The next day, when Tycho Nestoris was led into the Great Hall again, the atmosphere was starkly different from yesterday.
Robert Baratheon sat on the high seat, legs spread wide, radiating dominance. Without any pleasantries, he laid his cards on the table, his voice booming like a pre-battle declaration: "Envoy, listen up! Either we don't borrow a copper, or if we borrow, it's five million gold dragons! Not a coin less!" He stood up, his massive frame imposing an undeniable pressure. "If you refuse, when I take King's Landing, you won't get a single copper star of that madman's bad debt from me!"
It was a naked, extortionate demand coupled with a threat of default. Tycho Nestoris's face instantly turned extremely grim.
Just then, Euron Greyjoy, acting as the partner in the shadows, spoke up at the perfect moment. His voice was calm and lethal. "Lord Tycho, you are a smart man. Please consider clearly. If this deal fails, the time and expectations you've invested will be completely wasted, and your future... well, you can imagine you will lose everything you have now. But if you lend, even if the sum is huge, at least... this investment has a future." The implication was clear: Refuse, and the Iron Bank loses its future in Westeros entirely; lend, and there is a glimmer of hope.
Euron paused, as if making a huge concession, and held up three fingers. "How about this. Three million gold dragons. That is our bottom line, and the number that can truly tip the scales of this war. Any less would be meaningless for the war effort, and we'd have no reason to burden ourselves with interest to borrow it from you."
Tycho Nestoris fell into a long silence, his long fingers unconsciously stroking the golden key on his chest. His shrewd mind calculated the risks and returns at lightning speed, weighing the failure of returning empty-handed against the potential "future" Euron hinted at with this massive loan. Finally, as if making up his mind, he looked up and responded briefly in a tone of near exhaustion: "Agreed."
In this moment, the largest private loan in the history of Westeros was sealed in this recently conquered fortress, through an agreement that bordered on robbery.
---
Highgarden
This castle, situated by the Mander and famous for its gardens and luxury, was currently bathed in the warm, pleasant sunlight of the Reach.
However, the undercurrents surging within its opulent halls were far more complex than any battlefield.
Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach—Mace Tyrell—sat smugly on his high seat, clad in finery symbolizing his many titles. Not long ago, he had just returned from the front lines of the long siege at Storm's End.
In all public victory reports and messages sent to King's Landing, the glorious victory at the Battle of Ashford was entirely credited to Mace Tyrell's "brilliant command." Although everyone in the know understood that the battle, from deployment to breaking the enemy, relied entirely on Lord Randyll Tarly's military genius, Lord Mace accepted all the glory with a clear conscience.
After that, Lord Mace personally led the Reach army north, besieging Storm's End so tightly not a drop of water could trickle through. This seemingly massive military operation, however, had a true intent far simpler than it appeared. It was not born of Mace's own strategic thinking, but was a brilliant move carefully laid out by his mother, the "Queen of Thorns," Lady Olenna Redwyne.
Lady Olenna's calculations were far-reaching and precise. She needed to outwardly show House Tyrell's "loyalty" and "action" to the Iron Throne, but she absolutely could not inflict substantial, heavy damage on the rising rebel forces, lest she cut off future room for maneuvering. Thus, besieging Storm's End—a location relatively remote from the main theaters of war, yet the seat of the rebel leader Robert, defended by his brother Stannis—became the perfect choice for this tactic.
This move was like a carefully choreographed play: it sent "victory reports" to King's Landing, highlighting the "achievements" of the Reach, while simultaneously parking the main strength of the family in a relatively safe position, avoiding the upcoming decisive battle that would determine the fate of the realm.
This rose of Highgarden was dancing a cautious and elegant political swan dance under the protection of thorns.
Now, as the tides of war shifted, Lord Mace's massive army, intact and unexhausted by major battles, still pinned Stannis Baratheon inside Storm's End. Yet, Mace himself had suddenly returned to Highgarden.
In the council chamber of Highgarden, the scent of flowers was rich, and sunlight cast colorful shadows through stained glass.
Sitting beside the high seat, the "Queen of Thorns," Lady Olenna Redwyne, spoke with a tone colder than the winds of the North. She didn't even look up at her son who had finished bowing, asking directly, "What are you doing back? Is the scenery at Storm's End not enough for you?"
Lord Mace Tyrell was stung by his mother's attitude. A flash of displeasure crossed his chubby face as he defended himself, "Mother! The army just sits there all day, doing nothing! How is a commander like me supposed to display his talents?"
Lady Olenna finally raised her eyes. Those sharp orbs were filled with undisguised mockery. "Talents? Display what talents? The talent for counting grain sacks every day, or the talent for staring at Stannis's stone face?"
Mace choked on his words, his face flushing red. He tried to bring up his only "achievement." "Don't forget, at Ashford..."
"I haven't forgotten!" Lady Olenna interrupted him rudely, waving him off like a fly. "Fine, out with it. What 'astounding' plan do you have now that was worth abandoning your army to run back here?"
Mace Tyrell waved a war report from King's Landing in his hand, his tone a mix of disbelief and inexplicable superiority. "The rebels first crushed Jon Connington at Stoney Sept, and now they've taken Harrenhal! Why are they sweeping through everything so easily? What is the reason?"
Lady Olenna was leisurely pruning a pot of roses. Without looking up, she asked softly in her unique, deadly sweet tone, "Oh? My dear son, following your logic, could it be because... these major battles lacked your brilliant command?"
Lord Mace completely missed the sharp thorn in his mother's words. Instead, he slapped his thigh as if struck by an epiphany.
"Of course! Mother, you are absolutely right! Looking at the whole war, in all engagements with the rebels, only I achieved a decisive victory at Ashford!"
He stood up abruptly, trying to puff out his portly chest to look more majestic, his voice rising an octave.
"So, I must act! I will personally lead the main Reach host to King's Landing, answer the King's call, fight alongside Prince Rhaegar, and thoroughly annihilate these rebels!"
He stood there, seemingly already visualizing the scene where he was knighted as the Savior of the Realm, his face glowing with confident light. He remained completely oblivious to the complex look in his mother's eyes behind him—a mix of helplessness, mockery, and deep worry.
Lady Olenna watched him quietly for a few seconds. Her gaze made Mace's newly mustered courage fade rapidly. Then, she spoke in a tone that brooked no argument and ended the conversation: "Enough. Pack your things and go back to Storm's End. I will absolutely not let the sons of Highgarden follow a Pufferfish to King's Landing to die."
The sentence fell like a cold command, drawing a period to this brief meeting.