Chapter 299: The Envoy from the Iron Bank

Maegor's Holdfast, Red Keep.

Cersei Lannister convened a meeting of the Small Council.

As the Queen Mother, stripped of her regency, she technically had no authority to do so. However, with young King Tommen present, the ministers begrudgingly tolerated her overreach.

At this point, the Small Council had dwindled to only two members: Varys, the Master of Whisperers, and Grand Maester Gormon.

The Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister, was still at the front lines. His appointed Deputy, Kevan Lannister, had recently left for Highgarden. Meanwhile, the Master of Coin, Tyrion Lannister, was en route to Sunspear.

In their absence, Cersei had taken the reins in King's Landing, presiding over it as though she were its undisputed ruler.

"Isn't this a disgrace?" Cersei commented, surveying the sparsely populated council chamber.

Varys, with his signature ingratiating smile, replied,

"It is merely a testament to how occupied the lords of the realm are. Thankfully, Your Grace is here to preside over affairs."

Pleased by his flattery, Cersei's expression softened. She cleared her throat and declared,

"Several key positions in the Small Council remain vacant. My father, as Hand of the King, has been too preoccupied to fill these posts, but the administration cannot remain in such disarray. Today, we shall discuss suitable candidates for these positions."

Grand Maester Gormon exchanged a nervous glance with Varys, who remained unbothered, his smile unwavering.

"This is a matter best left until the Hand returns," Gormon suggested cautiously.

"Should the realm's business grind to a halt because my father is absent?" Cersei shot him a scornful glare before turning to Varys. "What do you think, Lord Varys?"

"Why not consult His Grace, the King?" Varys said smoothly, his tone slyly deferential.

Gormon silently cursed. Tommen was only seven years old—what opinion could he possibly have? Everyone knew he was entirely under his mother's influence.

"The King is too young to have a say in such matters," Gormon protested.

"But the Hand is not here," Varys countered with mock concern, "so why not let His Grace decide this once?"

Satisfied, Cersei turned to her son, who sat idly on his chair, visibly bored. "Tommen, what do you think?"

"Huh? About what?" Tommen blinked, clearly having tuned out of the conversation.

"About filling the vacancies on the council," Cersei prompted.

"Oh… um, yes, that sounds good," Tommen replied hastily, nodding.

Cersei smirked at Gormon, savoring her victory. "Good. Let us begin."

Varys listed the vacancies:

"Ser Barristan Selmy resigned as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, leaving that position vacant. Additionally, the post of Master of Ships has been empty since Stannis Baratheon's rebellion. And, of course, the position of Master of Laws is still unfilled."

Cersei added, "And we need to address the Master of Laws first."

Gormon immediately interjected, "The Hand has already promised that position to Lord Mace Tyrell."

Cersei scoffed inwardly but replied evenly,

"My father's promise was contingent on the Tyrells delivering Caesar's head to King's Landing. They have failed, so we must find someone else for the position."

With Gormon momentarily silenced, Cersei reveled in her triumph. She would not allow the Tyrells to gain unchecked influence in King's Landing.

She knew that this Grand Maester was actually from the Tyrell's. Although everyone would give up their secular surnames after becoming a maester, anyone who really believed that these maesters would completely sever ties with their family would be the biggest fool in the world.

Grand Maesters are appointed and dismissed by the Cardinals of the Citadel, and no one else has the right to interfere, otherwise Cersei would definitely ask Tommen to dismiss this annoying guy.

"Whom do you propose, Your Grace?" Varys asked obsequiously.

"Ser Kevan Lannister," Cersei announced after a moment of thought.

Even Gormon was taken aback. If Kevan became Master of Laws, the Lannisters would control three positions on the Small Council.

"I agree," Varys said immediately, his enthusiasm disarming.

"Good," Cersei said brightly. "Now, for Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—I nominate Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Ser Jaime has joined the Night's Watch," Gormon reminded her.

"Hah. That was under Caesar's coercion, and it doesn't count. My father will bring Jaime back. It's only fitting that he resumes his position."

Gormon couldn't hold back a sarcastic remark: "It seems the Small Council is becoming a Lannister family gathering. I suppose the next Master of Ships will also be a Lannister?"

Biting back her retort, Cersei replied, "I propose Aurane Waters for Master of Ships."

"Lord Monford Velaryon's bastard half-brother?"

"Yes. He served in the Royal Fleet and is a skilled naval commander," Cersei explained.

Privately, she found herself drawn to Aurane Waters' silver-gold hair, which reminded her of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

Once, she had dreamed of marrying Rhaegar, believing such a match would have prevented Robert's Rebellion and secured her destiny as queen. Instead, Robert Baratheon had killed the prince, and her life had spiraled into misery.

"Aurane Waters once served the traitor Stannis," Gormon argued.

"So what? After the Battle of Blackwater, he swore fealty to King Tommen," Cersei countered. "We should make him a symbol, showing that traitors who repent can still be forgiven."

Varys chimed in, "Her Grace's words are wise. I support the appointment."

Fuming, Gormon gave up. Let the Lannisters ruin themselves. He remained silent as Cersei drafted the appointments for Tommen to sign.

The meeting concluded, and Cersei rose, eager to retreat for a long-awaited bath.

Before she could leave, the castle steward approached.

"An envoy from the Iron Bank requests an audience."

"From the Iron Bank?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Will you see him?"

"Fine," Cersei said irritably. "Take him to the throne room."

Governing the realms is really hard, she thought gloomily, no wonder Robert didn't want to take care of anything back then.

But I can't give up. Cersei told herself, I have to prove my worth to my father, so as to avoid being sent away as a mare in marriage.

The Iron Bank's Envoy

The Iron Bank of Braavos, the wealthiest and most powerful financial institution in the Free Cities, had lent King Robert one million gold dragons during his reign. That debt was now due.

The envoy, Nahor Demetis, bowed respectfully in the throne room.

"Your Grace, I bring greetings to you and to King Tommen."

"Get to the point," Cersei said impatiently.

"The Iron Throne's debt of one million gold dragons is due. I wish to know how Your Grace plans to repay it."

"One million gold dragons?" Cersei frowned.

"Yes, Your Grace."

She knew the royal treasury was empty. Repaying the loan was impossible unless the Lannisters used their own wealth—which she instantly dismissed.

The wars had drained even Casterly Rock's coffers. There was no chance Tywin would allow the family to cover the Iron Throne's debts.

"The realm is at war," Cersei said curtly. "Once the fighting is over, we'll pay."

"After the war?" Nahor shook his head. "That would exceed the repayment deadline."

"Then you'll have to wait," Cersei said dismissively.

"Surely, Your Grace jests."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Nahor's tone grew colder. "You are aware of our motto, 'The Iron Bank will have its due.'"

"And you must have heard ours: 'A Lannister always pays their debts.' This audience is over."

Nahor snorted. "You'll regret this, as have countless kings who defied the Iron Bank."

"Support my enemies if you must," Cersei sneered. "But if you do, I guarantee you'll lose more money than you'll ever recover."

"We know how to handle these situations, Your Grace. Just ensure you are prepared for the consequences."

With that, the envoy stormed out.

Relieved, Cersei thought, Finally, time for my bath.

As for the Iron Bank's threats? She dismissed them as trivial. The North's rebellion was nearing collapse, and Caesar in the South was merely a nuisance.

Let them back her enemies—she had no doubt the Iron Bank would regret it.

Now, bath time.

(End of Chapter)