Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, held a secret report from across the Narrow Sea. He looked around at the members of the Small Council, his voice steady. "There is no need for suspicion amongst ourselves."
He paused, unfolding the parchment, and read aloud: "At the onset of the storm, the Iron Bank overseers on the three Braavosi merchant ships released three ravens calling for help before their vessels sank. The Iron Bank has received these ravens. The information they carried is consistent and clear: sudden gale winds, lightning, and torrential rain at sea."
He looked up, continuing to state the investigation results. "Subsequently, rescue ships dispatched by the Iron Bank found three surviving guards clinging to reefs near the incident site. Their testimonies are highly consistent—there was no ambush by any ships, nor any sign of a sea monster attack. They saw with their own eyes, and repeatedly emphasized, that what destroyed everything was merely a sudden, incomparably violent tornado."
Jon put down the letter and concluded, "All evidence proves that the cause of the shipwreck was a rare natural disaster."
Euron, who had been sitting calmly to the side, wore a faint smile of "as expected." His gaze swept over the crowd as he spread his hands. "See? I told you... what could this possibly have to do with me?"
Lord Tywin's cold eyes locked with Euron's for a moment before turning to King Robert. His voice was level. "Since the Iron Bank's loan has sunk into the sea, let us forget it." He paused slightly, throwing out a decision that would change the financial landscape of the Seven Kingdoms. "I, along with Highgarden, Dorne, and the Iron Islands, have decided to jointly establish a bank belonging to Westeros. The financial needs of the Crown will be undertaken by our bank. As for the interest rate," Tywin, the newly appointed Master of Coin, added indifferently, "it will naturally be much more favorable than the Iron Bank's."
"Dammit!" Robert slammed the table in irritation, making the wine cups jump. He roared, "I just sat my ass on this Iron Throne, haven't even warmed it up yet, and I'm already saddled with debt!?" He turned abruptly to a question that gnawed at him more. "What about the Mad King's treasury? Wasn't that old lunatic Aerys sitting on mountains of Gold Dragons? Where did the money go!"
At these words, every eye in the room instantly focused on Tywin Lannister.
Everyone knew that on the day King's Landing fell, the Lannister army entered the city first. Only they had ample time and opportunity to access the royal vaults.
Facing this silent yet sharp accusation, Tywin's expression remained unchanged. He responded in the same cold tone. "Mountains of gold? I do not know where Your Grace heard such false rumors." His gaze swept over everyone coldly. "In his later years, the Mad King was already confused. The sycophants and villains he favored knew nothing of finance; the treasury was squandered by them long ago. If not so, why would he frantically increase various exorbitant taxes in his final years?" He asked in a deep voice, "Is King Robert suspecting that House Lannister looted the treasury?"
Robert choked on the question. His face grew angrier, but he couldn't tear down the facade directly. He could only roar roughly, "Which ear heard me accusing you!? I just mentioned it in passing!"
"Your Grace, Lord Tywin," Jon Arryn spoke at the right moment, using his steady voice to moderate the tension. He sighed. "After verification, the treasury indeed has little surplus. Healing the wounds of war, settling refugees, rewarding soldiers—every item costs a fortune." He pulled the topic back on track. "Since this is the case, the Crown borrowing from the new bank established by you lords is the most suitable choice. At least the funds can be mobilized faster. By the way," he asked as if suddenly remembering, "what is the name of your bank?"
This question made the four initiators of the bank—Tywin, Euron, Lady Olenna representing Highgarden, and Prince Oberyn representing Dorne—freeze simultaneously.
They had meticulously discussed capital, shares, branches, rules... but had omitted this most important symbol.
After a brief, slightly awkward silence, Euron cleared his throat. His voice broke the quiet, carrying an unquestionable certainty. "The Continental Bank!"
Hearing this, a meaningful smile appeared on Jon Arryn's face. He said faintly, "'Continental Bank'? ...Quite ambitious, Lord Euron. Naming it after the entire continent," he lowered his voice, with a knowing look of worldly wisdom, "I fear this scope includes more than just Westeros, does it not?"
Euron laughed too. He neither admitted nor denied it, responding in a tone that was almost joking yet couldn't be taken entirely as a joke. "Lord Hand jests. I wouldn't dare be so arrogant. However..." He changed tack, teasing, "One must have dreams. What if... one day it accidentally comes true?"
Jon looked at him deeply, not dwelling on the meaning behind the name. He sat up straight, resuming the steady posture of the Hand. "Then it is settled." He pondered briefly, clearly considering more practical issues. "As for the Crown's loan..." He calculated. "A sum of one million Gold Dragons should be enough to alleviate the current predicament. When tax revenues from the regions arrive in the Crownlands throughout the year, the finances will turn around."
Robert nodded in approval. "Settled then. I'm relieved leaving this copper-counting business to the Lord Hand and Lord Tywin."
"The second matter," Jon Arryn looked around at the heavyweights present, speaking slowly. "The Mad King's two former Hands—Lord Owen Merryweather and Lord Jon Connington—were both exiled for military failures. Now, they petition to return to Westeros. How do you think we should handle this?"
Lord Tywin was the first to express his stance, his voice calm and cold. "The war is over. The order to exile them came from the Mad King. If King Robert can show the benevolence and tolerance of the new dynasty by letting bygones be bygones, it will surely help stabilize the hearts of the Seven Kingdoms and highlight the difference from the old regime."
Hoster looked at Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, and said, "If I recall correctly, your nephew and heir—Ser Denys Arryn, the 'Darling of the Vale'—died at the hands of Jon Connington."
Jon Arryn spoke flatly. "I remember, of course, and will never forget. But death in brave combat on the battlefield should not be settled after the war ends. So rest assured, I will not target him for this."
Hearing this, Robert waved a large hand, appearing quite magnanimous. "Then let them come back!"
The "Queen of Thorns," Lady Olenna, immediately pointed out the problem they faced. "Owen Merryweather was the Lord of Longtable, but the Mad King stripped him of his titles, lands, and all honors long ago. Now, Longtable has been granted to another family. When he returns, in what capacity and where shall he live?"
Lord Stannis added immediately, his tone cold and hard. " The same applies to Jon Connington. His former seat, Griffin's Roost, is now inherited and ruled by his cousin, Ronald Connington. By law, we have no right to strip a lawful heir of his rights to settle an exile."
The situation reached an impasse.
Euron Greyjoy, the newly minted Lord of Harrenhal, broke the silence with a chuckle. "Why worry about this? Harrenhal is vast. After the fires of war, it is sparsely populated and waiting to be rebuilt. It is precisely the time when people are needed." He looked at Robert and Jon. "Why not settle the two of them in my Harrenhal for now?"
He had evaluated these two in his heart long ago and planned to recruit them:
Jon Connington—a proud, brave, passionate, fearless man eager to redeem his honor. He was a capable warrior and commander in his own right. Such a person would surely find a place in Harrenhal, which urgently awaited reconstruction, to utilize his military talents.
Owen Merryweather—known as the "Horn-Blower Hand," and privately mocked as a "chuckling old fool." He was amiable and skilled at flattering monarchs. Though aged and of limited ability now, his grandson, Orton Merryweather, was a young talent worth noting, having served as Hand of the King in the later stages of the original story.
In fact, as early as discussing the management talent needed for the bank's opening and being named Lord of Harrenhal, Euron had calmly calculated available personnel: he currently had no shortage of brave warriors, but he severely lacked civil officials and administrators capable of handling internal affairs and managing specific territory matters independently. These two former ministers with complex backgrounds and a desperate need for support—one still possessing valor, the other with a promising grandson—could be taken under his wing for observation and employment.
Jon Arryn showed little surprise at this; he nodded steadily. As Hand, his primary concern was the stability of the realm and the smooth execution of the King's will. There was nothing improper about this arrangement itself. He then bowed slightly, asking Robert on the throne, "Does Your Grace have any other opinions or decrees to add to this arrangement?"
Robert waved his thick arm impatiently, as if dispersing the tedious political affairs before him. His voice carried undeniable roughness. "Aside from that empty Harrenhal full of legends and ghosts, who else among you is willing to carve out a piece of your family's ancestral lands to reward two exiles returning home?" He scanned the lords below who kept their heads down and remained silent. "None! Then arrange it so! Harrenhal is big enough. With Euron in charge, they can't stir up any waves!"
Prime Minister Jon Arryn continued stating state affairs. "The third matter concerns Prince Jalabhar of the Summer Isles. He arrived shortly after Your Grace entered King's Landing and has been requesting the Iron Throne to send troops to help him retake his throne. But given the current state of the realm, this is absolutely impossible. I have explicitly rejected him." He changed the subject, looking at the father and son from the Iron Islands. "Yesterday, this prince bid me farewell, claiming he has discussed this matter with King Quellon and Lord Euron of the Iron Islands."
King Quellon nodded. "It is true!"
Jon's deep gaze fell directly on Euron and Quellon, asking with probing confirmation, "Lord Euron, King Quellon, hearing this... has the Iron Islands decided to send troops to aid him?"
King Quellon responded gruffly, neither fully admitting nor denying, leaving ample room. "That black-skinned prince did come to find us and mentioned this. But how exactly to operate, and whether it is feasible, has not been settled."
King Robert on the throne became interested upon hearing this. He took a gulp of wine and interjected loudly, "To be honest, I wanted to agree to that fellow's request too! Sounds damn exciting—an expedition to foreign lands! But you all know, rats could run in the national treasury now, and the Royal Fleet can't even scrape together a decent warship. Where would the money, grain, and soldiers come from to mind business ten thousand miles away?" His tone held some regret, but more a sober recognition of reality.
Euron spoke calmly, clearly stating the Iron Islands' position. "Actually, for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros as a whole, the Summer Isles hang isolated overseas. There is no direct threat, nor tangible benefit to speak of. It indeed holds no value for an expedition." He paused slightly, then changed tack. "But for the Iron Islands... that archipelago might become a decent ocean-going port."
Its actual utility, of course, went far beyond that...
Jon Arryn nodded slightly, setting the tone for this matter with the authority of the Hand. "In that case, the matter of sending troops to the Summer Isles shall be regarded as a private commercial investment and military action of the Iron Islands. It has nothing to do with the Iron Throne, and the Royal Court of the Seven Kingdoms will not intervene."
King Quellon was clearly satisfied with this result. He nodded crisply. "As it should be!"
Robert stood up abruptly from his seat, laughing loudly. "Alright! Let's go! Business is done; now it's time for the real program—eat meat to our heart's content, drink wine till we drop!"
Eddard Stark shook his head gently. His serious face bore the fatigue of a hangover as he smiled bitterly. "After days of continuous feasting, my Northern head is still dizzy. At noon, I must depart for the North."
Beside him, King Quellon also spoke up, his tone carrying the crispness of an Ironborn. "The Iron Islands' ships should also turn around. I need to go back once to thoroughly hand over the island's affairs to Balon. From now on, Balon makes the decisions for the Iron Islands." This meant King Quellon was about to officially retire behind the scenes to serve permanently as Master of Ships in King's Landing.
Euron toyed with his wine cup, smiling. "Harrenhal, my newly acquired territory... I haven't even seen it with my own eyes yet. Everything waits to be rebuilt; I also need to go see personally what I can do."
Prince Oberyn of Dorne and Lord Hoster Tully of the Riverlands also nodded in succession, expressing similar intentions to leave.
Robert froze in place, the cheerful smile on his face solidifying. he looked around at these best friends and bannermen who had fought side by side with him but were now all leaving. He repeated in disbelief, "You... are all leaving just like that?"
The response was the group's silent but affirmative nods.
The King, so heroic just moments ago, saw the light in his eyes dim visibly. As if drained of all strength, he sat heavily back into his wide chair. Muttering like a child left behind, his tone was full of loneliness. "With none of you here... King's Landing is going to be boring as hell again."
There was no smile on Hand of the King Jon Arryn's weathered face. He spoke in a level tone. "Your Grace, you will definitely not be bored."
Robert raised his confused blue eyes, looking at his foster father in puzzlement.
Jon coughed lightly. Like a tutor about to assign heavy homework to a student, he articulated clearly, word by word.
"Because, starting today, mountains of state affairs, family matters too tangled to unravel, an empty treasury, and countless civil disputes across the Seven Kingdoms awaiting judgment... this big pile of 'surprises' is queuing up outside the door, waiting impatiently to see you."
"Gods save me—!"
Robert let out a wail akin to a mournful howl, his face written with despair.
He spread his limbs out straight in an exaggerated manner, threw his massive head back heavily against the chair, as if instantly drained of all strength by this terrible reality, wishing only to sleep forever and never wake.
His actions drew loud laughter from everyone present.