Chapter 714

The moment he heard "Lord Hand," Aegor knew the man had surrendered. He rolled his eyes internally but chose not to expose the obvious lie—after all, he did need a messenger right now.

House Redwyne, founded by Gilbert, son of Garth Greenhand, was of pure and ancient lineage, only slightly beneath the Hightowers in status (having never crowned themselves kings). Outside of House Tyrell and House Hightower, they were the most powerful family in the Reach—without question. Though the Arbor lacked Oldtown’s population and trade or Highgarden’s vast, fertile lands, it made up for it with the mightiest fleet on the western coast of Westeros. Their navy was nearly strong enough to stand against the entire Iron Islands, and through monopolizing sea trade and selling their famed Arbor wine, they had amassed staggering wealth.

Even Tywin Lannister had once donned black under Aegor’s command. Horas Redwyne, by contrast, was merely a young noble who had spent his life sheltered under his father’s wing. Worse still, he had just personally witnessed the Second War of Fire and Blood. Upon hearing words like immediate execution and public trial, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. What spine did he have left to stand against the Queen’s Hand?

If House Hightower was to the Reach what House Bolton was to the North, then House Redwyne was akin to the Karstarks—a splintered offshoot of their overlords.

But now, since the man had already lost his dignity…

Aegor’s polite and respectful expression vanished without a trace. Originally, he had intended to have Horas seated, to negotiate fair terms for House Redwyne’s surrender. Given that the Queen’s navy could not immediately assault the Arbor, the terms offered to its lord would have been better than those extended to any other Reach noble.

He had been about to speak—until Horas Redwyne, still seething from the rough treatment by the Western Expeditionary Army, suddenly lashed out in anger.

"Lord Commander Aegor! House Hightower surrendered voluntarily and welcomed you as an honored guest into the Hightower. Yet you have detained your hosts and trampled upon guest rights! Do you not fear the scorn of the Seven Kingdoms? Do you not dread the wrath of the gods?"

A soldier brought over a chair but deliberately set it several feet away from the table, forcing Horas to sit awkwardly at a distance. The young noble sensed the humiliation but dared not protest further. He sat down obediently, barely daring to breathe.

Aegor had not expected his arrival. He exchanged a few murmured words with Myrcella to confirm some details before turning back to him.

"Do you know where she is now?" Aegor asked casually.

"... I don’t know."

"She’s currently on the Iron Islands, accepting the surrender of the islanders and the Iron Fleet on behalf of the Queen," Aegor answered plainly. "Once the submission is complete, she will lead the reconstituted Iron Fleet—now flying the red dragon banner—south to Oldtown, where she will merge with the Hightower fleet I have seized and refitted with cannons. Then, together, we will sail for the Arbor."

Aegor clapped his hands. "Bring a chair! Let Ser Horas sit."

There was no doubt about it. The Arbor was as good as taken.

This was like being offered a pillow just as one was about to fall asleep.

Aegor’s gaze locked onto Horas for several seconds before he suddenly turned to Myrcella. "Maeve," he said, deliberately using her alias, "what do you think I should do with Ser Horas?"

He had no plans to harm the members of House Hightower—this was both a fact and the reason he was certain he would never be condemned like the Freys of the original timeline.

Myrcella perked up instantly, her previous emotional turmoil forgotten as she resumed her role with sharp focus. She sidled up to Aegor, whispering pertinent details into his ear.

"He has a twin brother, Hobber Redwyne. We don’t yet know which of them Paxter Redwyne has chosen as his heir." She paused, then added another important detail. "Oh, and their mother is Mina Tyrell—Lord Mace Tyrell’s sister."

The young noble straightened his clothes, which were not disheveled in the first place, and shot an indignant glare at the two soldiers who had escorted him in. Then, with an air of forced dignity, he introduced himself.

"Horas Redwyne, son of the Earl of the Arbor!"

Aegor snapped his fingers. "Correct. Now, do you know where she is?"

"Who?"

"Asha Greyjoy."

Horas’ face twisted slightly. "... I do."

"The pirate’s daughter. Nearly became Lady of the Iron Islands. One of the first female members of the Night’s Watch."

The Ironborn now called Asha the Night’s Watch whore. Though they were sworn enemies of the Arbor, they had gleefully adopted the slur.

Horas did not repeat it aloud, of course.

"I am… I am here on my father’s behalf, to negotiate with the Lord Hand."

Aegor nodded, forcing himself to add a hint of civility to his expression.

"Very well," he said, studying Horas. "If that is true, then let’s clarify your position—because you, my dear Ser, should have been part of the surrender delegation that met with the Queen’s forces. You certainly had the status to attend the negotiations. Yet, instead, you were found hiding in a guest chamber of the Hightower."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming. "That means you were not sent here to negotiate. You were part of the Reach’s defeated army. You fled here after your forces were crushed. You were discovered by my men while cowering in this tower."

Aegor let that hang in the air.

Horas’ face paled.

"If that is the case," Myrcella cut in, her tone saccharine yet edged with malice, "then we must determine Ser Horas’ status."

She smiled sweetly at Aegor. "If he is an assassin sent to kill the Lord Hand, then by all rights, he should be executed on the spot. If he is a traitor who supported Aegon’s claim, then he must be arrested and put on trial. If he is a defeated noble who has surrendered, then perhaps he can join the Hightowers upstairs, to await the Queen’s judgment."

She gave Horas a pointed look. "Unless, of course, he truly is an envoy from House Redwyne, sent to negotiate peace. In which case, my lord, you should invite him to sit and discuss matters in earnest."

Aegor nearly laughed. This was why he kept Myrcella around, despite her name. Cassie was efficient, but he could never match her ability to improvise and weave such perfect traps.

He turned back to Horas.

"Well then, Ser," he asked lightly, "which one is it?"

Horas clenched his jaw, but his courage had already fled.

"I am… here as my father’s envoy, sent to negotiate with the Lord Hand," he muttered stiffly.

Aegor gave a slow, satisfied nod. "Good."

But his expression darkened as he leaned back.

"House Hightower has surrendered to the Queen. As her guest, I will ensure their safety. But House Redwyne…" He let his voice drop to a deadly whisper. "If, by the time the Targaryen fleet arrives at your harbor, you have not sworn fealty, then you will not need to worry about guest rights."

Horas swallowed hard.

Aegor had already made up his mind. He needed the Arbor to surrender willingly.

A prolonged war would only delay the Western Campaign’s conclusion.

But if Horas still wished to test his luck?

Then he had only one piece of advice:

Don’t stand at the foot of a crumbling mountain.