GOT: House Redwyne

The air inside the Great Pyramid of Meereen was thick with incense and power. The heat of the day still lingered within the sandstone walls, though the chambers were shaded and cool. Flickering braziers cast dancing shadows along the polished floors, and silk-draped banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen adorned the great hall.

At the far end of the audience chamber, seated on a high throne of black marble, was Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

She was smaller than Paxter had imagined, yet there was nothing small about her presence. Her silver-white hair fell in waves over her shoulders, her violet eyes piercing as she observed the visitors before her. She was poised, regal, but beneath the surface, Paxter saw something more—a coiled force, a dragon restrained only by willpower.

On either side of her stood her advisors:

To her right, Tyrion Lannister, wine in hand, ever watchful.

To her left, Missandei of Naath, her expression serene yet unreadable.

Behind them, Grey Worm and a contingent of Unsullied, standing as still as statues.

The room fell silent as Missandei stepped forward.

"You stand before Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Heir to the Iron Throne, Queen of Meereen, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Mother of Dragons."

Her voice carried through the chamber, each title pressing upon Paxter like the weight of a distant storm approaching shore.

Paxter, ever the merchant, knew a moment of ceremony when he saw one. And so, he knelt, head bowed.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice steady. "I am Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, and I have come to offer my loyalty."

A moment of silence.

Then, Daenerys spoke.

"You come a long way to kneel before me, Lord Redwyne," she said. Her voice was smooth as still water, yet beneath it was a quiet steel. "Tell me, why does a lord of the Reach abandon his lands and sail across the world to stand before a dragon?"

Paxter lifted his head, meeting her gaze. He had not come this far to grovel like a common courtier.

"The Lannisters have stolen my allies, burned my ships, strangled my trade, and seek to erase my house, Your Grace," he said. "If I am to survive, I must align with strength. And I see strength in you."

Daenerys leaned forward slightly. "And what would you offer me in return?"

Before Paxter could answer, Tyrion spoke first.

"The Redwynes are one of the wealthiest houses in Westeros, Your Grace," Tyrion began, swirling the golden liquid in his goblet. "Aside from the now-ruined Tyrells, they command the largest fleet in Westeros—save for the Ironborn—and they hold dominion over the Arbor, where the finest wine in the world is made."

He took a slow sip. "Even Cersei Lannister has a taste for it, though she'd rather see Lord Redwyne dead than in this room."

Daenerys' expression remained unreadable. "You bring ships and gold, but I have ships. And I have gold. What else do you offer me, Lord Redwyne?"

Paxter took a measured breath.

"Connections, Your Grace."

The words hung in the air.

Daenerys tilted her head slightly, intrigued. "Explain."

Paxter rose to his feet. "You will take the Iron Throne. I believe that. But once you do, you will need a kingdom that functions, one that does not starve or collapse into chaos. War is expensive, even for a queen with dragons."

His voice was steady, deliberate. "Your Grace, every army, even one with dragons, marches on its stomach. The Arbor is Westeros's greatest hub of trade and wealth, but our true strength lies in logistics. No war has ever been won without food, without supplies, without coin. Even dragons must rest. When you rule, I will ensure your army remains strong."

He took another step forward, careful, yet unafraid.

"And after you have won, you will need a network of merchants to secure your treasury. I am wealthy, yes. But my connections to traders and the Iron Bank are what you need the most."

He let the words sink in before delivering the final strike.

"You have a Hand of the King, and a spymaster, but you have no Master of Coin. I can provide your kingdom with economic stability."

Silence filled the chamber once more.

Then Daenerys spoke.

"You would not only serve me in war, but in peace as well."

Paxter inclined his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Tyrion let out a soft chuckle, swirling his wine again. "I must say, I rather like this one. Practical. Not many lords think beyond swords and banners."

Daenerys studied Paxter for a long moment. Then, she stood.

"Swear yourself to me, Lord Redwyne. Kneel, and rise as my Master of Coin and Warden of the South."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Even Quentyn Martell raised an eyebrow at the sudden elevation of title.

Paxter lowered himself to one knee without hesitation.

"I swear my loyalty to House Targaryen. To you, Daenerys Stormborn, my queen."

She stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Then rise, Paxter Redwyne, Master of Coin, and Warden of the South."

Paxter stood slowly, his mind already racing.

Warden of the South.

That meant more than just the Arbor. That meant Highgarden. The Reach. The very lands stolen from him by the Lannisters.

Daenerys had not just given him a title.

She had given him a path to reclaim everything.

Daenerys turned to the rest of the room.

"Prepare the fleet. We sail for Westeros."

The words thundered through the chamber.

And just like that, the world shifted beneath Paxter's feet.

The game had changed.

And he was no longer merely a player in it.

Now, the Reach would be his again. One way or another.