That night, Arthas stood silently, observing the two attendants before him.
One had been sent by Cersei, summoning him to the Queen's chambers for a private chat. She claimed to miss her exceptional younger brother and wished for a final reunion before departing for Winterfell.
The other was from Highgarden—Margaery Tyrell herself, extending her own invitation.
The dignified Death Knight and lich king found himself hesitant, despite his calm exterior.
Arthas knew Cersei all too well. His sister, obsessed with the purity of their family's bloodline, had always treated her Lannister brothers with a special kind of favoritism—excluding, of course, Tyrion. Every glance she cast toward him carried a fiery intensity, as if she wished to consume him whole. Even with the wisdom of two lifetimes and the experience of intimate relations with Jaina in his past life, Arthas could not ignore the suffocating weight of her desire.
Margaery, on the other hand, inspired only lukewarm feelings. Her overtures were purely strategic, devoid of genuine affection. And since Jaina had abandoned him without hesitation, Arthas now harbored a deep revulsion for romance.
After a long pause, he addressed Margaery's messenger with tact:
"I am grateful for her invitation," he said, voice calm and composed, "but Her Majesty the Queen leaves King's Landing tomorrow and may have urgent matters to discuss. If Miss Margaery is free, I shall prepare a modest banquet at my home tomorrow to receive her."
The attendant bowed slightly, understanding the subtle decline while retaining Margaery's face, and left without another word.
Arthas turned his gaze to the remaining attendant.
"Take me to Cersei," he ordered decisively.
It was better to settle matters sooner rather than later.
Just as they prepared to leave, a small figure burst into the room, panting and anxious.
"I heard—"
Tyrion, the Imp, froze mid-sentence upon seeing another presence and quickly fell silent, suspicious eyes darting between them.
"Wait outside for a moment," Arthas instructed. The attendant obeyed immediately, leaving the two alone.
"I heard the King owes six million Gold Dragons!" Tyrion whispered urgently, his voice trembling with worry.
Arthas regarded him calmly, as though the news had little impact. "And what of it, Tyrion?"
"Three million of that is House Lannister's!" Tyrion blurted, fists clenching in frustration. "If I become Master of Coin, Robert might default on our debt. Father will surely tear me apart!"
Since childhood, Tyrion had longed for Tywin's approval, even though the Lannister patriarch had been cold and cruel. He thought that by becoming Master of Coin, he could finally prove his worth. But Robert Baratheon had dug a massive financial hole, leaving Tyrion panicked.
"Relax," Arthas said, his tone gentle, yet carrying a weight of authority. "Things are not as dire as you think."
Tyrion's brow furrowed. "You make it sound so easy."
Arthas leaned back, wearing a teasing expression. "Perhaps it is, if you know where to look."
Tyrion's mind raced. "Maybe we should get Littlefinger. He seems adept at managing Robert's messes."
"Careful," Arthas said lightly. "The solution doesn't lie in chasing others' cleverness. It lies in using your own privileges wisely."
Tyrion paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "Privileges?"
"Yes. As Master of Coin, the King's personal promises and privileges are worth far more than gold alone. Why could Robert borrow so freely without collateral?"
"Because he is the King," Tyrion answered cautiously.
"Exactly," Arthas said with a smile. "You can use the King's authority to grant House Lannister privileges. Tywin controls the economy, and soon, our coffers will be replenished—perhaps even beyond what was lost."
Tyrion's eyes lit up with understanding. "And the Iron Bank?"
"The Iron Bank cannot be ignored," Arthas replied, his expression turning serious. "But even their leverage is limited. If the King owes three million, we decide the repayment schedule. Any consequences fall upon Baratheon, not Lannister."
The Imp's expression shifted from confusion to enlightenment. He nodded slowly. "I see. As Master of Coin, my loyalty must protect Lannister interests first."
Arthas patted him on the shoulder. "Exactly. Privilege and foresight are far more valuable than mere gold."
Tyrion exhaled, a mixture of admiration and envy in his gaze. "You truly are the one most like Father."
Arthas scoffed. "I am nothing like Tywin, who scorns others for mistakes. I take responsibility, but I also plan for perfection."
Still, he knew some battles would remain. Tywin, even in death or absence, would one day require final reckoning.
"Al," Tyrion said, remembering the other presence outside the door. "The Queen's messenger…"
"Yes," Arthas replied, a playful smile forming. "Cersei has invited me to her chambers tonight."
Tyrion grinned, mischief in his eyes. "Then enjoy yourself—our sister was once the greatest beauty in the Seven Kingdoms!"
Although Jaime's presence remained a concern, Tyrion could only silently hope Cersei's interest did not override reason.
Arthas, understanding the unspoken warning, shook his head lightly. "I am aware. Let's not discuss it further."
The Imp, finally relieved, left the room, winking. "Have a good time."
Arthas returned to his desk, surveying the intelligence reports that had arrived at noon. A cold smile touched his face.
He would not repay a single cent of the Faith's funds, not without careful consideration. A breeze stirred the files, scattering them across the desk. Amid the mess lay a single sheet of paper, inscribed with one name at the top: "High Sparrow."
Arthas's lips curved into a faint, sinister smile. The game had begun.