A finely crafted arrow was lodged in the doe's head, skillfully placed so as not to damage the hide. The nobleman, sleeves rolled up, wielded a sharp cleaver with practiced ease. He expertly sliced open the belly of the doe, removing the entrails and setting them aside, before delicately inserting the blade between the hide and the muscles. With a sound like fabric tearing, the bright red muscles, still quivering, were exposed to the air.
This nobleman, despite his years, handled the task as if it were a work of art. His blade moved fluidly through sinew and bone, carving the venison into neat chunks. A wooden basin at his feet collected the blood, which rippled suddenly as the sound of hooves approached.
A younger man, somewhat portly, dismounted from his horse and approached. He bore a resemblance to the elder nobleman, revealing him to be Kevan Lannister, the younger brother and right-hand man of Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock.
Tywin, the elder, nodded toward an envelope held down by a smooth, rounded stone. Kevan picked it up, his expression shifting from surprise to seriousness as he read the contents. Finally, he looked back at his brother.
"Is this true? He really hatched a dragon?"
"It came from the Citadel, delivered by a white raven," Tywin replied, tossing the cleaver into a basin of clear water beside him. Noticing Kevan's unease, he added in a low voice, "Don’t panic. It takes at least ten years for a dragon to reach full size, and many dragons have died in Westeros before."
"Should we attack now?" Kevan asked.
"Yes, and we must strike quickly," Tywin affirmed, wiping his hands clean. He had already calculated that within four to five months, they could muster an army of over 100,000 men, rallying his vassals. In that time, the dragons would still be small, perhaps the size of peacocks or ostriches. A single arrow could kill one, and three or five would be more than enough to ensure it.
This might be the only opportunity for the Iron Throne to act decisively. If they failed, the kingdom's internal structure would collapse, and while other houses might manage to survive, the Lannisters and Baratheons would be caught in an inescapable crisis.
For Tywin, even if it meant shedding the last drop of Lannister blood and spending the last gold coin in Casterly Rock’s treasury, it was worth the risk. However, he soon discovered that his wealth had its limits when it came to buying iron, blood, or grain.
The price of grain had soared, though still within Tywin's means. But when it came to recruiting sellswords and mercenaries, he encountered an unexpected hurdle. The mercenaries were demanding exorbitant fees, claiming they were risking their lives against a Dragonlord and demanding five times their usual rate. The most chilling reason for their hesitation was a rumor they had heard: Viserys had declared that while he would accept the surrender of ordinary soldiers, he would execute any mercenaries.
Mercenaries were no fools. This cold warning deterred many from taking Tywin’s gold. Those who were willing to fight were either gamblers or desperate men with nothing to lose.
The situation in the Westerlands was dire, but things were no better in King’s Landing. Not only had the Iron Bank refused to extend further credit to the Iron Throne, but it had also demanded immediate repayment of its existing debts. This unexpected blow sent Littlefinger into a state of panic.
Noho Dimittis, the manager at the Iron Bank responsible for the Iron Throne's accounts, had always handled Littlefinger's loans. Noho’s beard was meticulously braided into a long, thin plait, resembling a quill stuck to his chin. It appeared stiff, as if supported from within, much like his unwavering stance.
“Lord Petyr, the Iron Bank would normally be happy to lend to the Iron Throne, but as you know, we cannot afford to take such risks at this time.”
“Lord Noho, are you really concerned about the ‘rebel’? With all due respect, even if he does have dragons, they are nowhere near the size of the Black Dread. King Robert has countless soldiers, and his battleships can block the Narrow Sea. How could Viserys possibly be a match for him?”
Littlefinger didn’t believe his own words. He was desperate—two million gold dragons were needed for military expenses, and without them, his ambitions would be in jeopardy. Even if he personally led his ‘employees’ into battle, there was no way he could come up with that kind of money.
Noho didn’t bother to argue. The Iron Bank wasn’t foolish. In the original storyline, when the bank sensed the Iron Throne’s precarious position, they swiftly chose to “settle their debts and cut ties with the Baratheons.” This time, they were pressured by Viserys himself to make a similar decision.
After Roth left, Viserys sent an emissary to Braavos with two tasks: to return the magical masks borrowed from the Faceless Men and to apply pressure on the Iron Bank.
The Iron Bank had a longstanding principle: when two forces vie for control, they could both borrow from the bank. However, when one side emerged victorious, they would be required to repay the loser's debts as well as their own. If the victor refused, the bank would continue to fund the opposition until the new ruler was either financially crippled or overthrown.
“No one defaults on the Iron Bank” was more than just a motto—it was a threat.
Viserys made it clear to the Iron Bank that Robert’s previous loans would not be honored under his rule, and if they dared to continue financing Robert, they would not only be denied recognition but also be considered enemies of his regime. Faced with Viserys’s growing military might and the increasing power of his seven dragons, the Iron Bank decided to sever its ties with the Iron Throne.
"I'm truly sorry, Lord Petyr, but it’s all about the ‘Keyholders,’” Noho said, referring to the Iron Bank’s equivalent of a board of directors or shareholders' meeting.
No matter how powerful the Iron Bank was, it was, at its core, a financial institution. And it knew well enough when to back the king and when to cut ties with a losing hand.
Novel Lived
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