Chapter 6: The Unlikely Alliance
The journey to meet Lord Blackwood was fraught with tension. Arthur Rivers rode alongside Lord Bracken and Royce, each man lost in his own thoughts as they traveled the muddy roads that wound through the Riverlands. The countryside was scarred by war, evidence of the Andal host's relentless march. Burnt-out homesteads and fields laid to waste were a stark reminder of what was at stake.
When they arrived at the gates of Raventree Hall, the banners fluttered in the cold wind, displaying the Blackwood's grim emblem: a flock of ravens on scarlet surrounding a dead weirwood. The sight sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. House Blackwood was known for its cunning and ruthlessness, and the prospect of allying with them was as unsettling as it was necessary.
The gates swung open, revealing a courtyard alive with the bustle of preparations. Men-at-arms moved with grim purpose, and Arthur could feel the palpable hostility in the air. It was clear that not all of Lord Bracken's men were thrilled about the proposed alliance.
As they dismounted, they were greeted by Lord Blackwood himself—a tall, gaunt man with a sharp nose and piercing eyes that seemed to see right through Arthur. The two lords exchanged curt greetings before heading into the castle's great hall, leaving Arthur to stand awkwardly beside them, his half-Andal heritage a silent question in the room.
The talks began immediately, the two lords sitting across from each other at the long table. Arthur stood quietly, serving as cupbearer and listening intently to the words being exchanged. The air was thick with distrust as the two men discussed terms of the alliance.
"Your father was a fool," Lord Blackwood spat, his eyes flicking towards Arthur. "Bent over for the Andal whores and gave them the keys to our lands. Why should we trust you won't do the same?"
The insult stung, but Arthur kept his composure, pouring wine as if the words had not affected him. The room grew tense, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the clinking of goblets.
Lord Bracken's voice was tight with restrained anger. "He is loyal to the Riverlands, and to House Bracken. And he'll be the one to spit in the face of Vance and all his ilk."
The conversation grew heated, the two lords arguing over the specifics of the alliance, the future of the Riverlands, and the fate of their people.
After hours of debate, the outline of an agreement began to take shape. Lord Bracken would lead the combined forces against Armistead Vance, with Lord Blackwood contributing men and supplies. In exchange, Lord Bracken would cede some territories to House Blackwood, a concession that left a bitter taste in Arthur's mouth.
"And what of the boy?" Lord Blackwood asked, pointing a long finger at Arthur.
"He will fight alongside us," Lord Bracken said firmly. "He has proven himself in battle and is more than capable."
Lord Blackwood's eyes narrowed, and Arthur felt the weight of his gaze. "Very well," he said finally. "But should he falter, he'll answer to me."
The agreement was sealed with a handshake, and the tension in the room eased slightly. The two lords called for their bannermen to join them, and the planning began in earnest.
In the weeks that followed, Arthur worked tirelessly alongside Royce to prepare the troops. They drilled from dawn till dusk, training the inexperienced soldiers into a semblance of an army. Arthur's days were filled with the clang of swords and the shouts of command, his nights with strategy and dreams of battles from a different life, dreams of knights adorned in great armour, duels of honour, tactics and machines of war beyond what he thought possible.
The Riverlords gathered their forces, and the combined might of House Bracken and House Blackwood grew. The air was charged with excitement and fear, as they all knew that the fate of the Riverlands rested on their shoulders.
Yet, as the day of the battle grew closer, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The whispers of doubt and suspicion grew louder, and he knew that his every move would be scrutinized by the men who served under him. Despite his valor and the trust of Lord Bracken, Arthur remained a symbol of the enemy in their eyes.
One evening, as Arthur was walking the battlements, lost in thought, he heard the sound of the blast of a horn—the signal that the Andal host had been spotted approaching. Arthur's heart quickened as he turned to face the horizon, where dark shapes began to appear in the distance.
The moment had arrived. The battle for the Riverlands was at hand, and Arthur knew that he would need to prove his worth not just to Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood but to the men who would soon follow him into the jaws of war.
The following dawn saw the two armies arrayed before each other, the banners of House Bracken and House Blackwood fluttering alongside, an uneasy truce between old enemies. The Andal host, a sea of steel and banners, stretched out across the opposite banks of the Bitter River, a stark reminder of the power that threatened to consume them all.
Arthur donned his armor, each piece a silent testament to his heritage—the steel of Andal craftsmanship granted by an uncle he couldn't remember, painted with the inverted colours of House Mudd. He checked his sword, the blade gleaming in the early light.
The tension in the air grew palpable as the two sides drew closer, the earth trembling beneath the hooves of the warhorses and the footfall of countless soldiers. Arthur's eyes searched the Andal lines for any sign of his mother's kin, wondering if he would find himself face-to-face with those he had never known.
Lord Blackwood's voice, gruff and impatient, broke the silence. "Keep that half-breed bastard in check, Bracken. I'll not have him betray us on the battlefield."
The insult hung heavy in the air, and Arthur felt his cheeks burn with a mix of anger and humiliation. But Lord Bracken remained unyielding. "Arthur Rivers is my ward, and his blood is as much Mudd as it is Andal. He's proven his loyalty to House Bracken."
The two lords stared each other down, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Finally, Lord Blackwood grunted his assent, though his eyes remained cold. "Very well. But I expect him to fight like one of us, not them."
Turning to the matters at hand, Lord Bracken called for his sword and shield, his gaze flickering over the Andal host under Armistead Vance had grown like a cancer, swelling with every victory. Their numbers were vast, a sea of steel and fire that threatened to consume the entirety of the Riverlands. Yet, the combined might of Houses Bracken and Blackwood was no small force to be underestimated.
The armies of House Bracken had swollen with the call to arms, their ranks filled with hardened warriors and men with hearts full of valor. Their banners, depicting a red stallion upon a golden escutcheon on brown, fluttered in the breeze like a warning to any who would dare challenge their might. They were a force born of the very earth they defended, their roots deep and their will unbending.
In contrast, the Andal host, a tide of steel and fire, stretched across the horizon. Each warrior bore the proud banners of their own lords, a patchwork of colors that spoke of their diverse origins. Yet, under Vance's command, they had become a unified beast, a hydra of war that grew stronger with every victory. Their numbers were vast, a testament to the might of the Andal conquests.
Arthur estimated that the Andal forces numbered near eight thousand, a daunting figure that seemed to grow larger as the sun dipped towards the horizon. On their side, the combined might of Houses Bracken and Blackwood, bolstered by the loyal bannermen of the Riverlands, stood at a mere five thousand. Yet, as he looked upon his fellow soldiers, their faces a mix of seasoned veterans and fresh-faced recruits, Arthur felt a spark of hope. The Riverlords had never been known for their numbers, but for their valor and the strength of their hearts.
The tension grew palpable as the sun painted the sky in fiery hues, signaling the end of the day's diplomacy and the beginning of the night's restless preparations. The camp buzzed with the sound of sharpening swords and hammering stakes, the smell of roasting meat mingling with the acrid scent of fear. As Arthur made his way through the rows of tents, he noticed that the men of House Bracken and House Blackwood had set up camp closer to each other than was customary. Perhaps the shared danger had begun to forge a bond between them, a bond that would be tested in the coming battles.
The following dawn saw an unexpected turn of events. The Andal host had sent forth a force of 777 knights, each clad in gleaming armor that reflected the early light. Behind them marched seven septons, their voices raised in a chant that seemed to shake the very earth. The Rivermen watched with bated breath, their hearts hammering in their chests like war drums.
The sight of the approaching knights sent a wave of uncertainty through Arthu's rank. The number 777 held a religious significance to the Andals, a sign of divine favor. Lord Blackwood's eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer to Arthur. "What madness is this?" he whispered.
Arthur felt his grip tighten on the reins of his horse, the muscles in his arms straining. He had faced down Andal scouts and survived the treacherous games of courtly politics, but this...this was something he had never seen before. The knights charged, their hooves pounding like the heartbeat of a giant beast, and the Rivermen surged forward to meet them. The clash was deafening, a cacophony of steel on steel and the screams of horses and men.
The 777 knights, a terrifying spectacle of gleaming armor and religious fervor, broke through the Rivermen's lines with a brutal efficiency that sent chills down Arthur's spine. The septons' chant grew louder, a war cry to their gods, and the Andals seemed to be an unstoppable tide. The Riverlords' troops, though brave and numerous, were no match for the disciplined fury of the Andal cavalry.
In the midst of the chaos, Arthur spotted Lord Bracken, his mentor and lord, surrounded by his most trusted men. And then, as if in a nightmare, he saw a single Andal knight cut through them like a scythe through wheat, his blade flashing in the early morning light. The knight reached Lord Bracken and with a swift, vicious blow, sent his head rolling to the ground.
Arthur's world narrowed to a pinpoint as he watched the man who had stood by him fall. Rage and grief boiled within him, and he spurred his horse forward, ignoring the cries of the men around him, his eyes fixed on the knight responsible. The battle around him seemed to fade into the background as he charged, his sword held high.
The Andal knight, his eyes gleaming with the same religious fervor that had fueled his devastating charge, turned to face Arthur. Their horses met with a thunderous clash, and Arthur swung his sword in a fierce arc. The knight parried with ease, his movements a blur of precision and power. The clang of steel on steel reverberated through Arthur's skull, the taste of iron in the air.
For what felt like hours, the two men danced a deadly dance, their swords a symphony of war. Each strike was met with a counter, each step calculated, each breath a silent promise of victory. The knight's eyes never left Arthur's, and Arthur could see the certainty in his gaze—a belief that the gods themselves were guiding his hand.
But Arthur's anger was a force that could not be denied. With a roar that seemed to shake the very heavens, he swung his sword with all his might, and this time, the knight did not see it coming. The blade sliced through the air, cutting into the knight's side. The man's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, his sword dropping from his grasp.
As the knight fell to the ground, Arthur leaped from his horse, landing in a crouch beside him. The man's breath was ragged, his lifeblood seeping into the earth beneath him. "Who are you?" the knight whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of the battle.
Arthur paused, his eyes on the man's dying face. He took a deep breath and spoke his name, enunciating each syllable with the pride of his heritage. "I am Arthur Rivers, bastard son of King Tristifer IV, the Hammer of Justice and an Andal woman."
The knight's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. "Arthur, that is an Andal name, you are an Andal!" he spat. "And yet you fight for these... these animals." His words were tinged with disgust.
Arthur looked down at the man, feeling a strange mix of pity and anger. "I fight for my home," he said, his voice calm and steady. "For my people. And if that means fighting alongside those you deem godless, then so be it."
The knight's eyes searched Arthur's face, his breathing growing shallower. "But you are one of them," he said, his voice tinged with confusion. "An abomination."
Arthur's grip tightened around his sword hilt. "I am what I choose to be," he replied firmly. "I choose to fight for the Riverlands, for the people who need protection from men like you."
The knight's eyes grew dim as his life slipped away. Arthur felt a strange sense of regret, for this man had been a warrior worthy of respect despite his misguided loyalties. The knight coughed, a wet sound that sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. "You fight with honor," the Andal managed to say, his voice a mere whisper. "In another life, perhaps we could have been brothers in arms."
Arthur's chest tightened. The knight's words were a stark reminder of the divide that had torn the Riverlands apart. "But you are right. I do not fight for the heathens you believe my kin to be. I fight for the people of these lands, for their right to live free from conquest." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
The Andal knight smiled, "An honourable goal, for an honourable man," he rasped, the light fading from his eyes. "Come closer, and bow your head." Arthur didn't know why but he obliged the Andal bowing his head. The Andal made the sign of the Seven and asked Arthur, "Do you swear before the eyes of the Seven and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?" Arthur responded, " I swear."
The Andal smiled and said, "Then rise a knight Ser Arthur Rivers, may yo-" Arthur cut him off saying "I'll take a new name," he didn't know why but the word that he uttered next felts so powerful, so familiar, "Pendragon." the Andal nodded completing his sentence, "Rise a knight Ser Arthur Pendragon, may you live honourably and be guided by the Seven till the stranger claims you." Finally, the light faded from the Andals eyes.
Arthur stood surveying the battlefield around him, the Andal knights had shattered the force and Lord Bracken was dead. Royce who was Lord Bracken now was signaling a retreat and Lord Blackwood was fleeing the field, despite his personal triumph the battle was lost and even worse the main Andal force had yet to cross the Bitter River.
Arthur wrapped the head of Lord Bracken in his banner, mounted his horse and rode towards Royce, they would flee the field together. As they rode away from the battleground, Arthur felt a newfound sense of determination burning in his chest. He was no longer just Arthur Rivers, bastard son of the slain king, but Ser Arthur Pendragon, knight of the Riverlands.
Hey everyone, thanks for reading up until this point, and thank you for the reviews, I read all of them. A special thank you to Camsonius for all your help and support, it means a lot. I hope you like the longer chapter as I intend to write all the chapters after this to be similar length and hope to continue improving my writing skills. Thanks again for reading.