Chapter 86: Cost of Victory

The Lannister fleet was in full retreat, sails billowing as the damaged warships pulled away from the burning sea. The once-proud armada had come to the Arbor expecting an easy victory, expecting to cripple the Redwyne fleet and dominate the Reach. Instead, the waters had betrayed them, turning into a graveyard of burning vessels, and now they limped away like beaten dogs.

Jaime Lannister stood on the deck of the Iron Fury, his golden hand clenched around the railing, jaw tight with frustration. His fleet was broken.

Randyll Tarly stood beside him, his face as hard as the iron pommel of his sword, staring at the smoldering wreckage they left behind. His lips curled in disgust as he turned to Jaime. "We had them. You let them slip away."

Jaime's golden hand tapped against the railing, his eyes still locked on the burning sea. "No, Tarly. I made sure we didn't drown with them."

Tarly scoffed, his voice thick with resentment. "The Reach will remember this as a defeat. Do you understand that? You turned your back on victory!"

Jaime finally turned, eyes cold, the heat of battle still in them. "Victory? Look around you, Tarly." He gestured toward the wreckage, the floating corpses, the ships still burning in the distance. "Half of our fleet is gone. And more importantly, do you see those fires?" He pointed toward a cluster of Lannister ships engulfed in flames, the wreckage cracking as the gold inside melted and spilled into the sea.

Tarly's face darkened.

Jaime pressed on, his voice sharp as steel. "Those ships were carrying excess gold from Highgarden. They're at the bottom of the ocean now. Do you know what that means? It means we only have enough left to pay the Iron Bank. If we don't deliver that gold, the queen will have your head, and your son loses his only claim to the Reach."

Tarly's fingers twitched at his side, his expression twisted with restrained anger. "A man should care more for his honor than for gold."

Jaime let out a low, bitter laugh, his golden hand tapping the railing as if testing its strength. He hated this thing, this reminder that he was no longer the warrior he once was. He could no longer wield a sword like he had at the Battle of the Whispering Wood, but war was won with strategy, not just steel. He turned his gaze back to Tarly, letting the weight of his next words sink in.

"Honor won't pay for armies, it won't buy grain to keep the city fed. And it won't stop the Iron Bank from backing Daenerys Targaryen when they decide our cause is lost."

Tarly's jaw tightened, but Jaime wasn't finished.

"This war is bigger than your pride. You may not have the loyalty of the Reach's lords yet, but once this gold arrives at King's Landing, we'll purchase an army large enough to conquer the Reach on your behalf." Jaime stepped closer, lowering his voice. "This is the cost of loyalty, Warden of the Reach."

The two men stood in tense silence, only the sound of the waves filling the space between them. The weight of Jaime's words pressed down on Tarly, but he was not the kind of man to back down easily. He clenched his fists, his voice growling low.

"So, what do we do now?"

Jaime exhaled, composing himself. "We take what gold remains, and we move it over land." He turned to his men. "Prepare the wagons. We march for King's Landing."

Tarly's face darkened further. Transporting gold across land was far riskier than shipping it by sea. Bandits, rebels, and worse—enemies who would kill for even a fraction of that wealth. But he had no choice. Jaime had already made his decision.

As the men began moving, Jaime cast one last glance back at the horizon. The Arbor stood firm, the Redwyne fleet bloodied but victorious. Jaime was not a man who feared battle, but this war was no longer about battles alone. This was about survival.

House Lannister had just suffered humiliation, but if the gold reached King's Landing, it would not be a loss. It would be a necessary retreat.

Tarly mounted his horse, his face like stone. Before he left, he turned back to Jaime, his voice cold and sharp.

"The Reach will not forget this, Kingslayer."

Jaime smiled wryly as he climbed onto his own steed. "Then it is lucky that I have never cared for the Reach's opinion."

...

The sea was a graveyard of burning wrecks and drifting bodies, the waves stained with blood and ash. The Redwyne fleet, battered but unbroken, moved cautiously through the battlefield, the stench of charred wood and death heavy in the salty air. The Lannister-Tarly fleet had pulled away, their crimson sails shrinking on the horizon, but the battle had left deep scars. The Arbor had survived—for now.

Paxter Redwyne stood at the bow of the Gilded Vine, his knuckles white as he gripped the wooden railing. The heat from the smoldering wrecks still radiated around him, smoke curling into the sky like the breath of a dying beast. His sword was still in his hand, the blood of Lannister soldiers drying in the grooves of its blade. He forced himself to breathe, to steady the pounding in his chest.

Mina stood beside him, her face streaked with soot and sweat. She wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve, exhaling a shaky breath. "It's over," she murmured.

Paxter nodded, though his mind still reeled from the battle. The cost of victory lay all around them—ships shattered, men lost, flames still licking at the bones of the fallen. He had gambled everything on a desperate play, and by some miracle, it had worked. Jaime Lannister had retreated. Randyll Tarly had been forced to stand down. The Arbor still belonged to House Redwyne.

But the war was far from over.

Ser Martyn approached, his armor dented, his sword dripping crimson. "We took heavy losses," he reported grimly. "Ten ships lost, another fifteen damaged beyond immediate repair. The fleet can hold for now, but we're weakened."

Paxter closed his eyes for a moment, absorbing the weight of it. "And the enemy?"

Martyn spat overboard, his expression dark. "They took their dead with them, but the sea is littered with their wrecks. At least a dozen ships lost on their side. We hurt them, but we didn't break them."

Paxter let out a slow breath. He knew if Jaime delivered that gold, he would return reinforced with an unstoppable army. They had pushed him away today, but House Lannister did not forget debts. And Paxter had just put himself on Cersei's list.

Now, there remained only one avenue of hope. He needed an alliance. Feeling the coin in his pocket, he knew what needed doing. He needed to align with the Dornish, and those damnable Greyjoys. For hundreds of years, the Arbor and Iron Islands had been enemies. Merchants and pirates never made for good company, but he already made an enemy of the Lannisters and could not afford prejudice.

"Mina, send a letter to the Martells, tell them we'll sail with them to Meereen—" but before he could finish, a crewman rushed toward them from the crow's nest, his voice hoarse from shouting.

"Lord Redwyne! A ship approaches from the east! A Dornish vessel!"

Mina laughed. "It seems the heavens were listening."

Paxter straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Prepare a welcoming party," he ordered. "Let's welcome our new allies."

As the ship neared, its deep red hull gleaming under the afternoon sun, the golden sun-and-spear of House Martell fluttering in the breeze, Paxter felt a familiar weight settle in his gut.

The gangplank was lowered, and from the Dornish ship stepped a tall, lean man with skin kissed by the sun, his long black hair tied behind his shoulders, his golden robes shimmering in the fading light. A Martell envoy, but not the one Paxter had met before.

The man bowed low, his amber eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Lord Redwyne," he said smoothly. "Have you decided to accept our invitation?"

Paxter nodded. "We'll join your fleet to Meereen."