GOT: House Redwyne

The Arbor had always been a place of beauty, with its rolling vineyards and gentle breezes carrying the scent of the sea. But now, as the days grew shorter and the nights colder, a sense of impending doom hung over the island like a gathering storm. Lord Paxter Redwyne could feel it in the air, a tension that crackled with every breath, a weight that pressed down on the shoulders of every man, woman, and child.

Paxter stood on the battlements of his keep, his eyes scanning the horizon. The sea was calm today, a deceptive calm that did little to ease his worries. The Isle of Ravens lay out of sight beyond the curve of the horizon, but its presence was always felt. The Shadowbinder had been at work for days, weaving his dark magic into the very stones of the island, and Paxter could only imagine what horrors were being conjured there.

He was not alone on the battlements. Ser Martyn Harte, ever vigilant, stood nearby, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The captain had been a steady presence at Paxter's side through many battles, and his loyalty was unquestionable. But even Martyn could not hide the unease that had settled over him since their alliance with the Shadowbinder.

"My lord," Martyn began, his voice low, "the men are uneasy. They speak of strange dreams, of shadows moving in the night. There's talk of curses, of dark forces stirring on the Isle of Ravens."

Paxter nodded, his expression grim. "I've heard the whispers. The Shadowbinder's magic is powerful, and it's not surprising that it's affecting the men. But we must remain strong, Martyn. We cannot afford to let fear take hold."

Martyn glanced out at the sea, his brow furrowed. "I understand, my lord. But these are not ordinary men. They've faced battle, death, and more. For them to be shaken like this… it's not a good sign."

Paxter sighed, knowing his captain was right. The men of House Redwyne were seasoned warriors and sailors, accustomed to the dangers of the sea and the battlefield. For them to be disturbed by mere rumors and dreams spoke to the power of the forces they were now dealing with.

"Keep the men busy," Paxter instructed. "Double the patrols, increase the drills. Let them focus on their duties, and it will help keep their minds from dwelling on things they cannot control."

Martyn nodded, though his concern remained evident. "I'll see to it, my lord. But we must also be prepared for the possibility that the Shadowbinder's magic could turn against us. We've placed a great deal of trust in him, but he's not one of us. We can't forget that."

Paxter's gaze hardened. "I haven't forgotten. The garrison on the nearby islands will remain vigilant, and if there's any sign that the Shadowbinder is turning his powers against us, we will act."

Martyn nodded once more, satisfied with the plan, though the tension between them was palpable. With a final glance at the sea, he took his leave to carry out his orders, leaving Paxter alone on the battlements.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the island, Paxter's thoughts turned to his family. Lady Mina had been his constant support, but even she had her limits. The strain of the decisions he had been forced to make was wearing on her, and he worried for her well-being. Their children, too, were affected by the growing sense of dread that permeated the Arbor.

Paxter descended from the battlements and made his way through the stone corridors of the keep. The halls were quiet, the servants going about their duties with subdued efficiency. The usual bustle of life in the keep had been dampened by the pervasive sense of unease, and Paxter felt the weight of responsibility heavier than ever.

He found Lady Mina in the solar, sitting by the window with a book in her lap, though her eyes were distant, unfocused. She looked up as Paxter entered, offering him a small, tired smile.

"Paxter," she said softly, setting the book aside. "Is there any news?"

"Nothing new," he replied, crossing the room to stand beside her. "The men are uneasy, as are we all. But we're doing what we can to keep them focused."

Mina nodded, though the worry in her eyes did not fade. "I've been thinking about the Shadowbinder, about the power he wields. It's… unsettling. I can't help but wonder if we've made a terrible mistake."

Paxter took her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin against his cold fingers. "I've had the same thoughts, Mina. But what choice did we have? The Red Priestess's magic is powerful, and we need every advantage we can get. I'm not comfortable with this alliance, but I see no other way forward."

Mina looked down at their joined hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just hope we haven't unleashed something we can't control."

Paxter had no answer for that. The Shadowbinder was an enigma, a man who wielded powers that were beyond their understanding. They had placed their trust in him out of necessity, but the consequences of that decision were still unknown.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation, and a servant entered, bowing deeply. "My lord, my lady, there is a messenger from the Isle of Ravens. He has news from the Shadowbinder."

Paxter's heart quickened at the mention of the Shadowbinder. "Bring him in."

The servant bowed again and left the room, returning moments later with a cloaked figure. The messenger's face was hidden in the shadows of his hood, but Paxter could sense the nervous energy that radiated from him.

"My lord," the messenger began, his voice trembling slightly. "The Shadowbinder has completed his preparations. He bids you come to the Isle of Ravens at once."

Paxter exchanged a glance with Mina, who squeezed his hand in silent support. "Very well," he said, turning his attention back to the messenger. "I will leave immediately."

The messenger nodded, backing out of the room as quickly as he had entered. Paxter felt a knot of apprehension tighten in his chest. The Shadowbinder's message was both a relief and a source of dread. The time had come to see what their dark ally had wrought on the Isle of Ravens.

"I'll come with you," Mina said, rising to her feet.

"No," Paxter replied gently, though his tone was firm. "You should stay here. I need you to keep the men calm, to be a steady presence in the keep. If something goes wrong…"

Mina's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Paxter, don't speak like that. You will return. You must."

Paxter pulled her into an embrace, holding her close. "I will return," he promised. "But I need you to be strong while I'm gone. The men need someone to look to, and there's no one better than you."

Reluctantly, Mina nodded against his chest, her arms tightening around him. "Be careful," she whispered. "And come back to me."

With a final kiss, Paxter left the solar and made his way to the docks, where The Pride of Arbor awaited. The crew was already preparing to set sail, their expressions tense as they readied the ship for the short journey to the Isle of Ravens.

As they cast off, Paxter stood at the prow, the wind whipping through his hair as the ship cut through the darkening waters. The Isle of Ravens was shrouded in mist, its cliffs rising like jagged teeth from the sea. The ravens that circled above seemed to be waiting for something, their harsh cries echoing across the water.

The ship anchored off the rocky shore, and Paxter, along with Ser Martyn and a small contingent of soldiers, disembarked. The beach was cold and unwelcoming, the stones slick with brine and the air thick with the scent of decay.

They climbed the winding path to the fortress, the shadows deepening with every step. The ravens continued their circling, a constant presence that seemed to mock them from above. The fortress itself loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, its walls seemingly alive with the weight of centuries.

At the entrance to the courtyard, the Shadowbinder awaited them, his expression unreadable beneath the hood of his dark robes.

"Lord Redwyne," the Shadowbinder said, his voice as smooth as ever. "You have come."

"I received your message," Paxter replied, his voice steady despite the unease that gnawed at him. "What have you done here?"

The Shadowbinder gestured to the entrance of the fortress. "Come and see."

Paxter hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he entered the darkened halls of the fortress. The air inside was cold, colder than it should have been, and Paxter could feel a strange energy pulsing through the stones beneath his feet.

They entered the great hall, where the Shadowbinder had clearly been at work. The walls were covered in intricate runes, glowing faintly with a sickly green light. At the center of the room stood a large stone altar, its surface carved with more of the same symbols. The air was thick with the scent of incense and something else, something sharp and metallic.

"This," the Shadowbinder said, stepping forward to stand beside the altar, "is the heart of the power I have woven here. The shadows that plagued you at Dragonstone, the darkness that the Red Priestess wields—they will hold no sway here. This place, this sanctum, is now a fortress of shadows that answer to me, and through me, to you."

Paxter stared at the altar, the glowing runes casting eerie, flickering light across the stone walls. The air was thick with tension, the atmosphere charged with an energy that made his skin prickle. He could feel the power radiating from the altar, a dark and ancient force that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

"What is this?" Paxter asked, his voice hushed.

"The binding of shadows and light," the Shadowbinder replied, his voice calm and confident. "I have drawn on the ancient powers of this place, combined them with the secrets I have mastered, and forged a weapon that will turn the Red Priestess's own magic against her. The shadows she commands will be drawn here, to this sanctum, and trapped within the runes I have carved. They will serve you, or they will be destroyed."

Paxter felt a shiver run down his spine. The idea of wielding such power, of turning the very darkness that had haunted him against his enemies, was both thrilling and terrifying. He could see the potential in what the Shadowbinder had created, but he could also see the danger.

"What do you require of me?" Paxter asked, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

The Shadowbinder turned to face him, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. "You must be the one to complete the binding, Lord Redwyne. The power I have summoned here will obey only you, but it requires a sacrifice—a token of your commitment to the shadows. The blood of a lord, freely given, will seal the bond between you and the power that lies within this sanctum."

Paxter's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, his mind racing. He had known there would be a price, but to offer his own blood to this dark magic was a step he had not anticipated. The Shadowbinder's eyes bore into him, unwavering, waiting for his decision.

"And if I refuse?" Paxter asked quietly.

The Shadowbinder's expression did not change. "Then the power I have summoned will dissipate, returning to the depths from which it came. You will be left to face the Red Priestess with only what you had before—courage, steel, and hope. But you know as well as I do that those alone may not be enough."

Paxter's thoughts turned to his family, to Mina and their children, to the people of the Arbor who depended on him. He had made a promise to protect them, to do whatever it took to ensure their safety. And now, that promise demanded a price.

With a deep breath, Paxter stepped forward, drawing his dagger from his belt. The blade gleamed in the greenish light of the runes, and he held it over the altar, his hand steady despite the turmoil within him.

"What must I do?" he asked.

"Cut your palm," the Shadowbinder instructed, his voice smooth and calm. "Let your blood fall upon the altar. Speak the words I will give you, and the binding will be complete."

Paxter nodded, pressing the blade to his palm. The pain was sharp but brief, and blood welled up from the cut, dripping onto the stone surface of the altar. The runes seemed to pulse in response, their glow intensifying as they absorbed the blood.

The Shadowbinder began to chant in a low, rhythmic voice, the words foreign and ancient. Paxter listened, repeating the phrases as best he could, feeling the power in the air grow stronger with each word.

The room darkened further, the shadows seeming to close in around them, and Paxter felt the weight of the darkness pressing against him, as though testing his resolve. But he did not waver. He continued the chant, his voice growing stronger as he pushed through the fear that gnawed at him.

At last, the Shadowbinder's chant came to an end, and Paxter spoke the final word, his voice ringing out in the stillness. The moment the word left his lips, a shockwave of energy rippled through the room, the runes flaring with a blinding light before settling into a steady, ominous glow.

"It is done," the Shadowbinder said, his voice filled with quiet satisfaction. "The power of the shadows is now bound to you, Lord Redwyne. The Red Priestess's magic will have no hold over you. Her shadows will obey your will, or they will be destroyed."

Paxter stared at the altar, his heart pounding in his chest. The power he had just claimed was unlike anything he had ever felt before—dark, ancient, and alive. It coursed through his veins, a strange sensation of both cold and heat, a force that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"What now?" Paxter asked, his voice rough with emotion.

"Now, you must learn to wield this power," the Shadowbinder replied. "It will respond to your will, but you must be careful. The shadows are dangerous, even to those who command them. But with time, you will master it, and when the time comes, you will use it to defeat the Red Priestess."

Paxter nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his decision settle over him like a mantle. The power he had taken was a weapon, but it was also a responsibility, one that could not be taken lightly.

He sheathed his dagger and turned to leave the fortress, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, and he took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. The ravens still circled above, their cries echoing in the night, but now there was something different in the air—an energy that pulsed with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Ser Martyn and the soldiers were waiting for him at the bottom of the cliff, their expressions tense as they watched him descend the path. Paxter's face was pale, his eyes shadowed, but there was a new resolve in his step, a determination that had not been there before.

"My lord," Ser Martyn said, his voice cautious, "is it done?"

"It is," Paxter replied, his voice steady. "The power of the shadows is now ours. We have the means to fight the Red Priestess, but we must be careful. This is not a power to be used lightly."

Martyn nodded, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "And the Shadowbinder?"

"He has fulfilled his part of the bargain," Paxter said, glancing back at the dark fortress. "But we will keep a close watch on him. The garrison will remain on the nearby islands, and we will monitor his every move. We cannot afford to let our guard down."

As they boarded the boat and made their way back to The Pride of Arbor, Paxter felt the weight of the shadows pressing on him, a constant reminder of the power he had claimed. The journey back to the Arbor was quiet, the men lost in their thoughts, and Paxter himself struggled to reconcile the darkness he had embraced with the duty he owed to his people.

When they reached the Arbor, Paxter disembarked and made his way back to the keep. The night was deep, and the stars shone brightly above, but the light seemed distant, almost fragile in the face of the shadows that now surrounded him.

Lady Mina was waiting for him in the solar, her face pale with worry. When Paxter entered, she rushed to him, her hands trembling as she touched his face.

"Paxter, what happened?" she asked, her voice filled with fear.

Paxter took her hands in his, feeling the warmth of her touch soothe the coldness that had settled in his bones. "It's done, Mina. The power of the shadows is now ours. But it's… it's more than I expected. More than I can fully comprehend."

Mina searched his eyes, her own filled with concern. "Are you alright? You look… different."

"I'm alright," Paxter said, though he wasn't sure if he believed it himself. "But I can feel it, Mina. The shadows, the power—it's inside me now. And I must learn to control it, or it will consume me."

Mina wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. "We'll get through this, Paxter. Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

Paxter closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. "I hope so, Mina. I hope so."

As the night wore on, Paxter found himself standing by the window, staring out at the dark sea. The shadows were his now, a part of him, and he knew that the battle with the Red Priestess was drawing closer. The power he had claimed would give him a fighting chance, but it also carried a terrible risk.

He would need to be strong, to be careful. The shadows were a weapon, but they were also a danger—one that could turn on him if he lost control. But he had made his choice, and there was no turning back.

For House Redwyne, for the Arbor, and for the future of Westeros, Paxter would see this through to the end. The night was dark, and full of terrors, but he would not falter.

The shadows were his now, and he would wield them with all the strength he had.