Daenerys, arms folded, studied the board. "And what of King's Landing? If we take the Rock, but leave the capital intact, we allow Cersei time to rally her defenses."
Tyrion's lips curled into a sharp smirk. "That is where our Westerosi allies come in. We will not take King's Landing by force, but by siege. We cut off the roads. The Reach and Dorne hold the richest farmlands in the Seven Kingdoms. If the Tyrell and Martell forces march on the capital, they choke Cersei's supply lines. We strangle her, slowly."
Missandei stepped forward. "You mean to starve the city?"
Tyrion exhaled. "A city that cannot eat, cannot fight. The people of King's Landing already hate Cersei. Let them suffer under her rule. Let them see what loyalty to the Lannisters truly means."
Daenerys frowned slightly, her fingers tapping against the table. "I do not like the idea of starving people into submission."
Paxter spoke then, voice calm but firm. "A siege is not just about hunger, Your Grace. It is about pressure. We blockade her ports, we deny her grain, and soon the city will turn on her. We will not need to burn it if her own people open the gates for us."
Varys, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his tone measured. "A wise plan. It mirrors the way your ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, took Westeros. The lords bent the knee, not just out of fear, but because resistance became impossible." He met Daenerys' gaze. "You do not need to destroy King's Landing to claim it, Your Grace. You only need to make it realize you have already won."
Daenerys considered their words, her violet eyes scanning the table. "And what of Euron Greyjoy? According to Yara Greyjoy his fleet is still a threat."
Tyrion exhaled. "For now, yes. But Euron's strength lies in chaos. If we deny him a battlefield, he will grow reckless. He wants war, not patience. If we remain disciplined, he will make a mistake."
Paxter nodded. "As for the blockade, my fleet, along with Ironborn and the Dornish ships will ensure that nothing reaches the city. Once Yara Greyjoy returns with the Dornish ships."
Tyrion turned to Daenerys, stepping back slightly. "The choice is yours, Your Grace."
Daenerys was silent for a long moment, staring at the map. Then, she drew a slow breath and lifted her chin. "We will take Westeros as conquerors, but not as tyrants. Tyrion, you will oversee the siege. Grey Worm, take Casterly Rock. Paxter, your fleet will ensure King's Landing is isolated from the sea. We will make Cersei Lannister fight with nothing but her arrogance."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the council.
Daenerys placed both hands on the Painted Table, her voice calm, yet filled with unshakable command.
"Is there anything else."
Varys, calm, measured, stepped forward. "Your Grace, if I may speak plainly."
"You always do, Lord Varys," Daenerys answered.
"Then allow me to offer counsel. Not all who served your enemies are your enemies. Many bent the knee to save their families, their lands, their very lives. Would you punish a man who obeyed out of fear, or reward those who would serve you out of choice?"
Daenerys gazed at Varys sharply. "You suggest I pardon those who bent the knee to my father, then to Robert, then to Joffrey, and now Cersei—how long before they turn against me?"
Varys nodded slightly, acknowledging her point. Clemency Your Grace is not weakness. Your mercy is well known among your followers. I merely counsel you might gain more vassals with forgiveness than with dragon fire.
"And those who would still refuse to bend the knee. What am I to do then?"
"Your father demanded loyalty through fire and blood. His rule ended in whispers of 'Mad King.'"
Daenerys's eyes narrowed. "Are you comparing me to him?"
Varys shook his head, "No, my Queen. I am reminding you that fear lasts only as long as the fire burns. Loyalty—true loyalty—must be cultivated, not forced. Show them you are not the Dragon Queen they feared but the ruler they should follow."
"He's right, Your Grace," Tyrion agreed. "You don't want to be a queen of ashes. You've said it yourself. You want the Seven Kingdoms to rally to you, but Westeros isn't Essos. The people here follow names they trust. Houses they have bled for, warred for, died for. You can take King's Landing in a day if you wish, but unless the lords of Westeros believe in you, you'll never hold it."
Daenerys responded curtly, "They believed in Robert Baratheon, a usurper. They believed in the Lannisters, who rule with greed and cruelty."
"Because they had no other choice. Now, they do. Your allies must be Westerosi, not just Unsullied and Dothraki. Not just dragons. The Ironborn, the Martells, the Redwynes—these are great houses of Westeros. They know the land, they know the people. Let them fight for you, alongside you. Let the people see their banners beside yours."
"You speak of trust, but how many of these houses supported my father?"
"Few, if any. But you are not your father. The realm is tired of war, but if you prove yourself a ruler, not just a conqueror, they will come to you willingly."
"And if they do not?"
"Then, and only then, do we unleash the dragons," Tyrion agreed,
Daenerys stood silently for a long moment then, with a slow inhale, she nodded. "If they swear loyalty to me… I will not punish them for the past."
Varys bowing his head slightly, affirmed, "A wise choice, Your Grace. A Queen who shows mercy when she can, and strength when she must, will not only win a throne—but keep it."
Then Daenerys' gaze flickered toward Paxter. "Lord Redwyne."
Paxter bowed low. "Your Grace."
She studied him for a moment before motioning to the table. "Tomorrow, let us discuss how we shall fund the future of Westeros."
Paxter stepped forward, and bowed, "As Your Graces wishes." His eyes moved over the carved rivers, mountains, and cities, his mind already calculating the cost of war.
He was no warrior. He was not a knight, nor a swordsman, nor a kingmaker.
He was a merchant, and in this game, gold was as sharp as any blade.
And Paxter Redwyne would ensure that the Queen's war chest never ran empty.
As the meeting adjourned, Paxter remained behind, rolling the weight of his new responsibilities in his mind. Warden of the South. Master of Coin.
He had sworn himself to Daenerys Targaryen, but he had spent his entire life calculating risks. This was the largest gamble he had ever taken.
A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Lord Redwyne." The Spider's voice was a whisper, silk against stone.
He turned to see Varys, standing near the edge of the chamber, his robes flowing like a shadow.
Paxter narrowed his eyes. "Lord Varys."
Varys approached with slow, measured steps. "I have served many rulers. Some wise, some foolish, some... terrifying. I have found that the difference between a great ruler and a doomed one is the people they choose to stand beside them."
Paxter tilted his head. "And what do you see in Daenerys?"
Varys smiled faintly. "A dragon on the verge of flight. Whether she soars or burns the world remains to be seen."
Paxter's fingers traced the edge of the table. "And me?"
Varys' smile did not waver. "I see a man who has survived by always choosing the winning side." He stepped closer. "I do hope, for your sake, you've chosen correctly."
Paxter held his gaze. "I intend to."
Varys nodded, then turned to leave.
As Paxter watched him go, he realized something unsettling.