GOT: House Redwyne

The moon hung low and sharp over the darkened sea, its silver glow reflecting off the gentle waves that lapped against the hulls of Redwyne ships. The fleet moved silently, gliding through the waters, their sails blackened with soot to blend into the night.

Paxter stood on the deck of the Gilded Vine, his hands gripping the railing as he watched the shadowed coast of Brightwater Keep come into view. The Florents had overplayed their hand, believing their ties to the Lannisters would shield them from retribution.

They were wrong.

Tonight, House Redwyne would strike back.

Mina stood beside him, wrapped in a deep green cloak, the color nearly indistinguishable in the dim moonlight. Her sharp eyes scanned the Florent stronghold ahead—its tall spires, stone walls, and the faint flickers of torchlight along the ramparts.

"Their defenses are lax," she observed. "They don't expect an attack this soon."

Paxter nodded. "Arrogance makes fools of men." He turned to Ser Martyn, his most trusted commander. "Are the saboteurs in place?"

Ser Martyn gave a firm nod. "Aye. Our men slipped in two hours ago under cover of darkness. The supply depots, granaries, and stables have all been marked. We await your order."

Paxter let out a slow breath. He had no love for war, but this was not just about vengeance. It was a lesson—one that would remind the Reach that House Redwyne was not to be underestimated.

"Begin."

The attack was as precise as it was ruthless.

In the depths of the Florent stronghold, barrels of oil were overturned and set ablaze, igniting the grain stores in an explosion of fire and smoke. The flames shot high into the night, illuminating the keep in a wicked glow.

Moments later, the stables erupted in chaos, horses screaming as fire spread through the dry hay. The men stationed at the outer walls rushed to the scene, completely unaware of what lurked beyond the darkness.

That's when Redwyne archers struck.

From concealed positions along the treeline, arrows rained down upon the Florent guards, cutting them down before they could form a counterattack. Those who survived scrambled in confusion, their focus torn between the fires and the unseen enemy picking them off.

Paxter watched from the deck of his ship, his expression unreadable as the once-proud sigil of House Florent—the burning sun—was engulfed by actual fire.

"This is the cost of their betrayal," he murmured.

Deep inside Brightwater Keep, one final piece of the plan unfolded.

A handful of Redwyne infiltrators, dressed in stolen Florent armor, moved through the halls, their boots silent against the stone floors. Their target?

Lord Alester Florent's personal vault.

Gold, contracts, trade agreements—whatever House Florent relied on to sustain itself was stored here. And tonight, it would fall into Redwyne hands.

One of Paxter's men, a grizzled veteran, Tomas, found the vault entrance unguarded. The Florents, believing their Lannister alliance kept them safe, had grown complacent.

"Fools," Tomas muttered as he pried open the heavy iron doors.

Inside, piles of silver stags and golden dragons gleamed in the firelight. But more valuable than coin were the ledgers and sealed agreements—records of every deal, every contract, and every secret that House Florent had tried to keep hidden.

Tomas grabbed as much as he could carry before signaling the retreat.

They had what they came for.

As the Redwyne infiltrators withdrew, explosions rippled through the keep, the oil stores detonating one after another in a chain reaction of destruction. By the time the Florents could react, it was too late.

The Redwyne fleet pulled back, slipping into the night like ghosts, leaving Brightwater Keep a smoldering ruin in their wake.

From the deck of his ship, Paxter watched the flames dance in the distance.

"This will send a message," Mina said quietly.

Paxter gave a slow nod. "Yes. But not just to the Florents."

He turned his gaze eastward.

This attack wasn't just about retribution—it was a signal to every noble house watching the conflict unfold.

House Redwyne was no pawn.

And if the Lannisters or Tarlys believed otherwise, they would soon learn the same lesson as the Florents.

Back in Redwyne Keep, the consequences of the attack rippled through the Reach.

Word spread fast. House Florent's granaries were destroyed, their trade crippled, and their wealth stolen from under their noses.

Some called it a masterstroke of strategy. Others called it a dangerous provocation.

But Paxter knew the truth.

It was necessary.

Mina entered his study, holding a parchment sealed in green wax. "We received word from Lady Olenna."

Paxter took the message and broke the seal. He scanned the words carefully.

"You have struck first, and struck well. But war does not end in the shadows. Be prepared to step into the light when the time comes."

Paxter set the letter down.

War had already come. He had simply chosen the battleground.

As night fell once more, Paxter met with his advisors in the war chamber. The Florents were wounded but not dead. The Lannisters and Tarlys would not ignore this.

"We need to fortify our borders," Ser Martyn said. "The retaliation will come soon."

"It will," Paxter agreed. "But we will not wait to be attacked."

Mina raised an eyebrow. "You have something planned?"

Paxter nodded. "Yes. The Florents were pawns, but the real war is still to come. And before it does…"

He reached for the Meereenese coin, turning it over in his palm.

"...I want to know what's happening across the Narrow Sea."

That same night, in the darkness of the Arbor's port, a Myrish sellsword arrived. A man with gold teeth and a knowing smirk.

He carried with him stories of fire and conquest.

Of a queen in the east.

Of dragons that had taken flight.

And as Paxter Redwyne listened, his war with the Reach suddenly seemed smaller.

For something greater was coming.

And it was coming for Westeros.