He turned his gaze to Varys, the Master of Whisperers, who stood nearby.
At the mention of his name, Varys stepped forward lightly, his customary deferential smile on his face. "Your Grace, my Little Birds are still of some use in King's Landing, but little beyond it. The flow of gold dragons through the Westerlands is complicated, and Lord Tywin's secrecy remains as impeccable as ever. Ser Kevan's movements were also extremely discreet. Our people tracked them only as far as Slaver's Bay before they were detained. The Dragonlord's control over information is far tighter than we anticipated. This was my failure, Your Grace."
He bowed slightly, taking the "failure" upon himself while deftly emphasizing the "secrecy" of the Lannisters' operation.
Standing nearby, Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, gently rubbed his chin and spoke. "Whether anyone failed may not be the most pressing question at the moment, Your Grace. What matters is that the deal has already been struck. The Lannisters recovered their sword, and the Dragonlord received the money and equipment he wanted. More importantly, word of this has probably spread to every dock and tavern across the Narrow Sea by now."
He paused and looked at Robert. "What does that mean to the rulers of the Free Cities? It means that the houses of Westeros have begun making contact with the Targaryens and have completed an immensely valuable transaction. What will they think? They will believe that the Westerlands, perhaps even all of Westeros, have reached some sort of understanding with the Dragonlord. That will only strengthen the resolve of those already hostile to him to act as soon as possible, before we become too deeply 'involved.'"
Robert's chest heaved as he glared at Petyr. "So? Littlefinger, are you saying we ought to thank that old bastard Tywin for helping