Grenn Takes the Offensive
At first, Grenn had acted purely out of diligence, simply playing his role alongside Queen Cersei.
But now, he could no longer deny the stirrings within him.
He had underestimated the power of Queen Cersei's allure. Even after bearing three children, time had been kind to her. Her golden curls, emerald eyes, pale skin, and slender frame made it clear why she was still counted among the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms.
With iron will, Grenn crushed the flame rising in his blood and focused on the task at hand.
…
He avoided her gaze, letting his eyes drift, uncertain, while internally his thoughts spun like stormwinds. Outwardly calm, he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple rising and falling.
"Your Grace," he said with care, "do you have someone in mind to replace the Hand of the King?"
Cersei's brows rose, surprised—perhaps even pleased.
He truly understands me.
Her ideal choice for Hand would, of course, be her father, Lord Tywin Lannister. But she knew well that Robert would never allow it.
She drew back her delicate hand and smiled slightly. "You always find ways to amuse me, Lord Grenn. But you must understand—so long as Robert still breathes, that old wretch Jon Arryn won't be moved."
She noticed Grenn inching subtly away, his breathing steadying as he feigned composure.
Cersei's lips curled in amusement.
"I noticed today that Lord Arryn is in failing health," Grenn continued. "Even if we act out of 'concern' for his condition, Your Grace would be well within your right to suggest a more suitable replacement. We could introduce a rival—perhaps not to unseat him, but to damage his reputation, force him onto the defensive."
He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.
"An enemy's enemy might become your friend. And you, Your Grace, need only observe. At the right moment, you'll hold the reins."
He paused, then added softly, "Your influence will be unmatched. Whichever side you favor will gain the upper hand."
Cersei's green eyes sparkled. She could already see Jon Arryn—old and desperate—on his knees, begging her for mercy.
Her breath grew heavier. "And what would you propose?"
Grenn returned to his usual calm. "Once the royal hunt concludes, permit me to travel to the Reach in your name. I would speak with Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden."
"The bloated fish?" Cersei sneered.
A heavy player indeed.
Though her voice dripped with contempt, Grenn caught the flicker of wariness in her tone.
"Bloated fish" was the nickname many used for Mace Tyrell, the powerful Lord of Highgarden. The Tyrells ruled over the fertile and populous Reach. Their sigil—a golden rose on a field of green—was nearly as renowned as the lion of Lannister. Wealth second only to Casterly Rock, unmatched armies, and a fleet that rivaled the crown's.
"For a fish," Grenn said coolly, "King's Landing is but a gilded tank. And one day, Your Grace, that tank will be yours to command."
Cersei's expression softened into satisfaction. He knew exactly what to say.
She lifted her chin, regal and assured. "Go, then. Use that clever mind of yours, Lord Grenn."
Then she took a step closer—too close.
Grenn noticed her eyes flick briefly downward, a mischievous glint in her gaze.
Cersei smiled, low and teasing. "Do your work well. Please me… and your queen shall not be stingy with her rewards."
Rewards? That word lingered in Grenn's thoughts, tempting as a whisper in the dark.
Cersei turned with a faint laugh, her green eyes gleaming. "Come, little baron. It's nearly time for lunch."
…
Red Keep, Maegor's Tower – Dining Hall
Queen Cersei sat at the head of the long oaken table.
To her right sat Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen; to her left, Jaime, Grenn, Lancel, and Tyrion.
On paper, it was a seating arranged by rank. In truth, it was arranged by the queen's affections.
Strictly speaking, both Tyrion and Lancel, as Lannisters, should have outranked Grenn, a landed knight from the countryside. But Cersei ruled by her own tastes—and today, Grenn sat closer.
Servants moved with precision, laying out gilded dishes:
A thick broth of mushrooms and buttered snails. Cakes of pine nuts and egg. Oatbread roasted with apples and oranges. Then came the meats: boar ribs, lamb stewed with raisins and onions, crisped fishcakes with celery. Finally, bowls of buttered peas were placed before each guest.
Wine followed—summer red, Tyrion's favorite.
Grenn made a quiet note: a lapse in Cersei's intelligence. If she had known, she would've surely switched it—perhaps even replaced only Tyrion's cup, just to spite him.
Midway through the meal, Joffrey raised his goblet in Grenn's direction—a rare gesture.
Grenn would have preferred to avoid the brat altogether. But he was Cersei's golden boy.
With practiced grace, Grenn returned the toast to the "young emperor."
Lancel watched, seething with jealousy.
Joffrey's glances toward him were cold and cruel. Of all the Lannisters at court, Joffrey seemed to hate Lancel the most.
Let King Robert return from the hunt, Lancel prayed silently. Let me escape this viper's nest.
…
During the meal, Cersei made her announcement: Lord Grenn would oversee the royal hunt.
Jaime added that the queen's clerks had already drawn up the supply lists. Grenn was to meet with the Master of Coin—Petyr Baelish—to collect the necessary gold dragons.
And then came the final surprise: Lord Grenn was officially named Chief Aide to the Queen.
With the new title came a raise, modest though it was. Time remained short, demands high—but Grenn, for all his weariness, felt the fire return.
He was ready to rise further.
.
.
.
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