An Easily Overlooked Trait

Martier said, "Jefferies has been begging me to arrange a meeting with you."

Gryn stopped pacing, his brown eyes shifting slightly. "Do you know what he wants?"

Martier shook his head, then nodded. "My lord, I suspect it's for the sake of his son. Jefferies had a child late in life, and his only son is five years old. A merchant's son left without anyone to protect him after his father dies can only expect a grim fate. That's just my guess."

Gryn said nothing. Jefferies had been trading leather with Whispers more and more frequently lately, but Herschel the steward had always handled the dealings. Gryn had spoken only a few words with Jefferies the last time the man came to pay his respects aboard the ship. They could hardly be called acquaintances.

And without familiarity, there could be no trust.

If Martier's guess was right, would a dying old father entrust his child to someone he barely knew?

Suddenly, Gryn shook his head to himself, scoffing at his own suspicion. Dealing with so many scheming people lately had made him prone to seeing conspiracies everywhere.

Matters had to be judged by their importance. Without further information, he couldn't make a habit of viewing everything through the lens of conspiracy. Excessive suspicion was a symptom of anxiety.

Gryn asked, "Where is he?"

Martier scratched his head with his index finger and lowered his gaze. "His carriage is nearby. Jefferies kept going on about the friendship he'd built with the Whispers through trade and how much he admired you. I couldn't shake him off, and he was so badly wounded that I didn't feel right chopping his head off."

As he spoke, Martier stole a glance at Gryn's expression.

Everything had its pros and cons. Because of the family's rules, Martier had been kept under lock and key far too strictly while they waited for him to produce an heir.

Martier only looked mature on the outside. He lacked the experience that came with a lifetime of dealing with people.

Merchants dealt with all kinds of people every day. Their wealth of experience gave them a keen eye, and Jefferies had already seen through Martier. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to cling to him.

But Martier was a descendant of a Crabb House Knight, so Gryn could only take his time teaching him.

Gryn put on a stern expression. "Go bring him in."

Martier also felt he'd handled things poorly. He trudged off to summon Jefferies.

The afternoon sun was a little too bright. Gryn had Mutton bring him a chair, then sat down in a shady spot.

Today, he'd discovered a hidden listening compartment in the Hand's Study in the Tower of the Hand. Lord Jon Arryn didn't seem to have been affected, but surely he wasn't as calm inside as he appeared. No one could have faced that matter with complete composure.

The fallout from the incident in the Hand's Study had become unpredictable.

Gryn thought again of the second son of King Robert, Duke Stannis Baratheon, who had never been favored by him.

If Martier hadn't mentioned the pirates and the Royal Fleet today, Gryn might have overlooked Stannis Baratheon, the excessively stern and impartial Duke of Dragonstone.

Yes, Stannis Baratheon seemed to have a knack for being overlooked.

What would happen if the respected Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, were to convict a baron on the strength of nothing more than a song, without any direct evidence—and word of it reached the ears of Duke Stannis Baratheon, who was scrupulous about the law?

Besides, as Gryn remembered, Stannis Baratheon was deeply dissatisfied with being made Master of Ships.

He was also deeply displeased that King Robert had passed him over, giving Storm's End to his favored third brother, Renly Baratheon, and making him Master of Laws.

Stannis Baratheon had earned considerable merit in the Usurper's War, yet he'd been granted Dragonstone, an island of nothing but black stone. Meanwhile, the ancestral seat of House Baratheon had gone to his third brother Renly Baratheon, who had done nothing to earn it.

Given Stannis Baratheon's character, under these circumstances, his resentment had already become a flame of hatred.

Gryn calculated in his mind whether he could drive the frail Lord Jon Arryn to his death without getting directly involved.

If he couldn't kill him, he would at least have to make sure the old duke was bedridden. Lord Jon Arryn was stubborn and wouldn't easily forgive Gryn.

In Game of Thrones, there were no eternal enemies, only eternal interests. Gryn had thought of a natural ally in this matter.

The clatter of hooves mixed with the creaking of carriage wheels as the carriage passed through the gate and slowly entered the courtyard where Gryn was.

The carriage stopped in front of Gryn. Martier scratched his head, looking awkward. "My lord, Jefferies can't get out of the carriage."

Gryn waved a hand, unimpressed. "Then he can stay there. Open the door."

Before Martier could move, a thin, dark-skinned, middle-aged man who had been sitting beside the driver and had bowed to Gryn from a distance got down and opened the carriage door.

As soon as the door opened, Gryn, who was standing nearby, caught a whiff of rot.

Jefferies, who had been beaming with health not long ago, now leaned against the carriage seat, his face pale.

Only after struggling to make out Gryn's face did Jefferies speak. "Honored knight, forgive me for coming uninvited."

Jefferies' voice was extremely weak. "After I was struck by the arrow, I knew I wouldn't survive this. All men must die. I don't fear death, but I can't stop worrying about my young son."

After a pause, Jefferies forced himself to continue. "As pain tormented me, I thought of all my friends and family. I realized, in despair, that there wasn't a single person I could entrust him to. I thank the Seven for their grace. I, a humble man, was fortunate enough to meet you."

Jefferies looked at Gryn with hope in his eyes. "Your reputation for being loved by your people is well known. Though we've only spent a short time together, I can tell that you pity the weak. I can only beg you to forgive a dying father for doing anything to protect his young son."

Ignoring his wounds, Jefferies struggled to slide off the seat.

Half-collapsed, Jefferies lifted his sweat-soaked face. "I'm willing to hand over everything I own. I only beg you to protect my son."

Gryn sighed inwardly and asked, "Where is your son?"

The thin, dark-skinned middle-aged man who had opened the carriage door came around from behind it, holding a little boy by the hand.

The chubby little boy seemed to have just finished crying. His small eyes were red and swollen.

Gryn reached out and patted the chubby boy on the head. "What's your name?"

The little boy was too timid to answer.

The thin man, who was still holding the boy's hand, hurriedly said, "Noble lord, his name is Darius."

Gryn patted Darius on the head again, then said to Jefferies, "Jefferies, your steadfast love as a father has moved me. Your son Darius will become the foster son of Mason Baker, a Crabb House Knight."