Not long after the party bound for Tarth departed, Starfall received a visitor.
"Lord Paxter." Arthur stood in the center of the reception hall, greeting him with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just in time for dinner at Starfall. We can dine together."
After Arthur had secured agency contracts with House Fowler, House Rowan, and House Tarth for the sale of Amber Peach Wine and other orchard products, Paxter had approached him several times to discuss cooperation.
His attitude had softened considerably. He no longer insisted on a 70/30 split.
Especially after the fifth round of the joust, when Arthur punched through Ser Desmond Redwyne's vine shield with a lance, it seemed Paxter's psychological defenses had been pierced as well.
These past few days, he had come almost daily to negotiate.
"That won't be necessary," Paxter said solemnly. "We've discussed everything we need to. The terms I offered yesterday are my final bottom line."
The Lord of the Arbor pulled two parchment scrolls from his doublet. "Agree, sign and seal. If you refuse..."
He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I return to the Arbor tomorrow. I will not come to Starfall to find you again."
Candlelight flickered in the hall, casting long shadows of the two men against the stone walls.
Arthur took the contract, the parchment rustling softly in his hands.
He walked to the window, reading carefully by the last light of day.
The terms were clear and neat, the ink so fresh he could almost smell it.
The profit split had shifted from 30/70 to 50/50. Paxter would also send his daughter, Desmera, to serve as Allyria's handmaiden.
The contract also stipulated that if Edric married Desmera after she flowered, Paxter would give another 10% of the profit as a dowry.
The Arbor would respect Arthur's existing agency contracts with the Stormlands, the Reach, and Dorne, agreeing not to sell Amber Peach Wine or other orchard products in those three regions.
However, Starfall's orchard could not sign authorizations for other regions, and upon the expiration of the three agency contracts, they could not be renewed.
Other cooperation models remained unchanged: Starfall provided the goods, and the Arbor handled branding and sales.
Arthur lifted his gaze from the contract to the darkening sky outside.
Honestly, if Paxter had offered this contract at their first meeting, Arthur would have seriously considered signing it.
But with the agency contracts in place, the logic of cooperation had changed. For Arthur, the value of Amber Peach Wine wasn't just profit from sales; it was expanding Starfall's influence throughout Westeros through agency partnerships.
Moreover, as the port warehouse logistics system gradually matured, the Arbor's sales channels were no longer irreplaceable to Arthur.
The only remaining value in partnering with the Arbor was their accumulated brand and reputation.
"This contract holds no temptation for me."
Arthur felt that partnering with the Arbor now brought more disadvantages than benefits.
He gently rolled up the scroll and handed it back to Paxter. His voice was calm but resolute. "I refuse this contract."
Paxter's face looked exceptionally grim in the candlelight, though the shine on his bald head added a touch of absurdity.
He said nothing more. He simply put away the scrolls and turned to leave. In the moment he turned, his eyes were filled with lingering gloom.
Watching Paxter leave, Arthur stretched his body and walked down the corridor to the small dining hall.
Pushing open the door, he saw familiar food on the table: honey-glazed capon, nut-crusted bread, and a steaming bowl of carrot and onion carp soup.
But the chairs were empty.
No Allyria. No chattering Edric. No old master-at-arms or Maester Oswell.
Arthur sat alone at the head of the long table, silverware gleaming in the candlelight.
He stared at the empty chair opposite him and suddenly spoke.
"Hey... call... um..."
He stopped, stunned by his own words.
"My lord?" A servant waiting at the door peeked in, looking confused. "Do you need to invite someone to dinner?"
"Hm..." Arthur pondered for a moment, unable to think of anyone to invite. He waved his hand. "Never mind. It's nothing. Go about your business."
The servant bowed and withdrew, footsteps fading away.
For the first time, Arthur truly understood the loneliness of leadership.
But soon, he shook off the feeling. Starfall had too many affairs waiting for him.
The hedge knights left over from the tourney were waiting for him to wrap things up.
The restless wildling tribes in the Red Mountains were waiting to be dealt with.
And House Dayne historically held the title "Warden of the Torrentine." Arthur intended to make that title a reality by bringing the upstream House Blackmont under control.
The Next Morning.
Main Keep, Small Council Hall.
"My lord, here are the lists you requested." Karen the Fat Steward panted as he handed a sheepskin booklet to Arthur. It contained the summarized data on talent he had gathered during the tourney.
"Those willing to stay—hedge knights, archers, warriors—most have been settled in the tent encampment outside the tourney grounds.
Some are enjoying themselves in taverns and brothels, and some are recuperating at Star Station under the maester's care."
Arthur quickly scanned the list. 56 hedge knights, 49 squires, and over 100 archers and warriors each.
These 300-plus men were elites who had trained long-term and made a living by fighting—far superior to untrained, temporarily conscripted levies.
He closed the booklet. "Notify them to gather at the tourney grounds this afternoon. I will negotiate the employment terms personally."
After Karen left, Arthur turned to Ser Bard. "How is the relocation of the Regular Mountain Corps' families progressing?"
"All tribes have relocated their families to Violet Canyon, except for the Vulture Clan," Ser Bard reported.
"The Vulture Clan is the tribe where the Vulture King originally came from. Their current leader is a hardliner who refuses to cooperate.
Not only has he obstructed the migration of families, but he has also detained the soldiers we sent to escort them."
"Following your previous orders to avoid conflict with the tribes, we have delayed action until now."
A cold glint flashed in Arthur's eyes. He hadn't expected a tribe to actually stick its neck out. But on second thought, it made sense.
The Vulture King was likely supported by House Blackmont. His tribe would still be under Blackmont influence.
Using the Vulture Clan as a pawn to probe and worsen the relationship between Starfall and the Red Mountain tribes was hardly surprising.
Other tribal leaders who released people readily were mostly waiting to see which way the wind blew.
Arthur ordered, "Begin the migration of the Reserve Mountain Corps' families."
Ser Bard looked puzzled. "Shouldn't we punish the Vulture Clan first? Acting rashly might encourage resistance among other tribes, leading them to follow suit."
Arthur didn't explain. He continued, "Also, release the news: the Mountain Corps will expand again. Doubling the size to 400 men."
Seeing Ser Bard hesitate to speak, Arthur added calmly, "Go execute the order."
Arthur intended to escalate the conflict. This would distinguish which tribes were truly submissive and which were feigning obedience.
With the elite force of the Regular Mountain Corps in hand, he had enough power to swiftly crush any rebellious tribes, clearing the way for the complete fragmentation and integration of the Red Mountain wildlings.