When the Redwyne fleet unfurled its banners—blue fields with purple grapes—at the mouth of the Mander, even the river water seemed to take on the color of wine.
Over a dozen ocean-going vessels sailed in a line, the deep purple grapes on their sails glowing softly in the sunlight. The lead ship, the Arbor Queen, featured a massive oak wine barrel carved onto its prow. Vines trailing from the barrel swayed in the sea breeze, making the ship look like a floating vineyard.
"That's our Ryamsport! Father and my older brother have already disembarked to welcome you at the docks." Alyn Redwyne rode his white horse at the front of the procession. Bits of salt from the sea breeze clung to his orange hair as he turned to point toward the distant harbor town.
A stone pier extended into the sea, piled high with mountains of wine barrels. Fishermen were unloading their fresh catch, and the air was filled with a surprisingly refreshing mix of rich wine aroma and salty sea spray.
The silhouette of the Arbor became clearer in the sunlight. Vines crawled all over Vinetown on the southwest side of the island, the thatched roofs of the houses baked golden brown by the sun. At Starfish Harbor, fishing boats were neatly aligned, the starfish sigils on their sails echoing the grape sigils of House Redwyne. Smaller islands like Stonecrab Cay and the Isle of Pigs lay scattered like pearls in the surrounding waters, forming a natural defensive barrier.
Daemon looked down from the Cannibal's saddle in the sky. Vineyards layered the island, stretching from the coast to the inland hills. Ripe grapes hung heavy on the vines, looking like strings of purple gems.
"Prince, Princess Gael, please!" Earl Redwyne had indeed disembarked early at Ryamsport to prepare a welcome for Daemon's party, thoughtfully having his second son guide them.
Today, he wore a blue robe embroidered all over with grapes, a jeweled short sword at his waist. His wife stood beside him, her pale purple gown adorned with pearls from the Arbor. Their three sons and youngest daughter stood out behind them—the eldest, William, a squire at Highgarden, wore formal silver armor; Alyn, the second son, had just dismounted and trotted over to stand behind his parents; the third son, Horace, was a spitting image of the Earl with his orange hair and freckles. Their youngest daughter, Margaery [Note: again, assuming a name fitting the setting], stared curiously at Dreamfyre and the Cannibal, her eyes full of wonder.
As soon as they stepped onto the pier, squires in green tunics approached with silver trays bearing cups of golden wine that shimmered like amber in the sun. "This is this year's new vintage," the Earl said with a smile, handing over a cup. "Sweeter than Dorne's, richer than King's Landing's. Please, rinse the dust from your throats."
Daemon took the cup. The aroma instantly filled his nose. A small sip released a clear sweetness mixed with the scent of oak barrels across his tongue. This "rinse" was far richer than any wine served at the Highgarden banquet.
Gael took two cups, handing one to Mysaria first. Mysaria took a small sip for the princess, a drop of wine staining her platinum curls, which drew a light laugh from the Countess. "If you like it, my lady, I'll have a cask packed for your journey."
---
Afternoons on the Arbor always carried a lazy warmth.
Once Daemon's followers settled in, they spontaneously set up a sparring ground on the beach west of Ryamsport.
Rupert Crabb, gripping his precious silver spoon, was sparring with the newly joined Oakheart knight.
Corwyn Celtigar led a group of Reach youths, demonstrating his superb horsemanship and how to maintain balance on the wet, shifting sands.
Rayford Rosby and Lyn Corbray stood to the side, offering occasional critiques. Jarmon Waters stood with Harlan Hunter, his single eye scanning the distant sea vigilantly to ensure there were no threats.
"Rupert! Keep waving that spoon around and the wind's going to blow it into the sea!" Corwyn shouted as he rode past on his white horse, the blue crabs on his silver armor flashing in the sun.
Rupert, having just knocked his opponent's wooden sword away with the spoon, turned back and laughed. "This spoon is a Marbrand heirloom! Lose it and I'll fight you!"
The new knights watched with boiling blood. A boy in brown armor shouted, "The Prince's followers are so skilled! Can we join the sparring?"
Daemon, who was chatting with Earl and Countess Redwyne, nodded with a smile. "Sparring is about making friends through martial arts and improving skills. You are all my followers; feel free to join in."
The boys cheered and rushed onto the field. Some borrowed wooden swords to fight Rupert; others followed Corwyn to learn riding. The shouts and laughter on the beach mixed with the sound of the waves, creating a lively melody.
Gael and Mysaria sat under a distant awning, peeling sweet Arbor pears. The pears were large and juicy, dripping with nectar.
"Look at Myles," Gael pointed at Myles River, who was swinging his Northern battle-axe against Talbot Crakehall with gusto. "Back at Stone Hedge, he almost chopped himself. Now he looks like a real warrior."
Mysaria nodded with a smile. Just as she tossed a pear core into a bamboo basket, Margaery Redwyne trotted over, clutching a small wooden carving of a grape. "Princess, can I see Dreamfyre? I heard she breathes pale blue fire, prettier than any flame I've ever seen!"
---
The Redwyne family's hospitality exceeded all expectations. Before the banquet, the Earl had his sons Alyn and Horace, along with several cousins, surround Daemon with expectant eyes. "Prince, your martial skill is the best in the Seven Kingdoms. Could you teach the children a few moves?"
Daemon didn't refuse. He took a wooden sword from a squire and smiled at Alyn. "Horse stance first—the sand is soft, perfect for training lower body stability." Though Alyn was sixteen and half a head taller than Daemon, he respectfully stood firm as instructed, his face red beneath his orange hair.
Daemon walked behind him, gently adjusting his shoulders. "Sink your shoulders. Don't shrug, or you'll lose power when you swing."
Horace was only fourteen, his hand shaking as he held the wooden sword. Daemon didn't mind. He crouched down to correct his grip. "Relax your fingers. You're not trying to crush the hilt; you need to 'listen' to its energy." With a gentle push on Horace's arm, the wooden sword struck the straw dummy precisely, making the boy's eyes light up. "Prince! I want to be like you and knock my opponent flying with one strike!"
The Countess stood under the awning, watching Daemon's patient instruction. She whispered to Gael, "The Prince is young, but he has more composure than many adult knights. The story of him unhorsing Lucas with one strike at the King's Landing tourney has spread all over the Reach. The children already see him as an idol."
Gael nodded, her gaze resting on Daemon. The sea breeze ruffled his silver hair, and his violet eyes were focused intently on the children's movements. Though his dragon mark was covered by clothes, she could almost feel the power of the true dragon radiating from him.
Even the Cannibal seemed infected by the liveliness. He lay on a distant dune, his black scales reflecting the sunset. Occasionally, he would puff a small ball of dragonfire, scattering seagulls and drawing cheers from the children.
Dreamfyre landed elegantly on the beach, her pale blue wings gently pushing aside a few curious little girls, causing Gael to quickly send Mysaria over with fresh berries for the dragon.
---
As the sunset dyed the Arbor's vineyards in gold and red, Earl Redwyne's banquet began in the main keep of Ryamsport.
The long table was laden with Arbor specialties: sea fish fried crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, roast pork drizzled in a special sauce, pastries piled high with green grapes. Most prominent was a man-sized cask of sweet red wine in the center. The liquid was deep purple, glowing like a gem when poured into silver cups.
"The history of the Arbor is longer than Highgarden's marble," the Earl said, raising his cup with pride. "In the Age of Heroes, the Ironborn tried to rule us. The quartered grape on the Hoare sigil is said to be a mark left from that time. But in the end, we drove them off. Later, our ancestors followed the Gardeners to resist the Andals."
He paused, pointing to a tapestry on the wall. "In 54 AC, King Jaehaerys rode Vermithor here. He drank three casks of sweet red before leaving, saying the wine of the Arbor was warmer than the wine of Dragonstone. When Princess Rhaena was looking for her daughter, Dreamfyre circled over Vinetown. I was young then, but I heard fishermen say the pale blue dragonfire looked like stars in the sky."
Daemon listened, running a finger along the rim of his silver cup. He recalled reading about Elissa Farman sailing to the Arbor, and the royal progresses before the Conquest. These stories gave the island a sense of weight. "My Lord," he said suddenly, "I've heard rumors along the way that Dorne hasn't been very peaceful at sea lately?"
The Earl's smile faded slightly. He put down his cup, his voice deepening. "The Prince is well-informed. The Dornish aren't just causing friction with the Reach and Stormlands on the borders; they've been bold in the Sea of Dorne and the Stepstones recently. Our merchant ships have seen their vessels making contact with Ironborn longships and pirate ships from the Triarchy. I fear they want to unite to raid our shipping lanes."
He looked at Daemon gravely. "You are heading to the Stormlands next. The sea route passes through the Sea of Dorne; you must be careful. If you go by land, it will add another ten days to your journey."
Gael tightened her grip on her cup. "The Iron Islands dare to collude with Dorne? Aren't they afraid the Iron Throne will hold them accountable?"
"They never play by the rules," the Countess added. "Since Dalton Greyjoy fell ill last year, they haven't been behaving. Our fleet has been patrolling nearby recently, fearing they might launch a surprise attack like they did at Seagard and Lannisport."
Halfway through the banquet, Earl Redwyne suddenly stood up and bowed deeply to Daemon. "Prince, I have a presumptuous request." He paused, his tone earnest. "The journey to Oldtown is long, and the Sea of Dorne is unsafe. I wish to personally lead the Redwyne fleet to escort your party to Oldtown. After you finish your business there, if you head to the Stormlands, our fleet can escort you as well. Arbor ships are faster than any merchant vessel and more reliable than any other fleet."
Daemon was stunned for a moment, then stood to support him. "My Lord, there is no need. Once we reach Oldtown, we can manage on our own—"
"If the Prince refuses, it means you think the Redwyne ships aren't good enough!" The Earl interrupted him, waving Alyn and Horace forward. "These two boys have been clamoring to follow you ever since they heard about you burning the Ironborn ships at Seagard. Alyn knows navigation, and Horace is decent with a bow—though certainly not as skilled as Ser Jarmon. Still, they can help. If the Prince does not object, let them follow you to gain some experience. If my eldest, William, wasn't already squiring at Highgarden, I'd send him too!"
Alyn and Oliver immediately knelt on one knee. Alyn gripped his sword hilt tightly. "Prince! I am willing to pilot the fleet for you, even if we go across the Narrow Sea, I will not retreat!" Horace nodded vigorously, clutching the wooden sword Daemon had taught him with. "I will practice archery so I can be like Ser Jarmon and watch your back against any intruders!"
Daemon looked at the light in the boys' eyes, then at the expectant gaze of the Earl and Countess. He thought of the young knights who had joined him at Highgarden. The hot blood of the Reach was always hidden beneath sweet wine and roses.
"Alright," he nodded, his voice warm. "I accept them. But remember, you follow me not for glory, but to protect—to protect the peace of the Seven Kingdoms, and to protect those beside you."
The Earl and Countess breathed a sigh of relief. The Earl excitedly slapped the table. "Wonderful! I knew the Prince would agree!" Then, remembering something, he quickly added, "Prince, the grapes aren't fully ripe yet, but the pears are at their best. Why not stay a few more days? Let the children learn from you properly, and let us show you our hospitality!"
Daemon looked at Gael and Mysaria. Gael nodded with a smile. "The Arbor is so beautiful; staying a few more days would be nice. Dreamfyre can taste the fresh berries here." Mysaria chimed in, "And I want to learn how to brew sweet red wine from the Countess!"
---
The night grew deep, and the lights of Ryamsport twinkled like stars scattered along the shore. Daemon stood on the terrace of the main keep, looking out at the Redwyne fleet in the distance. The blue and purple banners glowed softly in the night. The Cannibal and Dreamfyre were curled up on the beach, their breath mingling with the sea fog like two warm clouds.
Alyn and Horace were still on the beach, being drilled in swordsmanship by their older brother William. The clack of wooden swords mixed clearly with the sound of the waves. Laughter from the Earl and Countess drifted from the banquet hall, interweaving with the clink of wine cups—an overture to a new alliance.
Daemon tightened his grip on Blackfyre, the dragon mark on his shoulder feeling warm. The sweet wine of the Arbor warmed not just the stomach, but the heart. The Redwyne fleet, the loyalty of Alyn and Horace, and this island full of grapes and fruit scent—all had become yet another bond on his journey.
The Citadel of Oldtown lay ahead, and the threat of Dorne remained at sea. But in this moment, the wind at the Arbor was warm, the wine was sweet, and the people around him were safe.
This warmth would eventually transform into the strength he needed to protect Westeros, like the sails of the Redwyne fleet raising the banner of the true dragon across the seas of the Seven Kingdoms.