King's Landing. The Red Keep. Beneath the banners of the crowned stag.
The Red Keep looked exactly as it always had. The number of crimson-cloaked Lannister guards had not yet grown overwhelming.
Hooves clattered across the cobblestone square in front of the castle.
A line of spearmen stood watch at the gates.
"Make way for His Grace, Robert of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" the herald shouted.
The spearmen parted at once when they saw the royal party, opening the iron portcullis.
Pale red walls towered overhead, bristling with crossbowmen.
As they crossed the outer yard, Arthur spotted a dozen knights practicing at the quintain.
Crack!
Crack!
The best of them snapped their lances clean in two.
A lance was heavier and far harder to master than a sword. It demanded perfect balance and absolute trust in the horse. The knights drilled day and night.
Arthur noticed that his uncle-by-marriage, Jaime Lannister, was nowhere to be seen. He had probably ridden back to the Westerlands to visit his family.
All the way from the gates, Ser Barristan Selmy continued sharing his hard-won wisdom from the lists.
"Sword-and-shield work is the foundation of foot combat. Mounted lance work requires two more foundations: horsemanship and lance technique," the old knight said.
Balance on horseback decided everything in a joust.
"Young Arthur's lance work and riding are already excellent," Ser Lucas Dayne added proudly.
"Talent plus relentless practice—that is the path of a champion," Barristan nodded.
The boy was a pure prodigy. He would dominate the tourney circuit for years to come.
"Looks like I'll need to buy another good horse," Arthur thought.
A knight was nothing without a fine mount.
The chargers of the Vale, the sand steeds of Dorne, the destriers of the Reach—all were famous. Across the Narrow Sea, the Dothraki bred the most savage warhorses of all.
As long as the gold dragons were right and the opportunity came, a top-tier mount was never out of reach.
Arthur fully intended to make his mark in the jousts as well.
When it came to making money, the joust paid the best.
Just look at the upcoming Hand's Tourney Robert would throw for Ned Stark: forty thousand gold dragons for the jousting champion, twenty thousand for second place.
The melee champion took twenty thousand, the archery champion ten thousand.
"If I have any shortcomings, I will ask you for guidance, ser," Arthur said with a respectful smile.
"I have little left to teach except experience," Barristan replied, returning the smile.
Barristan Selmy's battle experience and tourney wisdom were probably unmatched in the entire realm right now.
"Go claim your prize, little bat!"
Drunken King Robert waved a meaty hand. He was already thinking about crawling back into his bed in Maegor's Holdfast for another nap.
If word of Robert's little adventure with Delena Florent on Dragonstone traveled fast enough, the King and Queen would be having one of their famous screaming, furniture-smashing rows again.
Arthur carried Robert's handwritten order and walked straight into the Royal Armory.
"Please enter, young master," the two guards at the door said respectfully.
A king's gift was also a tremendous honor.
Robert had one great virtue: he loved to spend money.
His endless feasts, tourneys, and gifts kept merchants, whores, and knights happy, even if his treasury bled like a stuck pig.
Arthur pushed open the heavy oak-and-iron doors and stepped inside alone.
Sunlight slanted through the narrow windows, cutting golden shafts through the dusty air.
The armory was packed with fine armor and weapons of every kind.
This isn't even everything, Arthur thought.
Somewhere in the deeper vaults lay the black steel and dragonbone plate of the Targaryens, beautiful and terrible. But Robert hated anything that reminded him of the dragons, so those pieces had been shoved into forgotten corners.
Rows upon rows of weapons dazzled the eye.
Plate armor, shields, daggers, lances, swords, morningstars.
Blunt weapons—axes, warhammers, flails—were all present in abundance.
Just counting the ornate, gem-studded daggers and silver-chased blades, Arthur saw dozens of high-value pieces.
The common steel daggers were beyond counting.
Many were diplomatic gifts from overseas, others had been wedding presents to Robert.
"Is this one from Gerion?" Arthur murmured, picking up a beautiful dagger.
The blade was gilded, the hilt carved from ivory, the pommel a flawless sapphire. The name Gerion Lannister was etched along the crossguard.
This had been Gerion's wedding gift to Robert. Now it sat here gathering dust.
Robert loved daggers, yet the only one he ever truly carried was the simple one Jon Arryn had given him as a boy.
"These gilded, jeweled toys are flashy, but they're not truly precious," Arthur muttered as he moved deeper into the armory, searching carefully.
He rummaged through crates and racks for a long while.
The ornate gem-encrusted weapons held no interest for him. He wanted something with real power.
After some time, he reached a dim corner stacked high with ordinary daggers and began pulling them aside.
Beneath the common steel he found it.
A dagger with a hilt of black dragonbone, hard as iron, and a blade of Valyrian steel dark as smoke.
Only one metal in the world could be forged so thin yet remain lethally strong.
The rippling patterns along the edge were the unmistakable marks of a thousand hammer blows during forging.
"Even after a thousand years I can still feel the fire inside it," Arthur whispered. "Is this the true nature of dragonsteel?"
The dragonbone hilt and Valyrian steel blade thrummed with latent flame.
Even from several paces away, Arthur could sense the fire element concentrated within the weapon.
He measured the distance. It matched the exact range of his [Bountiful Growth] ability—within that radius his senses were sharpest.
The Valyrians had called obsidian "frozen fire" because it could slay the Others.
Valyrian steel, tempered for centuries in dragonflame, held an even richer concentration of fire.
This dagger had almost certainly once belonged to the Targaryen family.
Arthur slipped it into his belt.
First prize secured.
Valyrian steel longswords were priceless. Small pieces like daggers were merely rare.
Besides the one in the royal armory, Littlefinger would later obtain another and lose it to Robert in a bet.
With this one in hand, Arthur's confidence soared. He kept searching. Why stop at one?
He ignored the big items—shields, full plate, lances, swords. Nothing of true value.
Then, in a pile of scattered gauntlets and steel gloves, he felt it again: that same pulse of living flame.
Arthur reached in and pulled out a pair of finely crafted black steel gauntlets.
They too were covered in dust—clearly another forgotten relic of the Targaryen era.
At first glance they looked ordinary.
Only after he wiped them clean did he spot the faint sea-serpent emblem.
These had to be spoils from one of the Sea Snake's legendary voyages.
Lord Corlys Velaryon had been richer than most kings. While he never found a full Valyrian steel blade, he had certainly brought back smaller pieces.
Arthur drew the Valyrian dagger and ran the edge across one gauntlet.
A thin layer of lacquer peeled away, revealing the true metal beneath.
The dagger could not cut through it.
"Valyrian steel gauntlets," Arthur breathed. "Clever."
They hadn't had enough steel for a full weapon, so they had used what they had for these.
Arthur claimed the gauntlets as well.
He used the dagger to scrape the sea-serpent emblem clean until it was unrecognizable.
"This trip was worth every mile," he thought, utterly satisfied.
Even without a full blade, he had walked away with two priceless Valyrian steel pieces.
With these in hand, he now had real confidence he could "borrow" more in the future.
Among the Ironborn there were still one or two Valyrian steel longswords, and Arthur had every intention of claiming them.
"I have chosen my two weapons," Arthur told the guards as he stepped out.
"No trouble at all, my lord. His Grace said you may take any two you wish," the soldier replied politely.
"One Valyrian steel dagger and one pair of steel gauntlets," Arthur said, pressing two gold dragons into the man's palm before strolling away.
"Young Master Arthur is truly a generous soul," the guard muttered, already hoping the rich young lord would visit again soon.
Arthur tucked the dagger and gauntlets away safely and left the Red Keep in high spirits.
He had the weapons.
Now it was time to recruit a few good men in King's Landing.
Arthur had plenty of gold. This was the perfect place to find a handful of experienced hedge knights and sellswords.
Wylis and young Lucas Roote were still too green.
For real, bloody work, he needed hardened veterans.
And King's Landing was full of broke, bitter, highly skilled knights who had fallen on hard times.