When Littlefinger heard the words "His Majesty invites you," his heart skipped a beat. So it was Gavin who had come in person.
He dared not ask further. Forcing a nervous smile, he replied with a trembling voice,"Long time no see, Commander Hassan. We'll come aboard shortly."
His steps were unsteady, his composure thin under Hassan's cold gaze. With visible caution, Littlefinger stepped onto the deck of the Belleris, Gavin's flagship.
Hassan escorted him to the grand captain's cabin, where Littlefinger found Gavin Belleris seated high upon a throne-like chair. The room radiated austere power. Gavin's eyes were sharp and unflinching, like blades that could cut through deceit itself. A quiet, oppressive authority hung in the air.
Littlefinger quickly bowed and spoke in a tone of exaggerated respect:"Your Majesty, forgive my delay in offering congratulations on your coronation. Long may you reign as King of the Narrow Sea."
Gavin leaned forward slightly, voice laced with mockery:"Lord Petyr, I understand—you're a busy man. Still, I'm curious. What pressing matters brought you all the way to Braavos, when your place is at court in King's Landing?"
Petyr bent lower, his voice carefully measured."Your Majesty, I was sent by the Royal Council. I came to secure a loan from the Iron Bank... and to purchase warships on their behalf."
Gavin's eyes narrowed."Whose command were you following?"
Cold sweat beaded on Petyr's brow. His lips quivered as he answered,"The... the Royal Council, Your Majesty."
Gavin gave a quiet, humorless snort.
Petyr hesitated, then added in a weaker voice:"By the usurper's command. I was following Robert Baratheon's orders."
Gavin's expression hardened. His voice dropped into a chill:"And your loyalty to this usurper—does it extend to hiring assassins?"He paused before continuing, each word slow and deliberate."Someone tried to murder Queen Daenerys Targaryen. The would-be killer confessed that you paid him."
Petyr went pale. He stammered,"I—I would never harm the Queen. I was only following orders... I had no choice..."
Gavin slammed a hand down on the armrest."No choice? You had plenty. You chose treachery. You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Lysa Tully to poison the Hand of the King—Jon Arryn!"
Littlefinger's knees gave way, and he dropped to the floor, trembling violently."Your Majesty, I was blackmailed—Cersei threatened me!"
Gavin said nothing. He merely stared, his eyes cold and unwavering, as though peeling away every lie from Petyr's soul. The silence stretched, taut with tension.
Trying to salvage the situation, Petyr took a deep breath. He knelt fully and said,"Your Majesty, please accept these twenty warships as a gift to honor your coronation. Let them serve your fleet—and let me serve you."
Gavin's lips curled into a thin smile, laced with irony."You were always good at knowing where the wind blows, Lord Petyr. I remember how you once helped me acquire those dragon bones. You spoke up for me at court when few others would."
Eager to reinforce his usefulness, Petyr replied quickly,"It was an honor then, and it would be again, Your Majesty."
Gavin nodded slowly."Very well. I have use for you still. You'll return to King's Landing. Deliver a letter to Cersei Lannister. I believe you can persuade her to do... what she once did to Jon Arryn. This time, to Robert."
Petyr's breath caught. His hands trembled. But he lowered his head."Yes, Your Majesty. I will convince her. I know how to speak to Cersei."
Gavin's voice turned cold as steel."There is also a letter for the usurper. I'll send someone else with that... assuming there's still a need in a month."
Petyr gave a tight nod."Understood. I will speak to her carefully. The matter will be handled discreetly."
Gavin stood and turned away, dismissing him with a wave."Then go. Serve me well, and Robert need never see that letter."
Petyr bowed deeply."Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you."
He withdrew, his figure shrinking as he left the cabin. Gavin watched his retreating form in silence, his eyes sharp and unreadable.
Hassan stepped forward and asked cautiously,"Shall I escort him to King's Landing myself? He's clever—if he escapes, it could become... inconvenient."
Gavin shook his head."No need. Assign two men to follow from a distance. Make sure he boards a ship to King's Landing. He won't run—not yet. He still clings to power."
He paused, then added,"Have those twenty warships sent back under guard. Interrogate every sailor. We'll keep only those who are clean."
Hassan bowed."Understood, Your Majesty. I will see to it personally."Then he turned and left, his cloak trailing behind him.
Gavin remained still, deep in thought. He knew Petyr Baelish—his type. Manipulative. Patient. Dangerous.
But Petyr had no true power now. No dragon. No fleet. Only whispers and schemes. And schemes could be crushed.
When Robert dies, Gavin thought coldly, Petyr's secrets will be revealed to the realm. I won't even need to lift a sword.
Two days later.
Petyr Baelish was unceremoniously thrown aboard a merchant vessel bound for King's Landing. The ship, which transported cargo and the occasional passenger, stank of salt, sweat, and mildew.
The cramped hold was a mess of noise and foul odors. Crying children, shouting vendors, and shifting crates blended into a miserable symphony. The air was so thick with humidity it felt like breathing through wet cloth.
Petyr pushed through the crowd, trying to find a quiet corner, but every space was packed. He approached the captain, offering promises of gold upon arrival in King's Landing.
But the captain shook his head."You came off a warship flying the King of the Narrow Sea's banner. I won't cross him."
Defeated, Petyr was forced to the lower hold—a damp, reeking, half-lit space that felt more like a prison than a ship. He slumped into a corner, his once-elegant robes stained and rumpled.
His eyes, once full of cunning and calculation, were now dulled—replaced by exhaustion and dread. For the first time in years, Petyr Baelish found himself not the puppet master, but the pawn.
And in the game of thrones, pawns are the first to fall.