Otto Hightower felt the satisfying click of a key turning in a lock. He stood in his solar, the comforting weight of his Hand's pin on his chest, and explained the simple, elegant beauty of his plan to his daughter.
"We offer him a cup of friendship, Alicent," he said, his voice a low, confident hum. "We propose a partnership, an alliance sealed with trade in Oldtown. A generous offer, on its face." He allowed himself a thin smile. "If he accepts, his mysterious guild is leashed to us. His operations are no longer a secret. We gain a foothold. If he refuses, he reveals his hand. He proves himself to be an isolationist, a man unwilling to work with the Crown, and the King's favor will begin to curdle. He cannot win."
Alicent, still haunted by the changes in her son, looked unconvinced. "He is… subtle, father."
"He is a northern upstart with a deep purse," Otto corrected gently. "He is not a player in the great game. Not yet. He will walk into this trap because he will not even see the bars."
The meeting took place in Otto's own chambers, a home ground advantage he intended to press. He was the very picture of reconciliation, his words smooth as oiled silk. He lauded Lord Potter's generosity to the city, his efficiency, his vision. Then, he laid the bait.
"To that end," Otto said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "I am prepared to offer your Guild exclusive trading rights in Oldtown. A gesture of immense goodwill. In exchange, to formalize our bond, I would ask only for a non-voting seat on your governing board for a representative of my house. A symbol of our shared purpose."
He watched Harry's face, searching for the flicker of greed, the moment of calculation. He saw nothing but a disconcerting, knowing calm. Harry smiled, a slow, easy expression that sent a prickle of unease up Otto's spine.
"A most generous offer, Lord Hand," Harry said, his voice even. "However, the charter of the Obsidian Hand, the very secret to our efficiency, forbids any outside influence on our board." He leaned forward, mirroring Otto's posture, and the dynamic of the room subtly shifted. "But your talk of partnership has inspired me. The Hand of the King serves the good of the realm. As, I hope, does my house."
Otto left the meeting with a feeling of deep unease. The mouse had not taken the cheese. But more than that, he had spoken of a different kind of game entirely.
The trap was sprung the next day, in the full light of the throne room. Otto stood in his customary place, watching as Lord Potter was announced. He felt a grim certainty that the man was about to make a foolish, public refusal of his generous offer.
Instead, Harry Potter bowed to the King and made an announcement that struck the court like a thunderclap. The Obsidian Hand, as a gift to the Crown and the people of Westeros, would fund, supply, and oversee the complete rebuilding of the Kingsroad, from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. A project of staggering expense and scope, a work to rival the legacy of the Old King himself.
Otto felt the political ground dissolve beneath his feet. He saw the rapturous, almost childish delight on Viserys's face. He heard the gasps of awe from the lesser lords. This was not the move of an upstart. This was the move of an emperor.
And then came the killing blow.
"Such a grand project, for the good of the entire realm," Harry announced, his voice ringing with a magnanimity that was almost holy, "must be overseen by a man of unparalleled experience in command. A man whose vision for the prosperity of this kingdom is matched only by his loyalty to the Crown." He turned his gaze, as did the entire court, toward the Master of Ships. "I can think of no one better suited to the task than Lord Corlys Velaryon."
In that instant, Otto saw it all. The shape of the trap, in all its horrifying, brilliant perfection. He had offered a cup with a fangless snake, and his opponent had refused it, only to offer the entire court a feast, with Otto's greatest rival as the guest of honor.
Rhaenyra's voice was the first to cut through the stunned silence. "A brilliant and selfless proposal, Father! Lord Potter and Lord Corlys, working as one for the good of the kingdom! It is the dawn of a new golden age!"
The court erupted in enthusiastic agreement. Viserys, utterly captivated by a vision of his name being sung by generations to come, was already nodding his assent.
Otto was trapped. To oppose this project now would be to oppose the prosperity of the realm, to appear petty and jealous in the face of such stunning generosity. He was forced to stand there, his face a granite mask of controlled fury, and watch as his two most powerful rivals—the unknowable Lord Potter and the ambitious Sea Snake—forged a world-shaping alliance on the foundation of his own failed scheme.
In the Small Council meeting that followed, he heard himself agreeing, his voice a stranger's in his own ears. He watched Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, look at Harry Potter not as a rival, but as the most brilliant and powerful ally he had ever found.
He had set a simple snare for a wolf, only to discover he was hunting a dragon, and he had been devoured whole.