This Is The Last Time (Second Update, Seeking Votes)

While waiting outside the outer wall earlier, Lord Gryn had analyzed Petyr's path of political maneuvering.

Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie was the Warden of the East, exerting influence over the Riverlands through his marriage to the Tully family, while the Lord of Winterfell in the North was his ward.

Jon Arryn alone could directly or indirectly control the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North.

In the original series, Petyr first orchestrated the marriage between King Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell, successfully forging an alliance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells.

In return, Petyr was named Lord of Harrenhal and became the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.

As a second step, Petyr informed Lord Tywin Lannister of the Tyrells' secret plan to take Sansa Stark to Highgarden to marry Willas Tyrell, giving Lord Tywin enough time to marry Sansa Stark to Tyrion first.

Consequently, in exchange for Lord Tywin Lannister's support, Petyr married Lysa Tully as the Lord of Harrenhal, bringing the Vale under his control without shedding a drop of blood.

The third step was to head to the North, prepared to help Sansa Stark seize power there.

Petyr's trajectory was to scheme for power in the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North.

Since Petyr's achievements in power overlapped with those of Lord Jon, was Petyr an imitator of Lord Jon, or merely an admirer?

Gryn's voice was so calm it sent a chill down one's spine: "Lord Petyr, do you enjoy gambling? I, for one, do not."

Petyr shook his head, his smile carrying a trace of unnaturalness.

Gryn continued: "If someone were to lose their life in this room tonight, I would bet that I would come to no harm, and that I would still return safely to the Whispers to continue enjoying the glory of the nobility."

Petyr suddenly understood why others called House Crabb a family of semi-wildling nobles.

They were too barbaric; they simply did not follow the rules of the game of thrones!

At this thought, what Petyr felt in his heart was not panic, but terror.

Ha, I might actually die tonight!

How could he have seen through my methods? At his age, he shouldn't possess such capability.

Yes, Tyrion—it must be that Lannister dwarf, Tyrion!

Petyr recalled that when the servant he had sent to notify Gryn returned, he had indeed mentioned seeing Tyrion and Gryn together.

And the intelligence regarding where I was staying tonight... Petyr secretly grew to hate the loose-lipped Tyrion; they were all people who refused to play by the rules of the game!

Petyr's grey-green eyes shifted: "Lord Gryn, I think there has been a great misunderstanding between us caused by the slander of petty men. In truth, I have always held goodwill toward you; our joining forces would be a union of the strong!"

To bolster his confidence, Petyr leaned back against the chair: "You and I, we actually have a lot in common. We were always meant to possess greater power."

Gryn remained unmoved, instead improvising a house motto: "The ancestors of the Crabb family taught me that a thousand schemes are not worth a single sword."

Petyr felt bitter; this barbarian wasn't listening to his sage advice at all.

Leaning back in his chair, Gryn lifted one leg and crossed it: "Lord Petyr, I am not like you. The ancestors of the Crabb family spent hundreds of years bleeding to forge the Crabbs into a military nobility, and I have inherited all of that."

Petyr offered a strained smile.

Gryn suddenly said: "Anguy, there is a decanter on that table—it's Arbor Gold. Pour us a glass."

Petyr felt a sudden sense of relief as the heavy atmosphere from before was swept away.

This made Petyr even more wary of the young-faced Gryn before him.

Anguy, with his harmless expression, very politely and respectfully poured a glass for both Gryn and Petyr.

Gryn raised his glass toward the still-stiff-faced Petyr, then took a sip of the golden Arbor wine.

As the mellow, fragrant Arbor Gold flowed down, Petyr calmed down significantly: "Then, honorable Lord Gryn, may I ask what your purpose is?"

Gryn waved his hand lightly: "You are a great man, and I am a trivial nobody."

Gryn cut off Petyr's hollow flattery, his fingertips gently rubbing the wine glass as he continued: "My ambitions are too small. I have no interest in the schemes of great men, nor do I wish to get involved. There should be no conflict between us. Do you understand?"

The shift in Gryn's gaze in that final moment made Petyr's skin crawl.

Petyr nodded with a stiff expression.

Gryn rose from his chair, his face blooming with warmth: "Please forgive my presumptuous visit tonight. I must meet with the Hand of the King tomorrow morning. The Whispers advocates for peace, so I hope you will help me persuade Lord Jon later."

Petyr felt that Gryn had set aside his murderous intent and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

To prevent any last-minute changes, Petyr said: "As I said, we are already friends. I am very happy to help my friends, I promise."

Gryn nodded and took his leave: "If you don't mind, I shall use the front door."

Petyr had outwardly regained his usual composure and elegance, picking up the bell by the bedside and giving it a shake.

Shortly after the bell rang, a light knock came at the door.

Gryn, who had already walked a few steps, suddenly turned around and approached Petyr again. He reached out and tore open Petyr's robe; Petyr's pupils contracted, and he wisely chose not to move.

A cold light flashed from the dagger in Gryn's hand, leaving a line a palm's length long across Petyr's upper chest.

The line left by the dagger was a very shallow wound; Petyr did not even feel any pain.

On Petyr's upper chest, warm blood began to well up along the line left by the dagger, instantly staining a large area red.

"This is the last time."

Gryn opened the door and, with great composure, instructed Petyr's attendant waiting outside to lead the way.

Petyr did not like his attendants to be curious; seeing that Petyr had no further instructions, the attendant, though puzzled, dared not ask and respectfully led Gryn and his companions away.

After Gryn had been gone for quite some time, Petyr, who had remained standing still, finally sat down, his grey-green eyes deep and inscrutable.

Gryn's knife work was remarkably skilled; though it looked like a great deal of blood had been shed, the wounds were actually quite shallow, and the bleeding had already stopped.

After Gryn's departure, a complex smile appeared on the face of the previously expressionless Petyr.

The next morning, the Red Keep, near Maegor's Holdfast.

Tyrion was yawning repeatedly, looking quite disheveled.

Jaime glanced at the sky, which was just beginning to brighten, and wore an expression of helplessness.

Cersei had been a bit too enthusiastic yesterday, and Jaime had expended a great deal of energy; being dragged out of bed by Tyrion so early in the morning, he was also struggling to keep his spirits up.

Jaime asked, "Where did you go gallivanting off to yesterday?"

Tyrion's eyes were half-closed, his voice listless: "First, I spent the whole night drinking at Gryn's estate, then I went to Shataya's brothel. Jedi, Alayaya, and Dancy—they were simply too enthusiastic. Ugh, I've had less than two hours of sleep."

Jaime chuckled: "If you spent the whole night carousing, you should have gotten some proper rest. What is the matter that you'd leave your cozy bed to come find me so early in the morning?"