King's Landing – Hook Alley – Afternoon
"Lord Jefferys has been begging me," said Matiel. "He hopes to see you, my lord."
Grenn halted mid-stride, his brown eyes narrowing with quiet scrutiny."Do you know what brings him here?"
Matiel hesitated—first shaking his head, then nodding slowly."My lord, I believe it concerns his son. Jefferys fathered the boy late in life—he's just five years old. When he dies, there will be no one to protect him. A merchant's orphan... the outcome is easy enough to imagine. But that's only my suspicion."
Grenn did not speak immediately. Of late, Jefferys had conducted more and more leather trades with Whispering Keep, but always through Steward Herschel. The two had only exchanged a few pleasantries aboard the ship from Mermaid Port—not enough to call it a friendship.
And without familiarity, trust was out of the question.
Would a dying father truly entrust his only son to a man he scarcely knew?
Grenn frowned. He shook his head subtly, scolding himself. Lately, surrounded by liars and vipers, he had grown too prone to suspicion.
Not every encounter was a conspiracy. One must learn to weigh the gravity of things. Until more is known, there is no use turning every shadow into a dagger. That path leads only to madness.
"Where is he?" Grenn asked quietly.
Matiel scratched his head with a finger and lowered his gaze."His carriage is close by. He spoke endlessly of the friendship he forged through trade with Whispering Keep… and of his admiration for you, my lord. I couldn't shake him. He's gravely wounded, and I—well—I didn't feel right cutting him down."
He shot a furtive glance at Grenn's face, testing the air.
Every privilege came with its price. Because of his family's rigid customs, Matiel had been confined for years, waiting to father an heir.Though he bore the build of a man, he lacked the polish of experience.
Merchants, schooled by years of negotiation and maneuvering, were keen judges of character. Jefferys had likely seen through the boy with ease—and seized his chance.
Still, Matiel was the son of a sworn knight to House Clayburn. He was Grenn's responsibility now—and would need shaping.
Grenn's tone was iron."Bring him in."
Matiel, chastened, realized how poorly he had handled things and departed with drooped shoulders.
The afternoon sun was sharp and unforgiving. Grenn instructed Monton to fetch a chair and settled into the shade.
His mind wandered to the hidden alcove discovered in the Hand's solar that morning. Though Lord Jon Arryn had shown no outward alarm, no man could take such betrayal lightly.The long shadows of that incident would reach far—how far, none could say.
Then came another memory, a name half-buried in thought: Lord Stannis Baratheon.
Had Matiel not mentioned pirates and the royal fleet, Grenn might have overlooked him entirely.
Yes, Stannis Baratheon carried a most dangerous quality: he was easy to ignore.
If word of what had transpired in the Hand's solar—how a nobleman had nearly been condemned based on a mere song—were to reach the ears of that iron-faced lord, what might follow?
Grenn recalled something else as well. Stannis harbored a festering bitterness toward his royal brother. King Robert had passed him over, bestowing Storm's End not on the elder Stannis, but on the youngest—Renly. To add insult to injury, Robert named Renly Master of Laws, while Stannis was left to govern the sea.
During the Rebellion, Stannis had proven his mettle with blood and fire, yet his reward had been the barren, black-stoned fortress of Dragonstone, while Renly inherited the ancestral seat of House Baratheon.
Given Stannis's nature, that slight had long since ignited into hatred.
Grenn found himself pondering—could Lord Jon Arryn be undone without a single sword drawn?
If not killed outright, then at least laid low. Jon Arryn was stubborn and would not easily release his grip on Grenn.
But in the game of thrones, there are no eternal enemies—only eternal interests. And in this particular game, Grenn believed he had found a natural ally.
The clatter of hooves and the groaning of wooden wheels broke the stillness. A carriage rolled slowly through the courtyard gates.
It came to a halt before him. Matiel scratched his head with a grimace."My lord… Jefferys cannot leave the carriage."
Grenn waved a hand, irritated."Then let him stay where he is. Open the door."
Before Matiel could obey, a thin, dark-skinned man—who had been seated beside the driver—descended and bowed from a distance. Without a word, he opened the carriage door.
At once, a foul stench wafted into the courtyard.
Jefferys, once ruddy and full of life, now lay collapsed upon the seat, pale and ashen.
Only when his gaze found Grenn's face did the merchant begin to speak."Most noble ser… forgive me for coming unbidden."
His voice was scarcely more than a breath."Since I took that arrow, I've known my end draws near. All men must die—I do not fear it. But I fear for my son."
He paused, gathering what strength remained."In my pain, I thought of every friend, every kin… and found no one I could entrust with his care. No one—save you. By the grace of the Seven, our paths crossed. That is all I have."
His eyes—hollow but pleading—sought Grenn's."Your name is spoken with reverence. Even in our short acquaintance, I sensed the mercy in your heart. I beg you… forgive a dying father's desperation. I ask only that you shield my son."
Then, groaning, Jefferys forced himself to slide from the seat, ignoring his wounds.
He half-collapsed upon the wooden step, lifting a face slick with sweat."All I have is yours—coin, ships, deeds, holdings. I offer it freely. Just… keep him safe."
Grenn exhaled slowly."Where is your son?"
The thin man reappeared, guiding a boy out from behind the carriage.
He was a chubby little thing, perhaps five, with red, swollen eyes that told of recent sobbing.
Grenn crouched down and gently touched the boy's hair."What is your name, lad?"
The child recoiled in silence, too frightened to speak.
The thin man bowed again, speaking quickly."His name is Darius, my lord."
Grenn nodded, ruffling the boy's hair again. Then he turned to the dying merchant.
"Jefferys… your strength as a father has stirred something within me.Your son—Darius—shall be taken in as the foster son of Ser Mason Beck, knight of House Clayburn."
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