Paxter stood resolutely in the throne room as he watched Jon Snow's exit. The King in the North had done little to calm the queen's frustration.
Daenerys' expression remained tense as she turned to her advisors.
Lord Tyrion, Lord Varys, what are your thoughts about what was said?"
"Cersi would never agree to a truce. She would use our absence to launch an attack on Dragonstone." Tyrion answered.
"Unless..." Varys interjected smoothly, "she sees proof."
Tyrion, cupping his mouth in thought, agreed, "Yes, I'd like to see the evidence myself."
Daenerys turned to Paxter. "And your thoughts, Lord Paxter?"
Paxter folded his arms, speaking carefully. "How would we convince Cersei of an armistice? She would likely believe it a ploy to lure her into weakness."
Daenerys turned to Tyrion, looking for his response.
Tyrion looked at Paxter and nodded, "He's right. The war has already started. Only Jamie could convince her."
Daenerys looked annoyed; however, before she could respond, the throne room doors swung open.
A Dothraki warrior, clad in armor and twin axes, strode forward and handed her a sealed letter.
For the third time today, silence fell over the room.
Daenerys broke the seal, her violet eyes scanning the parchment. Her brows furrowed, then her expression darkened.
"The Ironborn fleet—Euron Greyjoy's fleet—has ambushed Yara Greyjoy. Her ships were destroyed. Ellaria Sand and her daughter have been taken prisoner. Yara Greyjoy has fallen," Her voice rose with each word, her anger boiling.
A lead weight settled in Paxter's stomach.
Daenerys leaned back, inhaling sharply through her nose. Her fingers curled into the arms of the throne, nails pressing against the ancient stone. "How?"
Varys stepped forward, voice measured, "Last night, I was told Euron ambushed them at night. His fireships forced Yara's forces to scatter. By morning, nothing but wreckage lay in the wake. He took the captured ships and fled."
Tyrion muttered a curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "So much for our alliance with Greyjoy."
Paxter mind raced. Yara's Ironborn ships, along with those Ellaria recruited, were supposed to blockade the capital. Without them, his fleet wouldn't be enough.
He could already see the calculus of war shifting, and it made his stomach churn.
Daenerys, however, did not waver.
Her voice was low, but it cut through the room like Valyrian steel. "Euron Greyjoy has made a mistake."
Varys exhaled sharply. "Your Grace, I would caution—"
She rose from the throne, stepping forward, the force of her presence filling the chamber. "He attacks from the sea. Then I will meet him on the sea."
Tyrion cleared his throat, glancing at Daenerys. In consolation he advised, "Your Grace, a queen does not charge into battle herself."
Her gaze snapped to him, fire in her eyes. "I am not just a queen. I am the Mother of Dragons."
Varys hesitated before speaking. "Your Grace, if you go after Euron, it means leaving Dragonstone unprotected. It also means delaying our next strike."
"Tyrion nodded in agreement. "He's right, Your Grace. We also do not know where Euron might be. He could be at sea for days or weeks."
She turned on him, eyes sharp. "What would you have me do? Allow this pirate to pick off my fleet piece by piece? Let him cripple our war effort?"
Tyrion held her gaze for a long moment, but it was Paxter who came to his defense, "Your Grace, you still have my fleet. Moreover, I'm sure Prince Martell or Victarion Greyjoy will rally to your support."
A tense silence settled over the throne room of Dragonstone. The queen's rage hung heavily in the air, pressing down on every soul present.
After a while, Daenerys nodded sharply. "Then it is decided. Varys send a bird to Prince—"
She was interrupted once more as the same Dothraki as earlier approached the throne with a new message.
Daenerys took the parchment.
Her silver-gold hair gleamed in the firelight, her expression unreadable—but the air around her was electric, charged with frustration and simmering fury.
She turned her gaze from Tyrion to Varys, then finally to Paxter seething in anger, and read through clenched teeth, "The Unsullied took Casterly Rock, but the Lannisters had already emptied the castle. Only a small contingent remained. After the battle, they saw the Greyjoy attacking their ships. Now…they remained stranded on at Casterly Rock."
A cold silence followed.
She studied Paxter, her violet eyes sharp.
Then, with a voice cold as Dragonstone's winds, she declared:
"My Hand has lost the Westerosi fleet. My Spider has lost the Dornish. Let us hope my Master of Coin does not lose my treasury, or I shall be left with nothing but dragons and disappointment."
The words hung in the air like an executioner's blade, and for the first time, Paxter felt the weight of his position.
Tyrion stared into his goblet, his usual quick wit, failing him for once.
Varys remained still, though Paxter noticed the flicker of tension in his hands as he clasped them behind his back.
Missandei stood beside Daenerys, her lips pressed into a thin line, the only sign of the deep worry beneath her composed exterior.
Daenerys turned menacingly to Paxter, "Lord Redwyne."
Paxter snapped to attention. "Your Grace."
"Tell what you shall advise?" Her expression was measured, but her voice commanded authority.
"Your Grace should fly her dragon and take the Dothraki to battle?" Paxter understood the question was rhetorical.
"And where should I attack."
"The Lannister and Tarly army on the Gold Road. Yesterday, I explained they transported the Highgarden gold along Ocean Road to Casterly Rock. I suspect they are also moving Casterly Rock's supplies and grain along the Gold Road to King's Landing. If we intercept them before they arrive, we cut off Cersei's financial lifeline and secure the funds necessary to feed and supply this war effort."
Daenerys let the silence stretch. Her violet eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign of doubt. Finding none, she nodded affirmatively.
Tyrion exhaled, clearly uneasy. "We need a plan—."
"No more cautions, Tyrion," she cut him off. "No more careful steps. You advised patience, and what did it bring me? A hollow victory at Casterly Rock and my fleet burned at sea. I will not suffer another defeat."
Tyrion exhaled. "You plan to lead them yourself?"
"I will not sit idly by while my enemies regroup," Daenerys said, her violet eyes alight with fire. "They have butchered my allies. They will learn what it means to fight against a Targaryen."
Daenerys turned to Missandei, voice firm. "Alert the Dothraki. Prepare my things. We ride before the sun sets."
Missandei bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."
Then Daenerys turned to Paxter, her eyes dark. "Let us hope, I am not disappointed a third time?"
Paxter hesitated only a moment before inclining his head, "I do not intend to fail you. During your campaign, I'll sail to the Arbor, gather my fleet, and retrieve the Unsullied from Casterly Rock."
Then Daenerys marched out of the chamber without looking back, her footsteps echoing her displeasure. Behind her, Missandei followed in tow.
The weight of defeat loomed over them.
Now alone in the throne, Tyrion exhaled softly, pouring a heavy glass of wine, into a waiting goblet. Gripping the goblet tightly he turned to Varys and Paxter, "I'll join her, and counsel restraint."
"Then I shall wait here for your good news," Varys offered a thin smile. "While the Queen chasing lions, I'll remain here to mind the wolves."
Paxter said his farewell, then walked to his chamber. When the door shut behind him, he exhaled, finally letting the air escape his lungs that had been bottled. Grabbing the ledger, he neatly packed and walked to the docks.
As he boarded his ship, Paxter felt relief. He was going home.