Tyrion, while rolling up the parchment, said, " Gryn, would you be interested in accompanying Myrcella to the Eyrie?"
Gryn glanced at Tyrion and said, " Tyrion, you're a loving uncle. 🐝ൠ 😝🌷"
Tyrion paused for a moment, then continued, "Actually, when I first saw you, I felt you would be a good... person. Unfortunately, I am a Lannister."
Gryn swirled his glass and said, "Mr. Lannister, please keep the Lannister Lioness in check."
"Ha, Lannister are born to be loved."
Tyrion patted the rolled-up parchment and grinned. " Gryn, well done. That's a very fair alliance."
Gryn raised his glass in acknowledgment and said, " Your Lord Hand, please 'appease' Queen Regent Cersei. I'll be very busy from now on."
Tyrion chuckled and said, " Gryn, I promise my sister will be Maegor's Hold's obedient lady..."
His tone shifted, and he said seriously, "You've done a great job. Is there anything you want?"
Gryn's eyes flickered slightly as he said, " Tyrion, it seems you've already decided on your answer? Don't be surprised, we know each other well."
"That really is..."
Tyrion raised his glass in a gesture of respect and said, " Gryn, how about I reward you with the Warden of the East?"
Seeing the puzzled look on Gryn's face, he shrugged and said, "After all, my brother didn't perform well when he was wielding his sword this time... As the Hand of the King, I have to tell everyone that the Red Keep is not Lannister property."
He took a sip of his drink and said, "As Hand of the King, I need to convince people that everyone has a share... Well, Stannis isn't just an enemy of the Lannister."
Gryn shook his head slightly and said, " Your Lord Hand, please forgive me for declining your offer."
Tyrion asked with some surprise, "You're worried about... the Queen Mother? Don't worry, I'll handle that. Gryn, you're my sister's favorite, it would be easy for you."
After a moment of silence, Gryn slowly said, " My Lord Hand, what I've always wanted is the support of the Red Keep, support for my conquest of the Vale, to make them pay for their crimes in blood."
He paused, then said earnestly, " Tyrion, because of this chaos, I've gained the opportunity for revenge, while you've become Hand of the Hand of the King. The war will end sooner or later; will I ever get another chance?"
Upon hearing Gryn's words, Tyrion's eyes trembled slightly.
If Stannis were to breach King's Landing, his fate would be dire; he was quite certain of it.
But... if he wins the war... he and his kind father can't possibly squeeze into one chair together, can they?!
With that thought in mind, Tyrion picked up his cup and took a big gulp of the sweet Summer Wine.
He couldn't help but think... the current the Imp Hand of the King is like a drunkard, intoxicated by power, indulging in a bliss he knows won't last.
But... the Lannister Dwarf Hand of the King doesn't want to wake up.
At the same time, Lord Gryn also took a sip of Summer Wine.
Guardian of the Eastern Mirror? This is one of the four guardians, a very honorary title, but it's still just an honorary title.
Stark, Warden of the North... Lannister, Warden of the West... Tyrell, Warden of the South... Crabb, Warden of the East...
From then on, House Crabb of Crackclaw Point became one of the most prestigious families in Westeros.
Gryn put down his glass... One of the prerequisites was that the Crabb was already the ruling family of the Vale.
According to Westeros tradition, that's not enough! To gain the recognition of all the nobles, you also need to have a matching noble bloodline... Suddenly, a pair of mesmerizing violet eyes flashed into Gryn's mind... Well, that's not a problem.
Lord Gryn was lost in thought.
In his haste to get there, he hadn't had a chance to go inside his "home" last time, and now he was going to pass by it again... The Gold Dragon from Gulltown were being transported to Whispers in batches... The meticulous Lord Gryn was a little worried that the locks on the Crabb Vault might not be strong enough.
" Gryn, Gulltown hold a great attraction for you?"
Tyrion's voice brought Gryn back to his senses. After a pause, he replied, " My Lord Hand, those are my spoils."
Gryn's answer startled Tyrion. He leaned forward, stared at the man opposite him for a moment, and said, "Are you confident about the duel between Crackclaw Point and the Vale?"
Gryn smiled and said, " Tyrion, are you confident you can defeat Stannis?"
He spread his hands. "There's only one thing we can do, and that's to do everything we can."
Gryn leaned forward slightly and continued, " Tyrion, think about it another way... war is actually quite simple: it's either you die or I die."
The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Tyrion suddenly smiled, a smile tinged with schadenfreude, " Hand of the King Jon Arryn left a wonderful 'legacy' for the Vale. Hmm, I should learn from him."
Before parting, Gryn mentioned the Alchemists' Guild to Tyrion.
Seeing Tyrion's wide eyes, Gryn said leisurely, " Tyrion, you should have known long ago that there are no secrets in the Red Keep."
He reassured her, "Don't worry, everyone will just think the Imp is playing with fire because he's desperate."
Tyrion sighed, " Gryn, Master Hallyne of the Alchemists' Guild is utterly loyal to me..."
Gryn glanced at Tyrion and said, "You helped him set up the alchemist's guild in the Whispers."
"Deal. ✌🎁 ❻9Ŝ 👍💲"
Tyrion rubbed his chin and suddenly said, "I doubt we can muster many wise men. If you intend to use Wildfire in the battle with the Vale, I doubt we'll have enough time; making that stuff takes a long time."
" Tyrion, this is a battle for honor. Even if there were plenty of Wildfire, I wouldn't use it."
Gryn shrugged and continued, "I'm doing this to guard against Stannis's Royal Fleet. My Mermaid Harbor is in Blackwater Bay."
Mermaid Harbor certainly needs to be strengthened. Although Stannis has acknowledged the neutrality of Crackclaw Point, his men may "accidentally" enter his territory.
With the great battle about to begin, how many bottles of Wildfire can be made during this slow production period?
This is just a seemingly plausible excuse; Lord Gryn is preparing for the upcoming zombie war.
Therefore, Lord Gryn, now possessing abundant Gold Dragon, plans to assemble a "high-tech" army that wields fire, named... the Burning Legion.
Tyrion grinned. " Gryn, may the Seven bless your harbor."
Gryn completely ignored Tyrion's teasing and said, "I'll have the people at Crabb Trading Company waiting for your news."
"I'll go straight there when I get back. Also..."
Tyrion glanced at Gryn and said, " Gryn, you really don't care about Myrcella? She's always thought you and Jaime were the best knights in the Seven Kingdoms, and she's mentioned it to me several times."
Gryn also sized up Tyrion's "sincere" face and said, "My friend, what are you up to now?"
Tyrion chuckled, " Gryn, I won't interfere with your revenge. As your close friend, I will only support you."
I refuse this offer of kindness.
"Wait, hey, let me finish... We can talk... Wait for me..."
Vale, the Eyrie.
Moon Hall, Robert Arryn sat alone at the long table, listlessly scooping a large bowl of honey oatmeal porridge with a wooden spoon.
Upon seeing Maester Colemon appear, Little Robert immediately complained, "I want eggs! I want three soft-boiled eggs!"
He paused, then added, "Plus, fried bacon!"
Scholar Maester Colemon said anxiously, "Your Grace, we are currently unable to bring in food from outside."
The Eyrie's granaries have enough oats, corn, and barley to last a year, but fresh food has always been delivered to the castle in Sky Cell Basket by Brynden Tully, the former Knight of the Bloody Gate.
Now that Sir Brynden is gone, no one dares to deliver vegetables to Sky Cell Basket Eyrie under the very noses of the Declaration of Lords Declarant.
"I want the eggs now!" Little Robert threw the wooden spoon at the thin Maester Colemon.
The wooden spoon struck Maester Colemon, leaving a stain on his scholar's robe.
"Your Grace, you cannot go hungry," Scholar Maester Colemon advised, somewhat at a loss.
I don't want to drink porridge!
Petyr Baelish's hoarse voice suddenly rang out. " Little Robert, you should drink the porridge with gratitude."
Scholar Maester Colemon chimed in quietly, "Please heed your foster father's advice, Your Grace."
He glanced at Petyr, who stood with his hands behind his back, and continued, "Your mother... Lady Lysa's Oath Knights are awaiting your summons. It is important that you receive them in high spirits."
Little Robert tossed aside the new wooden spoon Maester Colemon had handed him. "Tell them to leave! I want eggs, I don't want to see them. If they don't leave, I want to watch them fly!"
Petyr smirked and said, "Oh, your suggestion seems quite interesting. Little Robert, I'll consider it."
As Petyr finished speaking, Maester Colemon shuddered.
Little Robert exclaimed excitedly, "Let him fly! I want to see them fly!"
Scholar Maester Colemon glanced discreetly at Petyr, who seemed to be in a good mood, and whispered, "Your Grace, you need loyal knights to guard your castle..."
As he spoke, he felt Petyr's gaze, and his voice grew softer and softer until he finally lowered his head, no longer daring to utter a sound.
"My mother said my castle is impregnable!"
"My mother said I'm the owner here, and I'm in charge!"
"My mother said, 'If I want to see someone fly, then that person has to fly!'"
Petyr frowned. "Quiet down. Your mother is dead, Little Robert. Until your sixteenth Name Day, I'm the one in charge here."
He turned and instructed the maid standing some distance away, "Get him a new soup spoon; he wants porridge."
"I don't want to drink it! I want to see it fly!" Little Robert picked up the large bowl and threw it, and cereal and honey instantly flew through the air.
Seeing this, Petyr nimbly dodged away, while Maester Colemon, who was standing nearby, had food splattered all over his face and shoulders.
Little Robert grabbed a jug of milk and threw it again, then, as he tried to stand up, he had a seizure, knocked over a chair, and fell to the ground.
"Oh, the Gods above."
Ignoring his own disheveled state, Maester Colemon immediately knelt beside Little Robert and murmured words of comfort.
Fortunately, this seizure was not severe. After it subsided, Little Robert was carried to his bedroom by the servants.
The once noisy Moon Hall became unusually quiet, with only Petyr and Maester Colemon remaining.
Under Petyr's gaze, Maester Colemon shrank his long neck.
After a pause, Petyr said, " Maester Colemon, Little Robert is a lucky boy; he has a loyal maester."
Scholar Maester Colemon swallowed hard, opened his mouth, and said, " Petyr, I was just... just... just fulfilling my duty as a scholar."
Petyr's eyes flickered, and he nodded slightly, saying, "To fulfill one's duty is the greatest loyalty. I should have Little Robert reward you..."
His tone was almost joking. "A reward for his favorite... flying?"
As Petyr finished speaking, Maester Colemon was so frightened he almost knelt on the ground. "I... I..."
"I was just joking with you. I don't want to corrupt my adopted son, and I can't let Lady Lysa down..."
Petyr sighed, then said, "I hope Little Robert will grow up well, and that will require your help, Maester Colemon."
"I... am at your service, Petyr."
Petyr smiled with satisfaction and said, "Do you have any good suggestions?"
Scholar Maester Colemon pondered for a moment and replied, "Since Lady Lysa's passing, His Excellency the Duke's illness has worsened day by day, with more frequent and intense attacks each time."
Petyr's grey-green eyes flickered, and he asked, "What is your treatment plan?"
Scholar Maester Colemon ran his fingers through his thinning hair, awkwardly shaking off the countless grains of rice stuck to his hands, and began, "In the past, whenever His Majesty the Duke was restless, Lady Lysa would feed him milk... Maester Ambrose said that breast milk has miraculous effects..."
"Scholar Maester Colemon, is this your suggestion?"
Petyr gave Maester Colemon a suspicious look and continued, "You want me to find a wet nurse for the Duke of the Eyrie and the Warden of the Vale of Arryn? How am I supposed to wean him off that wet nurse on his wedding day? Or teach him to abandon the wet nurse and go straight to the bride?"
After saying that, Petyr couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He added, "Scholar Maester Colemon, that's not a good suggestion. I suggest you choose another path... Children love sweets, don't they?"
Scholar Maester Colemon asked in confusion, "Sweet... sweets?"
Petyr smiled slightly and said, "Cakes, pies, jams, jellies, honey... and so on. Perhaps... have you tried adding a little bit of sweetsleep to the milk? Just a tiny bit, to soothe the nerves and help him get rid of his epilepsy."
Scholar Maester Colemon's pupils contracted sharply. "A little bit?" he asked.
Petyr nodded gracefully.
He paused, his Maester Colemon's apple bobbing rapidly, and said, "Just a little... not too much... not too frequently..."
He swallowed hard again, his voice trembling as he said, "Perhaps, I can try..."
"Sir Maester Colemon, all I need is for him to remain sober when necessary." Petyr's smile deepened.