GOT: House Redwyne

The dawn that followed the fierce battle at Bitterbridge was a welcome sight for the defenders. The siege towers that had loomed menacingly the night before were now charred remnants, their smoking ruins littering the ground below the walls. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood, but there was a renewed sense of hope among the Redwyne soldiers. They had held the line, repelled the enemy, and for now, Bitterbridge remained secure.

Paxter Redwyne stood on the battlements, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The first light of day cast long shadows over the landscape, illuminating the aftermath of the night's battle. His armor was stained with grime and blood, his muscles aching from the hours of combat, but his spirit remained unbroken. The victory had been hard-won, and he knew that every moment of reprieve was precious.

Lady Mina joined him, her face marked by exhaustion but brightened by a rare smile. "We did it, Paxter. We held them off, at least for now."

Paxter nodded, though his expression remained serious. "Yes, we did. But we can't let our guard down. The Tarlys and Florents won't give up so easily. They'll regroup, find another way to press the siege. We need to stay vigilant."

Mina's smile faded, replaced by the determination that had become her hallmark. "You're right. I'll have the men begin repairs on the walls immediately. We need to be ready for whatever they try next."

As Mina turned to issue orders, Paxter scanned the enemy encampment in the distance. Even from this vantage point, he could see the activity among their ranks—their forces moving, commanders issuing orders, the construction of new siege equipment already underway. The enemy was determined, and their resolve was clear.

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "Paxter!" Ser Martyn Harte called out as he climbed the stairs to the battlements, a sense of urgency in his stride. "Scouts have reported movement to the west. It looks like the enemy is preparing to send a raiding party along the river. If they can cut off our water supply, we'll be in serious trouble."

Paxter's brow furrowed as he processed the information. "They're trying to starve us out by any means necessary. If they control the river, it's only a matter of time before our supplies run dry."

Martyn nodded grimly. "Exactly. We can't let that happen. We'll need to intercept the raiding party before they can reach the river. If we move quickly, we might be able to catch them by surprise."

Paxter considered the options, weighing the risks and the potential rewards. "We'll need a small, fast-moving force—enough to stop them, but not so many that we weaken our defenses here. We can't afford to spread ourselves too thin."

Martyn's expression was resolute. "I can lead the force, my lord. I'll take a dozen of our best men, the ones who are still fresh enough for another fight. We'll move under cover of the forest and hit them hard."

Paxter nodded, appreciating Martyn's initiative. "Do it. And be careful—this could be a trap to lure us out. Keep an eye out for anything unusual."

Martyn saluted, already turning to gather his men. "Understood, my lord. We'll be ready to move within the hour."

As Martyn hurried off, Paxter turned back to Mina, who was watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression. "They're trying to stretch us thin, force us to divide our forces. We need to be careful not to play into their hands."

Mina nodded in agreement. "Agreed. But we can't afford to let them cut off our water supply, either. If we lose access to the river, our situation here becomes untenable."

Paxter felt the weight of their predicament pressing down on him, but he refused to let it shake his resolve. "We'll deal with it, just like we've dealt with everything else. We've faced worse, and we'll face this too."

As the morning wore on, the camp was abuzz with activity. Soldiers moved quickly to repair the damage to the walls and fortifications, while others gathered supplies and readied themselves for the next phase of the siege. There was no time to rest—every moment was precious, and every decision could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

By mid-morning, Martyn and his raiding party were ready to depart. Paxter watched as they assembled at the gates, their faces set with determination. He knew that they were risking their lives to protect Bitterbridge, and he was grateful for their courage.

"Good luck, Martyn," Paxter said, his voice steady. "Bring them back safely."

Martyn nodded, his expression grim. "We'll do our best, my lord. We won't let them take the river."

With that, the gates creaked open, and Martyn led his men out of Bitterbridge, disappearing into the forest. Paxter watched them go, a knot of tension forming in his chest. The fate of their water supply—and potentially the entire siege—hung in the balance.

Hours passed, and the tension in Bitterbridge grew. Paxter busied himself with overseeing the repairs and checking on the men, trying to keep his mind off the uncertainty of Martyn's mission. But as the day wore on, the anxiety gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the stakes they faced.

As the sun began its descent, a shout went up from the walls. "Riders approaching from the west!"

Paxter's heart leapt into his throat as he rushed to the battlements, his eyes scanning the horizon. In the distance, he saw a small group of riders emerging from the forest, heading toward Bitterbridge. Relief washed over him as he recognized Martyn at the head of the group.

"They're back," Mina said, joining him on the wall. "Thank the gods."

Paxter nodded, though his relief was tempered by the sight of fewer riders than had left that morning. Martyn had taken a dozen men, but now only eight returned. The cost of the mission had been steep.

As the gates opened to admit the riders, Paxter descended to meet them. Martyn dismounted, his face lined with exhaustion but marked by a determined glint in his eyes.

"We caught them before they reached the river," Martyn reported, his voice hoarse. "It was a hard fight, but we managed to drive them off. They won't be cutting our water supply anytime soon."

Paxter clasped Martyn's shoulder, a sense of pride welling up in him. "Well done, Martyn. You've bought us some time, and that's exactly what we needed."

Martyn nodded, but there was a somber note in his expression. "We lost four good men, my lord. They fought bravely, but the enemy was prepared. It wasn't easy."

Paxter felt a pang of sorrow for the fallen, but he pushed it aside. There would be time to mourn later—now, they needed to focus on the battle ahead. "Their sacrifice won't be forgotten, Martyn. We'll honor them, and we'll make sure their deaths weren't in vain."

Martyn nodded again, his expression hardening with resolve. "What's our next move, my lord?"

Paxter glanced toward the enemy camp, where the siege towers were still being rebuilt. "We hold the line, for now. We've managed to disrupt their plans, but they'll try again. We need to be ready for anything."

Mina approached, her eyes scanning the horizon. "We're still outnumbered, but if we can keep them off balance, we might be able to hold out until the Tyrell reinforcements arrive. We just need to keep them guessing."