"Great Lord Jon is dying."
Gendry stood over the map on the desk, his gaze fixed upon Westeros.
Qyburn's face twitched faintly. He spread his hands.
"For an old man who has carried the realm on his back for so many years, Great Lord Jon has already lived a long life."
"His death isn't simply a matter of age," Gendry said quietly, offering no further explanation. Great Lord Jon had been destroyed by Lady Lysa and Littlefinger, that pair of bastards.
"Westeros is about to descend into chaos," Qyburn said with certainty. "All these years, King Robert has drowned himself in wine and women, Queen Cersei has arrogantly tightened her grip on power, and only old Jon has been holding everything together. Once the Hand of the King dies, the king will lose his bearings. He'll need someone to clean up his mess so he can keep feasting and drinking. He won't have the mind to worry about us."
To be fair, Gendry bore Great Lord Jon no personal grudge. But Jon Arryn, as the architect of the Baratheon dynasty, had never truly solved its problems. He had only delayed them.
There was little he could have done. The new dynasty had never been particularly strong to begin with, and the king was a drunkard and a whoremonger. The Lannister queen was vicious and arrogant, expanding her influence in King's Landing. As for the king's two brothers, neither could be fully trusted.
"I believe the only person King Robert truly trusts now is Great Lord Eddard," the Handsome Man said firmly.
"The Wolf Pack is across the Narrow Sea. Were you watching Westeros politics before this?" Qyburn asked him.
"The Narrow Sea is not so wide. The North is the homeland of the wolves. We've always paid some attention to House Stark."
"But we crossed the Narrow Sea to make our own way. The Wolf Pack may carry northern blood, but we are no longer vassals of House Stark. During the War of the Usurper, when the northerners marched south for vengeance, the Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack did not lead us into that war."
"Good," Gendry said, gesturing for him to continue.
"The heart of the War of the Usurper was the Stag, the Falcon, the Trout, and the Wolf. Great Lord Eddard and King Robert were foster sons of Great Lord Jon. Great Lord Hoster married his two daughters to Great Lord Jon and Great Lord Eddard. Later, Great Lord Jon arranged the marriage between the king and House Lannister.
"Now Great Lord Jon is dead, and Great Lord Hoster is gravely ill. The most qualified candidate left is Great Lord Tywin. But King Robert would never be foolish enough to allow House Lannister to fully control King's Landing. There is also the stern Stannis—but the king does not trust his own brother."
"With Great Lord Jon's death, it seems the direwolf will enter the game," Gendry said softly. He could almost feel the gears of fate beginning to turn. The game of thrones was about to erupt once more.
"Let Westeros tear itself apart," he continued. "If we apply pressure now, their fractured factions might unite again."
"Great Lord Jon's death gives us an opportunity," the Handsome Man said. "Not to wage war against the Iron Throne—but to strike Tyrosh."
"It is a good chance," Gendry agreed. "Tyrosh is still counting on support from Lys, Volantis, and the Iron Throne."
The Wolf Pack fleet now stretched from the Stepstones to the Bay of Myr. Tyrosh, a major island stronghold in the region, was a thorn that had to be pulled.
"Tyrosh must return the Myr warships and the Magisters who fled there. Otherwise, this will be the beginning of war."
"King's Landing may fall into disorder after the Hand's death, but will Pentos, Lys, and Volantis step in? And what about the strongest of them all—Braavos?"
"Braavos opposes slavery. Lys and Volantis are slow to act. Pentos has wealth but no soldiers. The window of opportunity will not stay open for long."
The fleet across the Narrow Sea would not be coming. Gendry's concern lay in the pressure that would follow their expansion into Tyrosh.
"We'll meet with envoys from every side," he said. "Keep them talking. Stall for time."
...
Red Keep, the Throne Room. Jon Arryn's coffin lay in state before the Iron Throne. The deceased was nearly eighty years old, perhaps the oldest Hand of the King the realm had ever known.
Four white-cloaked Kingsguards stood vigil on either side. It was a great honor, though the old man could no longer see it.
Jon had blue eyes, golden hair, and a hooked nose. Most of his teeth were gone—half of them had already fallen out by the time he wed Lysa Tully.
This elder who had rendered immense service in founding the Baratheon dynasty—his death was a heavy blow to the king and to the realm alike.
In his final moments, Great Lord Jon had repeatedly called out "Robert," and to both his wife, Lysa Tully, and King Robert, he kept repeating the same last words: "The seed is strong." Soon his speech slurred beyond recognition. By the next morning, he was dead.
"My good foster father… I wish you could come back to life. We could sit together, drink, and talk. Perhaps I should have spent more time with you."
King Robert stood before the body, staring down at it.
"Robert! Robert! Jon was speaking of my Robin before he died, Your Grace!" Lady Lysa said sharply, almost hysterical. "He will grow up healthy and strong. He will inherit the Eyrie!"
"Lady, your precious Robin will inherit the Eyrie," Robert said. "But I think it would be better if he went to the Westerlands and became Great Lord Tywin's foster son. Great Lord Tywin has never taken a ward before. You should consider it an honor."
"Robin cannot leave me! No one can take him!" Lysa screamed, her shrill cries souring the king's mood entirely. "King's Landing is full of wicked people. They killed my Jon."
Madwoman. Jon likely died from having to endure her, Robert thought irritably.
"The remnants of the true dragon across the Narrow Sea… the question of a new Hand… Gods, how I wish you were alive to help your poor foster son," Robert muttered, looking at Great Lord Jon's corpse with genuine pain.
"Your Grace, while Great Lord Jon's death grieves us all, the most pressing matter now is the selection of a new Hand of the King," Varys said in his smooth, honeyed voice.
"Right. That's what matters," Robert replied, rubbing his brow.
He had rarely involved himself in the affairs of the Small Council, relying on Jon for far too long and living as a carefree king. But this decision he would have to make himself.
The office of Hand carried immense weight. Finding someone both loyal and capable was no easy task.
His relationship with Stannis was strained. Hoster was gravely ill. Prince Doran bore a blood feud against King's Landing. As for Great Lord Tywin—too proud, too domineering.
"Eddard," Robert said at last.
His thoughts drifted back to their days in the Eyrie. Eddard was someone he could trust. Let Eddard govern the realm and command the armies. As for himself? He would eat, drink, and whore to his heart's content.
"Your Grace."
Robert looked up to see the golden-haired woman in red—Queen Cersei. Her relationship with Great Lord Jon had never been close. Her appearance now was notable.
"I have come to mourn the passing of the Hand," Cersei said calmly. "The realm stands at a difficult juncture. You need a strong and loyal Hand. In both ability and loyalty, my father, Great Lord Tywin, is more than qualified."
"Enough! Woman!" Robert roared. "I am the king. I have my own plans. As long as I can lift my warhammer, I win."
"Very well," Cersei replied coolly. "The troubles before us were caused by your bastard and the remnants of the Targaryens. You will have to deal with them yourself."