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The courtyard of the Steel Inn rang with the sharp blare of horns.
The bouts began.
Arthur Whent sat on the long bench in his yellow cloak, watching the hedge knights clash.
He had already pegged two favorites: Lothor Brune, the Apple-Eater, and Clarence Crabb, the Flying-Pig Knight. Both men had clawed their way up from Flea Bottom in the original timeline. One would later serve Littlefinger, the other Stannis. Both were survivors of the War of the Five Kings—proof enough of their quality.
Their jousting might be average, but in a real scrap they would more than do.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Shields slammed together, steel rang against steel.
The fighters circled, feinted, retreated, then surged forward again, using their shields to shove and pin.
These were not tourney knights practicing pretty forms. These were men who had escorted caravans, hunted bandits, and guarded warehouses for coin. Their bouts were raw, practical, and close to real combat.
Only the strongest and most vicious lasted long in this line of work.
"That Brune fellow and the one with the flying-pig shield are solid," Ser Lucas remarked.
Arthur nodded.
Lothor and Clarence were performing exactly as he expected—strong, cunning, wearing their opponents down with constant movement before launching sudden, savage counterattacks. They quickly rose above the rest.
This is exactly how Bronn fights, Arthur thought.
A reckless sellsword died young. A clever one lived to collect his pay.
What surprised him was the third man—a young hedge knight named Tristimont—who was also showing real skill.
The hedge knights paired off and fought one-on-one, eliminating each other until only three remained.
The losers stepped aside, disappointed but not bitter. In their world, skill decided everything. Besides, going hungry between jobs was simply part of the life.
In the center of the yard the final three stood in a wary triangle, eyeing one another.
There were only two positions available, so one of them would have to be cut.
The three waited for Arthur's word to settle it.
Arthur leaned over and murmured a few instructions to Wylis. The squire nodded and slipped away.
"Lothor Brune, Clarence Crabb, Tristimont—I'm taking all three of you," Arthur announced, rising to his feet.
All three men were poor, bitter, and held no love for the Lannisters. People from the Crownlands and the eastern Riverlands hated the lions; otherwise they would have sold their swords to Casterly Rock long ago.
The three hedge knights visibly relaxed.
Though each believed in his own blade, none had been certain he would win the final round. The gap between first- and second-rate fighters was often razor-thin.
"Thank you all for coming," Wylis called out. "Even those Young Master Arthur cannot take this time will not leave empty-handed. Every man who answered the call today receives a small token."
Wylis reached into his pouch and handed out silver stags. Even the eliminated knights each received several coins—enough to eat and drink well for weeks.
"Gods, what a generous lord!"
Lothor, Clarence, and Tristimont stared at the bright silver, stunned. Even the losers were being paid.
White silver for second- and third-rate men—such waste.
But then again, following a lord this rich was clearly the right choice.
"Lord Arthur is a true gentleman!"
"Next time there's work, be sure to call for us!"
Even the rejected knights left the Steel Inn smiling, singing Arthur's praises all the way down the street. Word of his generosity would spread quickly among the city's hedge knights.
"Congratulations, you three. Welcome to my retinue—the company of the Dark Knight!" Arthur gave each man a brilliant smile and shook their hands in turn.
"We swear our swords to you, young master!" Clarence and Tristimont said eagerly. Food and steady pay at last.
"We may not look like much in these rags, but we're proper knights, every one of us," Lothor added, a little embarrassed.
All three looked desperately poor.
Wealthy knights did not wear patched brown breeches, weather-cracked leather jerkins, and mismatched second-hand armor.
"You're all fine warriors, and your skills are excellent," Ser Lucas told them.
Arthur studied the three new recruits.
They were all powerfully built, but none were especially tall.
The realm's very best knights were almost always big men—Robert Baratheon and Arthur Dayne had both stood well over six feet, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, and terrifyingly coordinated.
Hedge knights and sellswords rarely enjoyed that kind of nutrition or breeding. Limited by height, poor horses, and worse food, reaching even first-rate status was an achievement earned through pure hardship.
Arthur had struck gold today. These men's real-battle experience far outstripped the pretty forms of most noble tourney knights.
"Join my company and you join my friends," Arthur said. "Wylis, fetch them proper cloaks."
Wylis returned with three fine yellow cloaks embroidered with black bats and draped them over the new men's shoulders.
The moment the yellow cloaks settled, the three hedge knights officially became sworn retainers of House Whent.
But Arthur's display of wealth was not finished.
He looked at his three new followers.
"You currently lack proper armor. I came in a hurry and didn't bring spares from Harrenhal. Here—ten gold dragons each. Go to Tobho's forge and tell him you are my guards. He will fit you properly. Whatever is left over is yours to spend as you wish—consider it advance pay for the road."
He handed each man ten shining gold dragons.
"Ten… ten gold dragons?" Lothor sucked in a sharp breath.
He had never met an employer this generous.
Ten dragons was serious coin, and this was only the starting bonus.
Ordinary hedge knights with plain looks and no great name rarely rose at all.
Only by latching onto the right lord could a man hope to climb.
The three men felt dizzy. The gleam of the gold almost knocked them to their knees.
They had been poor for so long.
"Young master… you won't be taking the armor back later, will you?" Clarence asked carefully.
A good suit of armor was something a man could pass to his sons.
Tobho's prices were the highest in King's Landing, but his work was worth every coin.
"Young master Arthur, just give the word and I'll ride through fire and rain for you—loyal to the end!" Lothor vowed. This was a proper iron rice bowl.
"These are just small tokens," Arthur said lightly. "In the company of the Dark Knight, my brothers will never want for anything."
"Gods, this is too generous!" Lothor, Clarence, and Tristimont exchanged stunned glances, ready to kneel on the spot.
They had wandered half their lives, always dreaming of a worthy lord.
And now they had found one.