Garedon figured he had to leak some information to Count Selwyn in advance, lest the man be unable to bear the pressure and run off to King's Landing on his own to plead guilty.
If that happened, he would really crack apart!
"Just stall them for now! There are a few things you must know. First, all three of Robert's children are products of incest—Jon Arryn is investigating this matter… Second, Littlefinger is wildly ambitious and is having an affair with Jon Arryn's wife…"
"In short, it won't be long before Westeros turns into a pot of porridge cooked with rotten rat shit and a few grains of rice—stinking beyond belief and utterly worthless!"
"When the time comes, I still need to preside over several grand ceremonies!" Before leaving, he reminded Count Selwyn once more, whose jaw was about to drop onto the table. "The law enforcement squad has already gone to arrest Ailien. You may attend the court later as an observer, but I do not want you interfering with the High Court's verdict!"
Inside the banquet hall, Count Selwyn braced both hands on the table, his face numb and utterly dazed. The high-backed chair behind him had fallen to the ground, and it was anyone's guess whether he had even heard those words.
Only after a long while did a cry of astonishment echo through the empty hall:
"By the Morning of Tarth!"
...
At the same time, in King's Landing, the towering Red Keep stood upon Aegon's High Hill, overlooking Blackwater Bay.
At the Small Council meeting, Robert, reeking of alcohol, sat at the head of the round table, nodding off.
"Your Majesty, my lords, we have gone a full two months without receiving any news from the Royal Fleet."
Grand Maester Pycelle trembled as he lifted the maester's chain tight around his neck, panting as he spoke.
"Three days ago, I received a raven from House Tarth. Their reply stated that the Royal Fleet had already departed Tarth Island a full month ago."
The round, bald Varys looked toward the king, whose eyes had opened just a little wider. "There were indeed merchant ships that spotted vessels of the fleet near Estermont, but it's unclear whether the sailors aboard were actually members of the fleet."
Robert let out a loud drunken burp and turned his head toward the Hand of the King and foster father who had lost focus during the meeting, Jon Arryn.
"My father, you don't look too well!"
"By the Seven, you must take good care of yourself. My kingdom is still waiting for you to govern it!"
"Prince Renly is stationed at Storm's End. House Tarth would never dare to rebel."
Jon snapped back to his senses and frowned slightly as he looked at his concerned foster son.
His suspicious gaze slid past Robert, wandering among the Kingsguard behind him, before finally settling on the tall, handsome Jaime Lannister.
"If Your Majesty is truly worried, you could order Ser Jaime of your Kingsguard to go to the Stormlands to assist Renly, and at the same time invite Count Selwyn to King's Landing to serve as Master of Ships."
Before Robert could answer, Grand Maester Pycelle spoke up first.
"Then what of Lord Stannis?"
As the king's brother and current Master of Ships, if Stannis were to be reassigned, it could only be a promotion—he could not be demoted.
Moreover, the disappearance of nearly a hundred ships of the Royal Fleet was very likely caused by House Tarth secretly stirring trouble. It could hardly be blamed on Stannis's dereliction of duty.
No one had expected—or rather, no one dared to think—that House Tarth would actually attack the Royal Fleet and completely conceal all traces of it.
This matter, even if everyone understood it in their hearts, could not be brought up openly!
Jon glanced at Petyr, who had not spoken at all, and replied, "Lord Stannis can assume the post of Master of Coin. Ser Petyr will have to suffer a bit and serve as his deputy for the time being."
He couldn't shake the feeling that Littlefinger and his wife, Lysa, had been getting a bit too close!
Varys shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "That would be unfair to Ser Petyr, my lord."
"Lord Stannis will still remain at Dragonstone, overseeing the construction of new ships," Grand Maester Pycelle said after drawing a deep breath, sounding utterly exhausted. "In practice, it will still be Ser Petyr who manages the treasury."
"..."
Petyr wore a calm expression, as though he were not the focus of their argument at all.
He neither spoke in opposition nor voiced his support.
"Enough! Send a raven to reprimand those Tarth bastards first! Instead of all this squabbling here while they treat you like air!"
In the end, Robert's head ached from all the arguing. After barking out the order, he rose and left the council chamber with the Kingsguard in tow. The assembled lords exchanged looks and silently accepted the king's command.
An hour later, Varys entered the great hall of the Red Keep alone and bowed silently to Robert, who sat upon the Iron Throne clutching a wine bottle.
"Burp! Tell me what news you've received."
"In truth, it is much the same as what the other lords have learned, Your Majesty."
Varys bowed again, his hands hidden in his robes, nervously rubbing his sleeves.
"The winds at sea are very tight. If the other side merely wished to do a bit of business, the little birds should not have been trapped in their cages."
Upon the Iron Throne, the king, half drunk and half awake, showed no reaction at all. Cold sweat trickled down Varys's back as he hurriedly reported piece after piece of information.
"There are rumors that House Tarth is actually being run by the heir of Tarth!"
"It's also said that Count Selwyn's eldest daughter may be enamored with Prince Renly!"
"Braavos has taken a massive order from House Tarth for twenty warships. The Arbor has accepted an order for ten longships, and the Summer Isles also have shipyards taking commissions!"
"..."
"The most suspicious thing of all is—what does House Tarth need so many ships for?"
Robert suddenly spoke up, mocking disdainfully, "What, do they want to be King of the Narrow Sea?"
Varys's report was abruptly cut off, his heart jolting.
"Hahahaha! If he wants it, I'll grant it to him!"
"Hahahaha! Have Pycelle write the letter!"
Ignoring Varys entirely, Robert hugged the wine bottle, muttering to himself and bursting into hearty laughter from time to time.
"Have that bastard hand over five million gold dragons, and I'll name him Warden of the Narrow Sea! Yes—and grant him the Stepstones too! Hahahaha!"
Deep in Robert's eyes lurked cruelty and killing intent, while the scorn on his lips grew ever thicker.
"Hm, we'll need some extra grain too!"
He didn't really care about the strange movements on Tarth Island, nor did he feel the rage of being betrayed by a vassal. Compared to the Seven Kingdoms, Tarth Island was simply too small.
Tarth's location and its history of repeated rebellions had already ensured it would never enter the core circle of House Baratheon.
"And throw in a few Tarth-bred women to fuck!"
All he felt was bad luck and irritation. These little broken islands were tiny, sparsely populated, yet always loved to stir up trouble.
Six years ago, the Iron Islands had been the same. Today, Tarth Island was no different—neither amounted to anything.
The difference was that six years ago, the Iron Islands had openly declared rebellion. He had the immense wealth accumulated by House Targaryen over two hundred years to squander as military funds, so he immediately dispatched fleets and armies to crush the revolt.
Six years later, Tarth Island's disloyalty was obvious, yet it had not openly rebelled—and the royal treasury was so empty mice could run races in it!
He couldn't possibly lead an army, living off the land, all the way from the Crownlands back to the Stormlands by looting!
Clang—!
"Son of a bitch, what the hell is this! Burp! Hrrngh!"
The hall echoed with coarse curses thick with contempt as the empty wine bottle slipped from the throne, rolling in circles across the floor.
Varys lowered his head, picked up the bottle that had rolled to his feet, bowed deeply to the king, who was now snoring loudly, and turned to leave the hall.
At King's Landing's largest brothel, when Varys found Littlefinger, he was accompanying the fat High Septon from the Great Sept as they picked out girls.
Unlike the two men whose eyes brimmed with lechery, Varys faced the expanse of pale flesh and all manner of seductive, voluptuous figures with a heart as calm as still water—like hell it was.
Ask how much sorrow there can be in this world;
It is just like Varys going to a brothel!