.
The storerooms had plenty of grey hemp cloth. Cut to the size of a towel, it could be tied around the head as a makeshift cap.
One hundred men, all in grey headscarves, looked just enough like a proper force to boost morale.
(Scout Corps cohesion +1.)
Then there was the matter of armor.
His eventual goal was for the Scout Corps to wear mail shirts under leather cuirasses.
That was far off.
The storerooms had plenty of leather—but most of it was soft. Hard leather, the key material for armor, was scarce.
To give every scout at least basic protection, he mobilized every idle hand in the castle to help make cuirasses.
There was no time for fine work or beauty—just cut, punch, and lace, and a simple cuirass was done.
The Thorn Legion under Empajo couldn't be overlooked either. As lord, he couldn't favor one force over the other.
But with the old design, there wasn't enough hard leather for both.
After a moment's thought, he decided: the new Crabb cuirass would have no backplate, protecting only the chest and belly. That way, the same amount of leather could make nearly twice as many cuirasses—enough to equip the Thorn Legion.
Didn't the back need protection?
As long as you faced the enemy, why worry about your back?
House Crabb's motto gained a new line that day—Never Turn Your Back.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.