Days later, sat in his Paxter's office in Dragonstone. The early morning rays slowly illuminated the chamber. His office, though spacious, was cold and sparsely furnished. The most prominent feature was a large leather-bound ledger that lay open on his desk, filled with rows of carefully calculated figures. The short candles, deformed by wax, were proof of Paxter working long into the night.
His jaw tightened as he ran a finger down the most concerning column.
Provisions were dwindling faster than expected.
The grain stores brought from Meereen had nearly halved. The wine reserves, including the crates of Arbor Red he gifted, were being drained at an alarming rate—not just by Tyrion, but by the entire host of Westerosi lords, Unsullied officers, and Ironborn captains who drank like they feared the morrow.
And thank the Seven the Unsullied and the Dothraki didn't ask for salaries, or the war chest would already be empty. Without taxes, or a loan, Deanery's would soon be bankrupt.
With a heavy sigh, Paxter set the quill aside and leaned back in his chair. Numbers didn't lie. War was not just fought on battlefields—it was fought in ledgers, in debts, in carefully measured stores.
He pushed the ledger away and reached for the letter he received late last night.
He broke the seal, unfolding the parchment:
My love,
The Arbor recovers, but not as swiftly as I would like. The damage to the eastern docks was extensive, but the shipwrights are making good progress. The vineyards remain untouched, and the first barrels of this season's wine are already aging in the cellars. We will be at full trading capacity within a few months.
As for the Reach, the lords are… divided.
House Hightower remains neutral, though I suspect they wait to see which side will win before they declare allegiance.
As expected, the Tarlys remain openly hostile. They still hold Horn Hill and the Mander valley, cutting a wedge between our strongest allies. New has spread, the war will resume once they returned from Kings Landing.
However, House Merryweather, House Rowan, and House Oakheart have declared for us. They pledge men, supplies, and gold, though they, too, are wary. I will continue to increase bribes where necessary.
House Florent has allied with the Tarlys. That will be their downfall.
My love, our spies tell me Lannister's took the Highgarden gold to Casterly Rock. Now they march with supplies on the Gold Road to King's Landing."
I miss your warmth,
Mina.
Paxter folded the letter carefully and lifted it to his nose. Mina's perfume still lingered on the parchment. He missed her.
But he could not return yet. Not until the war was won.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Enter."
The door swung open, and Missandei of Naath stepped inside, her serene expression unshaken despite the tension that always seemed to linger in Dragonstone's halls.
"Lord Redwyne," she said in her gentle yet unwavering voice. "Her Grace requests your presence in the throne room. Now, I must leave to welcome our guests?"
Paxter exhaled slowly, pushing back from the desk. He wondered if Yara Greyjoy had already returned from Dorne with more ships. Or if the Unsullied had seized Casterly Rock.
Soon this war would be over, and he'd look forward to the day Deanery's sat on the Iron Throne.
The throne room of Dragonstone was eerily quiet, save for the distant crash of waves against the black cliffs. Torches flickered along the carved walls, their light dancing over the twisted stone dragons that coiled around the pillars. The air was thick with the scent of salt and smoke, but it was the tension in the chamber that truly weighed on those within.
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen sat on her throne, her violet eyes fixed on the great doors before her, waiting.
Two Dothraki flanked her throne.
When Paxter entered, he noticed Tyrion's suspicious absence and Varys hands clasped before him, his expression a careful mask.
Paxter knelt, greeting his queen before stepping to Varys' side, wondering why he was summoned.
Varys leaned over and whispered, "Missandei and Tyrion have left to welcome Jon Snow, King in the north."
Paxter froze in confusion. When had Deanery's invited Jon Snow to Dragonstone? He remembered the Red Priestess mentioning his name. Did Daenerys invite him to Dragonstone, or had he come on his own? And when did that bastard become King? He thought the north was still in disarray like the Reach.
Yet, before he could wrap his mind around what was happening, the doors pushed open.
Missandei and Tyrion led Jon Snow and his servant into the throne room. Paxter watched as they moved to take their place beside the queen.
With a nod from Deanery's Missnadei proclaimed, "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains," Missandei proclaimed.
Paxter studied Ned Stark's son. He and Ned Stark were once good acquaintances before his execution.
Jon Snow, clad in black and wolf fur, did not bow. His face remained calm but cautious.
His companion stepped forward after an awkward pause, cleared his throat and announced, "This is Jon Snow," he said simply. "King in the North."
A tense silence followed.
Daenerys tilted her head slightly. "I trust you received my letter well. Thank you for travelling south my lord," she said, her voice carrying a regal certainty. "Once House Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen, kneel, and I'll appoint you Warden of the North."
She let the words hang in the air.
"Apologies, Your Grace, but Jon Snow is King in the North; he is not a lord," the servant interrupted.
"And you are?" Deanery's asked curiously.
"Ser. Davos Seaworth, Your Grace," Tyrion answered. "The Onion Knight."
"Forgive me, your lord, but I once read that your ancestor pledged perpetual fealty to House Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the Northmen. And yet, here you are," she continued, "declaring yourself King in the North… in open rebellion."
Jon's expression did not change. "I am not here to challenge you, Your Grace," he said evenly. "And I am not beholden to my ancestors' oaths any more than you are to your father's crimes."
Tyrion exhaled slowly, exchanging a quick glance with Daenerys.
Daenerys leaned forward slightly. "So you will not bend the knee?"
"No," Jon said firmly.
Daenerys's eyes darkened. Paxter saw a flicker of frustration pass over her face, but she masked it well.
"Well, that is unfortunate. Tell me, then, why did you come to Dragonstone so break faith with House Targaryen?" she asked, her voice sharpening.
"Break faith? Your ancestors burned my ancestors alive? Jon chuckled. "I am here because of the threat in the north."
"As far as I'm concerned, you are the threat in the north?" Deanery quipped.
"I am not your enemy. The undead are your enemy," he pleaded.
Deanery's turned sharply to look at her advisers. Paxter felt the hair on his arms raised. Her eyes narrowed on Tyrion. "You told me you like him. But since our meeting, he's refused to bow, refused to call me queen, and now he's making up fairy tales."
"I do like him," Tyrion replied.
"An army of the undead is coming." Jon countered. "It is for survival. If we do not unite, it will not matter who sits on the Iron Throne. The dead are coming."
"An army of undead?" Tyrion asked interestingly.
"Lord Tyrion, you do not know me well. But you consider me a liar?"
"No, not especially?" Tyrion responded. "But war against Cersi has already started."
"The army of undead is real, the wights are real, the Night King is real. I've seen them." John replied, his voice filled with worry and anger.
"You sailed to Dragonstone to ask me to fight a war with you. Against an enemy I have never seen. And yet, you refuse to give me what I am owed?"
Daenerys's jaw tightened.
"You expect me to abandon the fight for my birthright—for my family's throne—because of a threat I have never seen?"
Jon's voice remained steady. "Because if we don't unite, we'll all die."
"If you want to unite, then kneel; it won't take more than a moment," Tyrion argued diplomatically.
"No," Jon Snow replied forcefully. "The lords in the north put their trust in me. I will not squander that lightly."
A charged silence filled the room.
Ser. Davos cleared his throat. "Jon Snow is not a liar," he said, stepping forward slightly. "He has risked his life for his people. He's the first to unite the northmen and the wildlings beyond the wall. He took a knife in the—"
Daenerys lifted a hand, silencing him. She exhaled sharply and turned back to Jon.
"You speak of the dead marching south," she said. "And yet, you have come to me. Why?"
Jon hesitated only briefly, "Because of the dragon glass."
Paxter's eyes lit with interest.
A flicker of surprise crossed Daenerys's face.
"There is a mountain of it beneath Dragonstone," Jon continued. "Your Grace, I ask for your permission to mine it, to forge weapons from it. It is the only thing that can kill the White Walkers."
Paxter speaking up for the first time, said, "Your Grace, he speaks the truth. We should allow them to mine it…for a fee?"
Daenerys's lips pressed together as she considered his words.
"You wish for me to grant you access to my island's resources," she said carefully. "You wish to mine my land. And in return?"
Jon held her gaze. "If you help defend the north from the undead, I'll bend the knee."
A long moment passed before she finally spoke.
After a long pause, she turned back to Jon. "Then mine it," she said at last. "But Lord Paxter will keep account of every ounce mined."
"Yes, Your Grace," Paxter smiled.
"You have what you came for," Daenerys said with contempt, "You are free to explore the mines below."
Jon gave a curt nod. Not a bow. Not submission. But acknowledgment, before turning and leaving with Ser. Seaworth.