Chapter 733

Tyrion was extremely busy.

After taking Nina on a tour of Flea Bottom’s ruins, issuing her appointment, and delegating her tasks, he wasted no time in climbing into his carriage, heading westward for yet another meeting.

Ever since the Queen’s army had stormed King’s Landing and seized the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, the Vale’s regency council—previously huddled behind the Bloody Gate, maintaining strict neutrality—had begun cautiously extending olive branches to Daenerys through their allies in the Riverlands.

For a long time, the negotiations had remained sporadic, tentative. But after Aegor’s campaign into the Reach had culminated in the crushing victory at Highgarden, the lords of the Vale—realizing their strategic value was rapidly dwindling—grew anxious. After much deliberation, they dispatched their chief regent, Ser Brynden “Blackfish” Tully, along with Lady Anya Waynwood, to King’s Landing to negotiate formal terms of submission.

Daenerys had personally received the delegation, greeting them with warmth and magnanimity. Yet, she made no promises, nor did she offer guarantees. Instead, she tossed the burden of negotiation to her Small Council.

With neither side aligned in their goals, the peace talks dragged on at a snail’s pace.

The Vale’s proposition was simple: they would recognize Daenerys as Queen and swear fealty, in return for the continued autonomy of House Arryn, ensuring their status as Wardens of the East remained unchanged, alongside the preservation of their lands, titles, and wealth. In essence, everything would return to the pre-war status quo—only with a different monarch on the throne.

The Crown’s counteroffer, however, was far less forgiving. While the Vale’s requests could be granted, the Small Council insisted they first pay the price for their past transgressions: their role in Robert’s Rebellion, and their failure to swear allegiance to Daenerys upon her return. The demands were as follows:The Bloody Gate would be ceded to the Crown and garrisoned by royal troops.The Vale would purchase a substantial amount of Targaryen war bonds.The port of Gulltown would be surrendered to the Royal Navy.

The Vale lords’ wish to restore the old order was a fantasy. As key participants in the Rebellion, their expectation of escaping unscathed was an insult to the other six kingdoms.

Yet, the Queen’s demands were undeniably excessive—tantamount to “opening a window” but declaring an intent to “tear down the entire roof.”

This was how negotiations worked: start high, bargain down. But as time passed, the situation changed.

With Oldtown fallen and even the Western Fleet’s surprise assault on Volantis proving successful, the tides of war were shifting rapidly. As the Queen’s victories mounted, the Vale’s leverage crumbled. The Crown’s representatives, sensing the ever-weakening position of their counterparts, adopted an increasingly unyielding stance. Talks stalled. Meetings became infrequent, even irregular.

Eventually, Ser Brynden—never one for patience—slammed his fist on the table, declaring he would return to the Vale. It was only thanks to Lady Waynwood’s steady hand that the delegation remained in King’s Landing, shifting their efforts toward bribery and backdoor maneuvering.

But all of this… had been part of the Queen’s plan from the very beginning.

The bait had been dangled long enough. Now, it was time for the “bad cop” to step in.
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In addition to the Vale’s envoys, today’s gathering included a number of Northern and Riverlands lords who had returned to King’s Landing following the western campaign.

Once assembled, the party—led by Tyrion himself—passed through the King’s Gate and rode out to tour the ever-expanding New Night’s Watch Industrial Complex.
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The warm early summer breeze carried the scent of sweat, soot, and industry as the group rode at a leisurely pace along the planned tour route.

They passed the vast saltpeter refineries, where acrid fumes hung thick in the air; lush, experimental fields where newly introduced crops grew strong and tall; the coal-burning forges and smelting plants, radiating waves of oppressive heat; and finally, the now world-famous Black-Walled Keep, its entire surface coated in dark paint, looming like a monolith.

Through advanced techniques and meticulous organization, combined with the large-scale use of coal as a primary fuel, many of the longstanding production limitations on metalworking had been overcome. For the first time, Westeros had achieved industrial-scale output.

Contrary to what the uninformed masses assumed, the complex was not merely a war machine churning out instruments of death. It also housed research institutes and agricultural academies, along with workshops dedicated to repurposing scrap metal from the foundries into farm tools.

These iron plows and implements were distributed in three ways:Some were awarded to soldiers who had fought for the Queen, as a reward for their service.Others were shipped across Westeros, particularly to the Reach, where they could be purchased by registered farmers through credit or state-backed loans.Those who participated in the program not only received temporary tax exemptions but also benefitted from the Crown’s direct aid, accelerating post-war recovery and strengthening Daenerys’s grip over the realm.

It was, in essence, a grand exercise in using stolen wealth—redistributing the spoils taken from the Reach’s nobles to cement imperial control.

And soon, as the war machine rolled forward, the slavers across the Narrow Sea would be caught in its wheels, ground down and used to fuel the next phase of conquest.
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Tyrion narrated the sights along the way, offering explanations with a balance of detail and brevity. Yet, when the group reached the Black-Walled Keep, he did not invite them inside to rest. Instead, he led them further westward.

The road narrowed. The grass on either side grew taller and wilder, the buildings sparser, the air quieter. This was beyond the original boundaries of the industrial complex—land only recently cleared after Aegor and the Queen took King’s Landing.

Where the hell is this damn dwarf leading us?

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances but kept their doubts to themselves. Only when the Black-Walled Keep shrank into a mere black dot on the horizon did they finally arrive at their destination—an open, barren plain.

This was the complex’s artillery testing range, heavily patrolled to guard against spies and saboteurs. Dozens of engineers and test operators were already present, bustling around a massive object, preparing for what was to come.

At the center of their work stood something.

A great, ugly construct of dark, sullen metal—hulking, grotesque, and unnatural. It lay horizontally upon a reinforced base of iron scaffolding, wooden beams, and stone blocks, its thick, cylindrical body tapering slightly at one end. The broader end tilted skyward, as if engaged in some obscene act of defiance against the gods themselves.

The engineers surrounding it moved with an air of near-religious reverence, their faces solemn, awed—tinged with a quiet fanaticism. The very air seemed heavy with an unspoken tension, as if some ancient and terrible ritual were about to take place.

Tyrion stepped forward, placing a hand on the colossal construct’s cold, unyielding surface.

“My lords,” he said, voice brimming with theatrical flair, “it is my great honor to introduce to you today’s guest of honor.”

He patted its metallic flank, grinning as he announced:

“The most powerful weapon ever forged by human hands—one of the great super-cannons cast from the Iron Throne itself.”

Tyrion’s grin widened.

“Behold—‘King’s Might.’”