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"My Lords," began Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish. "Ser Arthur's proposed list of demands is somewhat... extensive. Since Lord Mace has raised objections to several items, I have brought along my subordinate officials. We shall review them, item by item."
This time, the discussion was not held in the Hand's private solar, but in a spacious small hall with a vaulted ceiling and benches enough to seat two hundred.
Royal accountants bustled about, clutching heavy ledgers and stacks of documents. Measurers fiddled with brass scales, and the scent of ink hung heavy in the air.
"The list is divided into three categories," a thin royal accountant announced, clearing his throat.
"Losses from the burning of the Peach Orchard manor; lost profits due to the halt in Amber Peach Wine production; and Starfall's consumption of resources during the war."
He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
"First, we have the most concrete figures—the breach of contract penalties for the distribution agreements Ser Arthur signed with Houses Rowan, Tarth, and Fowler. The total is three hundred thousand gold dragons."
Mace slammed his hand on the table, complaining loudly, "Absurd! These penalties are ridiculously high!"
"My Lord," the accountant replied, neither humble nor arrogant. "The terms of the contract are written in black and white, and Ser Arthur has not profited from them."
He opened a copy of a distribution contract, his fingertip tracing a line of dense, small print. "Please look here..."
For the next hour and a half, the small hall transformed into a battlefield of fierce debate.
Mace's face grew redder and redder, resembling an enraged rooster. His carefully trimmed triangular beard quivered with every agitated word he spoke.
Whenever the argument reached a deadlock, Jon Arryn would intervene with words of mediation, while Renly would insert a witty quip at just the right moment to defuse the tension. Arthur remained mostly silent, only occasionally nodding to make a concession when Mace was on the verge of exploding, usually after Jon Arryn or Renly prompted him to compromise.
Some items on the list were indeed hard to define and lacked solid evidence, so Arthur was happy to grant them a favor by yielding.
Besides, he knew well that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Only what actually lands in his pocket counts as his own.
Refusing to budge an inch would only drag the negotiations out indefinitely, potentially bogging everything down in a quagmire of arguments until the list remained just that—a list on a piece of paper.
When the last accountant finally set down his quill, the densely packed numbers on the parchment settled into a final figure: one million, two hundred and five thousand gold dragons.
"Lord Mace is truly eloquent," Arthur said, clapping his hands lightly with a smile. "In just an hour, you've saved the Arbor nearly three hundred thousand gold dragons."
He took a sip from his goblet. "Knights fight and bleed in the tourney grounds to win a champion's purse, yet even that pales in comparison to the money Lord Mace earns just by moving his lips."
Mace was gulping down wine, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously. Arguing with the various officials had left him parched.
Hearing this "compliment," he unconsciously straightened his back, held his head high, and stroked his triangular beard with a smug air. "Ser Arthur flatters me."
"So," Arthur said, setting down his goblet. "When can I expect this sum to be delivered to Starfall?"
Mace's smile froze on his face. "This... the amount is enormous. It will take time to raise... I fear the Arbor cannot produce so much gold all at once."
Arthur turned to Jon Arryn. "Given the rather poor impression the Arbor has made on me, and considering the city is buzzing with talk of Paxter the 'Oathbreaker,' I have a request."
"I ask the Iron Throne to levy an additional tax on their wine revenues, specifically allocated for compensation, until the full sum of one million, two hundred and five thousand gold dragons is paid off."
"Furthermore, I request that customs officials be sent to monitor the Arbor fleet to prevent... a repeat of their old tricks, should they decide to play pirate again."
Jon Arryn interlaced his withered fingers. "A reasonable proposal. What says Lord Mace?"
"Additional tax for repayment is acceptable," Mace said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But monitoring the Arbor fleet... that is the private property of House Redwyne. Is that not improper?"
"Of course," Arthur flashed a brilliant smile. "If Lord Mace is willing to personally guarantee that the Arbor fleet will behave itself, I would naturally trust in your honor and character."
Mace's eyes flickered for a moment, but he finally nodded heavily.
He was furious at Paxter for causing such a massive disaster. If Paxter hadn't started this, none of this trouble would have happened. Highgarden indeed needed to keep a tighter leash on the Arbor.
Both the nobles and the common folk of Oldtown and the surrounding hills were grumbling loudly against the Arbor, especially after Paxter was struck by lightning. Mace had spent considerable effort just to suppress the unrest temporarily.
But no matter how foolish Paxter was, he was still Mace's cousin and brother-in-law, and the Arbor was Highgarden's closest ally.
Thinking of this, Mace spoke up. "Aside from the compensation amount, I request that the Iron Throne send a member of the Small Council to oversee the identification of the culprits by the Peach Orchard survivors. We must ensure no innocent men are wrongly accused."
Jon Arryn nodded. "Agreed. Once this matter is fully concluded, I will dispatch a member of the Small Council to accompany them."
With a consensus reached in the room and Arthur's first two demands met, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Now, all that remained was to wait for his official appointment as Governor of the Dornish Marches, and for the resumed inquiry and trial in the Throne Room—which would largely be a formality.
---
Paxter recovered faster than expected. When Arthur received the notice to return to the Throne Room, he found he didn't even have to stand in the center with Paxter to face the inquiry.
Instead, he stood among the crowd, transformed into a spectator.
The inquiry and trial began once again with a prayer from the obese High Septon. His booming voice echoed under the vaulted ceiling. "...Let the Father's light of justice descend, and let the hypocrites find no place to hide before the Seven!"
His fat finger pointed accusingly at Paxter's maimed limb. "This is the fate of liars!"
Paxter sat alone in the defendant's seat. The man who had been struck by Lightning looked deathly pale, his right hand wrapped in thick bandages.
"Paxter," Jon Arryn began. "Do you admit that the Arbor fleet disguised themselves as brigands to attack and burn the Peach Orchard manor?"
Paxter, still recovering from his injuries, was allowed to remain seated during the trial. "I admit it. But I had no choice!"
"I sought to cooperate with Ser Arthur Snow repeatedly. I offered generous terms, but he refused them all. I feared the Arbor's gold wine would be devastated by the Amber Peach Wine, so I resorted to this strategy."
Eddard spoke up. "So, you confess your guilt?"
"Confess guilt? No!" Paxter struggled to his feet. "Although I did indeed lie to the Gods and paid the price for it, I do not believe I was wrong in this matter."
He raised his bandaged stump high and roared, "I demand a trial by combat! Let the Gods judge my right or wrong once more!!"
The Throne Room erupted in an uproar.
Standing in the crowd, a playful smile touched the corner of Arthur's mouth.
It was a pity the Lightning card only targeted those who lied and broke vows. If Paxter were to eat another bolt of lightning right now... he wondered what kind of expression the man would make.
Lightning (Shan Dian): Has a very small probability of striking a target unit with lightning. (When used on a target unit, if that unit has lied or broken a vow—especially a sacred vow—recently, the probability and power of the lightning strike will increase progressively based on the severity of the lie or oath-breaking.)