The Mander rolled and surged beneath them. From Bitterbridge to Highgarden the water ran thick and muddy, and only shallow-draft vessels could manage the passage.
Arthur stood at the prow of the flower ship Centaur, his squires clustered respectfully behind him.
His yellow cloak snapped in the river breeze, making the young lord look every inch the dashing champion he had become.
Pleasure barges occasionally passed the Centaur on the broad Mander.
When the noble passengers or wealthy merchants caught sight of the black bat banner, they called out with genuine warmth.
"Hail, Arthur Whent—darling of the tourney field!"
"Champion Arthur! Champion Arthur!"
A name carried its own power. A tree cast its own long shadow.
This was the magic of fame.
A lord's authority flowed from raw power. A knight's authority flowed from the battlefield and the lists.
Arthur's barge glided south toward Highgarden by river.
All along the banks he saw fresh green woods and endless fertile fields.
The Reach truly deserved its title as the granary of the Seven Kingdoms.
"The Reach is indeed bountiful," Ser Lucas sighed, impressed.
The Red Mountains split north from south, yet the lands on either side could hardly have been more different.
The Reach was rich and lush; Dorne was scorching and barren.
Dorne was even more fragmented than the North.
Geography kept its lords almost entirely independent.
Setting aside the vast central desert and the poor southern coastline, the major houses each ruled their own isolated domains with little overlap.
"Downstream from Bitterbridge you'll pass Longtable and Cider Hall—both famous for their prosperity," the captain of the Centaur explained. "Though after old Lord Owen was exiled, Longtable has been under direct Crown administration. Longtable's fruits and vegetables, and the apples and cider from the Red Apple Fossoways, are renowned throughout the realm."
"Then I must sample them properly," Arthur laughed, in excellent spirits.
The lands of those two houses along the middle Mander were far richer than House Caswell's holdings.
Both the Red Apple and Green Apple Fossoways were formidable in their own right.
House Merryweather of Longtable bore a sigil of a golden cornucopia spilling apples, carrots, plums, onions, leeks, turnips, and fruits of every color on a white field with a golden border.
It spoke volumes about the astonishing fertility of their soil.
Yet now this house—like House Connington the Griffin and House Darry the Farmer—had suffered badly in the change of dynasties.
Longtable had once been wealthy and powerful.
Until the Mad King stripped Lord Owen of his lands and titles for failing as Hand, then exiled him.
Even after Robert took the throne, he had shown no hurry to forgive old Lord Owen the sycophant.
Lord Owen had died in exile.
His grandson Lord Orton was still wandering the eastern continent, forced to pay heavy fines to the Iron Throne every two years.
Lord Orton kept spending coin on bribes and connections, hoping to return to Longtable soon.
The Iron Throne showed faint signs of softening, but for now Orton remained locked out.
His exile would likely drag on for several more years.
"The Reach isn't without its poorer lands, of course—like House Peake," the captain added. "The Peakes have stones, soil, and pride in abundance, but precious little actual produce."
As marcher lords, House Tarly's Horn Hill was far richer than Starfall, and the Peakes had bled gold for years after repeatedly backing the wrong side.
"Poor Peakes," Wylis Wode scoffed.
"Nothing to be done," the captain recalled. "Ever since the Gardener kings fell, House Peake has been sliding downhill."
The Peakes were the textbook example of losing everything by always doubling down on the wrong horse.
Now they were reduced to their marcher lands at Starfish Keep.
"Still better off than the Manderlys?" Wylis asked.
"Actually, no—the Manderlys are doing better," the captain said firmly.
And it was true.
The roses seemed to curse the Peakes.
Long ago the Peakes and Manderlys had fought bitterly for the throne of the Reach, plunging the region into ten years of chaos.
Ser Osmund Tyrell, Steward of Highgarden, had allied with forty houses to defeat both and crown Mern VI.
After Aegon's Conquest, the Tyrells had no blood ties to the Peakes, and relations cooled. The proud Peakes gradually declined.
Today they were nowhere near as prosperous as their old northern rivals who had bloomed in the Manderly lands.
The Centaur sailed downstream until it reached the docks of Longtable.
"Apples! Finest apples! Even at twice the price you'll say it's cheap!"
"Blood melons here—sweet as honey!"
Farmers hawked their wares on the Longtable docks or in the shadow of the castle walls.
The Centaur's captain and crew would buy goods at Longtable to sell onward to Highgarden.
"Who goes there?" the dock warden called.
"A flower ship of House Caswell, carrying honored guests."
With the Caswell banner flying, the ship tied up at the former Merryweather private dock—now flying the golden cornucopia beside the crowned stag of the Iron Throne.
Longtable's situation was awkward. Its lord was still in exile and had not returned.
For now, a Crown tax collector administered the lands, making Longtable a royal fief.
"Welcome, guests from Bitterbridge, guests of House Whent," the dock tax collector greeted them warmly.
Bitterbridge and Longtable were close neighbors and maintained friendly relations.
"You should have sent word ahead. I only just returned to Longtable. Forgive any oversight, Young Master Arthur, Ser Lucas," the Longtable tax collector, Wulf, said enthusiastically.
"My thanks for your warmth, ser. But we are eager to reach Highgarden, or we would certainly have rested in bountiful Longtable," Arthur replied apologetically.
Arthur and the captain had already agreed not to linger at Longtable.
"What a pity," Wulf said with a broad smile, unoffended. "Since I cannot host you, please accept this small token of friendship."
Wulf presented Arthur with fine wines—golden Arbor vintage and premium spiced sweetwine from Highgarden.
"These must have cost a fortune," Arthur said, genuinely surprised.
This tax collector clearly knew how to line his pockets in Longtable.
His overly warm attitude made that plain.
"To be honest, Young Master Arthur," Wulf lowered his voice. "I still hope to return to the King's Landing customs house or tax office one day. I need to build bridges with important men in advance. Every year Lord Orton appeals for his rights. If he pays a bit more in fines, the Hand will surely let him return."
"Then I won't refuse," Arthur said, and had Wylis return the courtesy with suitable gifts.
Arthur noted that the tax collector had good judgment.
Wulf clearly believed in making friends wherever possible.
Still, Arthur doubted Wulf's career in King's Landing would be smooth.
Once Littlefinger rose, he would purge the financial offices and fill them with his own "fingers."
In the end, Wulf personally escorted Arthur around Longtable to purchase excellent fruits.
The produce was outstanding in both appearance and quality, bursting with fragrance.
Red apples, blood melons, purple grapes, oranges, pomegranates, and sweet black plums.
"My thanks for your generosity and friendship," Arthur told the enthusiastic tax collector.
After this pleasant exchange, another friend had been made.
The flower ship Centaur paused only briefly before continuing south, next stop the lands of the Red Apple Fossoways.
"Lord Orton sounds quite miserable right now," Ser Lucas remarked.
"He brought it on himself," the captain snorted. "Back when he served the Mad King as Hand, old Lord Owen was unbearably arrogant. So when disaster struck his house, few Reach lords were willing to lift a finger to help."
Even if Lord Orton returned, Jon Arryn would only restore half his lands.
Add the fortune Orton had already spent on bribes and lobbying, and House Merryweather's strength was badly damaged.
Arthur watched Longtable recede into the distance.
"A potential Blackfyre supporter—and Varys's spy," he thought, taking keen interest in the exiled Lord Orton.
If his guess was correct, Orton had likely been bought by Varys long ago.
Old Lord Owen had never been a true loyalist of the dragons.
He was simply an ambitious old sycophant, disliked even in the Reach.
Now, with the family in decline and exiled across the Narrow Sea, it was perfectly natural for the Spider and the cheesemonger to offer aid.
Black or red, Orton only wanted the dragons to return and turn the tables.
Besides Orton, the Golden Company's so-called friends surely included the long-suffering Peakes.
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