[Chapter Size: 1200 Words.]
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Joffrey glanced at Cersei with a smug expression, then looked down at the silent ministers below, feeling even more arrogant inside.
Although Joffrey was cruel, he was not a fool. In the face of the ministers' disobedience, he understood deep down that the true power of the king's position belonged to his mother.
Now, Theon's sudden appearance made him feel a sense of real authority. The feeling of being feared by everyone was intoxicating to him. He relished hearing others scream and seeing their fear.
Cersei glared at Theon in anger, but Theon pretended not to notice. Often, when a general appeared in court to support a powerless king, it meant a political struggle was about to begin.
Theon's plan was to rely on Joffrey and use him to increase his own power.
The meeting ended, and Theon met with Joffrey privately.
"Your Grace, it's far too dangerous to rely solely on 5,000 Gold Cloaks and 2,500 Ironborn against a siege of nearly 100,000. We must recruit more soldiers."
"Recruit? But Petyr says there's no gold in the treasury," Joffrey replied. He wanted to renovate the palace.
"Your Grace, I'll find a way, but I need your permission to expand the army," Theon said, revealing his true intention.
Joffrey waved his hand. "Do your best. The more defenders, the better!"
"As you command, Your Grace!"
Gaining Joffrey's approval was as good as receiving official sanction for recruitment.
After leaving, Theon immediately led his men into the slums.
"Select men in their twenties among the refugees, preferably those in good condition." For these refugees, even a single poor-quality meal a day was enough to make them work hard.
Theon planned to recruit 400 men every three days to keep the numbers manageable and ensure easier control and indoctrination.
Too many at once would be difficult to handle and could easily cause chaos.
He didn't allow the new recruits to eat their fill. They received only two meals a day, each half-sized. Those who performed well could eat until they were about 80% full.
This way, they would quickly grow accustomed to following orders. In any case, they would not be sent to fight outside the city just yet.
Given the current situation, Stannis would likely use shadow magic to assassinate Renly within a month or two. By then, House Stark would have finished gathering its forces, and both Renly Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon would already have assembled their armies.
At present, the Four Kings were still watching and waiting, in no rush to act. The first to move, however, would certainly be House Stark in the North, after all, they were the only ones whose lord had been executed.
The other three kings were fighting over the Iron Throne within House Baratheon itself. At least in name, Joffrey still bore the Baratheon surname.
Once the recruits were assembled, Theon led them to his own camp.
"Rube Segovia, these four hundred men are in your hands." He gave a few more instructions and left quickly, only after making sure Rube understood exactly what he wanted.
Back at camp, Theon finally relaxed. He had been rushing all day without rest and was completely exhausted.
He slept straight through to the next morning.
…
After rising and washing, Theon went to the Red Keep.
Naturally, Theon had an office assigned to him. Though only a temporary side chamber, it was not small, just rather plain.
He took up the roster of the Gold Cloaks and began preparing to inspect them.
While he was selecting a Gold Cloak of common birth, Petyr Baelish appeared at the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Enter."
Baelish pushed open the door. "Lord Greyjoy, good day!"
When Theon saw who it was, he was delighted. Was this not the coin purse he had been waiting for, delivered right to his door?
He rose quickly and pulled over a stool for Baelish. "Please, have a seat, Lord Baelish. I was just about to come looking for you," Theon said with a smile.
Littlefinger and Theon sat facing each other.
"I've heard the Lord is planning to recruit soldiers, is that right? Forgive me, but with all due respect, our treasury..."
"Lord Baelish, I recall the harvest was just brought in. Surely food is not in short supply, is it?"
Littlefinger gave a helpless look. "The food and taxes we receive are limited. Now that war is about to break out, most of the grain and levies remain in the hands of the nobles themselves."
"And while there is food enough, there are only a little over twenty thousand gold dragons left," Littlefinger added.
Theon leaned back strategically, his brows furrowed.
Littlefinger regarded him with a wry smile, as if waiting to see whether Theon had a clever solution to the problem.
Theon suddenly smiled. "Lord Baelish, what if you helped me expand that treasury of gold dragons?"
A smile never truly vanishes, it merely shifts.
Littlefinger's froze abruptly. He had not expected anyone to be so brazen.
"My Lord, though I am Master of Coin, I cannot conjure a gold dragon out of thin air."
Theon rose suddenly and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But I've heard your brothels are overflowing with coin, are they not?"
"My Lord…" Littlefinger began, but Theon cut him off.
"Lord Baelish, let us set that aside for the moment. I've just remembered something else," Theon said as he crossed to the window and shut it.
The room grew markedly darker.
For the first time, Littlefinger felt a twinge of unease. For an instant, he even wondered whether Theon's intentions were of a personal nature.
Theon leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on one hand, his tone and gaze filled with scrutiny. "I've heard that the deaths of the last two Hands of the King may have had... other causes."
"How much, I wonder, does Lord Baelish know about that?"
"Ah yes, of course... we could always ask Lady Lysa Tully. After all, she loves you dearly and would do anything for you."
At Theon's words, Littlefinger's heart raced, though outwardly he feigned innocence, insisting he knew nothing and that he and Lysa Tully were nothing more than childhood companions.
Theon simply crossed his legs and stared at him. After a long pause, he continued: "Chaos is a ladder, Baelish. But you must also remember, if you fall too far into chaos, it becomes what Varys once called it: an abyss that swallows everything."
"You have a choice: spend the coin to avert disaster... or tumble into the abyss. I know more than you think, my lord."
Cold sweat broke across Littlefinger's brow. He truly did not know how much Theon had uncovered, but from what he had seen, it seemed far too much.
"One hundred thousand gold dragons. Will that suffice?" Baelish's voice trembled, as though he were bleeding himself dry.
"One million."
"That's impossible, I don't have that kind of coin!"
"If Cersei and Lord Tywin were to discover it was you who planted the Valyrian steel dagger to frame..."
"Let us discuss this," Baelish interrupted quickly.
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