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The sun rose over the lands of Bitterbridge, bathing Lord Jon Caswell's white silk tunic in warm light and gleaming even brighter on Arthur's magnificent gold-and-black doublet.
"By the law of King Robert, I, Jon Caswell, Lord of Bitterbridge, have rendered my judgment. Will those before me accept it?"
Old Lord Jon rose, his voice solemn.
If anyone was dissatisfied with the ruling, the final recourse was trial by combat. Lord Jon had considered that possibility.
If the punishment proved too harsh, big Rolly could demand it. Bitterbridge had no champion who could reliably defeat him.
On Arthur's side—besides the big man himself—the "Light of Knightly Spirit" Arthur Whent might well provide a proxy knight.
Arthur's retinue had no shortage of skilled fighters. Bitterbridge stood almost no chance.
Moreover, Arthur was not someone Lord Jon could afford to offend. The young lord had saved his son's life.
If word spread that House Caswell lacked knightly virtue, they would become a laughingstock across the Reach.
"Very well," Lord Jon thought. He would do the gracious thing.
"I accept!" Rolly, the blacksmith's son and garrison guardsman, drew a deep breath.
His massive frame meant four lashes would feel like little more than a scratch. This was the best outcome he could have hoped for. After all, he had nearly beaten Ser Lorent half to death.
Without Arthur's intervention, he would have faced far harsher fleshly punishment.
"I accept," Ser Lorent Caswell said reluctantly, head bowed.
Though scolded, he would not feel the whip himself. His two retainers would take the lashes for him.
His father's sternness served as a clear warning—he would need to restrain himself from now on.
"We accept," the two retainers replied with miserable faces. This was an unexpected disaster, but there was no escaping it.
"Just Lord Jon!"
"Fair judgment!"
"True knight Arthur Whent!"
"Light of knightly spirit!"
The people of Bitterbridge erupted in cheers, celebrating that Rolly had escaped severe punishment.
Rolly's blacksmith father especially breathed a sigh of relief.
Even though Lorent had not been beaten bloody, old Lord Jon had remained impartial.
Lord Jon glanced at the enthusiastic crowd. They cheered for him, but even more for Arthur Whent.
Today's events had only enhanced the young lord's growing fame—an unexpected bonus.
Reputation was a strange thing: light as a feather when ignored, heavy as a mountain when it mattered.
Looking at his son Lorent, the boy would never make a name for himself in knightly circles in this lifetime.
"Then let it begin," Lord Jon commanded.
The Caswell guards bound Rolly and Lorent's two retainers to wooden frames.
Crack!
Crack!
The brown leather whips snapped sharply through the air, striking the condemned men's backs.
But Lord Jon had given quiet orders beforehand.
The lashes looked fierce but landed lightly—more show than substance.
The three men suffered only superficial welts. A dab of Myrish fire would heal them quickly.
When the whipping ended, Rolly stood and embraced his father.
Then the big man knelt once more before the platform, looking up at Lord Jon Caswell and the others.
"Lord Jon, I thank you for your fair judgment. I apologize for my malicious intent toward Lorent," Rolly said, blood still staining his shirt.
"No need to apologize to me. I have rendered a just verdict. Besides, in this matter, Lorent was hardly innocent," Lord Jon replied with a kindly expression.
"Lord Arthur, you possess true knightly spirit. You are a genuine knight," Rolly said, turning to Arthur with deep gratitude.
Arthur had stepped forward righteously. Without him, Rolly's fate today would have been uncertain at best.
"True knight!"
"True knight!"
"Light of knightly spirit!"
The crowd roared in approval.
A true knight was not only skilled in arms but also swore to protect the weak and women, just like Baelor Breakspear.
By comparison, though Ser Lorent had been knighted, he bullied the weak, feared the strong, and possessed only mediocre martial skill. He was unworthy of the title.
Arthur, by contrast—handsome, dashing, and supremely skilled—embodied the knights of legend.
"Enough. Everyone may disperse," Lord Jon waved his hand, signaling the end of the spectacle.
The excited spectators lingered for a while before gradually leaving the field.
"Let us return to the castle."
Lord Jon led Arthur, big Rolly, and his son Lorent back inside Bitterbridge's modest keep.
The matter was not yet fully concluded. Many details were unsuitable to discuss before outsiders.
Inside the council chamber of House Caswell, only five people remained: old Lord Jon, Arthur, Ser Lucas, Rolly, and Lorent.
Rolly, his wounds already treated with Myrish fire, could sit comfortably enough.
"Lorent, I have been too lenient with you. Had Young Master Arthur not saved you, the consequences could have been dire. From today onward, watch your words and actions. If there is a next time, you will remain confined to the castle and not set foot outside," old Lord Jon said sternly to his son.
Lorent truly was too useless. His knightly skills were pathetic.
If he were ambushed again, he might actually meet his end.
"Yes, Father," Lorent replied weakly.
"Rolly, though you had reason for what you did, the image of you swinging that hammer at my son still haunts me. What's done is done—you can no longer remain in Bitterbridge. But you possess real strength. Why not enter the service of Young Master Arthur Whent? He is a true knight, supremely skilled, and he saved your life," old Lord Jon sighed.
Rolly had the makings of a fine warrior. He had been grooming the big man as captain of his son's guard. Now that chance was ruined.
"I understand, my lord," Rolly knelt before Lord Jon, eyes glistening with emotion.
He hated Lorent.
But to be fair, old Lord Jon had treated him well and promoted him.
Yet because he had nearly maimed the heir, he could no longer stay in Bitterbridge.
"Go then. Lord Arthur is your new master now," Lord Jon said, steeling himself.
"Then I won't stand on ceremony, Lord Jon," Arthur laughed warmly.
Old Lord Jon knew when to bend. He was no fool.
His only real weakness was how he doted on his only son.
"I pledge my loyalty to you, Lord Arthur. I will become a true knight," Rolly said with profound gratitude.
The recruitment was complete. Arthur had poached another excellent man.
With this, Rolly would not have to flee across the Narrow Sea and join the Golden Company after injuring someone.
Even old Lord Jon, whose son had escaped injury, owed Arthur thanks.
"Rise, big man. Rest and recover properly first," Ser Lucas laughed.
Arthur was more than satisfied. His talent for recruiting was turning into quite the collection.
Rolly, Clarence Crabb, Lothor Brune—key figures who in another life would serve Littlefinger, Stannis, and Young Aegon—had all been claimed by him early.
It proved the old saying: talent is everywhere, but a worthy lord is what matters.
"There is one more request I must make," old Lord Jon added.
"My son, Ser Lorent, though already knighted, possesses only mediocre skill. I would like to ask you to instruct him for a time," Lord Jon requested earnestly.
He had thought long and hard. A useless knight for a son was not only embarrassing—it was dangerous.
"This…" Arthur looked slightly surprised. It seemed old Lord Jon was quite thoughtful, seeking to strengthen their relationship.
"But Ser Lorent is already a knight, and it hardly seems appropriate. Besides, I am still traveling south to Starfall," Arthur replied politely, offering a gentle deflection.
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