His fury found echoes among the lesser nobles, and a chorus of curses against the Lannisters filled the hall.
"Blood for blood? Certainly, my lord."
Ser Baelor finally spoke. "But look out that window, my lord. Look upon this ravaged land."
He paced to a shattered window, pointing at the charred fields and the thick smoke still lingering on the distant horizon.
"Highgarden, Goldengrove, Horn Hill... even the far-off Cider Hall—all laid waste by plunder and slaughter. What price has the Reach paid in these two short years? The armies that followed Renly were consumed by wildfire. The tens of thousands of elite troops who followed Gendry were lost in the sands. Now, the fertile lands east of Highgarden have been utterly scorched to ashes. How many men do we have left? How much grain remains?"
He turned, his gaze sweeping over the assembled men. "The fire of vengeance needs strength to fuel it, yet the Reach now resembles an eagle stripped of feathers, its wings broken—barely able to stand, let alone strike."
Lord Paxter's face turned ashen. He sought to counter, yet found no convincing argument. Baelor's words struck at the heart of the Reach's plight—their devastating losses in this war.
"So we just stand by and watch the Lannisters flaunt their power, waiting for them to crush us completely next time?" Jon Fossoway frowned, unable to hold back.
House Fossoway was divided into the Green Apples of New Barrel and the Red Apples of Cider Hall. The Red Apples of Cider Hall had also suffered at the hands of the Lannisters. He couldn't swallow this humiliation.
"Of course not."
A smile returned to Ser Baelor's face. "We are not without allies. Before coming here, I received certain intelligence: Viserys Targaryen, leading tens of thousands of Dothraki warhorses, is about to land in the Stormlands. He has publicly declared his intent to reclaim the Iron Throne."
This news, like a drop of water into boiling oil, instantly set the nobles abuzz.
Dothraki!
Those savages on horseback!
A wave of disgust washed over the crowd. Part of their forces had perished at the hands of Dothraki horsemen in the North.
Baelor nodded and continued. "Not only that, but Viserys claims he has betrothed himself to Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne through Ser Willem Darry, witnessed by the Sealord of Braavos. Consider this, my lords: the banners of House Targaryen, the spears of Dorne, and tens of thousands of bloodthirsty Dothraki warhorses... Where will the first flames of Viserys Targaryen's vengeance burn?
"Of course, it will be Duskendale, the Iron Throne, the Lannisters. We should let them tear each other apart, fight to the death. The Reach can use this opportunity to lick its wounds, regain its strength, and watch the tigers fight from the mountains. Once the situation becomes clear, it can choose the most advantageous side to bet on. This is the wise course to preserve its house and continue its bloodline."
"Watch the tigers fight from the mountains..."
Lord Paxter pondered Baelor's words. Though he despised the Lannisters, he recognized that House Hightower's calculations were always precise. Allowing the Targaryens and Dothraki to drain the Lannisters' strength was indeed the optimal choice for the battered Reach at present.
After a moment's silence, he nodded heavily. "Ser Baelor speaks wisely. The Reach truly needs time to breathe now."
The other nobles, regardless of their personal claims to Highgarden, could not deny that Baelor's analysis struck at the heart of the matter.
Revenge was a luxury; survival came first.
A subdued murmur of agreement rippled through the hall.
Yet soon, talk turned to the ownership of the unclaimed lands—Highgarden, Goldengrove, Horn Hill, and Cider Hall—and the atmosphere grew tense once more.
When the discussion turned to Horn Hill, Ser Baelor spoke his ambition plainly. "Horn Hill controls the Honeywine's key channels. It is a vital bulwark for the eastern approaches to Highgarden. House Hightower has the wealth and forces to garrison it now, restore order, and stop Lannister stragglers or bandits. I think placing Horn Hill temporarily under Oldtown's stewardship is the safest course."
"Temporary stewardship?"
Lord Paxter stiffened and sneered. "Ser Baelor, I appreciate the offer, but Horn Hill is Tarly land, not terra nullius. Your sister Lady Alerie is Lord Mace's widow. You press for Horn Hill now—will you next claim rule of Highgarden in her name? The balance of the Reach cannot be upended lightly."
Ser Baelor's smile didn't change, but his eyes went cold. "Lord Paxter, you worry too much. I only have the Reach's security in mind. House Tarly has already—"
"House Tarly is not extinct!"
A voice cut in. Ser Jon Fossoway spoke with blunt insistence. He disliked any Hightower monopoly. "Have you forgotten? Lord Randyll Tarly has a son, Samwell Tarly. He serves on the Wall."
"Samwell?"
Ser Baelor snorted, openly contemptuous. "That fat boy Lord Randyll called a coward? He took the black. He swore the Night's Watch vows—no wife, no children, no lands. Those vows are sacred and binding. He forfeited Horn Hill long ago."
"The Night's Watch vows?"
Paxter's tone turned furious and scornful. "Ser Baelor, since Tywin Lannister blew so many of our men to ashes with wildfire, since the Freys butchered guests at a wedding and betrayed the sacred right of hospitality, since the Lannisters laid waste to Highgarden without sparing pregnant women or children—who in the Seven Kingdoms gives a damn about honor now? Who gives a damn about those bloody vows?!"
His words hit hard. The hall fell silent. Coarse as they were, Paxter's lines exposed a savage truth. The old honor and sacred rules that ordered noble life across the Seven Kingdoms had been trampled by Lannister brutality. Faced with naked survival and interest, once-sacred vows looked pale and meaningless.
Ser Baelor's smile vanished. He watched Paxter, then scanned the other nobles. Their silence hid shifting resolve. Lady Arwyn Oakheart, Lord Tommen Costayne, and Lady Victaria Tyrell all inclined their heads slightly.
In the end, blood and fire won where tradition could not.
...
Baelor nodded, reluctantly. "Send men to the Wall. Take ravens, a contingent of knights, and a batch of condemned prisoners. Find the Lord Commander. Tell him we will trade those prisoners for Samwell's freedom. Then tell Samwell that his father, his brother, his whole house fell by the Lannister sword. Horn Hill needs an heir. Let him choose: freeze and starve to death out there, clinging to useless vows, or return, inherit his father's lands, take up arms, and avenge his house."
He paused, then continued.
"As for Viserys Targaryen, since we've decided to lie low and watch, let's be proactive in a measured way. Send an envoy bearing the Reach's goodwill..."
"Recognize Viserys's claim and swear him fealty?" Paxter frowned.
Baelor's smile turned sly. "Not yet. It's about opening channels and showing intent. Tell him the Reach has suffered under Lannister rule. Acknowledge his legitimate claim to the Iron Throne and respect his courage. Offer a posture of friendly neutrality in his just war against the Lannisters and limited assistance if needed. The goal is simple: keep his fires of vengeance from turning back on our scorched lands once he takes the Stormlands. Stabilize him. Buy us time."
The nobles considered and then nodded. Sending an envoy and a few courteous words could buy precious breathing room. Why not?