Chapter 77: Bend the Knee or Die

The days following the fall of Highgarden were heavy with tension, thick as the summer heat that clung to the Arbor's vineyards. The castle's halls, once filled with the chatter of courtiers and the hum of trade discussions, had turned eerily quiet. The war had not yet reached the shores of the Arbor, but Paxter Redwyne knew it was only a matter of time.

In his study, surrounded by maps, scrolls, and half-written correspondences, he sat staring at the message that had arrived from King's Landing that morning. The wax seal of House Lannister had been broken, the contents simple but weighty:

House Redwyne is called upon to swear fealty to the new rulers of the Reach. The Lannisters expect loyalty, as was once given to House Tyrell.

Paxter clenched his jaw as he read it again. The wording was careful. There was no direct threat, but the meaning was clear. They expected him to bow, as the rest of the Reach now did.

Mina stood beside him, her expression unreadable. "They're moving quickly," she said. "They know they can't rule the Reach without the Arbor's wealth."

Paxter tossed the letter onto the table, his frustration barely contained. "They want to make an example of us. If we bend the knee, the rest of the Reach will follow."

Ser Martyn, who had been leaning against the stone wall, pushed himself upright. "And if we refuse?"

Paxter exhaled slowly. "They will come for us."

A silence stretched between them, heavy and full of unspoken consequences.

Mina spoke first. "Then we need to decide—will we stand alone, or will we build something stronger before they arrive?"

Paxter met her gaze. He had always known this moment would come. He had spent his life balancing allegiances, ensuring House Redwyne remained indispensable to the ruling powers of Westeros. But now, for the first time, he was at a crossroads where diplomacy alone would not save them.

"They will expect us to hesitate," Paxter said, thinking aloud. "They will expect us to weigh our options and come to them begging for favor. That is how they operate—with gold, with power, with the illusion of choice."

Mina tilted her head. "Then we must do what they do not expect."

Ser Martyn scoffed. "What are you suggesting? That we declare war?"

"No," Paxter said firmly. "Not yet. But we must begin preparing for it."

He turned to the map stretched across the table, tracing the lines of the Reach with his fingers. "Tarly will move quickly to consolidate power. He's ruthless, but he is not foolish. He will secure the grain stores and garrisons, and when his position is strong, he will turn to us."

Mina folded her arms. "Then we secure our own position first. We tighten our alliances, increase our patrols, and most importantly, we control the flow of trade."

Paxter nodded. "If we control the ports, we control the war. The Lannisters may hold Highgarden, but they do not produce the goods that sustain Westeros. That power still belongs to us."

Ser Martyn frowned. "You think you can starve them out?"

Paxter shook his head. "Not entirely. But we can make their rule costly. We raise the prices of our shipments to the Crownlands. We redirect our most valuable trade to the Free Cities. If the Lannisters want our goods, they will have to pay—dearly."

Mina's expression sharpened. "And if they try to take it by force?"

Paxter's voice was steel. "Then they will learn that House Redwyne is not just a house of merchants. We are a house of ships, of sailors, of warriors. We will not make it easy for them."

A long silence stretched between them, the weight of the decision settling over the room like a storm cloud.

Finally, Ser Martyn nodded. "I will ready the fleet. If they come, we will be prepared."

Mina stepped forward. "And I will begin the negotiations. Braavos, Volantis, the North—they must know that House Redwyne does not kneel."

Paxter let out a slow breath. "Send a raven to Lord Manderly in White Harbor. Remind him that the Arbor has always been a friend to the North. If Winterfell does not want the Lannisters controlling the Reach, now is the time to act."

Mina inclined her head. "And the Iron Bank?"

Paxter smirked. "They care only for gold. Remind them that House Redwyne has always been a stable investment, but if the Lannisters try to take the Arbor by force, trade will be disrupted. They will listen."

Ser Martyn let out a low chuckle. "You mean to make the Lannisters pay for their own conquest."

Paxter's smile was cold. "That is the only way to win against them."

The next day, ravens were sent across Westeros and beyond. Messages to Braavos, to the North, to the Free Cities. Paxter's words were carefully chosen, diplomatic but firm—House Redwyne was not at war, but it would not be a pawn in the Lannisters' game.

By midday, the fleet had begun its preparations. Warships patrolled the Arbor's waters, their banners flying high, a silent declaration that the island would not be taken easily.

In the council chamber, Paxter sat once more at the head of the table, listening as reports trickled in from their informants in the Reach.

"Tarly has begun marching south," Alistair reported. "His forces have already claimed key strongholds along the Mander River. If he continues at this pace, he will reach the Arbor within the month."

Paxter's jaw tightened. "Then we will be ready."

Mina placed another letter in front of him. "A response from Braavos. They are interested in our proposal but want stronger assurances that we can deliver."

Paxter picked up the parchment, scanning its contents. The Braavosi were hesitant, waiting to see whether House Redwyne would be able to withstand the Lannisters before fully committing.

"We give them those assurances," Paxter said. "Send a second message. Offer them exclusive rights to the next shipment of Arbor Reserve. Let them see that our business does not falter, even in times of war."

Mina nodded and left the chamber.

Ser Martyn looked at Paxter, his expression unreadable. "You are playing a dangerous game, my lord."

Paxter smiled thinly. "All of Westeros is playing a dangerous game. The difference is, I plan to win mine."

By the third day, another raven arrived from the capital. Mina read it aloud in the war council.

"Lord Paxter Redwyne,

You are hereby summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new order of the Reach, as governed by House Tarly under the protection of the Crown. You will present yourself within the fortnight to reaffirm House Redwyne's loyalty and service to the realm. Failure to comply will be seen as an act of treason.

—Ser Kevan Lannister, Hand of the King."

A heavy silence followed the reading.

Paxter leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "There it is," he murmured. "The demand for submission."

Mina set the letter down. "And what will we tell them?"

Paxter's expression was calm, composed, but there was steel in his voice.

"We tell them nothing," he said. "Not yet."

Ser Martyn raised an eyebrow. "Then what do we do?"

Paxter stood, adjusting the cuffs of his tunic. He walked toward the window, looking out over the vineyards, the harbors, the banners of House Redwyne flying proudly in the summer wind.

"We prepare," he said simply. "For whatever comes next."