Chapter 3: The Weight of Decisions

The early morning air was crisp and cool as Lord Paxter Redwyne stood on the deck of The Pride of Arbor, his eyes fixed on the distant silhouette of Dragonstone. The first rays of the sun had just begun to pierce the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the restless waters of the Narrow Sea. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew that the choices he made in the coming hours could shape the future of not just his house, but the entire realm.

The discovery of the dragonglass and the sealed scrolls aboard the smuggler's vessel had sent a shockwave through Paxter's thoughts. Stannis Baratheon, once a lord of measured logic, had turned to the mystical and the unknown, embracing a foreign faith that brought with it both power and peril. The presence of the dragonglass—a substance tied to ancient myths and deadly truths—hinted at plans far darker and more dangerous than any he had previously considered.

Paxter's hands tightened around the ship's railing. He had already sent ravens to Highgarden and King's Landing, detailing the discovery. He knew that his wife, Lady Mina, would ensure that the information reached the highest ears at court, but he was uncertain of how it would be received. Would they understand the gravity of the situation? Or would they dismiss it as just another piece of war intelligence, one more concern among many in a war-torn realm?

As he stood there, deep in thought, Paxter heard the approach of footsteps behind him. He turned to see Maester Ferris, the fleet's maester, a tall, thin man with a sharp nose and eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

"My lord," Ferris said, bowing slightly. "The prisoners have been secured below deck, as you ordered. They are ready for questioning whenever you wish."

Paxter nodded. "And the cargo?"

"Safely stored in the hold," Ferris replied. "I took the liberty of examining the dragonglass myself. It is indeed genuine. And the scrolls... they are written in a script I do not fully recognize, though the seals are unmistakably Stannis's."

Paxter felt a chill run down his spine. The weight of what he had found was becoming more real by the moment. "We'll begin the questioning now," he said, his voice firm. "But I want to know every detail. No matter how small."

Together, they descended into the ship's lower decks, the smell of salt and tar filling the narrow corridors. The sound of waves crashing against the hull was a constant, a reminder of the sea's power and the isolation of their position.

The makeshift brig was a small, cramped space, lit only by a few flickering lanterns. The captured smugglers sat huddled together, their faces bruised and bloodied from the brief skirmish the night before. Their eyes darted nervously between Paxter and Maester Ferris as they approached.

Paxter stepped forward, his presence commanding the small space. "You were caught attempting to smuggle dangerous cargo past a royal blockade," he said, his voice cold and steady. "Tell me who sent you, and why."

The smugglers exchanged glances, but none of them spoke. Paxter felt his patience thinning. He had no time for their games, not with so much at stake.

"Speak," he demanded, his tone hardening. "Or I will see you all hanged from the yardarm before the sun sets."

One of the smugglers, a wiry man with a scar running down his cheek, finally broke. "We didn't know the full details, m'lord," he stammered. "We were paid well to deliver the cargo to Dragonstone, that's all. It was just a job."

"Who paid you?" Paxter pressed.

"Goldcloaks," the man replied, his voice trembling. "At the docks in King's Landing. They didn't give us names, just the gold and the cargo. We were told to get it to Dragonstone quietly, to avoid the blockade."

"And the scrolls?" Paxter asked, leaning in closer. "What do they say?"

"I don't know, m'lord, I swear it," the smuggler said, his eyes wide with fear. "We weren't told anything about them, just to deliver them unopened."

Paxter studied the man's face, searching for any sign of deceit, but the terror in his eyes seemed genuine. He nodded slowly, straightening up. "You will remain here until I decide your fate. If you are found to be lying, I assure you, your end will be slow and painful."

The smuggler nodded frantically, his face pale. "I'm telling the truth, m'lord. Please, we're just sailors. We didn't want any part of this."

Paxter turned away, motioning for Maester Ferris to follow him out of the brig. Once they were back in the corridor, Paxter let out a slow breath, his mind churning with possibilities.

"What do you make of it, Maester?" he asked quietly.

Ferris hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If what they say is true, then someone in King's Landing, possibly even within the Goldcloaks, is working with Stannis. Or, at the very least, willing to supply him. The dragonglass is rare and valuable, but the scrolls... those worry me more."

Paxter nodded. "We need to understand what's in those scrolls. Have them brought to your quarters and study them. Use whatever resources you need. I want answers by tomorrow."

Ferris bowed. "As you command, my lord."

Paxter watched him go, his thoughts a whirlwind. If there was indeed treachery within King's Landing, then the situation was far more dire than he had imagined. The Lannisters were already stretched thin, their grip on the Iron Throne maintained through force and fear. If Stannis had allies within the capital, it could tip the balance in his favor.

He needed to act, and act quickly. The blockade around Dragonstone would remain, but he would have to send a ship back to the Arbor with a full report. And he would need to prepare for the possibility that Stannis might attempt something bold, something that could shatter the fragile peace that existed between the great houses of Westeros.

As he climbed back to the deck, the morning sun now fully risen, Paxter's resolve hardened. The game was growing more dangerous by the day, but House Redwyne had weathered many storms before. They would survive this one as well.

But as he looked out over the sea, he couldn't shake the feeling that the storm brewing on the horizon was unlike any they had faced before.