GOT: House Redwyne

Paxter Redwyne could hear the laughter of his sons, Horro and Hobber, echoing through the halls of the Arbor Keep. They were twins, and despite their youth, they were already renowned for their mischievousness. Paxter allowed himself a small smile as he imagined them wrestling with each other, as they often did. The boyish antics of his sons were a brief respite from the burdens of lordship, but the smile faded quickly as his thoughts turned to more pressing matters.

The War of the Five Kings had brought death and destruction to Westeros, and though the Arbor had been spared the worst of it, the conflict had begun to cast its shadow even here. Paxter's loyalty to House Tyrell, his wife's family, had drawn him into the war. The Redwyne fleet had been called upon to blockade Dragonstone, where Stannis Baratheon's forces still held out, defiant even after the disastrous Battle of the Blackwater.

As he looked out over the bustling port of Ryamsport, Paxter could see the Redwyne fleet anchored in the harbor, their sails furled and their decks busy with sailors preparing for another sortie. The sight filled him with a sense of pride—and dread. The fleet was his pride, the jewel of House Redwyne, but every ship that sailed to war carried men who might not return.

"Lord Redwyne," came a voice from the doorway. Paxter turned to see Maester Vyman, his trusted advisor, entering the room. The maester was an older man, his hair thinning and his face lined with age, but his eyes were sharp and filled with the wisdom of years.

"What news, Maester?" Paxter asked, though he already knew what the maester had come to discuss.

"The harvest is nearly upon us," Vyman said, "but there are reports from the mainland that trouble me. Bandits have been seen near the vineyards, and there are whispers that some of the smallfolk are beginning to grow restless. The war has not touched the Arbor directly, but its effects are being felt all the same."

Paxter frowned. The Arbor's wealth was its wine, and the vineyards were its lifeblood. If the harvest was threatened, the consequences could be dire. "Send word to the captains of the Redwyne fleet," Paxter ordered. "I want patrols along the coast and in the hills. No one is to threaten our vineyards."

"And the blockade of Dragonstone?" Vyman asked. "The fleet is needed there as well."

Paxter sighed. The demands of war and the needs of his people were pulling him in different directions. "The fleet must remain at Dragonstone," he said finally. "But we cannot leave the Arbor undefended. I will take command of the patrols myself."

Vyman nodded. "A wise decision, my lord. But there is another matter that requires your attention."

"What is it?"

"Lady Mina has received a raven from Highgarden. It seems Lord Mace Tyrell is planning a grand tourney to celebrate King Joffrey's forthcoming wedding to Margaery. He requests your presence—and the best of the Arbor's wine, of course."

Paxter grunted. He had little love for the pomp and ceremony of courtly life, but he knew the importance of maintaining good relations with the Tyrells. "Very well," he said. "Send word that we will attend. And make sure the casks of Arbor Gold are ready for the journey."

As the maester departed, Paxter turned back to the window, watching the sun dip below the horizon. War and wine. These were the twin burdens that weighed upon him, the responsibilities that came with being Lord of the Arbor. He would fulfill them to the best of his ability, for the sake of his house and his people. But in the back of his mind, he could not shake the feeling that darker days were ahead, and that the Arbor's harvest, both of grapes and of blood, was far from over.