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Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
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288 AC, Harrenhal — Greenhand Estate, the Forget-Me-Not Cottage
Arthur pulled up his character panel. The stats looked downright luxurious now.
Name: Arthur Whent
(Titles: Black Arthur, the Dark Knight, the Bat Knight)
Class: Greenhand, Lord, Warrior
Titles: Heir to Harrenhal and Count of Whitewalls
Bloodline: Andal (dominant), First Men (weak), Dragonblood (trace)
Collection: None
Skills
Greenhand – Prosperity Growth: Beginner tier, unlocked range 6 × 6 meters
Greenhand – Youthful Vitality: Beginner tier, unlocked at age 13
Greenhand – Seed Bank: Beginner tier, unlocked seeds: sweet corn, carrots, purple alfalfa
Lordship – Path of the Lord: Intermediate tier
Warrior – Weapon Mastery: Advanced tier (unlocked: sword, lance, hammer & axe, archery)
Lifestyle – Animal Companion: Advanced tier (unlocked: warhorses, hunting hounds, falcons)
Arthur scanned the six skill slots. The trip to Starfall and the fragments of Greenhand power he'd absorbed at Highgarden had pushed everything higher.
The biggest jump was in his Greenhand abilities. The range had expanded, and he'd just unlocked a third crop.
Purple alfalfa.
Delicate violet flowers, five petals each. Arthur grinned. Sweet corn and carrots were nice everyday crops, but purple alfalfa was straight-up strategic.
In the real world, purple alfalfa was called the "King of Forage." Tough as hell—cold-hardy, drought-resistant, not picky about soil, and it kept pumping out high yields year after year. Perfect horse feed.
The stuff he'd just unlocked was even better. Warhorses, palfreys, and dairy cows that ate it would put on muscle and fat like crazy. House Whent's horses were already solid; with this they'd become elite.
And it wasn't just the mounts. The dairy cows and oxen would fatten up too, which meant bigger milk yields and stronger plow teams—pure profit.
"Used to be only the Vale lords or the Dothraki had grass this good," Arthur thought, smiling. "Now it's mine."
The Vale's black soil and huge day-night temperature swings already grew killer fruit and forage; their warhorses were legendary for a reason. The Dothraki had the endless grass sea and their famous mounts.
But farming and ranching together? That was the complete package.
With purple alfalfa in his pocket, Arthur felt even more confident about making money and smashing the ironborn next year.
"Time to get to work," he muttered, eyes drifting to the giant Seven Kingdoms map hanging on the cottage wall.
According to Grandfather Walter, House Whent could still field three thousand household troops at full strength. Two hundred longship crew, four hundred cavalry, and twenty-four hundred foot.
Cavalry numbers were still low, and the knight-to-rider ratio inside that cavalry was even lower—thanks to the bloodbath at the Trident.
If the Freys could raise thirty-five hundred men, they probably had at least eight hundred cavalry. The Freys had come through Robert's war almost untouched—no losses, no massive fines from the Iron Throne.
Even three thousand men made House Whent comfortably rich by Riverlands standards. The Florents back in the Reach might scrape together two thousand—roughly on par with the Vances and Pipers. But the Florents always acted like bitter old widows about it.
"Considering the war losses and the crown's fines, we've recovered damn well," Arthur thought.
A big chunk of that recovery came from the two new crops he'd introduced and the incorporation of Whitewalls.
By comparison, Darry and Mooton were in absolute misery. Mooton had lost at least a third of its mobilization strength; Darry had lost two-thirds.
"These four hundred riders are plenty to handle ironborn raids for now," Arthur calculated. "But long-term we need more cavalry. The ratio's still too low."
For perspective, Tywin Lannister could field thirty-five thousand men with over ten thousand horse—seven thousand of them heavy. The Riverlands lords were still stuck in the old ways: lighter on cavalry and even lighter on heavy horse.
"At minimum I want eight hundred riders—full peak strength," Arthur decided. That number was already closing in on the Freys' current cavalry count.
If he performed well during Balon's rebellion next year, the landless freeriders scattered across the Riverlands would flock to him. Surpassing the Freys wouldn't even be hard.
---
The training yard at Harrenhal smelled of sweat and steel.
Whent riders in fine black plate and bright yellow surcoats drilled at the quintain, lances cracking against shield targets.
The four hundred horsemen were the same men as before, but everything looked sharper. Arthur had issued crisp new yellow surcoats to the whole unit. Armor that was worn out had been replaced; the best performers got fresh sets.
The old defeated attitude was gone. These men had energy now. Everyone knew the family coffers were filling again, and they all wanted to impress the young heir.
House Whent might have taken some knocks, but it was still a wealthy, storied Great House.
Shields and sandbags lay on the ground as targets. Lances were heavier and trickier than swords, so the presence of top knights like Ser Lucas, Rolly, and Clarence made all the difference in training.
Rolly's strike was so savage it punched clean through a shield. Ser Clarence followed up and finished the job.
"Good lance!" the watching riders cheered.
Fresh shields went up. One rider after another took their run.
"Ser Lucas! Ser Lucas!"
Lucas made it look easy—perfect strike, lance snapping clean in half. The yard erupted.
The standard was simple: hit the center, punch through, or—best of all—snap the lance on impact. The rest were either glancing blows or clean misses.
Then Arthur stepped up and every other rider suddenly looked ordinary.
He mounted Swallow One, the golden Reach warhorse, lowered the visor on his black bat helm, and took off at an easy canter.
He'd practiced this exact run for weeks. He knew it was perfect.
A warrior's final piece of equipment was courage.
Crack!
Lance and rider became one. The point went exactly where he wanted it. The shield exploded and the lance shattered cleanly on the first pass.
"Second lance, Rolly."
"At once, my lord."
Arthur wheeled the horse, took the fresh lance, and charged again. Another perfect break. His balance looked better than a cat's.
"Beautiful, Swallow One," he murmured, patting the stallion's neck. A great horse was half the battle in lance drills.
Ordinary riders with decent skill but mediocre mounts simply couldn't compete. Swallow One understood his rider perfectly, and Arthur's Animal Companion aura made the horse feel unstoppable.
He did it three times in a row—three perfect center hits, three clean breaks.
"Arthur!"
"Dark Knight!"
"Dark Knight!"
The riders roared and clapped like they were drunk on the sound of his name.
A knight's reputation wasn't gold or silver, but it was real power. Greater fame and charisma drew freeriders and hedge knights like moths to flame.
Arthur was already showing the makings of a legendary warrior.
A strong cavalry force needed two things: gold and the personal magnetism of a great fighter.
Arthur lacked neither.
He sat tall in the saddle, full of confidence. He was going to build New Harrenhal and the New Three Rivers Black Knights.
And it was going to be glorious.