A raven arrived from Dragonstone just after dawn, its wings damp with sea mist and its talons clutching a sealed parchment. Paxter read the message in silence. It was from Varys.
"Congratulations on stabilizing the Reach," it began in the Spider's impeccable script. The note detailed recent developments—Tyrion had succeeded in convincing Queen Cersei to meet about the wight, and Daenerys had flown north to assist Jon Snow. Before her departure, Daenerys instructed Varys to summon her advisors to King's Landing for the meeting upon her return.
Paxter's hands tensed around the letter. A summit with Cersei. A united front before the living and the dead. He knew what it meant—but the Reach wasn't ready. Not yet. He folded the parchment quietly, uncertain whether to share its contents.
His moment of contemplation ended when Mina entered the solar. "I heard a raven came from Dragonstone," she said lightly, but her eyes were sharp. "Sealed. Urgent."
Paxter slid the letter into a drawer. "Just a routine update," he said casually.
Mina didn't press the matter. Instead, she reached for his hand. "Come. They're waiting."
Together they walked to the great hall, hand in hand.
The heads of House Ashford, Caswell, Crane, Fossoway, Gardener, Hightower, Merryweather, Mullendore, Oakheart, Rowan, and Vyrwel were already seated at the long table. The banners of each house lined the stone walls of Highgarden, and golden light spilled in from tall windows.
Paxter took his seat at the head of the table, Mina beside him.
"We begin," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "First, the matter of House Tarly and House Florent."
All eyes turned to him.
"House Tarly has suffered enough. Randall and Dickon Tarly were judged by our Queen herself," Paxter said. "Their deaths are punishment enough. The new Lord Tarly has already reached out, seeking peace. If he swears fealty, we shall grant him pardon."
There were murmurs, but none in protest.
Paxter turned to the man in question. "Do you swear fealty to House Targaryen, to Daenerys Stormborn, and to me, Warden of the South?"
The new Lord Tarly stepped forward, knelt, and pressed a hand to his chest. "I swear it."
There was a murmur of approval.
Then Paxter turned his gaze to the representative of House Florent. "You, however, must pay reparations in addition to swearing fealty. You allied yourself with the Lannisters and sent raiders to our shores."
The Florent lord sneered. "Just like a merchant to bargain for coin. How much does it cost for this matter to be put to rest?"
Paxter didn't blink. "Ten thousand gold dragons."
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
"That sum would cripple us!" the Florent protested. "We're still recovering too!"
"That's the point," Paxter replied coolly. "You never should have attacked the Arbor."
Grinding his teeth, the Florent lord growled, "I don't have ten thousand. I can pay four."
"Then pay it," Paxter said. "And kneel."
The Florent lord dropped to one knee, eyes downcast. "I swear fealty."
Satisfied murmurs followed.
Paxter raised his goblet. "To a united Reach."
The lords echoed him, raising their own cups. "To the Reach!"
As the toasts died down and the wine flowed, Paxter stood once more.
"Before we part," he said, "know this—my eldest son shall inherit Highgarden. My youngest shall inherit the Arbor. Peace and stability will reign in the Reach for generation."
As the lords dispersed to their chambers, Paxter remained in the hall, watching the fading daylight filter through the stained glass windows. Mina approached, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You have accomplished much, you should feel happy. Your sons and grandsons will ensure you legacy."
"The peace is fragile, Mina," Paxter replied quietly. "I can't shake the feeling one wrong move could fracture everything we've built."
"You underestimate yourself," she said softly. "The houses respect your strength and fairness. They too are tired of division."
He sighed, turning to face her. "Then Cersi remains our only stumbling block. With her defeat, our triumph will be complete."
Mina's gaze softened. "Then rely on me. On our sons. You are not alone."
He smiled faintly, squeezing her hand. "Together, we might just weather this storm."
Just then, a guard approached hesitantly, bowing slightly. "My lord, your quarters have been prepared as you requested. And Lady Olenna's has been respectfully laid to rest in the crypt."
Paxter's smile faded. "Thank you. We will visit her shortly."
Once the guard left, Mina asked gently, "Are you sure you're ready to see her?"
"It's past time," Paxter answered, steeling himself. "She was the strength of the Reach for so long. She deserves our respect, even now."
Minutes later, they entered the crypt. Olenna Tyrell's body was neatly dressed in a stone tomb. A bouquet of roses sat on her chest. Paxter touched the tomb, memories flooding him. His loving aunt Olenna had guided the Reach through many storms; now, it was his turn.
"I hope she would approve," Paxter whispered.
Mina squeezed his arm reassuringly, a tear escaping. "She would. She be proud to know her nephew, her family, will continue to watch over the Reach."
Taking a deep breath, Paxter nodded firmly. Whatever awaited in King's Landing, he would face it head-on. The Reach would endure—not just through blood, but through wisdom, courage, and unity.