Chapter 640

The first meeting between the newly appointed Master of Coin and the Queen was uneventful—no pleasantries, no warmth, no memorable exchanges. The reason was simple: in this timeline, the two had never interacted before, and without prior dealings, there was neither trust nor familiarity between them.

From Daenerys’ perspective, all she knew was that Tyrion had a close relationship with Aegor. That alone was enough for her to view him as “one of Aegor’s men”—a piece placed on the council by the Hand out of personal interest, meant to secure more political influence for the Night’s Watch faction.

Given this mindset, the fact that she managed to suppress her instinctive distaste for any Lannister and treated him with the same courtesy as any other official was already a considerable display of restraint.

The reason she accepted this appointment—despite knowing it would dilute her authority—was not just because of House Lannister’s immense wealth and financial expertise. A significant part of her decision stemmed from a concession to Aegor’s influence, as well as an unspoken guilt for failing to properly reward him for his services.

Though she dreamed of breaking the wheel of history, Daenerys’ worldview was still deeply shaped by feudal traditions. In her eyes, a Hand of the Queen was not a lifetime appointment, nor was it hereditary. It was merely a position, and one that hardly seemed worthy of the man who had orchestrated her conquests.

To rectify this imbalance, she had privately hinted to Aegor that she was willing to dissolve the Night’s Watch, freeing him from his vows. He would be granted lands and titles beyond the Wall, rising to the rank of Duke of the Gift, securing his bloodline for generations.

To her surprise, Aegor had formally declined the offer, citing the Night’s Watch’s vows: "We do not wed, we do not hold lands, we do not sire children."

Had the black cloak truly bewitched the Lord Commander into a life of selfless service? Or was there something greater he sought?

Daenerys did not know.

But she did know that “too much clarity yields no fish.” If she wished to keep the realm stable, she needed to allow some degree of political maneuvering.

And, in any case, there was no better candidate for Master of Coin. Whatever her suspicions about his loyalties, Tyrion Lannister was Westeros’ only true financial mind. If he and Aegor planned to use their positions to carve out personal wealth—so long as they did not push too far—she could tolerate it.
----


With the short meeting concluded, the gathered lords and commanders had nearly all assembled. This was not a coincidence.

Aegor had deliberately scheduled a war council on the same day as Tyrion’s arrival—ensuring that the Queen’s new appointments and her military plans could be addressed in a single session. Time was precious; there was no room for wasted effort.

In the slightly crowded hall, Tyrion made his way to a seat among the gathered nobility, enduring the mixed gazes of curiosity and hostility. Meanwhile, a large map of southern Westeros was brought in and pinned to a wooden stand at the center of the room.

Aegor stepped forward and began the true business of the day.
----


"Lords and commanders," he announced, his voice sharp and to the point. "I regret to inform you that, after weeks of negotiation, Her Grace’s attempts to end this war without bloodshed have failed."

"The Reach, and the pretender Prince Aegon, have rejected our generous peace terms. They have chosen to resist us to the bitter end."

"So, my lords," Aegor’s gaze swept across the assembled warlords. "It falls to us to take by force what they refuse to yield—to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms with our own hands."

A murmur rippled through the hall.

Among the Queen’s closest allies and the military factions aligned with the Gifted Legion, there was excitement—another war meant another chance for glory.

But for many of the great lords, there was discontent, expressed in sighs or quiet muttering.

If not for Aegor’s presence—and the fact that Daenerys herself was in the room—some of them might have voiced outright objections.

There were no secrets among the noble class. The so-called "generous peace terms" offered to the Reach had long since spread by word of mouth. Many present had even received letters from relatives in the Reach, begging them to intercede with the Queen and push for peace.

Everyone with a working brain knew the truth—Daenerys was the one unwilling to compromise. She had made peace impossible.

But even if they disapproved, none had the courage to openly oppose her.

Few among them had achieved any notable merit in the previous war. The lords of the Reach had always been an exclusive, insular lot—they had never been popular among the rest of Westeros. And Prince Aegon? A self-proclaimed king, a traitor to the throne?

There was no sympathy for him.

Most importantly—the main burden of this war would fall upon the Queen’s own forces. The Gifted Legion and Daenerys’ army would bear the brunt of the fighting. The other lords would not have to risk their own men.

So, they chose silence.
----


"If we are to fight," Aegor continued, undeterred by their mixed reactions, "the only remaining question is how."

"The Reach is the wealthiest region in Westeros. Its combined strength is unmatched among the Seven Kingdoms. If we are to conquer it, we must first understand it."

He gestured to the map.

"The Reach has four key advantages:"

"First: A massive population, providing it with an endless supply of troops."

"Second: A strong martial culture. The Reach breeds more knights, hedge knights, and sellswords than any other kingdom—many of them well-trained."

"Third: A vast and open landscape. The region is filled with fertile fields, small towns, and castles spread across open plains—completely unlike the rugged terrain of the North or the Riverlands."

"Fourth: A deeply entrenched regional identity. Regardless of internal rivalries, the Reach’s nobility and smallfolk alike share a strong, almost fanatical solidarity. They will resist any outside rule."

Aegor looked across the room, letting the weight of his words settle.

"In short—they have numbers, they have commanders, they have resources, and they have home-field advantage."

"When an outside army marches into the Reach, it cannot hide. The locals will willingly act as scouts and informants for the defending lords. Every move we make—our troop numbers, our supply lines, our weaknesses—will be reported and exploited."

"No matter how skilled a general may be, once they enter this quagmire, their strategic brilliance is rendered useless. The only option is a full-scale frontal assault."

The hall fell silent.

This time, it was the Queen’s war-hungry supporters who were shaken.

Only moments ago, they had been eager for battle—now they exchanged uncertain glances, some looking toward Daenerys for reassurance.

The lords, meanwhile, nodded in agreement.

These were simple truths—nothing Aegor had said was new. But even common knowledge, when presented with such clarity, held undeniable weight.

Robert Baratheon himself had learned this lesson the hard way.

Even after the Stormlands, the North, and the Riverlands united under his banner, even after House Baratheon crushed the Targaryens and took the throne—he had never dared march against the Reach.

The scars of the Battle of Ashford—where Mace Tyrell’s forces repelled Robert’s invasion—had left him wary for the rest of his reign.

In all of Westerosi history, only Aegon the Conqueror had successfully taken the Reach.

And even he had brought dragons to the fight.
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"Which brings us," Aegor said, "to the obvious conclusion."

"The Reach cannot be taken through trickery."

"If we are to win this war, we will not outmaneuver them."

"We will crush them."

Silence.

And then—

Applause.

Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne, smirked as she clapped her hands. "A bold strategy, Lord Hand. I expect you have a plan?"

Aegor smiled.

"I do."