Chapter 31: Grinn Truly Understands Me

King's Landing, the Queen's District

Grinn hesitated.

To grow stronger, and with a keen grasp of the unfolding plot, he had chosen—based on his own interests—to temporarily align himself with Queen Cersei's faction.

As always, nothing in King's Landing happened without cause—no matter the size or scope.

The rift between the King and Queen bore the fingerprints of a hidden provocateur, someone with ambition vast enough to shake the realm. The true game had begun before the pieces were even in place; the players had been moving in the shadows long before the first trumpet sounded.

Those who could profit from such turmoil had already proven their worth. They were not mere courtiers or schemers—they were true players in the game of power, or coalitions of ambitious individuals, united by common cause.

Grinn had already narrowed it down to a few likely noble houses.

...

Feigning distraction, Grinn turned away and instructed Mandon to serve him a plate of lamb stew.

He avoided Jaime's probing gaze with some effort.

Mandon, proud as a boy presenting a treasure, laid generous cuts of meat onto a wooden plate and handed it to Grinn.

Grinn took a bite. The lamb was tender, savory. He lowered his eyelids as he chewed, letting the fatigue of the last dozen hours melt away in that one warm mouthful.

Jaime, still watching him, sensed something. He could tell Grinn knew more than he let on—but the younger man was deflecting.

Seeing Grinn eat so contentedly, Jaime's temper stirred. "Wildling—eating alone, are you? No hospitality for your guests?"

Grinn raised an eyebrow, surprised, and swallowed. "Do Lannisters eat lamb stew as well?"

Jaime gave a crooked grin. "What did you think? That we feast on gold?"

Grinn chuckled and waved Mandon over. "Quickly now, Ser Jaime mustn't starve."

Once Jaime had a plate in hand, his usual poise faded. He tore into the stew like a soldier returning from the battlefield.

It tasted far better than it looked—he found himself genuinely surprised.

After a few mouthfuls, Jaime spoke. "Baron Grinn, it's clear I lack your sharpness. If you've discovered something—anything—I ask you to speak plainly. I can even keep it from Cersei. Call it a debt owed. A Lannister always pays his debts."

Grinn's ears twitched, as if catching the ghostly clink of golden dragons.

He paused, his face unreadable, then exhaled softly. "Mandon, take your meal and stand watch. Nothing is to come near."

"Nothing?" Mandon, sharp as ever, understood immediately. He took his plate and withdrew, quickly rallying the guards to form a perimeter.

Grinn dragged his chair a bit closer to Jaime's and sat down once more. "Ser Jaime," he said in a quiet voice, "I can feel it—a black net spreading above Her Grace. It's already drawn close, veiled in shadow, unseen yet unmistakably real."

Jaime's pupils narrowed. The fog he had failed to notice was now parting before Grinn's words.

The young man's language was indirect—full of metaphor—but Jaime began piecing things together. The growing bitterness between Robert and Cersei... the inexplicable shifts in court... the unease that had dogged him for months.

He leaned forward. "You've guessed who it is, haven't you? And what they want?"

Grinn didn't flinch. He met Jaime's eyes. "I'll not say who—not yet. But their aim is easy to divine."

He paused again, letting the silence press down.

"To replace Queen Cersei."

Jaime shot to his feet, rage surging. His hand gripped the pommel of his sword, knuckles white and veins raised.

But behind the fury, something else stirred—a flicker of forbidden hope. If Cersei were no longer queen... could he finally take her away? Back to Casterly Rock?

Grinn saw the flicker in Jaime's expression and, inwardly, scoffed at his naïveté.

He said nothing of it. Instead, his voice remained calm. "Ser Jaime, only two things can justify a new queen under the law—death, or the complete ruin of a reputation."

The killing intent in Jaime's eyes drained away, replaced by a cold shiver that ran through his chest.

He forced himself back into the chair. Grinn's expression remained steady—stern, not suspicious—and that steadiness helped Jaime breathe again.

He needed to speak, to break the tension. "Baron Grinn... you may be right. Especially this year—I've sensed something wrong, but I couldn't name it. Your insight... it brings clarity."

And, strangely, it brought fear.

That he—a Kingsguard knight and son of Tywin Lannister—should feel apprehension toward a young baron struck him as almost absurd. And yet, there it was.

Then, driven by something even he couldn't fully explain, Jaime muttered, "I've failed her. Cersei is in danger... and I— I wasn't there... I failed her."

Grinn's heart stirred at that, though his face remained composed. Gently, he offered words of comfort.

"Though Her Grace is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, to you, she is first and always family."

"You stayed inside to protect her. It's the ones outside who see the changes first. I stand outside the chamber walls—and so I saw the darkness gathering."

"Ser Jaime, you are her most trusted knight. The moment is not yet lost. You wield a blade, and with it, the dark can still be cleaved."

Grinn's voice was calm, youthful still, but unwavering—and filled with a quiet strength that lent comfort to those who heard it.

In Grinn's gaze, Jaime saw not only trust and loyalty, but something else... admiration.

As a knight of the Kingsguard—one of the finest warriors in Westeros—Jaime was not unaccustomed to admiration. But this felt different. It was not awe of his name, nor his sword—it was respect for the man.

It warmed him in a way he hadn't expected.

He had dismissed Grinn before meeting him. Worse, he had disregarded Tyrion's praise of the boy, and clung to his prejudice instead.

And only now did he realize—Tyrion's advice hadn't biased him.

His own pride had.

He remembered now the words his brother had spoken of Grinn—words of admiration.

A flush of guilt crept into his heart. As a sworn knight of the Kingsguard, Jaime had been unfair.

But now, in the quiet of that courtyard, he understood—

Grinn truly understood him.

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