It was mid-afternoon.
The wedding feast was scheduled to begin at dusk, leaving the gathered knights and nobles with a few hours to kill. There was no real scenery to admire on Dragonstone—the air reeked of sulfur and sea salt, and the Dragonmont was a barren, textbook active volcano.
Led by Ser Justin Massey, the Riverlords and their retinues made their way to the castle's training yard, where the knights were currently working up a sweat.
"My lords, King Robert and the others are watching the sparring in the yard," the ever-cheerful Ser Justin explained. "Lord Stannis is still busy with the wedding preparations."
"You are too kind, Ser Justin," Edmure Tully replied.
"Tonight's going to be a prime night for the bedding ceremony!" Lord Piper announced crudely.
"Hahahaha!" The lords erupted in a chorus of lecherous laughter.
In Westeros, the traditional bedding ceremony was an incredibly bawdy, raucous affair, essentially a highly chaotic, borderline-inappropriate hazing ritual where the guests often stripped the bride and groom naked before tossing them into the bedchamber.
Ser Justin maintained a smooth, practiced smile. He was one of King Robert's squires.
Under normal circumstances, House Massey wasn't a particularly powerful or influential house, making a rapid ascent in the capital difficult. Ser Justin had earned Robert's favor entirely through his skill with women—simply put, he was an excellent pimp. He was currently serving as one of Stannis's bannermen and looked to be flying high.
But Arthur knew better. Justin was going to be fired by Robert soon enough.
While Robert and Cersei's marriage appeared cold on the surface, Cersei's pillow talk was actually incredibly effective. Much like Jon Arryn, Robert was easily manipulated by his wife. Over time, Robert's Stormlands squires would be systematically expelled from the royal court, replaced entirely by Westerlands squires and Lannister cousins.
Given how thoroughly they allowed themselves to be blinded, both Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn essentially brought their eventual downfalls upon themselves.
The Riverlords were the last major faction to arrive; everyone else was already present.
Dragonstone was currently packed to the bursting point. With most of the available space given over to the guests' pavilions and tents, only the inner courtyard remained for martial practice.
When Arthur arrived, the yard was a flurry of activity, filled with knights and squires sparring. Colorful banners snapped in the wind: the crowned stag, the moon-and-falcon, the golden rose, the red-gold fox, the striding huntsman, and more.
Because the space was so crowded, the training was primarily restricted to sword-and-shield work and tilting at the quintain.
Clang! Clang!
Squires hacked at each other with blunted tourney swords, the more skilled fighters driving the mediocre ones back until they were dizzy and bruised. Across the yard, fully fledged knights couched their lances and charged at the wooden targets.
"A hit!" a knight roared with laughter, raising his tourney lance after cleanly striking the shield of the quintain.
"Your Grace, my lords," Ser Justin announced, "the lords of the Riverlands have arrived."
"Excellent," boomed a voice from above.
King Robert Baratheon, wearing a golden crown shaped like stag antlers, sat on a chair positioned at the top of the courtyard steps, his eyes still fixed on the sparring below.
The massive, heavily muscled King was flanked by the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms.
Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, wore a blue cloak. Renly Baratheon, the young Lord of Storm's End, stood nearby. Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, wore a green cloak trimmed in purple. Also present were Lord Alester Florent, Lord Randyll Tarly, Lord Paxter Redwyne, and Lord Mathis Rowan.
The marriage between Stannis Baratheon and Selyse Florent represented a major political alliance between the Baratheons of Dragonstone and one of the oldest, most prestigious houses of the Reach. While House Florent might lack the overwhelming military might of House Tyrell or House Hightower, their bloodline was ancient and their pride was immense.
Lord Alester Florent's eldest son-in-law was Lord Randyll Tarly, his second son-in-law was Lord Leyton Hightower, and his niece's husband was now Stannis Baratheon. Lord Alester, a man famously ambitious for power and status, was clearly in an excellent mood today.
"More wine!"
A servant hurried forward to refill the King's cup. Robert was draining one wineskin after another. His black beard was thick and coarse as steel wire.
"Now this is fine stuff!" Robert declared, smacking his lips. He wore a tunic of cloth-of-gold embroidered with a prancing stag. Beside him, Renly wore a similar tunic in deep green. Both Baratheon brothers clearly shared a profound love for luxury and excess.
Though the evening feast hadn't even begun, Robert was already half-drunk. With Cersei having stayed behind in King's Landing, Robert was visibly reveling in his freedom.
Beyond the lords, the courtyard was also filled with noblewomen from the Reach, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and Dragonstone—most notably, the ladies of House Florent.
The Florent girls were generally quite pretty, though they all shared the family's dominant genetic trait: a pair of remarkably prominent, protruding ears.
Lady Melessa Florent, wife of Randyll Tarly, was present with her eldest son and heir, Samwell—a round-faced, plump little boy with dark hair and grey eyes.
Not far away, a pretty, petite Florent girl in a sky-blue dress was blatantly making eyes at King Robert, acting as if they were the only two people in the courtyard.
The little whore! Mace Tyrell thought, his eyes practically shooting sparks.
House Florent had always been a thorn in Highgarden's side, and now they were brazenly throwing themselves at the King without an ounce of shame. Securing a marriage to Stannis had already made them insufferably arrogant; if they managed to hook Robert as well, they would be utterly out of control.
Meanwhile, the wealthy and powerful Lord of Brightwater Keep, Alester Florent, simply chuckled and pretended not to notice.
Well, that's a bold play right out in the open, Arthur thought, surprised by the sheer directness of it.
He didn't need to guess who she was: Delena Florent. The bride's cousin, and a very eager admirer of the King.
That's a bit much, isn't it? The Riverlords exchanged uncomfortable glances. The King wasn't even trying to hide it.
But this was Robert. In his prime, he was an absolute apex predator when it came to women—a walking incubus. The Florent girl was staring at him with a gaze so heated it could melt steel. But surely the King wouldn't completely lose his mind here; today was his brother's wedding, after all.
The only person missing from the high table was the groom himself. Stannis, the Lord of Dragonstone, was presumably buried in wedding preparations, and he had never been one for tourneys or martial displays anyway.
With the King, the Hand, and the Great Lords watching from above, the knights and squires in the yard fought even harder, desperate to leave a lasting impression on the most powerful men in the realm.
"Good lads! And now the fine knights of the Riverlands have arrived to join the fray!" Robert bellowed with a laugh. "Get in there and show us what you're made of!"
Hearing this, the Riverlands knights and squires shifted awkwardly.
Compared to the legendary Knights of the Vale and the ferocious warriors of the Stormlands, the Riverlands' recent military record was embarrassing. They couldn't even match their old rivals, the westermen. During the rebellion, Hoster Tully had been nearly killed by the Griffin. Aside from Lord Jason Mallister, the true heroes of the Trident had been men like Robert, Ned, and Lyn Corbray.
Right now, the Riverlands' martial talent pool was painfully shallow. Stepping into the yard felt like volunteering for a beating.
The Reach might also have a reputation for being somewhat soft, but their sheer population and vast lands meant they inevitably produced elite fighters. Men like Randyll Tarly and the up-and-coming Garlan Tyrell were undisputed terrors on the battlefield.
"Watching these boys go at it makes me want to crack a few skulls myself," Robert remarked to the men beside him.
"Your Grace, we are here for a wedding feast. You didn't bring your armor or your warhammer," Jon Arryn gently reminded him.
"Bah, I'll just borrow someone else's. Justin's will do," Robert said, tossing aside an empty wineskin.
"Brother, if you take the field, there won't be any point in placing bets," Renly laughed.
"True enough! Well then, I won't steal the glory from the young blood," Robert boomed, highly receptive to Renly's flattery.
There hadn't been any major tourneys over the past two years. This was likely because Robert had been relatively restrained, or perhaps because the royal treasury had been utterly drained by the King's wedding and the massive cost of rebuilding the Royal Fleet.
"Alright, let the young ones have at it! I want to see the squires and the young warriors!" Robert commanded, clapping his massive hands.
The older, established knights quickly cleared the yard, making way for the squires and the younger generation of nobles.
"I'll handle the roster, Your Grace," Ser Justin Massey eagerly volunteered, grabbing a quill and parchment.
"Master Edmure! Are you joining us?" Donnel Swann, the heir to Stonehelm in the Stormlands, asked with a grinning challenge.
"Of course I am," Edmure Tully shot back, his pride stung as he immediately signed up.
Marq Piper and Karyl Vance followed suit.
"Any other takers from the Riverlands?" Ser Justin called out.
"I'll join," Arthur Whent said, raising his hand.
Wylis Wode and Lucas Roote quickly added their names as well.
"The bat sigil?" King Robert leaned forward, his eyes fixing on the young, black-haired boy with eyes so dark blue they almost looked purple.
"The grandson of Earl Walter Whent, Your Grace. Only twelve years old," Jon Arryn informed him quietly.
"Twelve? Ha! Good lad!" Robert grinned, suddenly much more interested.