Varys clasped his hands together.
“The ever-willful Queen, coupled with a bloodthirsty baron…
we might just sit back and quietly enjoy a rare spectacle in King’s Landing.” Petyr Baelish’s gaze flickered.
“Lord Master of Whisperers, you seem worried about something.” “So long as King Robert sits firmly upon the Iron Throne, nothing truly unmanageable will come to pass.
Thus, I sleep soundly every night.” “Hah, the very premise of your words strikes fear into my heart.
With only coins for company each day, I find myself unwittingly growing more and more anxious about unforeseen accidents.
Because of you, I shall sleep uneasily tonight.” Varys bowed his head in apology.
“My deepest apologies, Lord Master of Coin.
I was merely lamenting the current state of King’s Landing, and quite by accident, I have caused you unease.
My tongue has lost its sweetness, and spreads only disquiet.” Petyr Baelish instinctively sensed the danger in Varys—a danger he had never paid special attention to before.
Petyr secretly pondered the hidden purpose in Varys’s words, but let none of it show on his face.
“Well, it was merely a jest.
A pity I lack the humor for it.
I must still await an audience with Lord Arryn.
I bid you good day.” An elegant smile graced Petyr Baelish’s face as he took his leave of Varys.
*The thoughts of this rootless man are the most elusive of all.
Today was no chance encounter.* Petyr Baelish resolved in his heart to raise his guard against Varys.
Varys stared quietly at Petyr’s retreating back, the smile gradually fading from his face.
Dun~~ dun~ dun dun dun~ dun~ dun dun dun~~~~ Grim stood at the bow, gazing at the towering expanse of King’s Landing and the lofty Red Keep, the melody from his past life floating through his mind.
After a voyage of three days and two nights, King’s Landing was right before his eyes.
Many in his retinue had suffered from seasickness, keeping the three Crabb healers exhausted along the way.
Transporting soldiers from the Whispers to King’s Landing was most efficient by sea.
Traveling by land would require crossing too many lordships, wasting both time and effort.
It was the soldiers’ first time at sea, making widespread seasickness inevitable.
To ensure their combat effectiveness wasn’t compromised in the future, they needed this adaptation training in advance.
The eastern region of Crackclaw Point still needed time to consolidate.
After that, Grim’s plan was to “advance west,” stopping at the borders of Rook’s Rest, to seize control of the western half of the peninsula.
*Best to secure the title of “Defender of Crackclaw Point” first.
Then my westward expansion will be perfectly justified.* The merchant cog carrying Grim sailed from Blackwater Bay into the Blackwater, docking at the bustling River Gate—which the locals preferred to call the Mud Gate.
The busy crowds on the docks suddenly felt a prickly discomfort wash over their skin, compelling them to stop their work.
It was not an unfamiliar sensation; it was an aura forged in years of blood and fire.
They had seen many such men, but this time the feeling was far more profound.
One by one, they turned their eyes in the same direction.
They saw a group of guards clad in gleaming silver plate, tall and stout as iron towers, clustered around a young man.
The young man was tall and lean.
He wore a blue tunic embroidered with a marsh marigold on the right breast, white breeches, and a pair of deerskin boots.
He was exceptionally handsome, delicate but not effeminate, possessing a steady demeanor that belied his youth.
The dockhands, having long since developed a sharp eye for such things, hurriedly gave way, clearing a wide berth for Grim and his men.
Surana’s eldest son, Leyton, had finally intercepted Grim’s party.
“Good day, my lord.” Enduring the mingled stenches of the docks, Grim furrowed his brow slightly.
“Is our lodging in King’s Landing prepared?” “It is ready.
Just as I finished dealing with the Crabb manse, I received a raven from Steward Herschel.
My lord, it was secured yesterday and has already been cleaned.
The house is located near the Hook.
I will lead the way for you now.” Grim mounted the horse Monton brought forward.
The household guards mounted their own warhorses, forming a protective ring around him.
King’s Landing, the Hook.
Grim’s temporarily rented house.
After soaking in a hot bath, Grim felt much refreshed.
Surana took Grim’s towel.
“Are you truly keeping only twenty guards with you?” “We aren’t here to fight a war.” Grim sat down on a bench and let out a long breath before continuing.
“I noticed quite a few eyes watching us on the way.
This is enough.
Leave the guard duty to Monton and Forley.
You take the rest of the men and settle them directly at the manse outside the city.” Surana folded the towel.
“Besides the two handmaids, let us leave one healer as well.
We must guard against accidents.” Grim nodded.
“Yes, you are always meticulous, Surana.” “I have already had Leyton deliver the letter requesting an audience with Her Grace the Queen.
It includes our address here.
While we wait, you can rest properly and wash away the fatigue of the journey.” “Leave Leyton here.
With him managing this house, I can be at ease.” Evening.
The Hook, the Knight’s Tavern.
Grim sat alone at a table eating his supper, while Monton and the others sat nearby, feasting heartily.
After resting for most of the day, their appetites—dampened by days of sailing—had finally recovered.
The tavern door opened once more, and a short figure walked in.
Grim’s seat offered a clear view of the entrance.
Tyrion Lannister’s features were distinct enough that Grim recognized him with a single glance.
Grim showed no outward reaction and continued eating.
*The roast beef here is actually pretty good.* Tyrion Lannister tugged at the bell by the tavern door.
*Ding-a-ling~!* The ringing drew everyone’s attention.
Following the crowd, Grim shifted his gaze to Tyrion Lannister.
Tyrion Lannister raised his voice.
“My lords and goodmen, I feel compelled to remind you that today is your lucky day.
Tonight, all your food and drink are on me!”