"Supply can resume within a year, at the latest," Arthur replied. "I plan to construct a larger peach orchard, so the supply volume will certainly be guaranteed."
Baelish presented the contract to Jon Arryn with both hands. "In that case, Lord Hand, this contract will come into effect the moment it bears the King's seal."
"Ser Arthur Snow."
From the other side of the room, Stannis Baratheon suddenly spoke. "Aside from the distribution agreement within the Seven Kingdoms, what are your plans regarding distribution in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea?"
Arthur's gaze lingered for a moment on Jon Arryn's wrinkled face, and he immediately understood why Stannis was here.
"My Lord," he said, turning to Stannis. "I lack the massive fleet and sales channels of the Arbor. In the past, I simply sold my stock to various Braavosi captains."
"However, the Peach Orchard needs rebuilding. Furthermore, with the Redwyne fleet blockading and embargoing Starfall's port, few captains dare to dock there anymore."
"If it pleases you, my Lord, I would be happy to sign a distribution agreement for the Free Cities with you. However, I must ask: would you be signing in the name of the Iron Throne, or in your capacity as the Lord of Dragonstone?"
Stannis frowned, his jaw tightening. "What is the difference?"
"The contract will be signed in the name of the Iron Throne," Jon Arryn interjected directly.
"Stannis, once Starfall rebuilds the Peach Orchard, you will mobilize the Royal Fleet, along with any idle merchant vessels from your bannermen, to handle the trade."
"All profits from this trade will go to Dragonstone to maintain the Royal Fleet and to fund the suppression of piracy."
Arthur nodded slightly. "Starfall has indeed suffered greatly from 'pirates.' To reach such an agreement would be my contribution to the realm's security."
Having reached an agreement in principle, the group discussed the finer details of the contracts—supply quantities, payment settlements, pricing structures, and the like.
Half an hour later, with the terms clarified and the clauses finalized, Jon Arryn picked up the King's seal. He pressed it heavily onto the hot wax on both documents, which let out a soft hiss.
Watching the three men leave, each with their signed and sealed contracts, Jon Arryn set down the seal and exhaled.
The reason he had summoned Stannis—and used the authority of the Iron Throne to facilitate this overseas distribution deal while funneling all the profits to Dragonstone—was to compensate him.
During Robert's Rebellion, Stannis had held Storm's End for a year, besieged and starving to the point where they nearly resorted to cannibalism. His service had been immense.
Yet in the end, Robert did not grant the Baratheon ancestral seat of the Stormlands to Stannis. Instead, he gave it to their youngest brother, Renly.
Stannis had always harbored grievances and resentment over this slight. Nevertheless, he continued to serve Robert dutifully, helping him govern the realm. This deal was Jon Arryn's way of making it up to him.
After signing the contracts, Arthur returned to his inn.
Looking at the two documents on the table, bearing the royal seal, he nodded with satisfaction.
Although he had ceded a large portion of the profits from the Amber Peach Wine, gaining the backing of the Iron Throne made it worth it. It wasn't a bad trade.
Moreover, having Starfall produce a "Royal Reserve" exclusively for the crown would maximize the brand value and prestige across Westeros.
In his past life, he knew that the exorbitant price of luxury liquor wasn't just about the liquid inside the bottle; it was about the brand value attached to it.
---
Before the Gate of the Gods, on the northwestern side of King's Landing, Arthur stood in the back rows of the welcoming party.
Compared to the massive Northern host he had seen six years ago at Winterfell when his uncle returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion, this arrival seemed starkly different.
Uncle Eddard had brought only a meager retinue of twenty-odd men. The direwolf banner fluttered gently in the breeze, looking singularly lonely against the sprawling pomp of the royal welcome.
At the very front of the welcoming party stood King Robert, Queen Cersei, and their children, flanked by the Hand, Jon Arryn. Behind them stood the other members of the Small Council, minus Stannis and Renly.
This was Arthur's first time seeing the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm—Robert Baratheon.
He had seen Queen Cersei before; he had been invited to her ball, though he had only gone once. Finding the entertainment dull, he hadn't returned.
King Robert possessed the classic Baratheon traits: black hair and blue eyes.
He was a giant of a man, towering over the crowd like a mountain.
Perhaps once he had been a leader of powerful physique and martial prowess, but excessive indulgence in food, wine, and women had caused his body to balloon like a blown-up bladder.
His face was flushed with wine, and he walked with the heavy, shambling gait of a drunkard. Even a short walk left him panting and sweating profusely.
Though a thick, coarse black beard covered his double chin, nothing could hide his protruding belly or the dark, sunken circles under his eyes.
When the two parties met, and Uncle Eddard dismounted to bow to King Robert, Arthur could clearly see beads of sweat on his uncle's forehead. Evidently, a man accustomed to the bitter cold of the North was ill-suited to the southern heat.
There was a saying in the Seven Kingdoms: Northerners are made of ice and snow; they melt when they leave the North.
"Ned! Six years, and you've finally decided to come out of your icebox!" Arthur saw the King haul his uncle to his feet.
"When Jon told me you were coming, I was hunting in the Kingswood. They told me there was a white hart in the forest."
Robert's voice was booming; even Arthur in the back row could hear the King's complaints clearly. Robert then pulled Eddard into a crushing hug.
"Damn it all, if I didn't have to be here to welcome you, I'd have bagged that elusive white hart by now."
As Robert enveloped him in a bear hug, Eddard's gaze drifted over the crowd and unerringly found Arthur.
Their eyes met. Eddard simply nodded, just as he had done when he returned to Winterfell all those years ago.
The familiar gesture warmed Arthur's chest.
"Your Grace," Eddard said. "Winterfell awaits your command."
"Oh, come off it. I summoned you countless times, and you refused every one." The King released Eddard and looked at the small party behind him. "Where are Catelyn and the children?"
"I rode hard to get here," Eddard replied. "The journey is rough. They did not come with me."
Robert then took Eddard by the arm and introduced his own children one by one. After the formal greetings concluded, the massive procession—flying the banners of the Stag, the Lion, the Falcon, and the Wolf—escorted the King, the Queen, the Hand, and the Lord of Stark through the Gate of the Gods and toward the Red Keep.
As the procession moved, the crowds lining the streets cheered.
"Long live the King! King Robert! The Stag King!"
Arthur also heard scattered shouts of "Usurper," "Demon of the Trident," and "Beggar King" from the crowd, though these were quickly silenced by the Gold Cloaks' cudgels.
At the tail end of the procession, several guards were tasked with tossing coppers to the crowd, sparking scrambles among the common children.
As they passed through Cobbler's Square, Arthur noticed a familiar figure riding up beside him.
"Arthur! It's been too long. You've changed so much!" Jory Cassel's voice was full of surprise and delight.
The Captain of the Winterfell Household Guard was even sturdier than Arthur remembered, but the warmth in his eyes hadn't dimmed a bit.
"When I heard you became the 'Sword of the Morning,' I couldn't believe it! Robb and Jon were green with envy."
His eyes kept darting to the greatsword Dawn on Arthur's back, like a child eyeing a sweetshop.
Arthur smiled and rode alongside him, chatting about old friends from Winterfell.
Jory's presence brought back memories of his days in the North—Ser Rodrik's gruff training, sparring with Robb and Jon, painstakingly building his Peach Orchard in the Wolfswood, and the stone statues clutching swords in the crypts of Winterfell.
As they passed through the gates of the Red Keep, Arthur felt a strange sense of belonging. No matter how far he traveled, the cold of the North would always be a part of him.
Just like his name. Snow.