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Game of Thrones: The Giant Crab of the Narrow Sea
Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Bastard to Emperor
Arthur had no problem branding himself the Dark Knight.
Westeros already had the Knight of Tears, the Dragonknight, the Laughing Tree Knight, and the Falcon Knight.
He could just as easily call himself the Dark Knight—or the Bat Knight.
"You can rest easy, leave it to me!" Tobho declared confidently, then carefully lifted the dagger. "There's not much Valyrian steel here—just enough for a handle and some decoration. Easy work."
"I heard you can reforge Valyrian steel swords?" Arthur asked.
Seeing that Arthur knew his craft, Tobho launched straight into his sales pitch.
"Painting or glazing is child's play. When I was an apprentice in Qohor I learned the secret of infusing color deep into fine steel, making the lacquer richer than anyone else's. I also mastered the art of working Valyrian steel in Qohor. Only those who know the true spells can restore an old blade to its former glory."
Arthur found Tobho more and more intriguing.
The Qohorik were ruthless—anyone caught stealing their core techniques had their hands chopped off.
Yet here Tobho stood, alive and thriving. Impressive.
"Qohorik techniques—excellent," Arthur praised.
Qohor was the city of smiths and the Black Goat, full of sorcery and dark-god worship.
"To be honest, business is slow, young master Arthur. Valyrian weapons are so rare—who needs them reforged? What really pays the bills is lacquered armor," Tobho said, taking a sip of wine and opening up.
Valyrian steel swords were priceless treasures; only a few thousand existed in the world.
Roughly two hundred were in Westeros, and many of those were locked away, never displayed.
Some blades were too valuable or had murky origins, so their owners kept them hidden to avoid losing them.
"To tell you the truth, I'd love to reforge a Valyrian steel sword myself, but I've never had the chance," Tobho said sheepishly.
"I've considered armor too, but I'm still growing. When I return from my travels, I might come back to you," Arthur told him.
"No problem," Tobho laughed heartily. "Clients like you are my favorites—young, rich, and destined to make a name for yourself on the tourney field."
Tobho was a shrewd businessman. Not only was his craft excellent, his marketing was top-notch.
In truth he had many apprentices and rarely worked the forge himself anymore.
But for a big client like this, he handled it personally.
Arthur asked Lucas and the others. They already had their own armor and had no immediate needs.
Besides, Wylis and young Lucas Roote were still growing fast.
"I'll make the bat-wing helmet and dagger hilt for you first. Later, if you want a full set of dark-knight bat armor, you can come find me."
After the pleasantries, Tobho stood up and went to work.
Arthur's gaze swept over Tobho's parlor.
In terms of scale, sales volume, and reputation, this place was one of the top forges in King's Landing.
A good suit of armor might cost five gold dragons elsewhere.
Tobho's started at seven or eight.
That didn't even count the luxury versions with deep lacquer or infused colors.
"Excellent!" Arthur said, accepting Tobho's finished work.
The black bat-wing helmet was somewhat similar to the one once worn by the Dragonknight Aemon.
At the crest was a great bat with spread wings, its eyes made of obsidian, the wings forming the sides of the helm.
A full, heavy black bat emblem protruded from the center.
The dragonbone-hilted dagger now had an exquisite handle shaped like a bat in flight.
"I modeled it after the Dragonknight's helm," Tobho boasted.
The Dragonknight's helm had featured a three-headed dragon wrought in white gold.
Dragons and bats both had leathery wings, so the design translated well.
"Young master Arthur, consider me a friend for life. These are small favors—I won't charge you," Tobho said with a warm smile.
"That won't do!" Arthur shook his head. "This is business."
Arthur paid the full original price—eight gold dragons—and slipped the dagger into his sword belt.
"You're too kind. Let's be friends," Tobho laughed. "From now on, you are my most valued client."
Nobles were plentiful.
But those who were rich, talented in battle, handsome, and dashing were extremely rare. They were premium clients.
"I value your friendship as well. In the future, if any of my retainers come here, just mention my name."
"Of course," Tobho said with a smile.
"Besides gold dragons, can I settle accounts with goods from Harrenhal?" Arthur asked.
"That would be even better. I often buy Harrenhal's crops anyway," Tobho rubbed his hands together.
Besides coin, Tobho was open to payment in kind.
With so many mouths to feed, he could easily use the produce himself.
Tobho also wanted to build a good relationship with Arthur.
This was all investment and networking.
If Arthur dominated the tourney fields, it would be the best advertisement for his forge.
After leaving the forge, Arthur and his group returned to the Steel Inn.
In the courtyard of the Steel Inn, more than a dozen hedge knights were already waiting for work.
Arthur's name was well-known and his purse was deep—he was the ideal employer.
"Young Master Arthur has arrived!"
Arthur sat on the long bench and looked over the hopeful hedge knights.
They were mostly lowborn, from Flea Bottom or the sons of landless knights and petty lords, all hungry for coin.
When the hedge knights saw the confident, handsome boy in the black studded jerkin, yellow cloak, and sword belt holding both longsword and dagger, they knew their employer had come.
"Good day, young master Arthur!"
"Good day, Lord Arthur!"
"Good day, Bat Knight!" the knights greeted him eagerly.
"I need men for my travels—roughly two," Arthur said, holding up two fingers. "So now, give me your names and put on a fine show."
"…"
"Lothor Brune."
"…"
"Clarence Crabb."
Arthur perked up. Today he could recruit early.
"The Apple-Eater" Lothor—this man would later serve Littlefinger.
Lothor had a broken nose, a square jaw, and flat gray hair. He wasn't handsome, but he wasn't ugly either.
A plain, loyal warrior, and extremely strong.
Right now Lothor was still young and desperately poor.
He was a distant cousin of the Brune family of Brownhollow.
After his father died he went to them for help, but the Brownes of Brownhollow refused to acknowledge such a poor relation and even threw dung at him.
After all, Crackclaw Point was poor and had no room for idle mouths.
To avoid trouble from the main Brune line, Lothor didn't even paint the family sigil on his shield.
The "Flying-Pig Knight" Clarence was a short, stocky, balding man with a mouth full of brown rotten teeth.
He had small pig-like eyes and blackheads on his nose, but he was powerfully built.
He carried a ridiculous shield: a pink pig with white wings.
"Then let's begin!" Lothor said, looking around.
He was confident he could win. Life in Flea Bottom scraping by was no way to live.
Only by following a wealthy lord could a man eat well and live decently.
"Not so fast!" Arthur waved a hand. "Use blunted weapons. I don't want blood all over the courtyard."
The innkeeper brought out blunted arms, and the hedge knights began pairing off for the bouts.
Arthur watched with interest. His reputation was clearly strong—many skilled men had shown up.
His victory at the Dragonstone tourney had already made these knights eager to serve him.
Besides, most of these hedge knights were broke and happy to follow a rich young lord who might let them make a name for themselves.
Arthur sat back, perfectly content to watch the show.