Petyr's Persuasive Tactics

Red Keep, Tower of the Hand, second-floor study.

Jon Arryn had a great many titles: Duke of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King to Robert Baratheon I.

In his youth, Jon Arryn had sandy blond hair, blue eyes, a hooked nose, and a handsome face.

Now fifty-two years old (297 AC), Jon Arryn had long since lost his youthful good looks. His once-bright, thick blond hair had turned gray and sparse.

Jon Arryn's face was deeply wrinkled, and he had lost most of his teeth. He stooped under the weight of age, and his illnesses made him seem even more frail.

The occasional glint in Jon Arryn's cloudy eyes showed that he still held a firm grip on power in the Red Keep.

The Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, picked up a letter with its seal already broken, as if it were an afterthought. "Lord Jon, this appears to be a letter from one of the Arryns, from Gulltown."

Petyr Baelish, who hailed from the Vale, had earned the Hand of the King Jon Arryn's deep trust and favor.

At first, it had been Lady Lysa Tully, who was in love with Petyr Baelish, who persuaded her husband, Jon Arryn, to appoint Petyr as Gulltown's tax collector.

Petyr had an innate talent for money and trade. After he took over as tax collector, Gulltown's tax revenues increased tenfold. From then on, Lord Jon promoted Petyr again and again, until he eventually became the Master of Coin under King Robert Baratheon.

Jon Arryn looked up from his stack of documents. "Hmm, is that the letter? I haven't had time to read it yet."

"I hear a number of people have died in Gulltown."

Petyr deliberately spoke vaguely, emphasizing only that people had died in Gulltown.

The mention of deaths caught Lord Jon's attention. Jon Arryn set aside the document in his hands.

Petyr respectfully handed the letter to Lord Jon.

Lord Jon narrowed his eyes as he read its contents. "Crabb... A noble house from Crackclaw Point?"

Lord Jon thought for a moment, then set the letter on his desk. "He's young and hotheaded. Most likely, Lord Crabb was behind it. More than twenty people in a single night—the Half-Wildling noble doesn't care about human life at all."

"But, Your Grace, as the letter says, we have no direct evidence. A song from Crackclaw Point won't be enough to convict him before Lord Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws."

[Renly Baratheon is King Robert Baratheon's younger brother, the Duke of Storm's End, and the Master of Laws.]

A trace of anger crossed Lord Jon's aged face. "Anyone with eyes can see he's imitating the Old Lion of Casterly Rock! Make the arrangements at once. Send a raven to Crackclaw Point and tell him not to delay. He's to come to the Red Keep and see me immediately. If he still has the honor of a nobleman, he won't dare refuse to confess!"

Petyr lowered his head slightly, the corners of his lips curling up. "My lord, Lord Gryn of House Crabb is already in King's Landing."

Lord Jon's eyes flickered. "Oh? What a coincidence."

"He went through the Queen's channels and is now one of her stewards... They say Queen Cersei likes him very much, Lord Jon."

Lord Jon frowned. "Likes him?"

Petyr had achieved his aim. With his carefully chosen, suggestive words, he had successfully stirred up Lord Jon's dislike.

Whatever else might happen, Petyr knew Jon Arryn well. Though they had yet to meet, Jon already disliked Lord Gryn.

Petyr gave a slight shake of his head. "You could also say she thinks highly of him. It's not easy to earn Queen Cersei's approval."

With the capricious Queen Cersei now wielding Gryn like a sharp dagger, Petyr looked forward to the coming clash between the Queen and the Hand of the King.

Lord Jon glanced out the window. Night was falling.

"Make the arrangements. Tomorrow morning, then. I'll meet this young guest who's come such a long way."

"As you command, my lord. I'll make the arrangements myself."

King's Landing, Hook Harbor, Gryn's residence, night.

When Gryn returned home after finishing his work, he found eight bulging bags embroidered with the golden lion of House Lannister.

There were eight hundred Gold Dragons in all. According to his steward, the Queen's servants had just delivered them as a reward.

Was Queen Cersei pleased with him?

The poor lord Gryn was naturally delighted to receive such a reward.

At the same time, a strange thought arose in Gryn's mind: suddenly, he didn't want to work so hard anymore.

He imagined what life would be like with a wealthy woman supporting him, then shook his head and chuckled to himself.

At least, that wasn't right for me. I'd better keep grinding!

After tidying up and changing his clothes, Gryn went to the back courtyard of the residence.

Tyrion and Lancel were drinking merrily in the courtyard.

Tyrion nodded to Gryn as he approached, then turned to Lancel. "So, you have to support me. Once I inherit Casterly Rock, my first order will be to restore the Lord's Right of First Night. Heh!"

Lancel was already a little drunk. "Oh, great cousin Tyrion, I like you a lot, but I can only support you in private. You'll definitely be driven out of Casterly Rock by a mob, and I don't want to get dragged down with you."

Gryn sat down and poured himself a drink. With a smile, he said, "You'll all miss him someday. Tyrion is sacrificing himself for the good of everyone."

Tyrion laughed loudly. "Aha, that's human nature. Well, men's nature. I'm just brave enough to say it out loud."

Lancel raised his cup. "Lord Gryn, you're finally here. I've had the worst luck today. You have to let me finish. I swear, I've had terrible luck today."

Well, Lancel was a chatterbox when he'd had too much to drink.

Though Lancel's account jumped all over the place and was a complete mess, Gryn managed to figure out what had happened.

Gryn raised his cup toward Tyrion. "A toast to you, mighty Lord Tyrion."

Grinning, Tyrion took a large gulp, pulled free of Lancel's hand, which had been clamped to his shoulder, and dragged his chair closer to Gryn. "You're not worried about me at all?"

Gryn took a sip of his drink and raised an eyebrow. "You're a Lannister. Besides, a prince who won't inherit the throne can't do anything to you."

Tyrion grinned, then sighed. "Actually, I really do hope I can teach Joffrey to be better. The boy isn't easy to like, but I've never treated him like an outsider."

Tyrion lowered his voice. "When Joffrey was little, he once killed a pregnant cat. Can you guess why? He was curious about what the kittens inside it looked like, so he cut open the poor thing with a dagger. Joffrey has no reverence for life and treats other people's lives with indifference. If he isn't corrected in time, he'll become another Mad King."

Is it really wise to tell me this royal secret?

Gryn glanced at Lancel, who was still muttering to himself, and said, "You'd better advise Lancel to find a way to take up his post as King's Squire early."

Tyrion agreed. "Lancel has left Joffrey with the impression that he's a coward. And Joffrey's temperament... The more timid someone is, the more he likes to torment them. If he thinks you're not someone to mess with, Joffrey won't dare bother you. Ha! That's my dear nephew, the heir to the Iron Throne."

Thanks to Apologies for the donation!