Petyr's Rhetoric

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

Jon Arryn possessed a multitude of titles: Lord 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 been a handsome man with sandy-gold hair, blue eyes, and an aquiline nose.

Now fifty-two years old in 297 AC, Jon Arryn had long since lost the handsomeness of his youth; his once thick, lustrous golden hair had become thin and gray.

Jon Arryn's face was etched with wrinkles, he was missing more than half his teeth, and his hunched posture, compounded by the torment of illness, made him appear even more decrepit.

Yet, the flashes of sharp light that occasionally flickered in his clouded eyes still signaled that he held a firm grip on the power within the Red Keep.

Master of Coin Petyr Baelish picked up a letter with a broken seal, seemingly in passing: "Lord Jon, this appears to be correspondence from the Arryn kin, sent from Gulltown."

Hailing from the Vale, Petyr Baelish was deeply valued and trusted by the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn.

It had begun when Lady Lysa Tully, who harbored a secret crush on Petyr Baelish, persuaded her husband, Jon Arryn, to promote Petyr to the position of customs officer at Gulltown.

Petyr possessed an innate talent for finance and trade; after he took over as customs officer, the tax revenue of Gulltown increased tenfold. From then on, Lord Jon began to promote Petyr repeatedly, until he eventually became the Master of Coin for King Robert Baratheon's reign.

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

"It is said that many people have died in Gulltown."

Petyr spoke deliberately in an ambiguous manner, focusing only on the fact that people had died in Gulltown.

Hearing of deaths, it naturally drew Lord Jon's attention, and Jon Arryn set down the documents in his hand.

Petyr respectfully handed the letter to Lord Jon.

Lord Jon squinted as he finished reading the contents of the letter: "Crabb... a nobleman from Crackclaw Point?"

Lord Jon pondered for a moment before placing the letter on the desk: "Hot-headed. It is highly likely that the mastermind is Lord Crabb. Over twenty people in one night—this half-wildling nobleman truly treats human life as nothing."

"However, my honorable Lord, as stated in the letter, we have no direct evidence. Relying on a song from Crackclaw Point would not be enough to secure a conviction before Lord Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws."

Jon Arryn's aged face took on a hint of anger: "Any clear-eyed person can see that he is imitating the Old Lion of the Lannisters! Arrange it immediately; send a raven to Crackclaw Point. Tell him he is not to delay and must depart at once to see me at the Red Keep. If he still possesses the honor of a nobleman, he will not dare to deny it!"

Petyr, his head slightly bowed, curled the corners of his lips and said respectfully: "My Lord, Lord Gryn of House Crabb is already in King's Landing."

Lord Jon's eyes flickered: "Oh? Such a coincidence?"

"He took the path of the Queen, and is now the Queen's steward... It is said that Queen Cersei is very fond of him, Lord Jon."

Lord Jon frowned: "Fond?"

Petyr had already achieved his goal; through his rhetoric and ambiguous language, he had successfully stirred up Lord Jon's resentment.

Regardless of how the world turned, based on his understanding of Jon Arryn, he had already grown to loathe Lord Gryn before they had even met.

Petyr shook his head slightly: "One could also say she holds him in high regard. It is not easy for someone to earn the appreciation of Her Grace, Cersei."

With the willful Queen Cersei holding Gryn as a sharp dagger in her hand, Petyr looked forward to the coming conflict between the Queen and the Hand of the King.

Lord Jon looked out through the window; night was falling.

"Go and make the arrangements. Let's say tomorrow morning. Let me meet this little guest who has traveled from afar."

"As you command, my noble Lord. I shall attend to it personally."

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

Having just returned home after a busy day, Gryn discovered eight bulging bags embroidered with the golden lion of the Lannisters.

There were 800 gold dragons in total; according to the attendant, it was a reward just delivered by the Queen's own servant.

Was Queen Cersei pleased?

As an impoverished lord, Gryn naturally felt delighted to receive such a reward.

At the same time, a strange thought crossed Gryn's mind; he suddenly felt he didn't want to work so hard anymore.

Imagining a life after latching onto a wealthy woman, Gryn shook his head to himself and chuckled.

At least it doesn't suit me. I'd better keep on grinding!

Gryn tidied up, changed his clothes, and went to the back courtyard of the house.

In the courtyard, Tyrion and Lancel were drinking merrily.

Tyrion nodded at Gryn as he approached and said to Lancel: "So, you must support me. Once I inherit Casterly Rock, my first decree will be to restore the Lord's Right of First Night, hehe!"

Lancel was already tipsy: "Oh, great cousin Tyrion, although I like you very much, I can only support you in private, because you would surely be driven out of Casterly Rock by the mob, and I do not wish to be implicated by you."

Gryn sat down, poured himself a drink, and said with a smile: "You will all miss him. Lord Tyrion is sacrificing himself for the well-being of everyone."

Tyrion laughed loudly: "Aha, that is the human heart—well, the heart of a man. I am simply brave enough to say it out loud."

Lancel raised his glass: "Lord Gryn, you've finally arrived. I've had such a miserable day. You have to hear me out; I really, truly had such bad luck today."

Well, a drunk Lancel was a chatterbox.

Although Lancel's account was scattered and incoherent, Gryn still managed to piece together what had happened.

Gryn raised his glass toward Tyrion in a gesture of salute. "A toast to you, the mighty Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion took a hearty gulp with a grin, shook off the hand Lancel kept clamped on his shoulder, and dragged his chair closer to Gryn. "You aren't worried about me in the slightest, are you?"

Gryn took a sip of wine and raised an eyebrow. "You are a Lannister, after all. Besides, a prince without a claim to the throne can do nothing to you."

Tyrion grinned, then sighed. "Truth be told, I truly hoped to set Joffrey on the right path. Even though the boy is impossible to like, I never once treated him as an outsider."

Tyrion lowered his voice. "When Joffrey was a child, he once killed a pregnant cat. Can you guess why? Simply because he was curious about what the kittens inside looked like, so he used a dagger to slice the poor creature open. Joffrey lacks any reverence for life and is indifferent to the lives of others. If that isn't corrected in time, he will be another Mad King in the making."

Is it really wise to tell me such royal secrets?

Gryn glanced at Lancel, who was still muttering to himself, and said, "You had best 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 is a coward. Joffrey's temperament... the more cowardly you are, the more he likes to torment you. If he thinks you aren't someone to be trifled with, Joffrey wouldn't dare provoke you. Ha, such is my dear nephew, the heir to the Iron Throne."