[b] The Arbor, The Reach, Westeros [/b]

The Arbor was a unique, secluded place. It was small in comparison to some of the lands which were ruled over by many of Westeros’ other Noble Houses, but almost none of those Houses could claim to hold dominion over such a beautiful and peaceful land. The island was more often than not warm and sunny, bright waves of sunlight illuminating it from above. Its coast was complete with pristine white beaches and clear blue water which lapped gently (most of the time) against the shore. 

A small handful of these beaches and coves had been tarnished by human settlement, but the vast majority of them were left pristine and untouched (save for fishermen’s nets), a testament to the beauty that had been created by the Old Gods, and enjoyed by the Children of the Forest before Man had first come to Westeros. Unlike the rest of Westeros’ coastal settlements, these villages were of a small enough size - and spread out enough - that they did not pollute the water much; save for Ryamsport, which was a large town and far too densely populated to not create [i]some[/i] form of pollution. 

As one moved further inland, the beauty of The Arbor could still be clearly seen, but so too could the handiwork of mankind: well-travelled roads, both large and small, leading from the coastal settlements inwardly, to well-irrigated farms and vineyards where the grapes that went into the island’s famous wine were grown. The further inland one went, the more often human life could be seen. It was certainly less dense than on the coast (where settlements were more spread out and less frequent, but much bigger), but it was certainly more common - these inland settlements may only have been hamlets and farmsteads, but there were many of them, and the men and women who ran them were the lifeblood of The Arbor and House Redwyne itself. 

Despite the frequent farms, the orderly, clearly man-made vineyards and the coastal settlements, The Arbor was still an idyllic place. It was beautiful, and Victor Redwyne rode through these beautiful lands everyday. It was his one escape, his one chance to have some amount of peace and quiet: the only time he had to get away from the stuffy atmosphere of the castle from which he ruled in his father’s place. Occasionally, he would bring his daughter along with him, but today he was alone - unaccompanied by blood, unattended by guards or retainers. He did not need their protection in his own lands, he’d say - and, privately, he would admit that he did not desire the company.

Lord Arron had left The Arbor some weeks previous, and his departure had been in some ways both a blessing and a curse. It had given Victor the chance that he needed to prove himself fully capable of ruling in his own right, but the absence of his father’s guiding and experienced hand had also left him feeling somewhat helpless. He was a militant man - he understood how battlefields worked, and had a thorough understanding of his own morals and ethics: but when it came to haggling with Dornish Merchants over the price of wine, he felt himself at a firm disadvantage. After a week of trying to best a silvertongued Dornishman in a battle of wits, he had handed the matter over to one of his senior stewards. It was a hard thing, to come to terms with one’s own shortcomings, but Victor knew he was no businessman: he would need one of his brothers (or both of them) whenever he became Lord of The Arbor. 

He reigned in his horse at the highest point of one of the tallest hills on The Arbor - a spot where he would often stop to stare out at the ocean and think. His steed - a white, beautiful mare which he only used for riding - tossed its head impatiently beneath him, itching to be moving again; the man leaning forwards and running his hand down the beast’s neck, murmuring softly in an effort to soothe its impatience. The Lordling’s bright gaze settled upon a small merchant vessel, once he had straightened up again - the ship reminding him of another problem which had been coming up more frequently since his father’s departure. Pirates. 

In the last month, three of The Arbor’s own vessels had been attacked by pirates while at sea, and only two of those had returned to the island relatively unscathed. The other ship’s crew had been almost completely slaughtered, and among the dead was one of Victor’s closest friends - a hedgeknight by the name of Robert, whom he had grown up with: the son of one of Lord Arron’s sworn swords. Even more vessels who had not been flying the colours of House Redwyne had been set upon, and each had reported different attackers, leaving Victor with a variety of culprits: Ironborn, simple brigands, or even pirates from the Free Cities. 

Angry over Robert’s death, and wanting a payment of blood for his friend’s untimely death, Victor had ordered that six ships depart from The Arbor to search the water all around the island in every direction for any sign of the culprits, and had also sent a number more ships to patrol the Redwyne Straits, to ensure the safety of merchant vessels travelling to and from the island. This influx of piracy made him nervous, and he had some inkling - some sixth sense - that something more ominous was soon to come. 

Sighing, Victor tugged on his horse’s reins - turning the animal around, and nudging her lightly with his heels: the animal’s long, swift stride quickly taking him back to the main road that led from Ryamsport to Castle Redwyne. He peered up at the heavily fortified castle, another sigh leaving the man as, not for the first time, he wished that his family were closer at hand - he felt that he would need their council, in the days to come.