Chapter 38: Late at Night in King’s Landing

Late at Night in King's Landing

Chaos is a ladder—and Petyr Baelish both delights in and excels at climbing it.

Every time he stirs unrest, he emerges stronger, his reach deeper, his influence wider.

But what was his true goal this time? Or was this just another one of his casual manipulations?

Under ordinary circumstances, a summons from Lord Jon Arryn, longtime Hand of the King and patron of Targaryen loyalists, would send any such loyalist descendant into a panic. And Grinn, being one of them, would likely do what Petyr expected: rush to Queen Cersei for protection.

Cersei, ever resentful of Lord Arryn's consolidation of power, would likely seize the chance to turn this into a confrontation.

From her point of view, it would be: "You dare move against one of mine? Finally, I have an excuse to strike!"

It would be a trap Cersei would gladly walk into. And with her limited political foresight, even if she later learned Petyr had orchestrated it all, she might still secretly thank him.

True, she could stir up trouble, but she would gain nothing from it. She is no match for Jon Arryn. And she would never admit to her own errors—she would simply place blame on those closest to her, especially Grinn.

As Tyrion had once said while analyzing his sister: "When she loves you, she gives you the world. But when she hates you, her hatred burns hotter than wildfire."

Grinn's favor with the Queen would likely be reduced to ash.

Not his life—no—but his standing in King's Landing? Gone. Exiled, humiliated, a laughingstock.

And in such a moment, the Queen would offer no protection at all.

That's the danger of Grinn's lowly political standing.

From Petyr's perspective, even if this maneuver were exposed, what could a minor baron possibly do in retaliation? He wouldn't dare strike back, and even if he did, he lacked the power to succeed.

Baelish likely believed he would remain cloaked in the shadows, safe whether things fell left or right.

If he had truly understood Grinn, he would've acted with far more caution. His strategy would have been subtler. He might not have moved at all.

But in Petyr's eyes, Grinn was expendable—an unthreatening pawn to be sacrificed without risk.

He had underestimated him.

—

Grinn stirred from his thoughts. "My dearest friend, Lord Tyrion—I need your help."

Tyrion's face grew serious. "What do you intend?"

Grinn bowed his head slightly in gratitude. "I have no spies in King's Landing. I need access to Lannister eyes and ears. I want to meet with Petyr Baelish—tonight."

Tyrion didn't hesitate. He nodded at once, then asked, "Will blood be shed? If this spirals out of control, it could cost you dearly. My advice…"

He paused, thoughtful. "Withdraw for now. You might be assigned to oversee the Queen's royal hunt—use that as a reason to keep your distance. I'll speak to Jaime first thing in the morning to make it official."

Grinn shook his head lightly. "It's a good plan. Maybe, in time, the powerful will forget a nobody like me."

He sipped his summerwine, then added, "But as long as I serve Queen Cersei, I will always be a target."

His voice dropped. A flash of steel glinted in his eyes. "I must meet Lord Jon Arryn. Qyburn won't forget the kindness he once received."

The tension between them thickened.

Tyrion broke it with a grin. "Ah, yes—that line you taught me. Of course. Petyr's kicked the wrong bloody door!"

Grinn chuckled. "In the worst case, you'll only ever see me again in my own lands. We have marigold ale and mermaids, you know. You'd like it."

"I'm still quite skeptical about those mermaids, Lord Grinn…"

—

Deep into the night, King's Landing slumbered.

Clad in black leather, Grinn leaned silently against the outer wall, eyes lifted to the stars.

Inside the compound, Anguy moved like a shadow. Silently, he crept behind a guard, covered the man's mouth, pressed his other hand to the nape of the neck, and twisted. The guard crumpled without a sound.

That was his fifth.

Anguy then mimicked the call of a nightbird—Grinn's signal.

Hearing it, Grinn vaulted the wall and slipped into the yard, soundless.

Anguy met him in a whisper. "Three sentries and two hidden posts—neutralized. Our men have taken their places."

Grinn's household guards weren't built for this kind of work. Fortunately, the newly recruited Anguy, a natural-born archer and hunter, was. Otherwise, Grinn would have had to handle it personally.

He made a mental note—he'd need to request more scouts from the Survey Corps. They were far more suited to such operations.

Anguy added, "Getting inside is the tricky part. Unlike the yard, one wrong move in there could wake the entire house. I suggest we climb through the window—"

Grinn looked up toward the third floor. "So Petyr's actually sleeping here tonight. Ever cautious."

But it wasn't that Petyr had predicted this "visit"—this was simply his nature. A man who profits from chaos never puts down roots.

Grinn nodded. "You and I will go. The rest stay on watch."

—

In bed, Petyr Baelish stirred, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

His lashes fluttered—then his eyes snapped open.

He sat up, staring into the darkness of his chamber where two figures now stood. For a moment, he was disoriented.

Then a jolt of fear struck him. Sweat beaded across his back.

Grinn gestured, and Anguy lit a candle. The room bloomed into a low amber glow.

Petyr narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the light. Then recognition dawned. "You're… it's you."

Grinn dragged a chair next to the bed with a heavy thud.

Anguy, silent and still, took his place by the door.

Grinn sat. "Lord Petyr, I was so moved by your generous invitation, I couldn't wait for morning. I thought you'd be... delighted."

Delighted? More like terrified.

Petyr smothered his fear beneath a courteous smile, his voice dry. "Had you visited during daylight, Lord Grinn, I'd have been more... hospitable."

He spread his hands. "If you'll allow it, I'd like to put something on."

Grinn raised a brow—surprised. For a man as cautious as Petyr, sleeping unclothed seemed out of character. Most men with weak nerves never dared to sleep bare. Perhaps the years of easy success had hardened Baelish's heart.

With a wave, Grinn gestured: Please, go ahead.

Just as Petyr exhaled with faint relief, he noticed the dagger glinting in Grinn's hand—its edge cold and bright in the candlelight.

He slipped on a black robe. "I've heard of you—a promising young man. I've long wanted the chance to meet you."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "And now, here we are. Friends, perhaps. And I do so enjoy helping friends."

Grinn smiled slightly. "There's a chair there. Sit across from me."

Danger. Petyr felt it in his bones. This man hadn't decided yet whether to kill him.

And his guards—where were they? How had these two entered his room so silently?

Inside, Petyr's panic churned. But outwardly, he remained composed. With steady hands, he pulled the chair close, adjusted his robe, and sat down across from Grinn.

.

.

.

🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥

📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯

The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥

Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.

🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN

Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.