The Beasts at His Side (Second Update)

Lancel's incessant chatter was annoying.

Tyrion couldn't take it anymore and called over Lancel's attendants to carry him away. The world became a better, quieter place.

Tyrion tossed a few logs into the bonfire. "Queen Cersei might put you in charge of the Kingswood Hunt in two days."

Gryn leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed.

Gryn took a sip of Summer Wine and turned his gaze to Tyrion.

Tyrion shrugged. "My sister's emotions run strong. Whether she loves or hates you, when she likes you, she'd gladly hand you everything she owns."

Tyrion's smile faded, his tone turning serious. "But if she hates you, she'll want you dead—and the more brutally, the happier she'll be."

Tyrion reached for the wine jug and poured himself a drink. "You're going to be busy from now on. My dear sister—well, she loves you more than anyone else in King's Landing."

Tyrion couldn't stay serious for more than three seconds. The teasing crept back into his voice.

Gryn's lips curved slightly. "Lord Tyrion, I'll do my best not to make any mistakes and to keep Her Grace's favor for as long as I can. I'm sincerely grateful for your advice."

Tyrion grinned. "Exactly. Keep it going as long as possible. Make it last, like a man's... Ah, I almost made a joke about my sister Cersei's sex life."

Tyrion raised his cup toward the Red Keep. "Forgive me, my dearest sister!"

Gryn couldn't help throwing his head back and laughing.

Mutton and Anguy, one broad and the other tall, sat around another bonfire in the backyard.

Anguy happily drank ale, his attention fixed on Gryn and the others nearby.

Mutton put a fist-sized piece of smoked beef into his mouth, chewed for a while, then swallowed. "Anguy, don't just focus on drinking. The smoked meat is great tonight."

Anguy reached over, tore off a piece of meat from the platter, and popped it into his mouth. "Not bad, but I still prefer ale."

Mutton chuckled. "The ale here is only so-so. Marigold Ale tastes better."

Anguy looked puzzled. "Is it famous? How come I've never heard of it? Marigold... Wait, do you mean—"

Mutton nodded his big head. "It's the ale from our lands. It had a few different names before. Then I heard Steward Herschel oversaw some improvements to the brewing process and settled on a new name. Too bad you can't try it yet."

Every so often, Anguy glanced around.

As he stretched, Anguy shifted his gaze. Even in the darkness, his eyes still gleamed.

Only after he finished stretching did Anguy speak. "Thank the Seven, and thank Lord Gryn. I haven't been there yet, but at last, I have a home. I love Whispers."

Anguy took a long swig of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "When we get back, I'm going to find myself a bride. I'll have a son and teach him archery properly... Seven save me. Before, I never knew if I'd see the next day. I didn't dare dream of any of this."

Mutton chuckled. "Kill more people, earn enough merit, and Lord Gryn will grant you an estate."

Anguy nodded firmly, then blurted out, "I wonder if the girls in Whispers will like me!"

Mutton thought for a moment, then said in his simple way, "The women in Whispers can fight as well as men. You're pretty handsome, so you'd better watch out. If one takes a fancy to you, she might just carry you off. If you can't beat her, you'll belong to her from then on."

Why fight? Why resist?

Gods, was Whispers the Seven's own home? Could a place that wonderful really exist?

"Actually, I kind of like being the passive one."

After saying that, Anguy's smile turned rather lecherous.

Clever Mutton understood Anguy's grin and started chuckling along with him.

The two of them abruptly stopped laughing and stared at the same spot.

Petyr's attendant had just entered the backyard, guided by one of Gryn's attendants. He suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He froze, unable to move.

He felt as if two or more beasts had fixed their eyes on him, ready to snap his neck if he so much as took another step.

The feeling of being in mortal danger passed, but Petyr's attendant's back was indeed soaked with cold sweat.

He didn't dare look up. At Gryn's attendant's second reminder, he managed to move his feet, instinctively slowing his breathing.

At last, Petyr's attendant made his way to Gryn, trembling, and bowed with the utmost respect.

He was sure that he was even more deferential now than when he faced Petyr—and he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

Tyrion watched Petyr's attendant with interest. They had met a few times before.

Petyr's attendant bent over until his body was nearly an inverted V, both hands held high as he presented the neatly folded invitation.

Gryn thought Petyr had trained his attendant to be far too polite—excessively so.

Gryn gestured for his own attendant to take the invitation.

After Petyr's attendant left, Tyrion finally clutched his stomach and burst into laughter.

Gryn watched Tyrion struggle to catch his breath, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I was surprised, too, by how excessively polite Lord Petyr's attendant was. It seems you know something already?"

Tyrion waved a little hand and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before speaking. "You're the Beast King. You've long been used to the beasts around you. If I hadn't encountered the Mountain, your guards would have scared me half to death. He was terrified."

[Gregor Clegane, a sworn knight in the service of House Lannister, was nicknamed the Mountain. He was immensely tall, cruel and bloodthirsty, and fond of killing.]

Tyrion used himself as an example with a playful grin, not minding the joke at his own expense in the slightest.

By then, Gryn had finished reading the invitation. His brow furrowed slightly. "So it's Lord Jon who wants to meet me."

Tyrion's eyes shifted. He reached out and took the letter from Gryn's hand.

Tyrion read it carefully. "Someone else wrote this. The tone is far too polite!"

Tyrion slapped his thigh and continued, "Look at me, I've had too much to drink. Obviously Petyr wrote it."

Tyrion rubbed his chin and murmured, "I don't mean to underestimate you, but you're only a baron. The Hand of the King invites you, and the Master of Coin runs the errand? That's far too much ceremony. Something's off."

Gryn gave a slight nod. "They're not giving me a chance to refuse."

Tyrion agreed. "Exactly! That's the point!"

Tyrion thought it over, his eyes darting back and forth.

Gryn suddenly asked, "Has Petyr always been this bold?"

Why was Gryn asking whether Petyr was bold? Tyrion looked puzzled. "He's the sort of man who wraps himself tightly in elegance. Very cautious..."

As he spoke, Tyrion seemed to think of something and paused, meeting Gryn's steady gaze. "It looks like he's already floating on the surface, but actually..."

The wise man hides in plain sight. Gryn couldn't translate that saying into Westerosi. "Huiquan certainly favors you. He stands out in front of everyone, yet that's precisely where people are most likely to overlook him."

Tyrion picked up the thread. "A tight schedule, a high-profile invitation, the prestige of the Hand of the King... Littlefinger really is cunning!"

Gryn was a little puzzled. Had Petyr underestimated him? Or was it something else?

As promised, we're trying for two updates a day starting today. Please support us with your votes, everyone!