Chapter 580

This was a trap.

An obvious one.

The demand was excessive, yes—but considering that Tywin Lannister had indirectly orchestrated the deaths of countless Targaryens, it was at least understandable.

Tywin had spent decades breaking the Westerlands to his will, consolidating its wealth, and rebuilding its war-torn lands into the richest domain in the Seven Kingdoms. And now, after all that effort, this dragon queen wanted to swoop in and reap the rewards? To erase his life’s work in a single stroke?

Tyrion had come here expecting to negotiate the terms of submission—not to be dragged into some grand scheme.

"This is impossible."

His response was firm, leaving no room for doubt.

"I have influence within my family, yes. More than ever before. But at the end of the day, I am still just a son," Tyrion said, his voice edged with frustration. "My father still rules unchallenged. My uncle Kevan comes second. I, the banker, am a distant third in the hierarchy."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And let’s be clear—Tywin Lannister always puts the family first. If I tell him to step aside for the sake of our house’s legacy, he might consider it. But if I try to convince him that moving the entire wealth of the Westerlands to King’s Landing is somehow in our best interests?" Tyrion scoffed. "Even I don’t believe that, so how in the seven hells am I supposed to make him believe it?"

Aegor leaned back, unfazed.

"Aside from ruling the Westerlands, the position of Master of Coin is yours as well." His tone was casual, as if discussing something inevitable.

"After all," he continued, "who else could fill the role? Only the founder of the Lannister Bank has the financial knowledge, resources, and connections necessary to command that chair. And who better to balance the books than the Duke of Casterly Rock? With your wealth and your title, no one will challenge your authority.

"And as for me?" Aegor smiled. "My advanced knowledge and technology can only become real if they’re backed by the vast riches of the Westerlands—and a stable, long-term Master of Coin willing to implement them."
----


"That’s a big dream," Tyrion admitted. "But how do you plan to make it happen?"

If he truly was to become Master of Coin, overseeing the greatest economic expansion Westeros had ever seen… if he was to help forge an empire, one that would stretch its military and financial influence across the entire known world, ensuring the name Tyrion Lannister was written in every chronicle for centuries to come—

Then yes. That would be a life well spent.

But if he were merely the fool who led House Lannister to surrender all its wealth, a puppet willingly placing the family’s head in a noose…

Then his name would be carved into the annals of history—as the greatest idiot who had ever lived.

Aegor shrugged.

"This isn’t about the Lannisters’ interests."

He made no attempt to deny the obvious.

"I don’t expect Tywin to agree. In fact, I assume he won’t. But that doesn’t matter."

Aegor’s eyes locked onto Tyrion’s.

"Because the future Duke of Casterly Rock is sitting right in front of me."

Tyrion inhaled sharply.

"You agree after your father steps down," Aegor said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "And what’s he going to do—march down from the Wall to stop you?"

Tyrion could feel the weight of it now—the true depth of Aegor’s proposal.

The first condition was one thing: Tywin Lannister voluntarily donning the black and leaving the political stage. That was internal House Lannister business.

But the second condition…

It was extermination.

The Westerlands had no vast fields like the Reach. No sprawling river networks like the Riverlands. No endless manpower like the North.

It had only gold.

And Aegor wanted it all.

Aegor wanted every ounce of Westerland wealth transferred to the Iron Throne—placed under direct royal control.

To put it bluntly, if House Lannister ever did decide to rebel against the Targaryens again, they wouldn’t even have the money to fund a war. They would be like a lion on a leash, declawed and shackled.

Tyrion felt a phantom heat pressing against his back.

A moment ago, the thought of becoming Duke of Casterly Rock had thrilled him. Now, it felt more like a gilded cage.

And yet…

And yet, after hearing Aegor’s talk of legacy—after being reminded that men die twice, that one’s name only endures if they accomplish something truly great—

How was he supposed to resist?

Aegor was asking him to delay.

To lie to his father.

To wait until Tywin took the black—then, and only then, to implement the real plan.

Tyrion swallowed.

If he agreed to this, he would be gambling everything—for the chance to leave a mark on history that no one could erase.

He exhaled sharply, the weight of it settling in.

"I hope you understand," he said, his voice tight, "that if I fail to pull this off, you and I will both be dead men."

Aegor just grinned.

Tyrion’s mind whirled.

On one hand: wealth, power, immortality in the annals of history.

On the other: betrayal, ruin, and a slow, agonizing death if Tywin caught even the slightest whiff of this scheme.

"Gods," Tyrion muttered, rubbing his temples.

"This is why I had to get you on board first before we started discussing the details," Aegor admitted, watching him closely.

Tyrion let out a long sigh.

"And?" Aegor’s voice was casual, almost mocking. "Are you in, brother?"

Tyrion let out a short, bitter laugh.

"You’re roasting me over the fire, Aegor."

The first condition was bad enough.

The second was practically asking him to slit his own father’s throat.

"Tywin Lannister. In black." Tyrion chuckled darkly. "The thought of him, standing on the Wall beside Jaime and Joffrey—three generations reunited in exile? That alone almost makes me want to say yes."

Almost.

The illusion of camaraderie was gone now.

For the past hour, they had spoken as friends, reminiscing about old times, entertaining each other’s dreams.

But now?

Now the real stakes had been laid bare.

Aegor wasn’t asking for cooperation.

He was demanding total surrender.

Tyrion squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

When he opened them, he stared at Aegor across the table, expression unreadable.

"You really are a devil," he muttered.

Then, reluctantly, he lifted his hand—short fingers curling into a tight fist—and extended it forward.

Aegor smirked and met his knuckles with his own.

"Welcome aboard."
----


"Alright," Tyrion sighed. "What’s the first step in your grand plan?"

"Simple," Aegor said. "First, we unify Westeros for the queen."

Then, with a knowing smirk, he added:

"Remember when you joked about bringing me to meet your father, so I could convince him to name a dwarf as his heir? Well… I think we finally have a reason to make that happen."