Chapter 649

Moments later, the emergency Small Council meeting—called to deal with the sudden, bloody incident—came to a close.

A preliminary action plan was established:Aegor, as Hand of the Queen, would take charge of managing the domestic and international fallout from Illyrio’s death.Grey Worm would return to the River Gate, investigate the guards involved, and gather witness statements from the locals.Daenerys would await further reports and decide if she needed to personally intervene.

After the initial panic subsided, the councilors regained their composure.

But it wasn’t because they were especially strong-willed—rather, it was because they trusted the Hand.

They believed Aegor could handle this.
----


The Queen was the first to leave the chamber.

The rest of the officials scattered like schoolchildren rushing out after class, heading for their various transport.

Only Tyrion lingered—his displeasure evident as he found Aegor to vent.
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"What in the seven hells are you playing at!?"

The Lannister dwarf was not amused.

"The tax? Fine. One-third, one-half, take it all for all I care. It’s your money, not mine."

"But what the fuck does Illyrio’s suicide-by-guard have to do with me?"
----


His short legs worked double-time to keep up with Aegor’s long strides as they exited the hall.

And Tyrion was genuinely pissed.

They had previously agreed—in private—on a 30% military tax. Aegor had unilaterally bumped it to one-third without so much as a courtesy warning.

Fine.

That was irritating, but at least it made him look like a strong-willed Master of Coin to outsiders.

But this?

This was bullshit.

Giving him a foreign relations crisis to handle, without so much as a discussion?

"I’m already up to my neck restructuring the tax system, founding the central bank, and establishing the damn Agriculture Ministry!"

"And now you’re dumping diplomacy on me too? I thought we agreed—I handle domestic affairs, you handle external matters!"
----


By all reasonable logic, this wasn’t Tyrion’s problem.

If Illyrio hadn’t decided to turn his own corpse into a political grenade, Aegor would never have pulled this shameless stunt.

And Aegor knew it.

He had no excuses.

All he could do was apologize and explain.
----


"It’s a sudden crisis, I’m about to march west, and—frankly—no one else on the council can handle it."

"Think about it," Aegor continued, acknowledging his own fault before quickly moving to justify his decision.

"Trade tariffs are a natural extension of taxation reform, and as Master of Coin, you’re already dealing with debt negotiations and treasury matters."

"You’d have had to interact with the Free Cities’ envoys anyway."

"Now, if the Queen were to join the campaign, she’d be the one personally receiving foreign envoys. But since she’s staying in King’s Landing, not every minor diplomat requires her direct attention."

"So rather than appoint a separate Master of Diplomacy, which would just divide power and force you to coordinate your negotiations with someone else—"

"—Why not just cut out the middleman and let you handle it directly?"
----


Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"This is bullshit, and you know it."

"Yes, the Queen will meet the important envoys, but you and I both know that means I’ll be stuck handling every random merchant, envoy, and two-bit noble who shows up at our doorstep."

"I am one man, Aegor. And I am a dwarf. You’re not worried I’ll get crushed under all this weight?"
----


"Your body may be small," Aegor said with a grin, "but to the Night’s Watch, you’ve always been the Giant of Lannister."

He parroted the old compliment Lord Commander Mormont had once given Tyrion at Castle Black—a well-timed bit of flattery to lighten the mood.

"And it’s not as bad as it sounds," he continued.

"On the surface, yes—you have more responsibilities. But in practice, you’re just handling diplomatic talks alongside tax negotiations, and offering some minor trade concessions to smooth things over."

"Besides," Aegor added with a smirk, "think back—how did I go from a random foot soldier to Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?"
----


Tyrion groaned.

"Seven save me—you’re not about to launch into another lecture, are you?"

But he played along, answering anyway:

"You completed every mission Mormont gave you, no matter how ridiculous."

"Then, once you were in charge of logistics, you expanded your power—until the ‘Big Three’ became the ‘Big Four.’"

"After that, you politicked your way into controlling the entire command structure."

"And finally, when the dust settled—you took the top seat."
----


"Correct," Aegor nodded.

"But you left out the most important detail."

"When Mormont gave me a job, he had to grant me the authority to do it."

"Every task completed added to my influence—and to my reputation among the Watch."

"And once I had those resources and loyalty, they became mine—unless Mormont had a damn good reason to take them back."

"By the time I was Quartermaster, I was also the Recruitment Officer, the Public Relations Face of the Watch, and the Most Trusted Brother in Black."

"Those were the levers of power that let me suppress my rivals and claim the command."

"Now—do you see what I’m getting at?"
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Tyrion grimaced.

He got it.

Once he took over foreign negotiations, he would have a permanent voice in diplomacy—even after this particular crisis was over.

It was a power grab.

And a damn good one.
----


But—

Unlike Aegor, Tyrion didn’t hunger for power.

He just wanted to do one job well—to prove himself.

More than authority, what he truly desired was his long-planned financial empire.
----


"Right," Tyrion snorted.

"Let me guess—this is all about grooming me for the Queen’s trust?"

"If I do well, I’ll be ‘proving myself’."

"If I fail, well—" he made an exaggerated gagging motion—"the same bullshit motivational speech you used on the Night’s Watch will probably work on me, too."

"But tell me—what if I fail?"

"What if the Free Cities aren’t willing to negotiate?"

"What if I can’t get them to back down?"
----


Aegor exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"You’re cleaning up my mess, Tyrion."

"If things go well, you’ll get the credit."

"If they go south, I’ll take the blame."

"And—as a token of appreciation—"

"Once this crisis is over, you can name your own Deputy for Foreign Affairs."

"Or, if you prefer, I’ll help you transition out of the Treasury entirely."

"The Queen will listen to me—I’ll make sure of it."
----


Tyrion narrowed his eyes.

Then sighed.

"Fine. Let’s get this over with."

Aegor grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the waiting carriage.

"No time to explain—get in."
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Tyrion blinked.

"Wait—who exactly am I supposed to be meeting?"

Aegor grinned.

"You’ll see."

And with that—he shoved him inside.