Early the next morning, the damp sea mist had yet to fully dissipate when the Tyrell envoy, accompanied by a traumatized Paxter Redwyne, arrived via fast ship at the temporary Tyrell army camp at Three Towers.
Lady Olenna Redwyne wasn't staying in the castle; instead, she operated from a massive, fully-furnished campaign tent. When she saw Paxter return alive, a fleeting look of relief crossed her sharp eyes, quickly replaced by a deeper gravity. She didn't rush to hug or comfort him. She simply nodded slightly, signaling the envoy to report in detail.
The envoy knelt on one knee, his voice trembling slightly from lingering fear and tension. He repeated Euron Greyjoy's harsh demands word for word: the astronomical ransom of one hundred thousand Gold Dragons, and the condition that only the son was released while Lord Adrian remained a hostage.
He described the current state of the Arbor in detail—the port stripped bare, every seaworthy vessel towed away, the castle looking like a washed-out seashell, a hollow husk. And the Ironborn warriors, prowling the ruins like hungry wolves, their eyes fierce and clearly unsatisfied.
The news that the Ironborn hadn't slaughtered civilians, executed prisoners, or destroyed the town's buildings gave Lady Olenna a small measure of relief. It proved they hadn't burned their bridges; they didn't want total war with Highgarden either. Negotiation was still very possible.
Finally, with great trepidation, the envoy relayed Euron's "heart-to-heart" warning:
"My Lady... that Euron Greyjoy said... he said he can only suppress the war hawks under his command for three days! He said many Ironborn are furious with him because he stopped the looting and killing... He said... if he doesn't see the gold within three days, he won't be able to control the situation. At that point... Lord Adrian and all the prisoners will likely..." The envoy didn't dare finish the sentence, but the meaning was brutally clear.
The Reach bannermen and knights inside the tent exploded instantly!
"One hundred thousand Gold Dragons?! Why don't they just rob us directly?!"
"Arrogant! Shameless! This is extortion! An insult to Highgarden and the entire Reach!"
"War! We must attack immediately! Teach those Ironborn scum a lesson!"
"He dares threaten to kill the Earl? Unforgivable!"
Roars of anger and calls for war threatened to lift the roof of the tent. The nobles' faces were livid, hands gripping sword hilts as if ready to charge out and fight the Ironborn to the death right then and there. Humiliation and rage burned away their reason.
However, amidst the uproar, Lady Olenna Redwyne remained unnervingly calm.
She didn't even look at the agitated bannermen. She simply tapped her withered fingers lightly on the armrest of her chair, as if contemplating a business deal that had nothing to do with her.
"Quiet." Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange, penetrating power that instantly silenced the tent.
All eyes focused on the tiny old woman.
"Victors write history," she spoke slowly, her tone terrifyingly calm. "Even temporary victors. They hold the upper hand right now, so naturally, they have the right to ask for a lion's share."
She raised her eyelids, scanning the disgruntled faces of her vassals. "And we... we are the ones asking for favors. We want our people back alive. We want to avoid greater losses. Therefore, at the negotiating table, the side at a disadvantage must learn to haggle. Isn't that just how the world works? What is there to be angry about?"
Her words were like ice water, dousing some of the impulsiveness but leaving many feeling a helpless humiliation.
Then, she threw out a more realistic question, her sharp gaze cutting through those who had been screaming loudest for war. "War? You say it so lightly. Do you really think these hastily cobbled-together ships of ours, crewed by sailors who haven't even recovered from panic, can truly stand toe-to-toe on the open sea against an Iron Fleet that just crushed the strongest navy in the Seven Kingdoms?"
Without waiting for an answer, she turned her gaze directly to her grandson, Paxter Redwyne, who had just escaped death.
"Paxter," her voice softened slightly, but remained cool. "You just came back from the Arbor. You saw it with your own eyes, lived through it yourself. Tell me, what is the true strength of the Iron Islands?"
In an instant, all eyes focused on young Paxter.
Paxter Redwyne shuddered violently, as if pulled back into that sea of blood and fire. His face went pale instantly, eyes filled with undiminished terror. His lips trembled as suppressed memories flooded back like a tide.
He looked around at his expectant, angry uncles and bannermen, then finally at his grandmother's all-seeing eyes. Using every ounce of his strength, he forced a few broken, trembling words through his teeth: "They... they aren't soldiers... they are... a pack of madmen! A group of fearless... demons of the sea!"
This sentence, coming from a survivor and the heir to House Redwyne, carried such raw fear and despair that it instantly cooled the war fever in the tent by half. The fire of anger could not defeat the primal fear of absolute violence and madness.
Lady Olenna got the answer she expected. she closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, revealing only absolute calm and calculation. "It seems," she said faintly, "we do indeed need to 'haggle.' But not with swords. With brains... and Gold Dragons."
Lady Olenna pointed in the direction of the Iron Islands and addressed the envoy. "You have a hard task ahead. You need to return to the Arbor immediately. Tell King Quellon that in two days, at Oldtown, at the Hightower, I will be waiting for him. I think we need to meet face-to-face and talk."
The candlelight in the hall flickered, illuminating Lady Olenna's cold face. She waved her hand lightly, dismissing the lords and nobles as if brushing away dust. The attendants bowed and retreated, and the heavy oak doors closed slowly with a dull thud, separating the two worlds.
Paxter Redwyne stood on the carpet, fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his tunic. His legs trembled beneath his silk robe, and in the silent hall, the faint clicking of his chattering teeth was audible.
"Paxter," Olenna's voice was like an ice-dipped dagger slicing through the stagnant air. "Stop shaking like a frightened girl. Sit down. Tell me everything that happened before and after the Battle of the Arbor. Every detail. From the beginning."
"The sea mist was especially thick that morning..." Paxter's voice gradually steadied. Like untangling a knotted fishing net, he slowly laid out the bloody dawn. He described how the Iron Fleet's war drums pierced the fog, how the black Kraken banners appeared like ghosts; how the Redwyne fleet hastily engaged, their golden grape flags torn apart by fire.
Paxter's narrative grew more fluent, like floodgates opening. He spoke of Balon Greyjoy personally leading the flagship to ram the command vessel, Ironborn swarming up the sides like apes; of the fire and smoke suddenly rising in the city to distract the defenders; of Euron and his elite guard storming the walls, capturing his father, and seizing the gates and drawbridge... When he finally spoke the last word, sweat had soaked his back. The only sounds left in the hall were the crackling candles and the distant murmur of waves hitting the shore.
"Wildfire from King's Landing?" Her voice was low as distant thunder. "Pre-planned infiltration of the Arbor, setting fires during the naval battle to draw attention, capturing the leader in the chaos while luring the fleet into a trap..." She let out a soft chuckle that was hard to decipher—part admiration, part mockery. "The fierce Balon, the cunning Euron... King Quellon raised two good sons."
Lady Olenna sighed. "Paxter, go take a bath, then get some rest. Leave the rest to me. This matter will be over soon, and the Arbor will return to Highgarden."
After Paxter left, Lady Olenna remained silent for a long time.
She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the heavy night. When she turned back, candlelight danced in her eyes. "Smart, rational people will always make the most suitable choice. Dealing with them is far easier than dealing with people who only know killing and looting..."
---