As Paxter watched Varys disappear into the shadows, a discomfort settled deep in his chest. It was not the Spider's cryptic warnings that left him uneasy—it was something far worse.
Paxter Redwyne was used to numbers, not bloodshed. He had been raised to understand trade, the movement of wealth, and the power of coins. Gold had built dynasties and crushed them. Armies fought with steel, but they marched on coins.
But for the first time in his life, Paxter Redwyne did not know the numbers.
There were no past tax records to examine, no ledgers detailing previous royal expenditures. No account of how much it cost to feed an army of Dothraki screamers, nor how many barrels of meat and fish were needed to sustain three full-grown dragons. He did not even know the exact sum Daenerys had left in her war chest.
The uncertainty was suffocating.
A kingdom could not function without its accounts balanced. A war could not be waged without knowing what resources were available. And yet, here he was—Master of Coin to a queen who commanded armies from across the world but had no treasury to speak of.
He needed to fix this.
The next morning, the council gathered once more in the war room, the Painted Table stretching before them like a battlefield. Daenerys sat at its head, her expression unreadable as she traced her fingers over the carved ridges of Westeros. Tyrion and Varys stood beside her, wine in hand, while Grey Worm, Missandei, and Paxter stood opposite them.
"We need to discuss the war chest," Paxter began, his voice steady. "Your Grace, if we are to sustain this campaign, we must have a clear account of our finances."
Daenerys looked up. "And do we?"
Paxter exhaled. "No."
A silence settled over the table.
Tyrion sighed, rubbing his temples. "What do you mean, no?"
Paxter leaned forward, resting his hands against the table. "I mean, there are no records. No ledgers, no prior tax rolls. I do not know how much coin your forces require to function, nor how much we currently possess." He glanced at Daenerys. "Your Grace, how much gold was taken from Meereen before we left?"
Daenerys frowned slightly. "Enough."
Paxter inhaled slowly. "Enough is not a number."
Tyrion chuckled despite himself. "You see, Your Grace, I told you he'd make a fine Master of Coin."
Daenerys studied Paxter for a long moment. "Then what do you suggest?"
Paxter straightened. "Until I know what we are spending, I cannot accurately determine what we need. But I do know one thing—we do not have enough to sustain this war." His finger traced across the Gold Road, where Highgarden once stood. "However, we can change that."
Daenerys followed his gaze. "Explain."
Paxter looked up at her. "Highgarden has fallen, but its gold is still in play. Jaime Lannister is moving the Tyrell fortune back to King's Landing as we speak. That gold is meant for the Iron Bank—to repay Cersei's debts." He let the weight of his words settle. "If we intercept that shipment, we not only cut off Cersei's financial lifeline but also secure the funds necessary to feed and supply this war effort."
Tyrion's expression darkened. "That… is a very Lannister thing to do."
Varys gave a small nod. "And yet, a necessary one. Without that gold, the Lannisters are finished."
Daenerys leaned forward, her violet eyes sharp. "How do you suggest we take it?"
Tyrion turned to Daenerys, "Your Grace has dragons. The Dothraki are unmatched in open battle, and Jaime is marching through the heart of the Reach. If we strike hard and fast, we can wipe out the caravan before they ever see it coming."
Paxter's eyes brightened. "Your Grace, if we take that gold, the Iron Bank will turn against Cersei. Then they may consider other investments… perhaps even us."
Silence followed.
Daenerys considered the idea for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Jaime Lannister leads that caravan himself?"
Varys nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. My spies tell me his forces are moving slowly due to the amount of gold and grain they sacked."
Daenerys rose slowly from her seat, looking down at the map. "We will take the gold. After we have seized Casterly Rock."
She looked toward Tyrion.
Tyrion met her gaze evenly.
Paxter exhaled. The plan was set.
As the council adjourned, Paxter lingered behind at the Painted Table, running his fingers over the Reach. Soon, the gold from Casterly Rock and Highgarden would be under control, and the Tarlys imprisoned with Jaime Lannister.
For the first time since arriving in Dragonstone, Paxter felt like he was on firm footing.
From inside the chamber, Paxter saw Grey Worm approaching with a woman dressed in red.
At the entrance stood a woman in deep red, her auburn hair gleaming in the torchlight. There was something eerie about her stillness, something ancient in her dark, knowing gaze.
From where he stood, Paxter could not make out the words, but he saw Daenerys' expression grow solemn.
He caught only a name: Melisandre of Asshai.
'Stanis Baratheon' The Red Priestess,' Paxter wondered if this was the same woman who once served Stannis.
Yet, he knew this was not a discussion for his ears. But before he left, he heard another name, Jon Snow.
'Ned Stark's bastard?' Paxter wondered if he heard that correctly, but felt it best he took his leave before he overhear more.
Back in his chambers, Paxter poured over the rough financial estimates he had hastily begun drafting. The battle ahead would cost them more than men—it would cost gold, grain, and supplies they did not yet have.
He could not fight wars. He could not raise swords.
But he could ensure that the Queen's army never ran dry.
A knock at the door made him look up.
Ser Martyn stepped inside, arms crossed. "The Unsullied and the Dothraki leave at first light. Will you be sailing with them?"
Paxter leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "No. I stay here."
Martyn raised a brow. "Not like you to sit out a battle."
Paxter smirked. "I'm not sitting out. I have a different battle to fight." He gestured to his desk, where a map of the Reach was laid out, covered in figures and projections. "War is won with swords, yes. But it's maintained with coin."
Martyn exhaled, stepping closer. "And what do you expect to do while they're out fighting?"
Paxter smiled wryly. "Secure my new fiefdom." Then, turning to Ser. Martin, he handed a stack of letters. "See these letters are sent. I've written letters to the lords in the Reach, telling them they must choose between me or the Tarlys. Mina should be preparing gifts for our allies. See these letters delivered."
Martyn chuckled. "You've always been clever. But what of the lords that refuse?"
"That's up to the Dragon Queen. Once their house is vacant, I'll ask the Queen permission to appoint new lords, and solidify my authority."