"Seven above, what is going on now!"
Robert had been sitting on his Iron Throne, bleary-eyed with sleep, when the sudden major news jolted him awake.
Looking down at the young Commander of the City Watch, whom he had only appointed yesterday, his bloodshot eyes filled with questions:
"Commander Arthas."
Waving the parchment in his hand a couple of times, Robert spoke with obvious displeasure:
"Please explain exactly what is going on."
"Oh, my dear Your Grace!"
"As you know, your Master of Coin has always had a habit of finding all sorts of reasons to open betting pools."
"Through these dirty methods, he has made quite a bit of money during his years in King's Landing."
"But what gamble in this world ever guarantees a profit?"
At this point, the Lannister youth wore an innocent expression, even looking somewhat downcast, as though he were the victim of Baelish's flight:
"This morning, Tyrion and I were about to call on him to collect the Gold Dragons that belonged to us, but all we found at Lord Baelish's home was this letter."
"Come to think of it, we still haven't received a single coin."
Arthas's seamless answer made the corner of Robert's eye twitch. Though he was fond of women and drink and neglected affairs of state, he was not a stupid king.
Whether it was Baelish's sudden disappearance without a word or the recommendation in his letter that practically named his own successor, everything reeked of conspiracy.
Suddenly, as though something had occurred to him, a glint of cunning flashed through Robert's eyes. His tense expression relaxed, and he made a show of yawning:
"Never mind. The kingdom cannot go a day without a Master of Coin."
"I think Baelish's recommendation has some merit. At least the Lannisters do have a real knack for managing money. Why don't we..."
"But, Your Grace."
Seeing Robert about to give in so easily, Varys stepped forward, his large bald head swaying:
"Lord Baelish's departure without a word is far too suspicious, and the position of Master of Coin is so important. Would you not reconsider?"
Something Robert had said earlier had struck a chord with him-there were already too many Lannisters around the king.
A Lannister was about to be placed on the Small Council. As someone who had always believed in balance and order, the Master of Whisperers simply could not stand by and watch the Lannisters upset that balance.
"For the sake of the Seven, Varys!"
Seemingly not understanding his meaning, the king rubbed his eyes and put on an air of being tired of handling affairs of state, waving a dismissive hand:
"We leave for Winterfell tomorrow. Let your king get some proper sleep!"
Seeing Robert's impatience, Varys wanted to say more, but Robert cut him off:
"That settles it. Until I return from Winterfell, Tyrion will serve as acting Master of Coin."
"As Master of Whisperers, Varys."
"You will stay in King's Landing and keep an eye on Tyrion for me, and see whether he has the abilities required of a Master of Coin."
Seemingly even more eager than the Lannisters to put the Imp in office, Robert hurried off after leaving those words behind.
Judging by the direction he took, however, he probably was not heading to his bedchamber.
"Something isn't right."
Having experienced more than his share of scheming, Arthas also detected something unusual in Robert's reaction.
Robert had loathed the Lannisters so much, yet he had handed control of the entire kingdom's finances to the Imp so readily. It was far too abnormal.
He walked toward the doors as he pondered, only to find his path blocked by a gleaming bald head.
"Lord Arthas, there is something I must remind you of."
The king's final reaction had also helped Varys begin to understand. He hurried to stop Arthas, hoping to make the stakes clear to him:
"The position of Master of Coin is no easy one to hold."
Varys wore a trace of his habitual obsequiousness. In his earlier years of stealing and begging, that expression had always made others lower their guard around him.
"Lord Varys, please speak plainly."
Arthas looked doubtfully at the bald man before him, unsure what he was up to.
Only moments ago, he had been doing everything he could to persuade Robert to reconsider, and now he had immediately come to Arthas, acting as though he had his interests at heart.
"You may not be aware."
With a sigh, Varys spoke in a tone tinged with compassion:
"Though His Grace is invincible on the battlefield, he has never had much of a grasp of money."
"Over the years, he has spent money so quickly that even the vast wealth left behind by the Targaryens could not sustain his extravagance."
"As far as I know, the crown now owes an enormous debt of six million Gold Dragons!"
"Six million Gold Dragons!"
Arthas cried out in surprise. Even having grown up among the Lannisters, he had never seen such a vast sum. It was almost enough to fund a major military campaign!
"Was it borrowed from the Lannisters?"
He had not expected the unreliable king to have such a scheme in mind. Finally understanding, Arthas pressed the question with certainty in his voice.
"Three million to House Lannister, three million to the Iron Bank."
As Master of Whisperers, Varys knew the king's debts by heart:
"In addition, he owes the Faith of the Seven nine hundred thousand Gold Dragons, for a total of six million nine hundred thousand."
"So I hope you will think this through."
"If Lord Tyrion becomes Master of Coin, I fear the Lannisters will not recover a single coin."
Though the Imp's appointment could greatly ease the crown's debt crisis, that was hardly worth mentioning compared with the uncertainties that bringing a Lannister onto the Small Council could create.
Varys believed that even the Lannisters would not dare readily take on such a hot potato.
He looked confidently at Arthas, only to meet a perceptive gaze that seemed to see straight through his little schemes.
"Thank you for the warning, Lord Varys."
"However, I would also offer you a warning: please do not presume to interfere in Lannister affairs."
Sensing a familiar Undead presence, Arthas turned and walked straight outside, leaving Varys with a warning tinged with coldness:
"The Lannisters do not care about money."
"Is it done?"
Back at his residence, Arthas asked the empty room as though speaking to the air.
"Of course, my master."
As a hoarse voice rang out through the empty room, Pike's somewhat gaunt figure gradually appeared.
"Our Master of Coin has gone very peacefully to meet the Seven."
Looking at Pike kneeling before him on one knee, Arthas was very satisfied with the efficiency of this rather unusual subordinate.
Normally, after humans who sold their souls to the Lich King became Acolytes, they had to sacrifice themselves to become shades incapable of attacking.
They would serve as the Lich King's eyes, watching this world for him.
But whether his passage into this world had caused his energy to mutate or Pike himself was unusual, this seemingly ordinary commoner had broken with the established tradition.
He could freely switch between shade and physical form, and could even assume a half-shade state!
Such a special ability allowed Pike to kill enemies in the darkness without anyone noticing, making him the most impossible assassin to counter in all of Westeros!
Seeing Arthas's satisfied smile gave Pike an immense sense of fulfillment.
As the first Undead unit in Westeros, he followed wherever Arthas's will directed him.
"I kept this, master."
After fumbling around at his chest, Pike took out the skin of Baelish's face, still stained with blood, and waved it before Arthas as though seeking praise:
"I thought this might be useful to you in the future."
"Very well done, Pike."
Arthas was not at all sparing with his praise for his subordinate's diligence:
"Keep it as your first trophy."
Having received his master's approval, Pike carefully put the face away, treating it like an exceedingly precious treasure.
"Do you want to go home, Pike?"
Walking slowly to the window and breathing in the salty scent of the sea, Arthas abruptly asked the question.
"Home?"
A trace of bewilderment appeared in Pike's eyes. He shook his head, then answered with firm fervor:
"Master, ever since Jeyne died, I have had no home."
"Wherever you are is my home."
Pike's answer drew a soft chuckle from Arthas. He walked over to Pike and gently patted his shoulder:
"You know that isn't the home I mean."
"Master, do you mean...?"
He raised his head in some astonishment, meeting Arthas's gentle smile.
"That's right, Pike."
Arthas opened his hand with a smile, and a mass of pure, spectral blue energy slowly gathered in his palm.
Under Pike's nostalgic gaze, it gradually transformed into the shape of a small island...
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