"The Bat Knight!"
"The Bat Knight!"
"Black Arthur!"
The crowd roared Arthur Whent's name.
Trailing behind him, Ser Lucas Dayne, Lucas Roote, and Wylis Wode felt a deep, swelling sense of shared pride.
The legend of the Bat Knight had officially begun, carving a brand-new chapter into the history of the Riverlands.
The Riverlands had historically been the weakest region when it came to martial prowess, producing very few true tourney champions. For a twelve-year-old boy to emerge from absolute obscurity and shock the entire realm—it was the exact kind of epic, legendary narrative the bards lived for!
Throughout the entirety of the Targaryen dynasty, only a tiny handful of men had ever achieved such a feat at that age: Maegor the Cruel, "Blood" Ben Blackwood, Daemon Blackfyre, and Barristan the Bold.
In the original timeline, the niche of the dazzling, prodigy "boy knight" was eventually filled by Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. But now, Arthur had completely hijacked that narrative space.
"Champion! Arthur!"
"Arthur Whent! The Eagle of the Trident!"
"Champion! Arthur!"
In the courtyard of Dragonstone, Edmure Tully and the rest of the Riverlands contingent joyously chanted Arthur's name. Surging forward, they hoisted Arthur into the air, carrying him on their shoulders in triumph.
Lords from the western Riverlands, the eastern Riverlands, and even a few connected houses from the Crownlands all joined the celebration. In that euphoric moment, Edmure Tully and his friends were completely swept up in the joy, acting as if the Riverlands were a perfectly unified, harmonious entity.
But amidst the glory and the cheering, the more seasoned, sharp-eyed lords could already see the looming crisis for Riverrun.
House Tully's history was fundamentally mediocre. While old Lord Hoster was a master manipulator and a shrewd politician, the actual military and economic power of his house remained aggressively average.
The world of Westeros worshiped true knights and bowed to true power.
Arthur Whent was rising like a meteor, and in the future, he would undoubtedly pose a massive threat to House Tully's supremacy. Every Lord Paramount had ambitious, hungry vassals waiting in the wings, constantly looking for a moment of weakness to usurp their liege. A paramount house could only force its vassals into line if its own power was overwhelming. The moment they smelled blood in the water...
Ser Barristan Selmy.
Lord Gulian Swann, Lord Caron, and Lord Selwyn Tarth of the Stormlands.
Lord Randyll Tarly, Lord Paxter Redwyne, Lord Mathis Rowan, and Lord Alester Florent of the Reach.
Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Horton Redfort, and Ser Lyn Corbray of the Vale.
Lord Tytos Blackwood, Lord Jason Mallister, Lord Clement Piper, and the two Lord Vances of the Riverlands.
Every single one of these established, veteran lords and knights made a point to approach Arthur and offer their warm regards and goodwill.
"A single victory, and your name is known across the world!" young Lord Renly beamed, approaching Arthur. Renly was handsome and silver-tongued, clearly making a conscious effort to mimic his eldest brother's legendary charisma.
"You are far too kind, my lord," Arthur replied politely, bowing his head.
Even Lord Mace Tyrell waddled over, his face split by a massive, jovial smile as he praised the champion.
Damn it all, Mace thought bitterly, someone else gets all the glory again.
He had genuinely believed his eldest son, Willas, would be the next Leo "Longthorn" Tyrell, yet here was someone else's son completely stealing the spotlight.
Mace had three sons. Relying on his bottomless vaults of gold and the finest master-at-arms in the Reach, Mace was determined to mold one of them into the next Longthorn.
"You're a truly spectacular fighter, Arthur!" Garlan Tyrell—still carrying a bit of childhood pudginess—said earnestly.
"And you will be a legendary knight one day yourself, Garlan. I look forward to crossing swords with you," Arthur replied smoothly.
"Thank you! That means a lot!" Garlan beamed, clearly touched by the recognition from the newly crowned champion.
"I have to admit, I'm completely in awe," Donnel Swann said, shaking his head.
"You're a born knight, Arthur," Jasper Redfort added, displaying the refined courtesy expected of a Knight of the Vale.
Forged in the fires of the training yard, Arthur successfully expanded his social network, sinking roots into the Vale, the Reach, the Stormlands, and the Crownlands.
Richard Horpe, Justin Massey, Jasper Redfort, Donnel Swann, and Stannis's Florent brother-in-law—he had literally beaten them into friendship. And that wasn't even counting the Riverlands knights, who were now looking at him with absolute reverence. Arthur had single-handedly salvaged the bruised pride of the entire Riverlands.
As dusk finally settled over the island, Stannis's herald arrived, politely requesting the guests to transition to the Great Hall for the wedding feast.
It was then that everyone realized a glaring, highly awkward problem.
The most important man on the island—King Robert Baratheon—had vanished mid-tourney and hadn't been seen since. Clearly, he was currently lost in a fog of passionate, aggressive thrusting somewhere in the castle.
The herald, dressed in cloth-of-gold, scanned the courtyard anxiously. He saw the Hand of the King, the Great Lords, the knights, and the squires. But the King was nowhere to be found.
Where is King Robert? Instantly, it became the hottest piece of gossip on Dragonstone.
Even the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, who was desperately trying to preserve whatever shred of dignity the crown had left, couldn't sit still any longer.
"Everyone, please follow Lord Yohn to the Great Hall!" Jon Arryn commanded loudly. With the King absent, the Hand's authority was absolute. He pulled "Bronze Yohn" Royce aside. "Lord Yohn, please escort the guests inside."
Leaving the crowd in Royce's hands, Jon Arryn, Ser Barristan, and a few others set off to hunt down the missing King.
Finding him wouldn't be terribly difficult; wherever Robert went, at least one or two Kingsguard knights were required to stand outside the door.
The massive crowd in the courtyard began to disperse. The vast majority headed toward the Great Hall for the feast, while a small handful followed the Hand to search for the King. Before entering the hall, the squires and knights who had fought in the tourney returned to their pavilions to strip off their padded gambesons and don their formal evening wear.
"Where on earth did the King go?"
"He disappeared the moment the final bout ended."
"Lady Delena Florent vanished at the exact same time. It's obvious they slipped away for a tryst."
"But... today is his own brother's wedding day!"
The lords and ladies whispered furiously among themselves as they walked. Slipping away to screw a noblewoman during his brother's wedding was incredibly inappropriate, yet simultaneously, it was the most purely "Robert Baratheon" thing imaginable.
Inside the Great Hall of Dragonstone, the fires were roaring, and every torch in every sconce had been lit.
"Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End!"
"Master Arthur Whent, Heir to Harrenhal and Earl of Whitewalls!"
As the lords and ladies passed through the massive double doors, the herald announced their names and titles. Servers in yellow livery then escorted them down the wide central aisle to their designated seats.
In the gallery above, a troupe of musicians had already begun to play. There were drummers, flutists, fiddlers, horn blowers, harpists, and pipers. A bleak, miserable rock like Dragonstone rarely attracted skilled musicians; this entire troupe had traveled with the royal retinue from King's Landing, hoping to earn a hefty purse from the King's legendary generosity.
Arthur strode confidently down the aisle. As a highly honored guest and the tourney champion, he was seated at the very first table directly beneath the high dais.
The high table upon the dais was reserved for the true power players: the King, the Hand, the Great Lords, the groom (Lord Stannis), and the bride's uncle (Lord Alester Florent).
Arthur wore a stunning tunic woven with gold thread, featuring sleeves of rich black silk and a massive, stylized bat embroidered across the chest—the proud sigil of House Whent.
"There he is. Arthur Whent. A terrifyingly talented boy."
"Harrenhal might be cursed, but its vaults are deep. And for the heir to possess such monstrous martial talent... his future is limitless."
Arthur could feel the weight of a hundred curious, assessing gazes resting on him. Looking at this rising prodigy—a boy who combined terrifying physical stats with striking, almost unfairly handsome features—the gathered nobles undoubtedly had a lot on their minds.
Arthur, Ser Lucas, Wylis, and Lucas Roote took their seats and settled in to wait for the feast to officially begin.
Truthfully, the wait was growing excruciatingly long. Several lords had already resorted to idle, bored chatter.
Dusk had long since passed, and full night had fallen over the island.
"Have a drink," Arthur said, pouring a cup of iced lemon water for Ser Lucas. He took a long, refreshing sip of his own, perfectly content to sit back and watch the drama unfold.
Just as the guests' patience was beginning to wear dangerously thin, Jon Arryn and King Robert finally appeared at the entrance of the Great Hall.
The Kingsguard knights trailed silently behind the King and the Hand.
"You have gone entirely too far this time, Robert! You knew perfectly well today was Stannis's wedding day!" old Jon Arryn hissed furiously at his foster son, his voice a harsh, desperate whisper.
Jon Arryn's head was throbbing. Robert was a walking disaster. If you want to screw a wildling or a tavern wench, fine. But how could you possibly do this?
"Oh, stop your bleeding, Jon! So I broke in the wedding bed a bit early! Have the servants change the damn sheets!"
Robert Baratheon's face was flushed dark red, he reeked of sex and wine, and his fine clothes were visibly rumpled. He waved a massive hand dismissively, completely unbothered by the Hand's outrage.
I fucked her, so what? was written plainly across his face.
The guests closest to the aisle stared in absolute, jaw-dropping horror.
Wait.
Robert took a woman and fucked her... in Stannis's own wedding bed?!
That was beyond shameless. It was a legendary, historical level of disrespect!
It wouldn't take more than a few days for this monumental, apocalyptic scandal to detonate across all Seven Kingdoms.