The atmosphere over dinner had been thoroughly pleasant. Domeric hadn't brought up business, and Horas found it awkward to push the matter…
But when Domeric instructed the servants to bring in dessert, Horas finally ran out of patience. He tested the waters carefully:
"Ser Domeric—my father, Lord Paxter, is willing to purchase all iron goods produced by Hornwood Hills at ten percent above market price. What do you think?"
Horas would not reveal his true limit too quickly, so he began with a modest increase to gauge Domeric's interest.
Domeric set down his knife and fork and nodded. "I received Lord Paxter's letter. But at present, I can't agree.
Unfortunately, there was a collapse in one of the mine shafts some time ago. It affected ore output—and it also disrupted our forging."
"For the past month my people have been trying to restore production. But the rubble at the collapse site still hasn't been cleared. At this pace, returning to our original output won't be easy."
A collapse?
Horas blinked. What a coincidence.
And besides—Hornwood Hills was rich in ore, much of it open-pit. Could a single collapsed shaft truly have that much impact?
He quickly understood: it was likely only an excuse. Ten percent was not enough to move Domeric.
Business was business. If it was a negotiation, then it could be negotiated—slowly.
Don't rush, Horas told himself.
"If not this month, then… next month?"
"Ser Horas—surely you've heard what happened with the Karstarks of Karhold? They attacked my lands without cause last month…" Domeric said with a pained expression.
Horas had heard, of course. Among nobles, there were no real secrets. He echoed at once: "House Karstark is a greedy lot."
So it was about the attack. An uneasy feeling rose in Horas's chest.
"Because of the Karstark assault," Domeric sighed, "my domain lost a great deal of manpower. We're short of hands now.
If we try to increase output again, I'm afraid the miners and smiths will strike together…"
Horas opened his mouth, then closed it.
He wasn't a smith. Faced with reasons that sounded plausible, he couldn't find a clean rebuttal. "I regret your losses. But House Redwyne has come in good faith."
"Good faith isn't rare," Domeric replied evenly.
"But—"
"There is no 'but.'" Domeric cut him off. "Trade requires honesty. Besides, I've already agreed to shipment orders with other houses.
I have no need to break faith for an extra ten percent—risking the anger of other houses in the process…"
"But…"
Horas remembered his father's instructions: whatever it took, he had to close this deal.
And so, in a rush of impatience, he threw down the final card.
"Thirty percent." He raised three fingers. "The Arbor will pay thirty percent above market for all iron goods from Hornwood Hills.
That should be more than any other house—and more than White Harbor's Manderlys have offered.
At that price, you'd have every justification to refuse the others. Surely they couldn't argue."
Only as the words left his mouth did Horas realize what he'd done—he'd revealed Lord Paxter's bottom line in one breath.
How in the Seven Hells was he supposed to negotiate after this?
"It's certainly sincere," Domeric said after a pause. "It's plain Lord Paxter means to secure Hornwood Hills iron at any cost."
In truth, Domeric was surprised. The Arbor was offering a price bordering on absurd.
But the logic was not hard to see: pay above market now to seize the market share—then raise prices later and still come away swimming in gold.
Thirty percent above market meant Domeric's profit would effectively double.
The Hornwood Hills' fiscal crisis would vanish overnight—and Domeric would still make a fortune.
But between nobles, trade was never only trade. Politics always sat at the table.
If Domeric accepted, and abandoned his established partner—the White Harbor fleet—he would offend House Manderly.
And House Manderly was an ally Domeric needed in his three-year plan.
Because White Harbor's fleet was the North's only true navy.
In the coming War of the Five Kings, it could provide the most direct, practical military support.
That was why Domeric had spent three years courting the Manderlys with every tool he had.
The Arbor had ships as well—but it was too far. If war broke out, it would be difficult to make the Redwyne fleet sail halfway across the world to answer a northern call.
So what now?
Domeric found himself caught between two hard choices.
White Harbor: close, friendly, naval support that could actually arrive.
The Arbor: distant, lukewarm relations, but deep coffers and a spectacular offer.
If he couldn't decide immediately, then he would stall.
Domeric spread his hands with a helpless look. "But trade cannot be faithless. I've already promised other houses—"
Horas sprang to his feet. "Ser Domeric, I've heard the Lord of White Harbor's granddaughter is a famed beauty—but my sister, Desmera, is renowned as well. She's no less a great beauty than the Manderly girl. You should consider—"
Halfway through the sentence Horas felt his throat go dry.
He had come to negotiate iron, and somehow managed to expose his limit—and start arranging his sister's marriage besides.
Gods above. What am I doing?
Domeric laughed loudly. "House Redwyne's sincerity does you credit. And yes—I've heard your sister truly is a great beauty…"
"Then you mean—?"
Horas leaned forward, urgent, as if he wanted the contract signed tonight.
"Give me a few days to think," Domeric said calmly. "I also need to consult my men."
"I can stay a few days," Horas answered, unwilling but cornered by the logic: he could not think of a reason Domeric would refuse such terms—or the Arbor's goodwill.
"Of course," Domeric said with a smile. "Finish these fine cakes, rest well, and tomorrow I'll have someone show you around…"
…
After dinner with Horas, Domeric returned to his bedchamber.
There was no nightlife in this age. If you weren't making heirs, you slept early.
Domeric lit the candles and began writing to his "pen friend."
My dear Lady Wylfyd,
It has been some time since we last exchanged letters. Your beauty—like the stars in the heavens—remains vivid in my memory.
Yet there is something I must confess…
This time it is not that I am raising the price of iron on a whim. There are reasons.
Though I am the heir of House Bolton, my father, Lord Roose, has not given me as much support as some might imagine.
You may have heard that last month House Karstark attacked my lands without cause, causing heavy losses. I cannot even cover the soldiers' compensation now.
My Hornwood Hills is poor and perilous—unruly hill clansmen, and savage wildling bands…
I must maintain a large host to face the battles that are coming. And so my domain has fallen into a severe fiscal crisis.
And then, at this moment, House Redwyne of the Arbor arrived. They are willing to buy Hornwood Hills iron at thirty percent above market…
Of course, I have never forgotten the understanding between us. My admiration for you is worth far more than any number of gold dragons.
But my smiths must be paid, and my miners grumble for meat at every meal.
Beyond that, I have issued three warhorses to every soldier. These brave northerners have left home and kin to follow me and fight for me—I cannot bear to make them walk into battle…
I trust that you, Lady Wylfyd—so fair and so kind—will understand my predicament.
Ever devoted to you,
Domeric Bolton
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🏰 Game of Thrones: Secrets Beneath the Dreadfort
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