Chapter 638

Nearly a month after Duke Tywin Lannister had "voluntarily" donned the black and departed for the Wall, his chosen successor as Lord of House Lannister and Warden of the West—Tyrion Lannister, the Imp—rode a carriage along the Gold Road, approaching the Lion’s Gate of King’s Landing. After years of exile, he was returning to the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

Waiting for him at the city gate was none other than his closest friend and patron, the Hand of the Queen himself.

“Aegor—oh, no, I mean, Lord Hand!” Tyrion leapt down from his carriage the moment he heard who had come to greet him, stretching his stiff limbs as he spoke. “I must confess, my limited stature comes with equally limited influence. Despite my best efforts, I failed to convince my dear father to abandon his folly of marching against the Queen. For that, I must beg your forgiveness!” The new Lord of Casterly Rock and soon-to-be Master of Coin still felt as if he were in a dream, half-afraid he would wake at any moment. “But I always knew your Gifted Legion was unstoppable. I was never worried for you—only that you’d end up killing my father, and I’d have to spend the rest of my days working for my father’s murderer with a guilty conscience.”

“You little bastard, still as glib as ever.” Aegor rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Do you think war is a joke? As compensation for the terror your father’s march inflicted upon Her Grace, House Lannister will purchase an additional one million gold dragons’ worth of Targaryen bonds.”

“One million more?” Tyrion’s voice shot up an octave, eyes wide in alarm. “Seven save us! You lot don’t just pluck the golden eggs—you gut the hen for them! I might as well quit my post before I even start and go dig up gold myself. Farewell!”

Not gutting the hen, no… but we do like to rip the grass up by the roots. Aegor held back a chuckle at his own private joke, shaking his head with a smile. “Enough joking. Are there any women in your carriage?”

“No—wait, hold on, even if there were, what of it?” Tyrion blinked in confusion before shrugging. “I may be fond of you, but not so fond as to share my whores.”

“What nonsense…” Aegor scoffed. “I simply think it’s improper for two men of our station to be standing at the city gates discussing affairs of state.”

Satisfied with Tyrion’s answer, Aegor strode toward the carriage, pulled back the curtain, and climbed inside. “Since it’s empty, let’s ride while we talk.”

The air inside carried a faint scent of wine. Tyrion had clearly been drinking to pass the time on his journey, but at least he wasn’t drunk—a sign of improved self-restraint. As the two settled into their seats, the carriage set off once more, escorted by the Hand’s personal guards.

The rhythmic clatter of wheels against cobblestone filled the enclosed space. Aegor let his smirk fade, his posture straightening.

"Enough small talk. There will be plenty of time for that later. The Queen will officially appoint you soon, and in two days, I will be marching to war in the Reach. Before I leave, I need to use every moment I have to discuss your duties."

“So formal? What else does a Master of Coin do besides count coppers?” Tyrion jested, feigning ease for a few seconds before realizing—perhaps quoting King Robert Baratheon’s derisive words about the role was not the wisest decision. He coughed and quickly corrected himself. “Alright, no more jokes. My lord Hand, please instruct me.”

“For the Masters of Coin you’ve known or heard of, their job was indeed little more than counting coppers. But you are different. You will be the first Master of Coin under the Second Targaryen Dynasty. And perhaps, if you play your cards well, you might even be the second Hand of the Queen after me.” Aegor casually dangled the prospect of greater power before Tyrion before continuing.

“You are stepping into a kingdom ravaged by war and winter, one that must be rebuilt from the ashes. The land is wounded, its people weary, yet we serve a Queen whose ambitions stretch far beyond mere restoration—she dreams of great works, of carving her name into history.”

Aegor leaned forward slightly. “Great works require money. And a monarch’s wealth does not come from thin air—it must be taken from the people. But here lies the paradox: a ruler must serve the people while simultaneously burdening them with taxes. To bring prosperity while funding ambition—this is the impossible balance we must strike.”

“You already have a solution, don’t you? The Targaryen Bonds.” Tyrion followed his lead. “Come to think of it, House Lannister was the first to purchase Night’s Watch Bonds. And now, we’re the first to invest in Targaryen Bonds as well. You must be thrilled with our patronage.”

House Lannister had not been the first to receive Targaryen Bonds—many loyal lords had been granted them as IOUs for their contributions. But unlike those who merely accepted bonds as a form of compensation, the Lions had been the first to invest actual gold—a secret deal made between Aegor and Tyrion outside the gates of Golden Tooth.

This move not only demonstrated House Lannister’s loyalty, binding its wealth to the new dynasty, but it also alleviated the Queen’s dire need for liquid funds.

After all, minor lords and common soldiers could not be paid entirely in government bonds. If their wages were only in paper debt, panic would spread—not confidence.

“I won’t forget that.” Aegor nodded, pouring himself a cup of wine from the carriage’s stash. He took a sip before continuing.

“But if you think Targaryen Bonds are just another emergency fundraiser—just another way to patch up the treasury—you are sorely mistaken.”

He set the cup down. “Do you remember what I told you at Golden Tooth? About financial hegemony? Do you know what that truly means?”

Tyrion’s ears twitched. His body tensed.

He had a terrible feeling about this.

Aegor continued, unfazed. “It means dominating the global financial system. It means forcing our rules upon the known world. It means making entire kingdoms submit—not with armies, but with money.”

Aegor’s voice was smooth, yet brimming with conviction.

“The Iron Bank seeks to make the world its debtor. That’s child’s play compared to what I have in mind. Targaryen Bonds are the sword we will wield to carve our empire—not just over Westeros, but over Essos as well.”

Tyrion felt his spine crawl. He had heard this tone before.

When Aegor first explained financial concepts to him, it had sounded like nothing more than an idle lecture—a scholar’s musings. But now, years later, that same man had risen to become the Hand of the Queen, wielding the power to reshape the Seven Kingdoms.

Tyrion no longer dared to dismiss his words.

Whatever absurd notion Aegor dreamed up… he had a way of making it real.

“If Targaryen Bonds survive and gain legitimacy, we will hold the power to print currency. We could replace gold. Our bonds could become the standard medium of exchange between nations, rendering heavy coinage obsolete.”

Aegor’s golden eyes gleamed. “And you, Tyrion Lannister, understand exactly what that means, don’t you?”

Tyrion barely breathed.

He had spent years managing the Lannister bank. These were concepts he had toyed with in passing, mere thought exercises.

But to Aegor, these were not abstract ideas.

They were goals.

Aegor watched his friend’s silent dread with amusement. “I can see that you understand. But let me pour some cold water on your excitement—we’re still far from that reality. This is only a vision. The execution will be up to us.”

Aegor smirked. “After all, when we launched Night’s Watch Bonds, it wasn’t as if we just printed them and left them on a desk, waiting for gold to appear, was it?”

Tyrion took a deep breath.

He was in for one hell of a ride.