Tower of the Hand 2

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

Jaime stood by the bedside, watching Cersei as she slept, the corners of his mouth curving upward of their own accord.

The soft silk quilt only served to better accentuate the beautiful curves of the woman in his dreams.

Jaime's Adam's apple bobbed, and he reached out to lightly touch the top of Cersei's foot, which was exposed outside the covers.

"Good morning, Your Grace."

Cersei's eyelashes fluttered. She stretched out her shapely, long legs, her beautiful feet extending as her toes curled and then relaxed.

After a brief moment of confusion, a smile bloomed at the corners of Cersei's eyes. "Good morning, Ser Jaime. Serve your Queen as she rises."

Cersei took the robe Jaime handed her, wrapped it around her body, and sat before the vanity. "Ser Jaime, I feel like you're a bit different today. Am I mistaken?"

The composed Jaime felt a sudden jolt of panic, though he remained outwardly calm. "Perhaps it is because you are in such high spirits?"

Cersei shot Jaime a sidelong glance and said, "Speak. What is it, really?"

Jaime walked behind Cersei and placed his broad, thick hands on her shoulders. "Princess Myrcella has always hoped you would teach her how to braid her hair. I feel today is the perfect time."

Cersei tilted her head slightly, meeting Jaime's gaze, a smile spreading across her face. "Very well, I agree, Ser. For your sake, we shall go in a little while."

Red Keep, Tower of the Hand.

Tap, tap. Gryn walked at a steady pace, his mind analyzing the conversation he had just had with Varys.

Varys was a sharp-minded player in the Game of Thrones, and his Little Birds were everywhere.

In the memories from before Gryn's transmigration, Varys claimed he served neither King nor Queen, but the people.

There were also analyses suggesting Varys was the "good man" who most resembled a villain.

Given the contradictions in Varys's various actions, Gryn found it impossible to pin down the man's true nature.

Gryn had already stepped into the Game of Thrones, and he had his own political stance to consider.

Although Varys's words had been incredibly friendly, Gryn himself was accustomed to speaking with various agendas when dealing with different people, so he was instinctively wary of the words coming from a player of the game.

The first thing he could confirm was that Varys had done some work in Lord Jon's presence that favored Gryn, signaling his goodwill.

There was no such thing as love without reason in the Game of Thrones; what was Varys's goal?

Was Gryn a descendant of a model loyalist to the Dragon House, being recruited early as a hired hand for the Dragon Mother's return to the Iron Throne?

Gryn immediately dismissed this possibility; the Dragon Mother wouldn't be getting any "venture capital" before she had dragons.

Gryn had hoped to develop quietly before the plot officially unfolded, but ever since stepping into King's Landing, he felt passive. A small move by the great lords would consume a massive amount of his energy.

Gryn decided he needed to change his mindset and proactively plan a few things.

Gryn exited the staircase and reached the second floor.

He stood still, scanned left and right, and saw a Gold Cloak walking toward him.

"Good morning, my Lord Baron. Please, follow me."

Gryn raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod.

The defense was tight on the outside but loose on the inside. While the floors appeared separated, there were channels of communication between them; the Tower of the Hand had its own unique operating mechanism.

The Gold Cloak led Gryn to a door without any special markings and stopped.

The Gold Cloak opened the door silently and stood to the side. "Please enter, my Lord Baron."

Inside the study.

Upon entering, Gryn saw an old man buried in a pile of documents.

Gryn walked to a spot a few paces from the desk and bowed with his hand over his chest. "Good morning, Lord Jon."

Jon looked up from the documents, his clouded eyes glancing at Gryn. "I have a little more work to finish. I don't like attendants disturbing my work. Make yourself at home, find a chair and sit. There is drink in the cabinet."

Lord Jon spoke with the kind, familiar tone of a benevolent old man chatting with his nephew.

Having said that, Jon's attention returned to the pile of documents.

Gryn did not have the habit of treating alcohol like a casual beverage to be consumed at any time or place.

Gryn pulled out the chair placed diagonally in front of the desk, sat down, and closed his eyes to rest.

After quite some time had passed, Lord Jon set down the document in his hand, stamped it with a thud, and set it aside.

Hearing the movement, Gryn opened his eyes, meeting Lord Jon's gaze.

"I am old, not as diligent as I once was. You have been very patient, young Baron."

Lord Jon was very amiable. Gryn shook his head modestly, though his internal vigilance heightened.

Lord Jon leaned back against his chair and spoke. "As the Warden of the Vale, I am very sorry for what happened to your cousin. Alas."

"As an apology, I can help your cousin find an outstanding young man so she can start anew."

Gryn replied respectfully, "I appreciate your kindness, my Lord, but my cousin wishes to rest for a while."

"Very well. She is still young; once she has recovered, let me know. There are still many fine young men in the Vale."

Gryn stroked his chest and nodded, expressing his gratitude once more.

"I can sense your anger. A petty merchant from Gulltown has quite the nerve to insult a noble lady."

Lord Jon paused, then asked, "Has the blood of that merchant's family quelled your rage?"

Gryn appeared puzzled. "Whose blood?"

"The family of Ursur Meka. Must I continue to remind you?"

The kindly old man vanished.