Chapter 96: War Reparations

Starfall.

In the brightly lit Great Hall, the newly adorned Lady of House Dayne, Nathalie Dayne, stood atop the raised platform, looking out over a group of Dayne knights kneeling before her.

"...In the name of the Sword and the Stars, we pledge undying loyalty to Nathalie Dayne. From this day forward, our swords shall be drawn solely for you. May the Seven bear witness to our oath!"

The deep, solemn voices echoed in the hall, leaving Nathalie feeling both stiff and flustered, as though a swarm of butterflies was fluttering inside her.

She glanced over to find Samwell in the crowd, that familiar face grounding her, and only when he looked back at her did she feel a bit more at ease.

"I accept your fealty," she replied in her soft, youthful voice.

One by one, the knights rose and moved to stand beside the dais.

Samwell nodded approvingly. With this, Nathalie was formally the head of House Dayne.

Of course, she would still need the approval of the Prince of Dorne to officially claim the title of Countess of Starfall. But Samwell was confident Doran Martell would grant it—unless he wanted to see his own daughter suffer.

Approaching her, Samwell gave a respectful bow. "Congratulations, Lady Nathalie. I'm sure House Dayne will flourish under your leadership."

"Thank you, Ser Samwell." Natalya's smile was radiant. "You are a trusted ally; Starfall will remember your friendship."

"It's my honor," Samwell replied, grinning. But his tone quickly shifted. "However, due to certain ambitions that have brought grievous harm to both the Reach and Dorne, costing the lives of thousands, we must reflect on what reparations are due."

A shadow of guilt crossed Nathalie's face. "I apologize for the lives lost in the conflict. House Dayne will ensure that appropriate reparations are made."

"You are a wise leader, my lady!" Samwell chuckled as he produced a rolled-up parchment. When he unfurled it, it stretched nearly three feet in length. "This is a preliminary list of compensations, Lady Nathalie. Please, take a look."

Lifting her skirt delicately, Nathalie descended from the platform and approached Samwell, her eyes widening at the sight of the parchment filled with closely packed writing.

"Ser Samwell, I trust your judgment; let's go with—"

"Hold on!"

Finally, Alfric, the elderly steward of House Dayne, couldn't bear it any longer and mustered the courage to interrupt his young liege's overly trusting surrender.

Samwell narrowed his eyes, studying the steward's aged face. "Alfric, do you have objections?"

"Ser Samwell, I believe it would be prudent to openly discuss this list of compensations."

Samwell held his gaze on the loyal steward before nodding with a smirk. "Very well, let's discuss. First, we have compensation for House Redwyne."

He raised his hand and pointed toward Horas and Hobber Redwyne, who stood nearby. "House Redwyne dispatched ten warships and nearly a thousand sailors, incurring significant costs. Thus, they are entitled to eight thousand gold dragons in compensation."

Alfric's brow furrowed as he protested, "But my lord, I understand that House Redwyne's ships didn't actually engage in any combat, nor sustained damage. So why would—"

"Alfric!" Horas Redwyne marched forward, practically poking the old steward in the face with his finger. "Are you belittling the efforts of House Redwyne? We traveled all the way here, and you refuse us a mere eight thousand dragons? One more word, and I'll have Starfall's docks set aflame!"

"I am not refusing compensation, Ser Horas," Alfric said wearily, "I merely thought we might negotiate the figure a little—"

"Negotiate? Then tell me what you think is fair." Horas glared at him, clearly ready to throw a punch if Alfric named a number he found too low.

The steward looked over at the assembled Dayne knights, hoping for support. But they remained as still as statues, wary of the Reach soldiers who had so recently overwhelmed them on the battlefield.

Turning to Nathalie, he found only innocence and bewilderment in her violet eyes—she probably didn't even know what eight thousand dragons meant…

The old steward's spirit sank.

"Perhaps we could compromise," Samwell offered sympathetically. "If House Redwyne would be willing to accept seven thousand nine hundred dragons?"

Horas shrugged. "Fine, I can make that concession."

"Lady Nathalie, do you agree?" Samwell asked, smiling.

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Good, it's settled." Samwell didn't spare Alfric another glance as he jotted down the figure on the parchment.

With that, he continued, "Now, we have Ser Aemon of House Cuy. This gentleman led three hundred men into battle, with thirteen dead and twenty-four seriously wounded. Factoring in pensions and wartime expenses, the total is nine thousand dragons."

Alfric's voice was barely a whisper now as he questioned, "But…how did you calculate the pensions? Surely it shouldn't cost this much…"

"What are you suggesting?" Ser Aemon Cuy snapped, leaping forward. "Are you saying our men aren't worth this price?"

"That's not what I meant at all…" Alfric muttered, defeated.

The knights of House Dayne stood silent as though their voices had deserted them along with their courage on the battlefield. Alfric, bereft of support, bowed his head.

Nathalie, feeling a pang of sympathy for the elderly steward, tried to console him. "Master Alfric, we must be generous in our pensions. Otherwise, the gods themselves may abandon us."

Alfric could only sigh, wondering how to explain the situation to his naive lady.

"It's settled, then," Samwell announced, finalizing the figure as Ser Aemon stepped back, beaming.

"Next, we come to House Mullendore. Highgarden sent two hundred soldiers, suffering casualties… Therefore, House Dayne will pay them seven thousand dragons."

After the earlier demands, even Alfric found himself thinking this amount seemed reasonable…

Seeing no further objections, Samwell continued reading.

"And finally, House Florent. Brightwater Keep sent thirty-two hundred soldiers, with losses totaling… House Dayne will therefore pay eighty-five thousand dragons."

"How much?" Even in his dazed state, Alfric gasped aloud.

"Eighty-five thousand dragons," said Arrec Florent, stepping forward with a hand on his sword. "Do you have any issue with that figure?"

Alfric doubted that Ser Alreyk would hesitate to turn his soldiers loose on Starfall if he dared offer the slightest protest.

Considering this, the figure suddenly seemed… reasonable.

With a resigned sigh, he lowered his head yet again.

As for Nathalie, she barely understood the implications of such a sum. In her mind, the castle surely held enough gold to cover it all.

The young girl still felt like she was dreaming, unable to believe that she had truly inherited Starfall.

(End of Chapter)