Tower of the Hand 2

The Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen's bedchamber.

Jaime stood beside the bed, gazing at the still-sleeping Cersei, and unconsciously let the corners of his mouth curl up.

The soft silk sheets only served to accentuate the dreamer's lovely curves.

Jaime's Adam's apple bobbed. He reached out and lightly touched Cersei's foot where it peeked out from beneath the covers.

"Good day, Your Grace."

Cersei's eyelashes fluttered. Her shapely legs stretched out, her beautiful feet relaxed, and her toes spread before drawing together again.

After a brief moment of confusion, Cersei's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Good day, Ser Jaime. Help your queen get up."

Cersei took the robe Jaime handed her and wrapped it around herself, then sat before the dressing table. "Ser Jaime, I feel like you're a little different from usual. Am I imagining it?"

Even the usually composed Jaime felt a flicker of panic. Keeping his expression calm, he said, "Perhaps you're in a good mood?"

Cersei shot Jaime a sidelong glance. "Go on. What is it?"

Jaime stepped behind Cersei and rested his broad hands on her shoulders. "Princess Myrcella has always wanted you to teach her how to braid her hair. I thought today would be the perfect time."

Cersei tilted her head slightly and met Jaime's gaze, a smile spreading across her face. "All right, I agree, Ser. For your sake, we'll go in a little while."

The Red Keep, the Tower of the Hand.

Tap, tap. Gryn kept to an ordinary walking pace, but his mind was still analyzing his recent conversation with Varys.

Varys was a quick-witted player in the game of power, and his Little Birds were everywhere.

In Gryn's memories from before he crossed over, Varys had said that he served neither king nor queen, but the people.

Some had even analyzed Varys as the good man who looked most like a villain.

Taken together, Varys's various actions were far too contradictory for Gryn to pin down what kind of person he was.

One of Gryn's feet had already stepped into the game of power, and he had formed his own political position.

Varys's words had been very friendly, but Gryn himself spoke to all kinds of people with all kinds of words, each with its own purpose. So he was instinctively wary of what players in the game of power said.

The first thing he knew for certain was that Varys had already put in a good word for him with Lord Jon, showing Gryn that he meant him well.

There was no love without a reason in the Game of Thrones. What was Varys's aim?

Was Gryn, descendant of a model loyalist to the Dragon House, being recruited in advance as muscle for its return to the Iron Throne?

Gryn immediately dismissed the possibility. Without dragons, the Dragon Mother wouldn't get any "venture capital."

Gryn had thought he could keep his head down and quietly build up his strength before the story officially began. But ever since entering King's Landing, he'd felt on the back foot. Even the slightest move by the powerful could consume a great deal of his time and energy.

Gryn felt he needed to change his mindset and start making plans of his own.

He came out of the stairwell and reached the second floor.

Gryn stopped and glanced from side to side. He saw a Gold Cloak approaching.

"Good day, my lord. Please come with me."

Gryn raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod.

The defenses were tight on the outside but relaxed within. The floors seemed separate, yet had channels of communication between them. The Tower of the Hand had its own unique system.

The Gold Cloak led Gryn to an unmarked door and stopped.

He opened it silently, then stood to one side. "Please come in, my lord."

Inside the study.

Once inside, Gryn saw an old man bent over a mountain of documents.

Gryn stopped a few steps in front of the desk and bowed with a hand to his chest. "Good day, Lord Jon."

Jon raised his head from the pile of papers and glanced at Gryn with cloudy eyes. "I'll be busy for a little while longer. I don't like having servants interrupt my work. Help yourself, make yourself at home. Find a chair and sit down. There's something to drink in the cabinet."

Lord Jon sounded like a kindly old man fussing over one of his young relatives.

With that, Jon returned his attention to the pile of documents.

Gryn couldn't bring himself to treat alcohol like an ordinary drink he could have anytime, anywhere.

Gryn pulled out the chair angled in front of the desk and sat down, closing his eyes to rest.

A while later, Lord Jon put down the document in his hand, stamped it with a thump, and set it aside.

At the sound, Gryn opened his eyes and met Lord Jon's gaze.

"I'm old. I don't work as hard as I used to. Sorry to keep you waiting, young lord. You're very patient."

Lord Jon was exceedingly kind. Gryn shook his head modestly, but inwardly he grew more wary.

Lord Jon leaned back against his chair and said, "As the Vale's protector, I regret what happened to your cousin. Sigh."

"To make amends, I can find an exceptional young man for your cousin, so she can start over."

Gryn replied respectfully, "Thank you for your kindness, my lord. My cousin would like some time to recover."

"Very well. She's still young. When she's recovered, let me know. The Vale has plenty of fine young men."

Gryn touched a hand to his chest and bowed, thanking him once again.

"I can sense your anger. A little merchant from Gulltown had quite the nerve to insult a noblewoman."

Lord Jon paused, then asked, "Did the blood of that merchant's family appease your anger?"

Gryn seemed puzzled. "Whose blood?"

"Usur Meka and his family. Do I have to remind you again?"

The kind old man was gone.