The choice of Oldtown as the venue for the peace talks was the result of careful deliberation by all parties.
As the oldest and most learned city in Westeros, its geographical location sat perfectly neutral between the conflicting forces—the Iron Fleet occupying the Arbor to the south, and the Highgarden army mustered at Three Towers to the north.
The rulers of Oldtown, House Hightower, were among the wealthiest and most powerful vassals of House Tyrell (and the Gardener Kings before them). Their house words, "We Light the Way," seemed fitting for guiding the path to peace.
House Hightower was ancient, proud, and powerful, but they had always favored trade over war and rarely involved themselves in the internal strife of Westeros. Having them mediate was a compromise both sides could begrudgingly accept. Presiding over the talks was Baelor Hightower, the eldest son and heir of Lord Leyton Hightower, known as "Baelor Brightsmile." Handsome, impeccably mannered, and embodying the elegance and wealth of his house, he was the perfect host. His father, Lord Leyton, was also a personal friend of King Quellon, and had been calling for a peaceful resolution since the start.
The peace talks were held in a magnificent hall within the Hightower, overlooking the entire harbor of Oldtown.
Only after strictly observing the sacred guest rights of Westeros—sharing bread and salt together—did the representatives take their seats. This provided the most basic security for a negotiation fraught with tension.
Highgarden Delegation (3): The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne; Randyll Tarly; Ludwig Oakheart.
Iron Islands Delegation (3): King Quellon Greyjoy; Euron Greyjoy; Balf Greyjoy.
Mediator: Baelor Hightower.
The negotiation began!
The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, spoke first. Her voice was steady but carried undeniable weight, setting the tone immediately. "King Quellon. First, I must admit that my brother, Adrian, is a stubborn fool." She showed no mercy to her kin. "His handling of the interception of the Ironborn merchant ships was indeed ill-considered and extremely reckless. Of course, this was largely influenced by the ridiculous orders of that... emotionally unstable King in King's Landing."
She skillfully shifted part of the blame to the Mad King Aerys, then pivoted sharply to look Quellon in the eye. "However, regardless of that, House Redwyne and the Iron Islands had no prior enmity. This war could have been avoided."
King Quellon's face was hard as the stone of Pyke. He responded in a low voice, "The humiliation he inflicted upon the Iron Islands has been paid back in iron and blood by our own hands. The honor of House Greyjoy will not be tarnished."
"Yes, the war is over," Lady Olenna interjected immediately, accepting the fact. "You won an undisputed victory at sea. House Redwyne has paid an extremely heavy price." Pain flickered in her words but was quickly masked. "We sit here today hoping to turn this unfortunate 'big issue' into a small one, and eventually into nothing. Let the past remain in the past."
King Quellon did not budge. "We have already stated our demands. One hundred thousand Gold Dragons in compensation, and a public apology to the entire Seven Kingdoms. This is what the Iron Islands deserves."
Lady Olenna smiled slightly, though there was no warmth in it. "One hundred thousand Gold Dragons? The vaults of the Arbor surely contain enough to cover that amount." She was implying that the Ironborn had already looted it all.
King Quellon let out a cold snort. "That was what we paid the Iron Price for!" (Meaning loot taken by Ironborn blood and force.)
"Paid the Iron Price?" Lady Olenna's voice suddenly sharpened like a thorn. "King Quellon, have you forgotten the laws from the time of Aegon the Conqueror? The Iron Islands are forbidden from practicing the 'Old Way' upon the Seven Kingdoms!" She threw the legal weapon at him, applying pressure. "By demanding another hundred thousand dragons, do you wish to continue being enemies with the entire realm?"
King Quellon remained unmoved, responding forcefully. "Then let's phrase it differently. We are the victors. By the laws of war, everything on the Arbor belongs to the Iron Islands right now! Including that empty vault! The compensation we ask for is based on our victory and your request for peace, not us asking for what already belongs to us!"
Lady Olenna took a deep breath. She knew arguing this point was futile, so she changed tactics, her tone softening but becoming more pragmatic.
"One hundred thousand Gold Dragons... even if I personally accepted it, Highgarden and the entire Reach would never agree. King Quellon, the Iron Islands need to save face, but so does Highgarden. We are negotiating to end a war. You should know better than anyone that a long-term occupation of the Arbor is not the best choice for the Iron Islands. It will only invite sustained hostility from King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms, bringing endless trouble. Stopping now, quitting while you're ahead, is the best solution for both sides."
She paused briefly, then offered her alternative:
"As for the apology to the Seven Kingdoms... I can write letters to all the major houses in the name of Highgarden, clearly stating: This incident stemmed from House Redwyne's misjudgment, which initiated the conflict. However, through negotiation, both sides have resolved their enmity and reached a reconciliation. I pledge on the honor of House Tyrell and House Redwyne that neither the Arbor nor Highgarden will seek any form of retaliation for this event. The matter ends here."
King Quellon was silent for a moment. He knew Olenna spoke the truth; long-term occupation was unrealistic. He said deeply, "But there must still be compensation."
Lady Olenna knew this was the core issue. She named the price she had prepared:
"Twenty thousand Gold Dragons. Plus the letter of apology I just promised. This is the most sincere offer I can give, and the bottom line Highgarden can accept without completely tearing apart our relationship."
She immediately applied pressure, scanning the Ironborn faces. "We are ruling nobles, after all, not fishmongers haggling in a market. There is no need to endlessly quibble over numbers. I have shown my sincerity. Now, King Quellon, where is yours?"
King Quellon exchanged a glance with Euron beside him. After a moment, Quellon spoke, making a concession but adding a new condition.
"Fine. Twenty thousand Gold Dragons. Acceptable. But, these twenty thousand dragons must be converted into equivalent value in high-quality grain from the Reach, shipped to the Iron Islands. Furthermore," he emphasized, "in the future, normal trade relations between the Iron Islands and the Reach—especially the Arbor—must be maintained. There will be no deliberate obstruction, price gouging, or interruption of trade because of this event."
This was a pragmatic demand. The Iron Islands lacked food, making grain more useful than gold; and restoring normal trade was in their long-term interest.
The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, nodded slowly with almost no hesitation. Paying in grain was easy for the fertile Reach, and restoring trade benefited both sides.
"Gold for grain, no problem," she agreed clearly. "Restoring normal trade is only right and benefits us both. I can guarantee this on behalf of Highgarden and the Arbor."
With that, a conflict that could have spiraled into a much larger storm was temporarily brought to a close in this difficult negotiation at the Hightower of Oldtown. Both sides preserved their core dignity and interests, though the price was the massive loss and humiliation of House Redwyne.
Peace, in a delicate and fragile balance, descended once again.
---
In the shadow of the Citadel in Oldtown, Euron summoned several singers who were famous in the Iron Islands.
These singers spent their lives chanting ancient hymns to the Drowned God and legends of reaving; their voices were rough and hoarse from sea wind and strong spirits.
Euron didn't give complicated instructions. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a cold, undeniable penetrating power, every word seemingly dipped in the freezing waters of the Sunset Sea.
"I need a song. A song that tells the story of the Battle of the Arbor. A war song about how the Iron Fleet crushed the pride of House Redwyne and their golden vineyards into the bottom of the sea. Its tune should be as gloomy and warning as 'The Rains of Castamere,' and its melody must have the power to drill into a man's marrow."
His eyes flashed with cold light. "I want everyone who hears it—whether a farmer in the Reach, a knight in the Westerlands, or a whore in King's Landing—to smell the scorched stench of wildfire in the lyrics, to feel the biting cold of the seawater, and to remember forever who rules the waves!"
"Make them understand: provoke a Greyjoy, challenge the Iron Islands, and you will face brutal retribution! Make them fear us from the bottom of their hearts when they speak our name, and because of that fear, be forced to respect us!"
The singers accepted the command to compose this cursed ballad. They absorbed every detail of the battle: the longships gliding silently through the fog, the eerie green fire tearing the night sky, the golden rose banner curling and screaming in the flames, the despair of Earl Redwyne dragged in chains... The lyrics were hammered out repeatedly, the melody composed to be low and oppressive, the rhythm like a funeral drum beating in time with vengeful oars striking the water.
The song that was born was named "The Flames of the Arbor."
It was soon carried by sailors on merchant ships, wandering bards, and certain "informed individuals" with ambiguous identities traveling to and from the Iron Islands. Like barnacles clinging to a hull, it spread quietly to every port and tavern in Westeros. In places filled with the smell of ale and sweat, rough voices began to sing:
"Hark, hear the Kraken's horn echo in the deep fog,
It is a summons, a death knell, for the arrogant King of the Vine!
Flames burn through the anvil, blood-fire licks the mast,
Their golden fleet once looked down on the seas,
But in that night of green fire, it shattered to dust!
Heave-ho, Heave-ho, Heave-ho!
It calls the brave, it reaps the glory!
Heave-ho, Heave-ho, Heave-ho!
It burns the pride, lets the fine wine flow!
The Earl of Redwyne, once with cups overflowing,
Now kneels beneath the sea-stone of Pyke,
His cellars are empty, his artisans gone,
Only the mockery of the sea wind remains, night and day!
Who remembers the fragrance of Highgarden's wine?
Who speaks of the Arbor's past shine?
Now only the Lords of the North Sea, the Kings of the Deep,
Their story spreads with strong spirits and fear!
If you hear that deep horn on the shore,
Kneel and pray, or prepare for your end!
The sunset of the Arbor dyes the pirate flag red!
The King in the flames raises his trident!
Fire consumes the old idols!
Ironborn shout the new King's name!
...Now only Greyjoy! Only the Iron Islands!
The eternal victors, the Kings of the Waves!"
This song became another invisible fleet. It didn't conquer ports, but the minds of everyone in the Seven Kingdoms who heard it. Its melody and warning shaped the fame and terror of the Iron Islands more deeply than any sword ever could.
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