Chapter 130: The Lion's Due
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Dawn broke over Casterly Rock, painting the chamber in pale gold light. I stood where Tywin Lannister once stood, at the wide window of his solar, surveying the vastness of the Westerlands spread before me.
From this vantage, the old lion had plotted the rise and dominance of House Lannister for decades. How great must that have felt? Now I claimed his view.
Below, the narrow sea road wound along the coast, merchant ships already dotting the waters as Lannisport stirred to life. The golden light glinted off distant hills—hills that had once yielded gold by the cartload, or so the stories claimed. The wealth that had made the Lannisters the envy of Westeros.
A mighty legacy, built on the twin pillars of gold and fear.
I smiled, savoring yesterday's victory. Cersei Lannister—once the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms—now on her knees scrubbing floors, wearing chains and a mock crown; Myrcella installed as my puppet, her innocence making her betrayal all the more devastating. The psychological dismantling of the Lannister legacy was proceeding beautifully.
Tywin built his legacy on fear and the perception of unyielding strength. He understood that gold alone wasn't enough; it needed the iron fist. I had dragons, a far more persuasive argument than mere gold, but the principle remained. The Westerlands must not only be conquered but cowed and then bound.
In my former life, I'd watched Tywin's methods on a screen—the cold calculation, the ruthless efficiency. "The Rains of Castamere" wasn't just a song; it was a philosophy of Tywin's rule. But even Tywin, for all his brilliance, had blind spots. His obsession with legacy had blinded him to the rot within his own family. I would not repeat his mistakes.
Taking a castle was simple enough with dragons.
Governing a kingdom required subtler tools.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. "Enter," I called, turning from the window.
Margaery swept in first, resplendent in emerald silk that hugged the curves of her body like a lover's hands. Her brown hair cascaded in artful waves past her shoulders, and the neckline of her gown dipped just low enough to show her cleavage. Behind her came Garlan, dignified in Tyrell green and gold, his sword at his hip.
"My king," Margaery curtseyed, her movement deliberate and graceful, causing her bodice to strain slightly against her breasts. "I've prepared the initial assessment of Lannister holdings as requested."
Daenerys entered next, her transformed appearance still startling in the morning light. The scales on her cheekbones caught the sunlight, shimmering with odd hues. Her tail swished behind her as she moved, drawing the eye.
Last came Arianne, her Dornish silks flowing around her copper-skinned body like water. Her silver eyes found mine immediately, a smile playing at the corners of her full lips. She moved with deliberate sensuality, hips swaying in a rhythm designed to captivate.
"Well," I gestured to the massive oak table dominating the center of the room, "shall we begin?"
Margaery spread several leather-bound ledgers across the table, her fingers dancing over the numbers with practiced precision. As she leaned forward, her neckline gaped further, offering a tantalizing glimpse of the soft curves beneath.
"Your Grace, I've discovered something... curious," she began, looking up through her lashes. "The Lannister gold mines aren't depleted as rumored. They've merely reached a point where extraction requires more sophisticated methods—methods Tywin deliberately avoided employing."
"He wanted everyone to think House Lannister was running out of gold?" Daenerys asked, her violet eyes narrowing.
"Precisely," Margaery nodded. "It discouraged rivals while allowing him to stockpile reserves quietly. According to these ledgers, there's still substantial wealth beneath Casterly Rock. With proper investment, the mines could yield for another generation at least."
I smiled, unsurprised. "Classic Tywin. Hide your strength, let your enemies underestimate you."
In the show, Tywin had admitted to Cersei that the Lannister mines had run dry, but I'd long suspected that might have been misinformation—or simply an invention for dramatic purposes.
"There's more," Margaery continued, flipping pages. "I've found records of substantial loans to at least twelve major Westerland houses, plus smaller amounts to dozens of minor lords." Her finger traced a column of figures. "House Marbrand alone owes the equivalent of fifty thousand gold dragons."
Arianne leaned across the table, the movement causing her silks to tighten against the curves of her body. "That's a good leverage," she said, her voice a silken purr. "Call in those debts, and you'll have the Westerlands on their knees before a single dragon takes flight."
"Or forgive them," Daenerys countered, "and earn their gratitude. Different means to the same end."
I laughed at her suggestion. Debt is the sharpest sword and the strongest shield. It cuts your enemies and protects your interests.
"What of the vaults themselves?" I asked, tapping the ledger. "Tywin surely didn't leave them full when he fled."
Margaery's smile turned predatory. "No, but he couldn't take everything. We've already secured over two million gold dragons in coin and valuables. There are jewels, artwork, ceremonial weapons—enough wealth to fund a considerable war effort."
I nodded, considering. "And what about the Iron Bank? How much of our debt could this cover?"
"About half, Your Grace. The debt is 6 million gold dragons," Margaery replied. "If you desire Tyrell contributions, you could be free of the Iron Bank within the year, if you wished."
There was no need to be indebted to the Tyrells. Rather, I'd conquer the lands in Essos with the help of Daenerys and Yara for it. Yara already brought a great amount from her recent adventures.
"Excellent." I paced the length of the table, feeling their eyes on me. "Here's what we'll do. First, secure all assets—every coin, jewel, and debt note. Seventy percent goes to the crown to pay our debts and fund preparations against the White Walkers." I saw surprise flicker across their faces at this last part—except Daenerys, who had witnessed the work of magic firsthand. She believed in fantasy now.
"A quarter goes to House Tyrell, as agreed." Margaery's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "The remainder stays here to maintain Casterly Rock and its garrison—all under Lady Myrcella's name, of course."
Margaery's eyes gleamed at the mention of gold, but she was smart enough to know her prosperity was now tied to mine, not her house's. Let her count the coins, as long as the lion's share flowed to the dragon.
"Now," I turned to Garlan, "what of our military position?"
Garlan straightened, all business despite the tension between the women in the room. "Casterly Rock is secure, Your Grace. Lannisport has been pacified with minimal resistance. It'll be further strengthened when the Pirate Queen comes. We've installed Tyrell garrisons at key strongholds throughout the region—the Golden Tooth, Banefort, Silverhill."
He unrolled a map, placing weights at its corners. "As for the Westerland lords, they fall into three categories. Houses like Lefford and Crakehall have already sent ravens pledging fealty to Lady Myrcella and, by extension, to you."
His finger tapped several locations on the map. "Others—Marbrand, Westerling, Brax—remain silent, watching. They're assessing your strength, your intentions toward them."
"And the third category?" I prompted, though I already knew.
"Potential resistors," Garlan said grimly. "House Clegane, naturally, given their personal loyalty to Tywin. Several cadet branches of House Lannister. And a few houses deeply enriched by Lannister gold—Swyft, Plumm."
Arianne moved to stand beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of her body through my clothing. "The solution seems obvious," she said, her fingers trailing along the edge of the map. "Summon all Westerland lords to Casterly Rock. Have them bend the knee to Lady Myrcella—and to you. Those who come are given a path to redemption. Those who don't..."
She let the implication hang in the air, her silver eyes gleaming with anticipation.
To rule, one must make examples—but carefully choose which examples to make.
"She's right," Daenerys added, her tail swishing thoughtfully behind her. "It forces their hand. Refusal becomes explicit rebellion rather than passive resistance."
Garlan nodded his agreement. "I can prepare the summons immediately, Your Grace."
"There is one other matter," Arianne said, her voice dropping to a provocative murmur. She moved closer still, her hip brushing against mine as she leaned over the map. "The title of Warden of the West. Will it go to Myrcella nominally? Or perhaps..." Her eyes flicked to Margaery and back to me, "you might dangle it as a prize for a particularly loyal house?"
Margaery's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "House Tyrell has served admirably in securing the Westerlands. My brother Garlan has proven his military acumen repeatedly. Garlan is unfortunately married already. But Loras…"
Her implication was obvious. Have Loras marry a lady from one of the western houses, any that's equal or close to the Lannisters in authority, and grant him the title of Warden.
I considered this, weighing the political implications. In the original timeline, Cersei had named Daven Lannister as Warden of the West after Tywin's death. But my reality had diverged dramatically from that path.
"...The formal summons is a good start," I decided. "We'll have the lords gather here within a fortnight. And yes, someone will inevitably raise the question of the Warden. That will give us an opportunity to assess their loyalties directly."
A throne is only as secure as the loyalty it commands—or the fear it inspires.
"As for Clegane and other potential troublemakers," I continued, "we'll see who heeds the call and who doesn't. Those who refuse can explain themselves to Viserion."
Daenerys smiled, her sharp teeth gleaming. "Dragons tend to simplify political discussions."
"Indeed they do, sister," I laughed. "Indeed they do."
"Will you return to King's Landing soon?" Margaery asked, stepping closer, her hand coming to rest lightly on my arm. The scent of roses wafted from her skin. "The capital cannot long endure without its king."
"Eager to return to your rightful place, my queen?" I asked, noting the flash of victory in her eyes at the title. She wasn't officially crowned yet, but she knew as well as I did that appearances mattered in the game of thrones.
"I serve wherever you require me, Your Grace," she replied with practiced humility, though her fingers tightened slightly on my arm. "Whether here managing Lannister wealth or at court managing the realm's affairs."
Arianne's laugh was low and musical. "How dedicated. And here I thought court ladies preferred soft beds to hard ledgers."
The tension between them crackled like lightning before a storm. Daenerys caught my eye, her expression clearly saying: Are you going to let them continue this power play?
"Ladies," I said firmly, "your talents are all valuable to me. Margaery's financial acumen, Arianne's political insight, Daenerys's uh… anyways. This is why you're here—not to squabble over position."
"What was that, brother?"
I ignored her and rolled up the map with finality. "Send the summons, Garlan. Margaery, continue your inventory of Lannister assets. Arianne, I want your assessment of which lords might be turned against their neighbors since Dorne has always excelled at understanding rivalries. Daenerys, just be ready to get acquainted with the lords when they arrive."
"Sure thing," Daenerys agreed.
I added. "I also need to do something about the Wall… First we secure the Westerlands, return to King's Landing, and then address the threat from the North." I thought of the Night King, a threat none of them truly comprehended yet. "Winter is coming, and with it, something far worse than political squabbles."
In my previous life, I'd seen the devastating consequences of ignoring that warning. This time, I would meet the cold with fire.
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