It was, perhaps, the most comfortable sleep he had ever experienced. That was Arthur's first impression upon waking.
The feather-stuffed mattress had molded to his shape through the night, supporting every muscle and joint like a cocoon spun for kings. As he stirred and stepped outside the chamber, a valet was already waiting beyond the door, anticipating his every need. Soon after, a wooden tub filled with steaming water was brought in, along with linen towels, lavender soap, and a copper basin for rinsing.
After washing up, Arthur used salted water to clean his mouth and dried his handsome face with a fresh towel. The servant collected the items swiftly and said another would come to escort him to breakfast in the main hall.
In the meantime, Arthur donned his signature crimson and black plate armor—minus the helm and visor.
According to noble custom, guests in another lord's hall were expected to dine in courtly attire: silk doublets, woolen tunics, or fine robes. Plate armor at a breakfast table could be interpreted as a sign of mistrust or belligerence. But Arthur didn't have a formal wardrobe with him—he had brought only war gear and traveling cloaks. So armor it was.
The returning valet guided Arthur through a maze of corridors, staircases, and flower-lined balconies—ascending three levels before arriving at their destination. He couldn't help but recall a joke from his past life:
"My chef and my doorman broke up… Long-distance relationship."
The joke felt apt. Highgarden was enormous.
The breakfast hall for visiting guests was a grand space by any measure. Arthur estimated it could accommodate over a hundred standing men, though this morning only a few dozen filled its length. A richly polished long table ran the center, flanked on either side by carved high-backed chairs. Against the walls stood silent ranks of servants—men and women in Tyrell livery—waiting to serve.
More than a dozen minor nobles were already seated and eating. Their sigils, stitched or embossed into collars and cloaks, were unfamiliar to Arthur—lesser bannermen of House Tyrell, no doubt.
"Lord Arthur, come sit with us!"
It was Hopper—one of the Redwyne twins—calling out from a quarter down the table.
For once, the brothers had chosen seats apart from one another. Arthur accepted the invitation, both for the hospitality and the opportunity to learn more.
"A loaf of bread, half a roast chicken, two fish this size, and a tall tankard of ale," Arthur told a nearby servant with a casual air, gesturing with his hands for size. The man bowed and scurried off.
Arthur wasted no time once seated. "So—who in your house came to handle the trade of weapons and armor?"
"My father," said Hopper, "Lord Paxter Redwyne. He's here in Highgarden for a gathering. Convenient timing."
Paxter Redwyne, master of the Arbor, was indeed a man of influence. As Queen of Thorns Olenna Tyrell's nephew, he maintained close and frequent contact with House Tyrell.
Arthur was pleased. If the lord of the Arbor himself was overseeing the deal, it meant greater reliability. The Redwyne twins were known to dote on their father. And according to the timeline unfolding around them, Arthur had just altered future events.
In the original course of history, as told in the books and the show, Horace and Hobber remained in King's Landing after the Hand's Tourney. When the War of the Five Kings broke out, they were taken hostage by the Lannisters. Because of this, Lord Paxter hesitated to oppose the Iron Throne, declaring neutrality and keeping his formidable fleet in port.
This decision was pivotal. The Arbor's navy—over two hundred warships strong—could have tipped the balance in Renly Baratheon's favor. In contrast, the royal fleet had only slightly more than two hundred ships itself. With Redwyne support, Renly might have commanded the Narrow Sea and blocked Stannis entirely.
Instead, Stannis managed to besiege Storm's End with five thousand men while Renly, though dominant on land, lacked naval superiority.
But now, with the twins safely back in the Reach under Arthur's protection, the Redwyne fleet would no longer be paralyzed by fear. As a traditional ally of the Tyrells, the Redwynes would likely follow the Rose banners into the coming conflict. That meant the Reach wouldn't fall to the Lannisters as easily—if at all.
If the Deer brothers—Renly and Stannis—fought it out along the coasts, it would buy crucial time. The full collapse of the Reach into the Lannister fold might never occur.
That, in turn, would make it far easier for the Riverlands and the North—the Fish and the Wolf—to contend with the Lion and the Crown. And it gave Arthur Bracken the breathing room to build his own power base, step by step.
Because if House Tyrell ever united fully with the Lannisters, the combined host could field well over a hundred thousand men. No matter how mighty Arthur became, he couldn't face that alone. Even a victory would leave him ruined.
It was ironic. Tywin Lannister, for all his reputation as a master strategist, had made missteps in the early war.
From a geographical standpoint, House Lannister could have reaped the greatest rewards simply by holding back—preserving strength, playing both sides, and waiting until the Riverlands and the Crown were weakened. Then they could sweep in with fresh troops and claim dominance.
But the Lions had drawn blood too early.
And Arthur was determined to use every ripple of that early bloodshed to his own advantage.
But in the early days of the War of the Five Kings, Lord Tywin Lannister made a series of bold, costly decisions. First, he marched his host into the Riverlands under the pretext of justice—for his son Tyrion, ambushed by Catelyn Stark—but in truth, it was to assert Lannister dominance and crush House Tully's power. Yet before he could fully consolidate his gains, Joffrey—his foolish grandson and king in name only—had Eddard Stark executed on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. That rash act turned a cold truce into an open war with the North.
From that moment, the Lion found himself mired in the swamps and fields of the Riverlands, locked in blood-feud with the Trout and the Wolf. Though Robb Stark's Young Wolf army ravaged the Westerlands and captured Jaime Lannister, Tywin refused to retreat or reinforce his own lands. Instead, he stationed nearly twenty thousand men at Harrenhal and later marched them east to protect King's Landing, gambling everything to hold power through his dwarf son.
It was a decision that could have been avoided. But Tywin Lannister, proud to a fault, would never let an insult to his house go unanswered. To him, it was not about Tyrion—it was about the Lannister name. That no wolf or trout had the right to sit in judgment of a lion.
Arthur considered all of this in silence for some time, chewing over Tywin's fatal pride and the folly of unchecked ambition. Then he raised a second question:
"If I spend gold to hire them, how many reliable warriors can I recruit here in the Reach? I mean real fighters. Men fit for the battlefield."
The Riverlands may be the cradle of Westerosi knightly tradition, but the Reach—with its vast farmlands, rich economy, and largest population among the Seven Kingdoms—had no shortage of men-at-arms. Its martial culture was strong, especially among minor houses eager to prove their worth. And now, with war on the horizon, many landless knights and hedge fighters were ready to sell their swords.
Horace didn't seem to fully grasp why Arthur was so intent on expanding his forces, but still offered a rough estimate:
"Around Highgarden? Two, maybe three hundred men if you're paying in gold dragons. More if you head for Oldtown. You'll find no shortage of free swords or wandering knights there."
Oldtown—second in size only to King's Landing—was one of the five great cities of Westeros. Home to the Citadel, the Starry Sept, and House Hightower, it had always attracted the idle, the learned, and the desperate alike. If one wanted swords for hire, it was a natural place to look.
But Arthur frowned. Time was not on his side.
Twelve days had passed since the Hand's Tourney. Tyrion Lannister was likely already captured by Catelyn Stark at the Inn at the Crossroads. That meant the Mountain—Ser Gregor Clegane—would soon be unleashed on the Riverlands with his brutal foraging party, raping, pillaging, and burning along the Red Fork. Arthur had seen this moment coming. He had prepared for it.
He estimated it would take just over two weeks to reach the Riverlands from here, even with all the newly forged armor and weapons. There would be no time to detour to Oldtown now.
If two hundred good men could be raised from the villages and holdfasts surrounding Highgarden, that would suffice. That would have to.
Arthur nodded, absorbing the information, then turned his attention back to his breakfast. The quality of the food was unsurprisingly high—fresh-baked bread, honeyed ham, soft goat cheese, roasted figs. A man would be a fool not to eat his fill when dining under a golden rose.
After breakfast, the visiting nobles were led to another chamber—no less extravagant than the last.
This was where Lord Mace Tyrell himself, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Warden of the South, would meet with guests and handle official business. Some had mockingly nicknamed him the "Inflatable Fish" behind his back, a reference to his bluster and rotund frame. But for all his faults, he commanded the greatest army in Westeros.
Arthur waited patiently until his turn came.
At last, Mace Tyrell addressed him.
"A raven arrived from King's Landing confirming the matter," the lord announced with pompous gravity. "I've decided you may go to the armory and select the weapons and armor you require. No more than three hundred sets."
Arthur allowed himself a small smile. This was exactly the result he'd hoped for.
But that satisfaction lasted no more than a second.
A deep voice boomed from across the room, cutting through the air like a sword.
"So long as I stand here, you'll not walk out with a single blade."
Arthur turned, his expression darkening.
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