A dream-seller never welcomes another dream-seller.
Grinn had no intention of taking the bait.
Lord Jon's resolve to drive him out of King's Landing was firm—unyielding.
It was now mid-September, 297 AC. According to the timeline, Jon Arryn had roughly half a year left before he bowed out of the game.
Could Grinn delay things that long?
He might have, had Petyr Baelish not disrupted his carefully laid plans.
There were two reasons Grinn had spared Petyr.
The first: he needed Baelish alive to conspire with Lady Lysa Arryn and remove Jon Arryn from the board.
The second: Baelish's meddling had forced Grinn into an early confrontation with the Lord of the Eyrie. Instead of shedding blood, Grinn decided to let Baelish clean up his own mess—it was the least costly solution. That's what had prompted his "visit" to Petyr that very night.
And knowing Petyr, sharp as he was, he would already have deduced what path now best served him.
Would he seek revenge later, from the shadows?
Grinn wouldn't sit idle and wait to be struck. He wasn't the sort to parry, counter, and trade blows endlessly. That wasn't his nature.
Whether Petyr had acted deliberately or not, by striking iron, he had landed himself squarely on Grinn's kill list.
Once Jon Arryn was out of the way, barring a major shift in the game, Baelish wouldn't live to see the next spring.
The only reason Grinn had left that door open at all was because he had already stepped into the Game of Thrones—and in that game, there were no eternal enemies. Only players—and players had to stay nimble.
Being named Warden of the Peninsula was, on paper, a great honor. But Grinn and Lord Jon were not equals—and in unequal dealings, fairness was a myth.
Grinn wasn't even curious about the terms.
He simply shook his head and said with humility, "Your lordship's regard flatters me. But to claim the seat, one must first bear its weight. I fear I am not yet worthy of a Warden's name."
Jon Arryn's mind drifted back to his youth—Robert Baratheon once told him about a slippery fish from the Stormlands, nearly impossible to catch. What was it called again…?
He pushed the thought aside. "Perhaps," he said, "if you complete a task for me, you'll prove yourself worthy."
That quiet coercion stirred something unpleasant in Grinn. The urge to strike surged within him—but he forced it down.
In that moment, he found Queen Cersei's blunt cruelty almost charming by comparison.
Gods, how he missed Lady Cersei now.
Feigning hesitation, Grinn let out a sigh and said weakly, "If the task doesn't offend House Clegane's honor... then I suppose I shall listen."
Lord Jon clearly disliked him. Whatever task he had in mind, it wouldn't be a pleasant one. Grinn's answer was crafted to leave himself room to retreat.
Honor? From you? Jon Arryn scoffed inwardly. In his eyes, a man who wouldn't even confess to his crimes had no claim to honor at all.
After a long pause, Lord Jon finally spoke."You're aware, I assume, that two young dragons of House Targaryen survived?"
He stared at Grinn intently.
Grinn instinctively shook his head. Then, as the implication sank in, his pupils shrank.
After a beat of silence, he replied, "My lord… the war ended long ago. Its victors already stand crowned."
The old man replied with stubborn defiance, "As long as dragon's blood survives…"
But Grinn's expression changed.
He had sensed it—another presence in the room.
He rose abruptly from his chair. "Forgive me, my lord… but is there a third person in this study?"
Jon Arryn nearly snapped at the interruption, but the sudden shift in Grinn's tone gave him pause. His eyes narrowed.
He slowly shook his head.
Grinn gave a polite nod, stepped toward the rear wall, and tapped his knuckles softly against the stone.
No sound.
Yet Grinn was certain. "Roughly here. Someone is watching us."
He wouldn't jest about something like that. Jon, pale and shaken, rose and barked, "Guards!"
The door burst open. Four Goldcloaks stormed in, blades drawn.
They moved to surround Grinn, but Jon gestured sharply. "Search the wall. Near the young baron. Thoroughly."
Grinn stepped aside. The guards began thumping the stones, probing for hollow points.
Minutes passed. Just as Jon's patience wore thin, one of the guards pointed at a narrow gap.
"My lord… there's something off here."
Jon glanced at Grinn, who remained calm as ever, then gave a crisp order."Bring hammers. Open it."
One guard rushed out and returned with two warhammers.
The Goldcloaks swung hard.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Dust choked the room. Then—with a dull crash—a portion of the wall gave way.
Behind it: a narrow, hidden space.
Coughing in the settling dust, Jon Arryn's face turned to ice."No wonder there are no secrets in the Red Keep."
Grinn took that as his cue."If your lordship will excuse me, I'll take my leave."
Jon nodded, eyes still locked on the exposed cavity.
Grinn had nearly reached the door when Jon called out.
"Baron. For what happened today—you will be rewarded."
Grinn halted, turned, and bowed.
"And one more thing," Jon said. "You're clever enough to understand me. I give you one month. By then, I expect your answer."
Outside the Tower of the Hand.
Grinn stepped out to find Tyrion Lannister, bleary-eyed and visibly exhausted.
Behind him stood twenty crimson-cloaked Lannister guards.
Mandon and Anguy were already moving toward Grinn.
"My lord," Anguy whispered, "they arrived just after you went in."
Grinn gave a small nod and approached Tyrion."Good day, Lord Tyrion."
Tyrion blinked slowly, then waved the redcloaks away with a lazy flick of the wrist."You're out early. Shame. Had you stayed longer, you might've witnessed Ser Tyrion's wrath… and the lion's roar."
Grinn smiled and gave Tyrion's arm a light pat.
Tyrion grinned slyly."You should thank Jaime. I can't command the redcloaks—this was his doing."
Grinn chuckled."Then my thanks to him as well. If I'd known the lion was waiting outside, I might've punched the old lord a second time."
Tyrion laughed."I like your style. So, things went smoothly?"
Grinn shrugged."Smooth enough. We still have time."
Tyrion clapped his thigh."That's something. We'll figure out the rest. After all, the two sharpest minds in King's Landing are right here—so relax."
Then, flashing a wicked grin:"Would you believe it? My dear sister invited us to lunch. I'm touched. You must've impressed her. She's... very satisfied with your work, it seems. Heh."
Grinn blinked, unsure how to respond."..."
.
.
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