Night settled over King's Landing like a heavy cloak.
Tobho Mott's private VIP room glowed with the warm light of a dozen lanterns. Only Arthur and his small circle were allowed inside. The master smith stood back as Arthur drew the newly reforged blade.
Dark Messenger.
The moonstone pommel caught the light. The smoky black Valyrian steel blade still rippled like living smoke. Only the crossguard had changed—now a massive black bat with wings spread wide, obsidian eyes gleaming, the edges trimmed in gold where the old kraken tentacles had been melted away.
The sword felt alive in his hand. Perfect balance. Deadly intent.
Arthur gave a slow nod of satisfaction.
He motioned for young Lucas Roote to hand over the payment. A heavy pouch of gold dragons hit the table with a satisfying clink.
"You're too generous, Lord Arthur," Tobho said, grinning wide. "I threw in a new scabbard—walnut wood, sharkskin wrap, obsidian accents, gold fittings. Free of charge. All I ask is that when you carve through your next enemy with this beauty, you mention old Tobho's name."
"Done," Arthur replied without hesitation. He slid the sword into the new scabbard. It fit like it had been made for it.
He leaned forward. "What if I brought you two Valyrian steel swords to melt down and reforge into one? A true greatsword."
Tobho's smile faded into something sharper. "That's a different game, my lord. Much harder. I'd have to melt both blades completely, then fuse them. The runes, the tempering… it's no small thing. And those swords are rarer than dragon eggs."
Arthur smirked. "There might be an opportunity soon."
Tobho studied him for a long moment. The young lord wasn't joking. "If that chance comes, you bring them straight to me. No need to sail to Qohor. And if you do, I'll give you the best price on armor and weapons for every rider under your command."
"Old Tob, you've got a deal," Arthur said. "I won't forget you."
Tobho's voice dropped. "If I'm right, you're heading for the Iron Islands with the royal army. I've got one request."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
"The Iron Islands are poor in timber and cattle, but rich in one thing the rest of the realm lacks—quality ore. Lead, tin, iron. Especially on Great Wyk, Harlaw, and Orkmont. Their smiths turn out decent steel. Once the royal fleet and the army hit those islands, they'll burn and loot everything. The forges, the stockpiles… all of it will be up for grabs."
Arthur understood immediately. "You want in on the spoils."
"I'm a businessman, my lord. I need good iron at the right price. You bring it back clean, and I'll pay you top coin—better than anyone else in the city. No middlemen. No questions."
Arthur laughed low. "You've got balls, Tobho. The ironborn hold grudges."
"They're cowards when the odds turn against them. You already took their Valyrian steel sword. A few tons of raw iron won't matter to them once their harbors are ashes. Just make sure my share comes first."
Arthur extended his hand. "Money isn't the issue. You keep the best stock ready for me. I'll bring back what you need."
"Pleasure doing business, Lord Arthur."
"Likewise."
They shook on it—two predators carving up the coming carnage before the first ship even sailed.
---
In a cramped, dimly lit chamber deep inside the Red Keep, Varys the Spider sat alone at his desk.
Balon Greyjoy's rebellion had thrown the board into chaos. The fool had no real plan, only the mad dream of an iron crown. Varys sighed. Ironborn minds were never quite right.
Two new pieces on the board troubled him.
One was the Hand's new favorite, Littlefinger—too clever by half, climbing fast.
The other was the rising star from Harrenhal.
Arthur Whent. The Bat Knight. The Dark Knight.
Varys traced the name on a scrap of parchment. The boy had come from nowhere and was already carving his name into legend. Champion of Dragonstone. Victor at Seagard. Now riding with the royal army against the ironborn.
House Whent had always been close to the Targaryens. Walter Whent had been one of Rhaegar's most loyal men. Yet the young heir showed no open resentment toward Robert. He smiled, fought, and won favor with everyone.
"People change," Varys murmured. "Especially ambitious young men who forget old grudges."
He had watched Arthur closely since the boy first appeared in King's Landing. Handsome. Deadly. Wealthy. Charismatic. The perfect storm.
Dragon loyalist? Or simply hungry for power like Littlefinger?
Varys had three circles of people.
The little birds—tools who fed him secrets.
The great lords he traded information with—none of them trusted him, and he trusted none of them.
And the true inner circle—Illyrio, the hidden boy, and the lion.
Arthur Whent did not fit cleanly into any of them.
The Spider leaned back, fingers steepled.
He would watch.
He would wait.
And he would keep his distance.
Some bats flew too close to the flame. Better to let this one burn or soar on his own.