Chapter 75: A Prayer of Commendation

The days after Randyll Tarly's declaration for the Lannisters passed in a blur of preparations and whispered rumors. Bitterbridge had been secured for now, but with Tarly's defection, the threat loomed larger than ever. Paxter Redwyne moved quickly, sending messages to every corner of the Arbor, Highgarden, and beyond, preparing his fleet and bolstering his defenses. If the war came to his doorstep, he would not be caught off guard.

In the council chambers of the Arbor, Paxter stood over a large map of the Reach, his hands tracing the lines of trade routes and military positions. Mina, Ser Martyn, and Alistair stood around the table, the atmosphere thick with tension.

"The situation is escalating," Mina said, her voice as steady as ever. "With Tarly openly siding with the Lannisters, we must assume the worst. His forces are strong, and combined with the Lannister gold and troops, they pose a real threat to Highgarden."

Paxter nodded, his eyes fixed on the map. "If Tarly moves on Highgarden, we'll be dragged into a full-scale conflict. Olenna will demand our ships and our gold. And if we refuse, we risk losing her favor. But if we commit too much to her cause, we could find ourselves stretched too thin."

Ser Martyn crossed his arms, his expression grim. "We should prepare for a siege, my lord. If Tarly or the Lannisters think they can cut us off from the mainland, they'll come for the Arbor. It's one of the most valuable prizes in the Reach."

"We're already reinforcing the defenses," Paxter said. "But we need to do more than just defend. We need to ensure that our supply lines remain open. The fleet will patrol the waters around the Arbor, and I want our best ships ready to escort any trade vessels."

Alistair, who had been silently listening, spoke up. "Our finances are holding, but we can't afford to engage in a prolonged conflict without securing new income streams. The Volantene deal is helping, but it won't be enough if this war drags on. We need to finalize our negotiations with Braavos and the North."

Mina tapped a finger on the map. "The emissaries are making progress in Winterfell, but we haven't secured a formal agreement yet. As for Braavos, they're cautious. They're waiting to see how the war plays out before committing to anything."

Paxter leaned back, frustration tugging at him. The Reach was a battlefield now, both literally and politically, and every move had to be calculated with precision. The Lannisters were encroaching, and Olenna's grip on the region was weakening. House Redwyne had always thrived by playing both sides, but now they were being forced into a more active role.

"Braavos will come around once they see the benefits of trade with the Arbor," Paxter said. "They're not interested in the war—they're interested in profit. And we can offer them that. Make sure our emissaries push the exclusivity of Arbor Reserve. If they think they're getting something no one else can, they'll commit."

Mina nodded. "I'll see to it."

Ser Martyn's brow furrowed. "But what about Olenna? If Tarly moves on Highgarden, she'll expect us to send the fleet to her aid. Are we prepared to fight alongside the Tyrells?"

Paxter's gaze hardened. "We'll support Olenna as long as it benefits us. But we won't throw everything we have into her fight. The Lannisters are a dangerous enemy, and I won't risk House Redwyne's future on a battle that isn't ours to win."

Mina glanced at Paxter, her eyes sharp. "You're thinking beyond this war."

"I am," Paxter admitted. "Olenna is focused on preserving the Tyrells' power, but I'm focused on ensuring House Redwyne's survival. The war will end eventually, but the alliances we build now—Braavos, Volantis, the North—those will last. And when the dust settles, we'll be in a position to dictate terms."

The room fell silent as Paxter's words sank in. He wasn't just thinking about the immediate threats; he was planning for the long game, as always. House Redwyne had never been content to simply follow. Paxter's goal was to ensure that, no matter who won the war, the Arbor would remain strong, wealthy, and independent.

That afternoon, a messenger arrived from Highgarden. The young man, breathless and covered in dust from the road, was led to Paxter's study. He bowed low before handing over a sealed letter bearing the sigil of House Tyrell.

Paxter broke the seal and read the contents quickly, his expression unreadable.

"It's from Olenna," Paxter said, glancing at Mina and Ser Martyn, who had joined him. "She's calling for all her bannermen to rally at Highgarden. Tarly's forces have been spotted moving south, and she expects an attack within the week."

Mina's eyes darkened. "She's demanding our full support, isn't she?"

Paxter nodded. "Yes. She wants ships, men, and supplies. She's preparing for a siege."

Ser Martyn stepped forward, his voice laced with concern. "And what will you do, my lord? If we send the fleet to Highgarden, we'll leave the Arbor vulnerable."

Paxter folded the letter and placed it on the desk. "We'll send a portion of the fleet—enough to fulfill our obligations to Olenna, but not enough to cripple us. We can't afford to leave ourselves defenseless."

Mina's voice was cautious. "Olenna won't be pleased with a half-measure."

"Olenna will have to live with it," Paxter replied firmly. "She's asking too much, and I won't sacrifice the Arbor for her ambitions. We'll support her, but on our terms."

Ser Martyn nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "I'll prepare the men and the ships. We'll send the best of what we can spare."

As Ser Martyn left the room, Mina lingered, her eyes following Paxter as he paced the study.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Paxter," she said quietly. "If Olenna feels we're not fully committed, she could turn on us."

Paxter stopped pacing and met her gaze. "I know. But if I give Olenna everything she asks for, we'll be left with nothing. House Redwyne's strength lies in its independence. I won't let Olenna, or the Lannisters for that matter, dictate our future."

Mina sighed softly, though she nodded in agreement. "I trust your judgment, as always. But we need to be careful. The Reach is more divided now than ever, and we're caught in the middle of it."

Paxter's lips curled into a faint smile. "We've always been caught in the middle, Mina. The difference now is that we're not just trying to survive—we're positioning ourselves to thrive."

Mina studied him for a moment longer before offering a small smile of her own. "Then we'd better make sure the moves we make now are the right ones."

As evening fell, Paxter returned to his balcony, where he often sought solace amidst the chaos of the war. The stars were beginning to appear, and the familiar sound of the waves crashing against the Arbor's shores filled the night air.

He thought of Olenna, her sharp mind and even sharper tongue, calling her banners to Highgarden. She was fighting for her family, for her house, and she would do whatever it took to preserve Tyrell power. But Paxter was fighting for more than just survival. He was fighting for a future where House Redwyne stood as a power in its own right—independent, wealthy, and untouchable.

He would send Olenna the ships she demanded, and he would make sure the Arbor remained secure. But he would not be pulled into a war that threatened to consume everything he had worked for. Paxter Redwyne had always been a man of trade and strategy, and he knew that the real battle wasn't fought on the battlefield—it was fought in the halls of power, in the negotiations and alliances that would shape the future of Westeros.

As the night deepened, Paxter felt the weight of the coming conflict settle over him. 

His aunt, Olena, would be sieged soon by an overwhelming force led by Randyll Tarly and his newfound Lannister allies. 

He knew what that meant. 

She would die. She was family and greatest ally. Losing her would be a significant blow. 

Mina came and wrapped a warm blanket around him. She knew this was not just another strategic calculation for Paxter—this was family.

"She's running out of time," Mina said quietly.

Paxter inhaled deeply, his fingers tightening into a fist before relaxing. "I know."

For the first time in his life, he felt powerless. He could command the might of the Arbor's fleet, he could dictate the price of wine from the Free Cities to the North, and he could outmaneuver the most cunning merchants in Braavos. But this… this was different.

Paxter turned his gaze toward the horizon. His face was unreadable, his expression a careful mask of control, but inside, his heart clenched.

"She already knows...," he murmured.

Mina exhaled softly, nodding. Silently, she prayed farewell. 

What he felt at this moment was not strength but pain, raw and unrelenting, buried beneath the heavy weight of duty. He could send every ship in his fleet to Highgarden and pour all of House Redwyne's resources into the fight, but it would not matter. The Tyrells had lost. The Reach would be conquered. Regardless, he would fulfill his oath. His honor demanded…to the very end.