A week later, Paxter arrived at King's Landing. Unlike his previous clandestine visit, this time he was diplomatically greeted by Varys and Tyrion, escorted by a troop of Kingsguard. Paxter eyed them warily as he stepped onto the dock.
Noticing Paxter's concern, Varys explained softly, "Cersei has agreed to meet. However, after your son's mysterious disappearance from her prison, she insisted the Kingsguard escort you during your stay."
"Yes, let's hurry," Tyrion urged, glancing nervously at the sun. "Cersei has a keen dislike for waiting, and I'd rather avoid her wrath—at least for now."
As they passed through the streets, townspeople watched curiously, whispering behind their hands. Eyes widened, and heads turned to follow the strange sight of Tyrion, Varys, and Paxter encircled by royal guards. A hushed tension filled the air, as if the city itself sensed the gravity of their visit.
The afternoon sun cast a golden haze over the ruined Dragonpit. Crumbling walls, shattered archways, and scorched stones stood as silent witnesses to past glory and tragedy. Weeds burst defiantly through the rubble, reclaiming what had once belonged to dragons.
Inside the ruins stood three large tents, each housing two rows of chairs beneath gently waving tapestries. In the second row sat Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, a stoic Dothraki warlord, and Missandei, guarded closely by six vigilant Dothraki warriors.
"Anyone else want some wine?" Tyrion asked dryly, pouring himself a generous cup.
"I do," said Varys quietly.
"Same," Paxter added, easing into his seat.
Paxter noticed Jon Snow entering, face impassive. Behind him came his sisters, Sansa and Arya, brother Bran, Ser Davos, the Hound, a tall female knight Paxter did not recognize, and a young squire.
Observing Paxter's confusion, Varys whispered, "That's Ser Brienne of Tarth, knighted by Jaime Lannister himself. Quite skilled with a sword, and sworn protector of Lady Stark."
"And the squire?" Paxter inquired softly.
"Podrick Payne, formerly Tyrion's attendant, now serving Ser Brienne," Varys clarified.
Paxter watched warily as the Hound carried a chained crate down into the holding cells beneath the pit.
"Is… that thing in there?" Paxter's voice caught.
Tyrion grimly nodded, downing his wine.
Soon after, trumpets announced Cersei's arrival. She strode in regally with Qyburn, Jaime, Euron Greyjoy, and a squad of Kingsguard led by the Mountain. Her chair was ornate, taller and more lavish than the simple wooden chairs provided for others, making her superiority unmistakably clear.
When Cersei locked eyes with Paxter, murderous fury flashed across her face. Paxter returned her glare with cool indifference, aware that his son's escape had deeply wounded her pride.
Annoyed, Cersei shifted her gaze sharply to Tyrion. "Where is she?" she snapped. "Or is the foreign pretender incapable of punctuality?"
"She'll be here soon enough," Tyrion replied calmly.
Cersei stood abruptly. "If she's too busy playing queen, perhaps we're wasting our time."
As if on cue, the wind stirred violently, tapestries fluttering wildly. Dust swirled as the distant roar of dragons echoed.
Two immense dragons soared overhead, their shadows casting dread and awe alike. Drogon descended majestically, his landing shaking the earth beneath them. Daenerys dismounted gracefully, her silver hair flowing, eyes blazing with quiet determination.
Silence gripped the assembly as Daenerys approached and seated herself beside Tyrion. Paxter and the others rose respectfully. Missandei took her place dutifully behind her queen.
"How gracious of you to join us," Cersei sneered. "Shall we skip the pleasantries? Why exactly are we here?"
"To negotiate a truce," Tyrion answered firmly. "We face a threat greater than any war among ourselves."
Jon Snow stepped forward. "The Night King has broken through Eastwatch. He brings an army of the dead."
Cersei scoffed incredulously. "Fairytales now, Jon Snow?"
"We have proof," Ser Davos interjected.
At Jon's signal, the Hound returned, setting the chained crate down roughly. With a swift kick, it burst open, unleashing a snarling wight restrained by iron chains. Cersei recoiled, Jaime paled, and even Euron flinched.
"Thousands of these are coming," Jon declared solemnly, demonstrating the creature's vulnerability to fire and dragonglass.
"What exactly do you propose?" Cersei asked reluctantly.
"A truce," Daenerys stated. "We cease hostilities to confront the dead."
"And afterward?"
"We resume our claims," Daenerys said firmly.
Cersei paused thoughtfully. "Very well—but only if the King in the North remains neutral afterward."
Jon stepped forward resolutely. "I've already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys. I cannot break my oath."
Cersei's eyes hardened. "Then we have nothing further to discuss." She stormed out, followed by Jaime and Euron.
Tyrion exhaled heavily, turning to Daenerys. "Let me speak to her."
Varys grasped Tyrion's arm gently. "Is that wise?"
"Necessary," Tyrion answered solemnly before following after Cersei.
Paxter, unsettled, leaned toward Varys. "Why only two dragons?"
Varys, visibly shaken for once, whispered, "The Night King… killed one."
As the tension lingered, Paxter rose and moved toward Jon Snow and his family, offering a respectful nod. "Lady Stark, it's an honor to meet you again, and congratulations on reclaiming Winterfell."
"Lord Redwyne," Sansa greeted cautiously. "I've heard about your sons. Are they safe? Congratulations on your new titles—Warden of the South, Master of Coin, and lord of Highgarden."
"They are safe, my lady, thank you," Paxter replied, noting her reserved gaze lingering toward Jon.
"Lady Arya," Paxter nodded politely. She returned the gesture with a curt, assessing glance.
Bran Stark's pale, distant eyes met his briefly, and Paxter suppressed a shiver. "My Lord Bran," Paxter acknowledged carefully.
Ser Davos stepped forward, offering his hand. "A pleasure to see you again, Lord Paxter."
Ser Brienne nodded firmly as Paxter inclined his head. "Ser Brienne. I've heard much of your valor."
"My thanks, Lord Paxter," she replied simply.
Paxter noticed the subtle exchange of glances between Jon and Sansa and privately noted the quiet tension—it seemed the North had its own complications.
Moments later, Tyrion returned, face unreadable. Behind him came Cersei, Jaime, and the Kingsguard.
"I'll agree to your truce," Cersei announced, feigning generosity. "And I'll send my forces north."
Jon visibly relaxed. Daenerys gave a curt nod.
"Then let us prepare. Winter is here," Daenerys affirmed.
Paxter exhaled slowly. Yet he saw something troubling in Tyrion's expression—a deep unease that had not been there before. Paxter kept silent—for now.