Chapter 7- Hundreds of Golden Dragons? Who are you Insulting?

"I don't care if you're a Blackwood or a Baratheon. If you're tied up, you shut up and stay tied," said gray-robed Amber, the steward of House Bracken's cadet branch, as he gleefully examined the dozen fine longswords and partial suits of mail taken from the captured bandits. He didn't even turn around when the outburst came—he was used to arrogance from men in chains.

Just as Brynden opened his mouth to declare his noble lineage, he caught Roger's desperate expression from the side—widened eyes, an urgent shake of the head. But he ignored the warning.

He was Brynden Blackwood, eldest son of Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall. Since when had a noble like him ever suffered the humiliation of capture by peasant scum? Now he was bound, dirty, and insulted by a common soldier.

"I am Brynden Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall! If you value your miserable life, unbind me now and apologize for your insolence!"

Roger groaned inwardly. As if being captured by their ancient enemies, the Brackens, wasn't bad enough, this proud fool had to go and announce his name. The Brackens and Blackwoods had hated each other since before the Targaryens united the Seven Kingdoms, and the feud still burned fiercely across the Red Fork.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. The Brynden Blackwood? He'd read that the heir was young, with some martial training, but never imagined he'd be foolish enough to lead bandits on a raid.

Still seated on his gelding, Arthur frowned. Was the realm so broken that sons of high lords turned to banditry?

Then it clicked.

He remembered what Roger said: their gang had acquired several sets of standard-pattern brigandines—too fine for mere outlaws. Unlike weapons, which any halfway-decent blacksmith could forge, armor of that quality was only produced by well-funded family forges. Such standardized suits were rare outside noble households and their sworn men.

In the Riverlands, that meant House Tully, House Frey, the Blackwoods, the Brackens, and a few others like House Mooton or House Mallister.

His own household had mismatched gear: ten Lannister-style mail sets bought from Lannisport merchants, five from King's Landing, and twenty old Bracken suits passed down from Lord Jonos. They'd scraped together just enough to outfit fifty troops, costing a fortune—around 700 golden dragons in total.

So how did these "bandits" come by noble armor?

He stared at Brynden, then at Roger. A troubling thought formed.

"Search him," Arthur ordered two nearby men-at-arms.

"No need!" Jules, still breathless, called out. "He really is Brynden Blackwood. I recognize him. He came to Raventree two years ago for Lord Hoster's tournament."

Brynden's voice grew more forceful. "Now that you know who I am, untie me at once. What you've done is tantamount to treason against House Blackwood!"

Arthur blinked. Was this boy touched in the head?

Captured nobles in Westeros were rarely executed, true. Lords ransomed lords, and sons of high houses were kept safe for gold, prestige, or leverage. But only fools assumed their blood made them untouchable. Ned Stark had beheaded a deserter to teach his sons that responsibility came with rank—and that cowardice knew no nobility.

This brat was the opposite.

Arthur moved closer, looking down at the bound noble.

"Tell me, Brynden. Did your father know you'd taken your men and gone playing outlaw on Bracken land?"

Brynden said nothing, but his chin lifted defiantly.

Arthur snorted. "Didn't think so."

Amber approached quickly, face pale. He lowered his voice. "My lord, we have a problem. If this boy really is the Blackwood heir, we can't afford to provoke his house. Their ravens fly faster than ours."

Arthur frowned. "He led armed men into my territory. They looted a village, burned carts, and took women. They're not raiding Frey land, they're on my soil."

"I know," Amber muttered. "But Blackwood is old blood. They command five hundred spears and answer only to Riverrun. If we hold their heir, Lord Tytos will demand recompense—maybe more than we can give."

Arthur exhaled through his nose. "Even if the brat is who he says he is, he acted like a bandit. He'll be treated like one."

Amber tugged at his sleeve. "The laws of ransom still hold. If you harm him, even the Tullys might step in. But if we keep him safe and return him for a fair price… well, that's different."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, then swung down from his horse.

"So let his father pay."

He stepped toward Brynden, whose lip curled in disdain.

"You want out of that rope, boy?" Arthur asked. "Then tell your father to send me gold. Hundreds of golden dragons. Otherwise, you're sleeping in my cellar."

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Your noble blood's only worth what it can buy."

Amber winced but said nothing. The rest of the soldiers resumed cleaning the battlefield, gathering the prisoners and sorting spoils.

Arthur turned back toward the road. "Mount up. We're leaving. We're too close to Raventree for comfort."

Behind him, Brynden seethed, but wisely held his tongue.

At this time, the soldiers had tied the twelve prisoners in a row, leading them down the muddy road with haste, wary of retaliation from nearby lords. The Riverlands were no stranger to sudden skirmishes, and Arthur Bracken, though only a minor baron, had no intention of testing his luck deep in Blackwood territory.

Brynden, walking with a proud tilt of his chin despite the ropes on his wrists, happened to overhear Arthur's remark about a ransom.

"You dare insult me with hundreds of golden dragons?" he snapped, turning with flushed cheeks. "Do you even understand the weight that comes with being the heir of House Blackwood?"

"The heir of House Blackwood?" Arthur gave a mocking grin, pulling up beside him on horseback. "Then that means you're the prisoner of House Bracken's Arthur. And what, exactly, are you worth? Still think hundreds are too low?"

"It's not just low," Brynden growled, "you're treating me like a smallfolk thief. If you don't ask for several thousand gold dragons, you insult my father, Lord Tytos Blackwood—one of the most ancient lords of the Trident and a bannerman of Riverrun."

Arthur blinked in surprise. A reverse ransom negotiator? That was new.

But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Nobles in Westeros were prideful, and Riverlords were particularly steeped in tradition and family honor. Blackwoods traced their bloodline back to the First Men and the Old Gods. To offer a low ransom might tarnish their family name, make Brynden a laughingstock at Harrenhal or Seagard. Compared to the North, where lords were known for being frugal, Riverlanders held their dignity close to the chest.

Word might spread that the future Lord of Raventree Hall was ransomed for the price of a few gold brooches. That could haunt Brynden for years. He'd be mocked at court by the Freys, sneered at by the Mallisters, and worst of all, become the butt of every jest in Lord Hoster Tully's court.

As the convoy pressed forward across the windswept fields, Brynden remained defiant. He shouted at the guards, demanding they loosen his bindings, warned that a hundred and fifty Blackwood riders were likely on their way, and threatened that his family's host of 3,000 men could sweep Arthur's holding off the map.

Arthur ignored the noise and quietly opened the glowing panel only he could see. His stats had increased again.

He had reached level 2 and gained one attribute point, two skill points, and ten weapon proficiency points.

He allocated the attribute to Strength, aiming for survivability. The skill points went into Iron Bones, a lifesaver in close combat. As for the weapon points, he continued to invest in two-handed weapons, his favored style.

[Baron: Arthur Bracken]

[Level: 2]

[Experience: 679 / 1200]

[Strength: 16]

[Agility: 10]

[Intelligence: 7]

[Charm: 9]

[Skills: Iron Bones 2, Power Attack 7, Power Throw 1, Power Bow 1, Weapon Mastery 2, Shield Defense 0, Athletics 0, Riding 3, Horse Archery 0, Looting 0, Trainer 0, Tracking 0, Tactics 1, Pathfinding 0, Spotting 0, Wound Treatment 0, Surgery 0, First Aid 0, Engineering 0, Persuasion 1, Prisoner Management 0, Leadership 3, Trade 0]

[Weapon Proficiency: One-Handed 74, Two-Handed 95, Polearm 77, Archery 31, Crossbow 31, Throwing 31]

He thought about Ser Gregor Clegane—The Mountain. That monster's strength had to be near 20. If Arthur could hit that mark and raise his agility to around 18, he'd at least be able to hold his ground against elite warriors.

Beside him, Amber looked increasingly nervous. The steward had spent years serving the Brackens and understood the fragile balance of power in the Riverlands.

"My lord," Amber muttered, "we really shouldn't keep him. The Blackwoods aren't just any bannermen. Raventree Hall has deep roots and powerful allies. Lord Tytos served with honor under Lord Hoster Tully during Robert's Rebellion."

Arthur didn't respond. He only spurred his horse, urging the column to move faster.

Amber's warnings weren't unfounded, but Arthur wasn't stupid. He had no plans of walking up to Raventree and personally demanding a ransom. That would be suicide.

Instead, they'd reach his small keep near the Red Fork, then contact Jesno Bracken, the head of the main family at Stone Hedge. Jesno had always despised the Blackwoods, ever since the days when both families fought over the same river valley. If anything, he might reward Arthur for such a bold capture.

If Brynden himself claimed he was worth thousands, then so be it. Arthur would request two or three thousand gold dragons, give Jesno half for his blessing, and still pocket over a thousand. That was more than enough to raise new troops, maybe even buy some trained Westerland plate from Lannisport.

Arthur grinned at the thought of gold flowing into his vaults.

"Denars," he whispered, invoking a word from the strange dreams that had taught him strategy and stats. "Gold is the path to power."

But just as he was enjoying his mental arithmetic, Amber suddenly shouted:

"My lord! Riders! Behind us—fast!"

Arthur turned, his smile vanishing. Dust rose over the western hill. The Blackwoods had come.