The bright sunlight filtered through the gaps in the window, casting golden threads of light across the wooden floor of the study. The interplay of light and shadow danced in shifting patterns, serene yet deceptive.
Gavin, clad in a solemn black robe, sat behind a vast and imposing desk. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp and fathomless—like the depths of the abyss, capable of piercing through every secret the world dared to hide.
Qyburn stood before him, slightly bowed. In his hands, he clutched a parchment bearing information that crackled with tension. His voice was low, but clear.
"Your Majesty," he began, "after Littlefinger returned to King's Landing, his movements have been highly secretive. He first contacted Ser Jaime Lannister—the Kingslayer. That same night, he used a hidden passage to slip into the Red Keep. I believe he met with Queen Cersei. As for what they discussed, we've yet to uncover it."
Gavin's fingers drummed lightly on the table. The dull rhythm echoed in the quiet study like a heartbeat, thoughtful and ominous.
Qyburn continued, "Two days later, Littlefinger returned to the Small Council and publicly claimed he had failed to secure the Iron Bank's support. However, our spies later observed him meeting in secret with Lady Catelyn Tully and Lord Eddard Stark at his brothel. After the meeting, Catelyn returned to the North in haste."
Gavin's fingers stopped.
"And the Royal Fleet?" he asked in a low voice.
Qyburn's tone turned cautious. "All damaged ships have been repaired, and several new ones have been added. Stannis has recalled every vessel under the Crown's banner—from the Stormlands and the Crownlands. Currently, the fleet is divided between King's Landing Port and Dragonstone. The Usurper has also issued a formal call to arms. Noble houses with ships have been summoned to King's Landing."
"Who has responded so far?" Gavin asked.
"Only the White Harbor and Lannister fleets," Qyburn replied. "Seagard's fleet is expected to respond soon. Including all forces, Stannis commands over 200 warships, not counting additional support from the North or the Westerlands."
"Should we strike first?" Qyburn suggested carefully. "The longer we wait, the stronger their fleet becomes."
Gavin leaned back slowly into the soft leather of his chair and shook his head. "Not yet," he said, voice cold and certain.
A moment of silence passed. Then Gavin asked, "Where is Theon Greyjoy? Has he returned to Pyke?"
Qyburn answered promptly. "Our most recent report is three days old. Theon departed Winterfell and is expected to reach the Iron Islands in two days. Balon Greyjoy has already dispatched ships to retrieve him. Meanwhile, there are signs the Ironborn are mustering on Pyke, but we don't yet know if they intend to answer the Usurper's call."
Gavin gave a slow nod. His eyes darkened, the gears in his mind turning relentlessly. He had been waiting patiently for Robert Baratheon's death. Only then would he reveal the truth: the queen's incest with her brother Jaime, and their involvement in Jon Arryn's murder. With those revelations, Westeros would erupt in chaos. The War of the Five Kings would begin—early, and on Gavin's terms.
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
Robert was the linchpin. As long as he lived, the alliance of Stag, Wolf, Trout, and Falcon would hold. His death would shatter it. But for now, despite all manipulation, Robert still breathed. Whether due to Littlefinger and Cersei's hesitation or Gavin's very presence in the game, the king remained alert—he hadn't even gone hunting in weeks.
Gavin exhaled, suppressing his frustration. He hoped Littlefinger would act soon—he had left them little choice if they wished to survive.
Still, Gavin was no fool. He had contingencies.
If Robert would not die by another's hand, Gavin would make war instead.
"When Theon returns to Pyke," Gavin mused aloud, "that will be the time to strike."
With the Lannister fleet drawn east, the Westerlands would be exposed. The North, unsuspecting. The Royal Fleet, battered. And once Theon was safely back in Balon Greyjoy's hands, Gavin doubted the old kraken would bend the knee to the Iron Throne again.
Balon would don the Driftwood Crown and raise the Iron Islands in rebellion.
Faced with war on two fronts, the Iron Throne would crumble.
He turned to Qyburn, eyes razor-sharp.
"Continue monitoring Littlefinger. I want every move he makes reported to me. No exceptions. As for Theon Greyjoy—report to me the moment he returns to Pyke. No delay."
Qyburn bowed. "As you command, Your Majesty."
"And send a raven to Syndor," Gavin added, voice dropping an octave. "Tell him to ready the fleet. We move at a moment's notice."
"It will be done," Qyburn said, and turned to leave.
But then he hesitated.
"There's one more matter," he said cautiously. "Recently, merchant ships passing the Stepstones have reported something strange. In Slaver's Bay, agents of Volantis have been buying up shipwrights and sailors in droves. But there's no record of new shipyards in the city."
Gavin's brows drew together.
"Volantis…" he murmured.
Memories surfaced—of how Volantis once backed the slavers of Yunkai and Meereen during Daenerys's campaign. It made sense. Volantis, that great bastion of the old slave empires, would not sit idly while Gavin rose in the West with Syndor by his side.
"That would explain a great deal," Gavin said grimly. "They didn't even send a congratulatory raven when I claimed the crown. The slavers must have sent word ahead."
He turned his gaze to Qyburn again.
"Dispatch agents immediately. I want Slaver's Bay scoured—Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor. I want to know the exact state of their fleets, and where the newly acquired shipwrights have gone. If Volantis is building in secret, we must know. We've ignored them for too long."
Qyburn's face tightened in understanding. "At once, Your Majesty." With that, he departed swiftly, cloak trailing behind him.
In the quiet that followed, Gavin stared at the dancing sunlight on the floor, already calculating his next move.