On the massive decks of The Grey King's Wrath, Tyrion Lannister spent some of the most unexpectedly carefree and joyful days of his life. His diminutive figure could be seen daily, excitedly weaving between masts, rigging, and cabins, looking up with childlike wonder and awe as this unprecedented behemoth tamed the wind and waves.
He quickly integrated into the rough-and-tumble crowd of Ironborn. At night, he would clutch a tankard nearly as big as his head, squeezing in among sailors crowded around wine barrels. He drank spicy rum with them and listened to their deafening boasts of maritime feats.
Here, the Lannister surname and the lion sigil lost the weight they carried on the continent. The legacy of the Dragon Kings was equally worthless.
The Ironborn's values were pure and direct: they respected only true strength—whether it was force of arms, wit, or the ability to hold one's liquor.
They unceremoniously called him "Imp," but without the disdain or deliberate alienation common in Westeros. It felt more like a nickname based on observation, tinged with a rude sort of affection. To his own surprise, Tyrion didn't feel offended. Instead, he found these crude Ironborn far more sincere and likable than the "high lords" who whispered behind his back.
These weather-beaten old sailors would slap his shoulder, breathing wine fumes in his face, and tell him tales of steering longships through storms, legends of fighting sea monsters in the Smoking Sea, and sights seen in distant ports like Lys, Qarth, and Asshai. They described the allure of exotic women, strange architecture, spicy flavors, and opportunities unheard of by the nobility of the mainland.
These rough but vivid stories opened a window to a vast world for Tyrion, far more lively and enticing than any Maester's tome.
One night, amidst the low hum of the waves and the snap of sails, Euron summoned Tyrion to the captain's cabin. A massive nautical chart was spread across the table, scattered with markers representing fleets and ports. But Euron's finger crossed the Narrow Sea and tapped heavily on the map of Westeros.
"Imp," Euron said, his tone devoid of mockery, holding only a scorching seriousness. "I have an idea, and I need that priceless head of yours to weigh it." He signaled Tyrion to come closer, lowering his voice to a whisper heavy as lead. "I want to establish our own bank in Westeros."
The idea itself was groundbreaking enough. But Euron's next words made Tyrion's mismatched eyes widen in shock.
"The Iron Bank makes the kings of the Seven Kingdoms bow and scrape through lending," Euron said, the corner of his mouth curving into a cold, wild smile. A storm seemed to be gathering in his deep eyes. "Why can't we do what they do? And we will do it better, and bigger!"
Euron's hawk-like gaze locked onto Tyrion. His words were like drawn blades, making no attempt to hide an ambition that could swallow the sky. "My goal is not to be a second Iron Bank. My goal is to surpass it, crush it, and finally... swallow it whole and replace it! I want the financial pulse of the Seven Kingdoms, and even the world, to beat at the command of Euron Greyjoy's bank!"
This unreserved trust and the sheer scale of the plan made Tyrion's heart pound violently.
This was grander and madder than any conspiracy or strategy he had ever heard. In House Lannister, he had never been entrusted with such a task or been privy to such naked, ultimate ambition. In this moment, he felt not only the joy of recognition but the thrill of finding a resonance with someone whose mad intellect matched his own. Euron didn't just see his value; he saw him as the first and most important partner in realizing this earth-shattering enterprise.
Euron's proposal was like a stone thrown into a pool, sending invisible ripples through the cabin. He watched Tyrion, waiting for an answer.
Tyrion didn't commit immediately. He frowned slightly, the light of reason and calculation flickering in his mismatched eyes. He swirled the dregs of wine in his cup, contemplating for a moment before speaking.
"I would be willing to dedicate my limited wisdom to such an... earth-shattering enterprise." He first affirmed the invitation, then shifted tone, displaying rare sobriety and self-awareness. "But forgive my bluntness, I fear I currently lack the ability to shoulder such a burden. I have learned something of banking models and the Iron Bank's methods through... informal channels, but compared to the grand blueprint of swallowing and replacing it as you describe, my knowledge is but a drop in the ocean. I fear I would need a great deal of study and deeper thought to truly help, rather than ruin it."
To Tyrion's surprise, Euron wasn't disappointed. Instead, he burst into loud, hearty laughter. "Good! Very good!" Euron slammed the table, his eyes full of appreciation. "If you had agreed instantly and sworn you could do it easily, I would have doubted your intelligence and sincerity. Admitting your own inadequacy is the starting point of true wisdom."
Euron stopped laughing, his burning gaze returning to the matter at hand. "Indeed, the beginning is always the hardest. Let's start with the first step." Without waiting for Tyrion, Euron laid out the concept he had been brewing for a long time. "Before the sack of King's Landing, the Iron Bank came to Harrenhal to discuss loans and repayments. I advocated for King Robert to borrow three million Gold Dragons from them. A portion of that gold is what I intend to use as startup capital for the bank."
He extended a finger, tracing the map of capital. "Furthermore, I want to bring in your father, Lord Tywin; the wealthy Tyrells of Highgarden and the Redwynes; and my father-in-law, Prince Doran, as investors. Pooling the financial power of our houses should provide more than enough startup capital."
Here, Euron frowned slightly, showing a clear-eyed view of the future. "This money is enough to hang a sign in King's Landing or Oldtown and open the doors. But how to make it truly run, how to expand, and most importantly, how to ensure it survives long-term and stably, rather than being a flash in the pan... these are the hard problems we need to rack our brains over. We will be facing the centuries-old reputation and ubiquitous influence of the Iron Bank. It will be a war without smoke."
Under the swaying whale-oil lamp, Euron and Tyrion hunched over the chart table. The map was pushed aside, replaced by parchment covered in scrawled numbers and strategies. The two began to plot deeply on how to persuade these shrewd potential investors and outline the bank's initial business blueprint.
"To convince my father," Tyrion sipped his wine, his eyes sharp and smiling, "he must see unparalleled profit, and... more importantly, the consolidation of House Lannister's power." He dipped a quill in ink and wrote Royal Debt on the paper.
"The Seven Kingdoms are heavily damaged by war. Borrowers will be plentiful. King Robert's current gold is far from enough for the realm's expenses; he will inevitably borrow heavily. We can propose this to my father: Part of the Gold Dragons the bank lends to King Robert can be funded by House Lannister. This wouldn't be a simple loan, but a conversion of Lannister claims into formal financial debt against the Crown through our bank. This means House Lannister's influence over the Iron Throne moves from behind the curtain to center stage, becoming institutionalized and harder to shake. Lord Tywin would not just be the Warden of the West, but the King's 'Banker,' possessing the legal power to make the Crown feel 'inconvenienced' at any time."
Euron added, "And once the bank is running, future output from the Westerlands' gold mines can be deposited directly into our bank for capital operation, rather than just piling up to gather mold in the cellars of Casterly Rock. Tell him: what we are doing is making gold birth more gold."
Tyrion nodded in agreement.
For the wealthy Tyrells and Redwynes, the strategy needed adjustment.
"Highgarden and the Arbor don't lack money," Tyrion analyzed. "What they lack is a channel to convert wealth into long-term, stable influence, and financial security against future risks—like another war. We can promise that once the bank is established, it will prioritize providing convenient exchange and low-interest loan services for the Reach's grain and wine trade, accelerating their cash flow and reducing transaction risks."
Euron nodded. "More importantly, we can design a prototype of 'War Bonds' or 'Fiefdom Development Bonds.' If they invest, in the future when Highgarden needs massive funds, our bank can issue bonds for them, backed by the bank's credit, raising funds from across the Seven Kingdoms. This is far more powerful than facing a fiscal crisis alone. Tell Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne this isn't an investment; it's buying 'fiscal insurance' for the future of the Reach."
Regarding the specific initial business of the bank, the two also conceived clear steps:
The bank's core business would be acting as the Crown's financial steward. Their primary task would be to securely manage the massive sums lent to the Crown, establish reliable interest collection processes, and build an image of close cooperation with the Iron Throne. This was the cornerstone of credit.
Next was basic services: providing currency exchange and savings services for nobles across the Seven Kingdoms. Leveraging connections with major houses, they would offer safe, convenient exchange for large cross-regional transactions between nobles, and absorb their idle funds as savings, paying a certain interest to form a capital pool. This would constantly grow the principal.
They could also develop specialized businesses, such as physical collateral and trade financing. Distinguishing themselves from the sometimes overly harsh conditions of the Iron Bank, they could initially accept collateral like grain, wine, furs, or even future mining rights to issue loans, attracting more minor nobles and wealthy merchants.
Finally, they would engage in differentiated competition. Using Euron's fleet and established maritime trade routes, they would gather commercial intelligence from around the world, especially Essos, offering paid information services to clients, or even positioning themselves early in commodities trading.
"We must make everyone see," Euron concluded, his fingertip tapping heavily on the draft paper. "We are not just another lender. We are a financial organ that integrates into their blood, helping them become stronger and wealthier. The Iron Bank uses fear and coercion. We will use profit and mutual growth to bind them firmly to our war chariot."
This bone-deep planning made Tyrion feel as if he could already see the invisible flash of blades on the future financial battlefield—and he was standing at the forefront of the storm.
Euron stared at Tyrion with torch-like eyes. "When our bank takes root on this continent, that high-backed chair of the Governor belongs to no one but you. Only your head is worthy of that seat."
Tyrion let out a signature, raspy chuckle. He shook his large head and poured himself another cup of wine, his tone carrying his usual mix of self-mockery and shrewd teasing. "Governor? Spare me, Euron. That's a job that works you to death, facing endless hypocritical faces and ceaseless haggling." He held the wine up to the light, studying the amber liquid. "Just give me a leisurely position with plenty of oil to scrape. Let me never worry about the finest Kraken wine and the fieriest beauties for the rest of my life, and I'll be content."
His smile faded slightly, and a rare, almost solemn honesty flashed in his mismatched eyes. "However, I must say the ugly part first. We are partners, friends, but the blood in my veins cannot be changed. My name is Lannister." He pointed to his chest. "If... and I say if... one day our interests come into irreconcilable conflict with Casterly Rock, I will prioritize my family. Even though..."
He paused, his voice dropping low, tinged with imperceptible bitterness. "Even though the man I call father may never have truly considered me his son."
This honesty, brutal in its clarity, hung in the swaying light. It was a declaration, but also a test—a test of Euron's capacity, and a test of the resilience of this new alliance.
Hearing this, Euron did not get angry. Instead, he nodded with extreme seriousness and responded frankly. "Of course. If you swore loyalty without hesitation, I would throw you overboard to feed the crabs immediately. It is precisely this unhidden calculation that makes me think I can plot great things with you." His rough fingers tapped the table. "I will always guard against you making that choice, just as you will surely guard against me discarding you as a pawn one day. That is the honesty we should have between us."
This unvarnished response stunned Tyrion for a moment. Then, a sense of relief and pleasure at finding a kindred spirit washed over him. He was no longer just the "Imp" rejected by his family. Here, he had reached a dangerous consensus with an ambitious man who understood the darkness of human nature just as deeply and placed it on the table.
"To our... mutual suspicion?" Tyrion laughed loudly, raising his goblet, his eyes glittering with complex light.
"To this damned, lucid consensus!" Euron raised his own cup and clinked it heavily against Tyrion's.
The crisp sound of impact mixed with their hearty, reckless laughter, echoing within the captain's cabin.
No false vows. Only clear recognition and acceptance of each other's positions and calculations. This alliance, built on profit and vigilance, seemed in this moment far stronger than many bonds of blood.