Chapter 9- Sending Troops at Every Turn is Too Barbaric

Noon on the second day, Stone Hedge.

Like Arthur's own banner, the sigil above Stone Hedge bore the red stallion of House Bracken, rampant upon a golden shield. The three of them—Arthur, his sworn shield Harlan, and the sharp-eyed scout Tully—had ridden half the night, rested briefly beneath a birch grove, then pushed through the morning mist with only watered wine and stale bread for sustenance. At last, the dark walls of Stone Hedge loomed ahead.

Strangely, Arthur wasn't anxious.

Even now, approaching the stronghold, his mind wandered to something as trivial as heraldry. The Bracken horse represented their ancestral love for horsemanship, but it lacked a sense of edge, of assertion. He mused whether a curved blade—perhaps a scythe or eastern arakh—would better suit his ambitions. A charging horse, reins in teeth, a scythe raised high… Yes, something like that. But such thoughts could wait. What mattered now was securing reinforcements.

Stone Hedge rose from one of the few highlands in the Riverlands. Like Riverrun, Seagard, and the Twins, it was a fortress that had not fallen to Tywin Lannister's Westerlands host during the initial phase of the War of the Five Kings. Only Riverrun and the Twins had managed to resist until Robb Stark crossed the Neck with the Northern host, but the fact that Stone Hedge endured even briefly spoke volumes of its fortifications.

Arthur took that as a lesson.

With Robert Baratheon already dead and Eddard Stark captured in King's Landing, chaos was close. From the moment Tyrion Lannister was arrested at the Crossroads Inn by Catelyn Stark, the Riverlands had become a tinderbox. Before that, Jon Snow and Benjen Stark had journeyed north to the Wall, and while they were gone, Lannister daggers had come for Bran in his sickbed. The realm was unraveling not with a single great war, but with many small cracks.

Elsewhere, Stannis had retreated to Dragonstone, Renly was already courting the Tyrells in secret, and Littlefinger stirred the pot in the capital. With so many pieces already in motion, Arthur thought it foolish to go gallivanting across the realm in search of safety or riches. Even within the Bracken lands, a trusted servant of thirty years had stolen from him and vanished into the woods. If that was life at home, how would he fare in King's Landing or White Harbor, among vipers and strangers?

No. He would stay here, in the Riverlands. On his own land, he was still a minor lord—but a lord nonetheless. And with the Mount & Blade-like system guiding him, he could shape his own fate in the coming storm.

Chaos is a ladder, and Westeros was shaking.

And his allegiance was already decided.

He would stand with House Tully and House Stark. In the show, Arthur had pitied the fall of the Starks—honorable to a fault. Catelyn's release of Jaime and Robb's execution of Karstark had sealed their doom, yet both decisions came from principle. Catelyn acted as a mother; Robb as a king who sought order. And though misguided, they weren't crimes worthy of death.

The Stark children had shown even greater promise. Sansa risked her own safety to protect Ser Dontos. Arya never forgot Mycah, the butcher's boy slain by Joffrey, and Jon Snow, for all his cold reserve, had stood by Samwell Tarly when the rest of the Night's Watch mocked him. Robb's execution of Rickard Karstark, though controversial, was just—Karstark had murdered Lannister boys taken prisoner, and Robb upheld the rules of war.

Like Eddard Stark, Robb bore the weight of leadership seriously. Stern, yes. But fair. And that was something Arthur respected.

Then there was Edmure Tully—the so-called "Knight of the Forks," mocked for his failed archery at Hoster Tully's funeral, but known in the Riverlands as a skilled archer and defender of the people. He had opened the gates of Riverrun to his peasants when Tywin's men marched east, and for that, others criticized him. But Arthur admired that.

A man who would risk his own keep to protect his people wasn't weak. He was honorable.

As Arthur pondered, the clatter of hooves shifted from packed dirt to cobbled stone. The black iron gate of Stone Hedge loomed ahead, flanked by eight mailed guards in red and gold. The captain stepped forward, raised his hand, and called, "Dismount, my lords."

They obeyed. Two soldiers led the horses toward the stables.

"You are Lord Arthur Bracken?" the captain asked, eyeing him closely. "Do you have an invitation from Lord Jonas or Lady Jayne?"

"No," Arthur said. "But I have urgent business with Lord Jonas. Something he'll want to hear."

In truth, he needed help—but framing it as mutually beneficial made it more palatable. Brynden Blackwood was a valuable prisoner. With the Blackfish in chains, a ransom worth thousands of gold dragons wasn't out of the question. Split the reward with Lord Jonas, and the Brackens would come out ahead.

"Lord Jonas isn't here," the guard captain replied. "He rode for Riverrun two days ago."

Arthur's heart skipped. That complicated things.

"Then find Hendry."

Hendry Bracken—Jonas's favored nephew, due to the lord's unfortunate lack of sons. Hendry, while not close to Arthur, was still kin. A cousin. And unlike Arthur, Hendry had the ear of powerful men, having traveled through half the kingdoms on Jonas's behalf. He had also reportedly spent time in Oldtown, Duskendale, even briefly in King's Landing during one of Robert's tournaments.

"Lord Hendry is at the training yard behind the main keep," the captain said. "Follow this man."

Arthur and his two companions were led across the yard. No feast hall, no warm welcome. He wasn't offended—it saved time. Likely, the captain had orders to keep unexpected visitors away, or perhaps the man simply recognized Arthur as a minor noble, unworthy of fanfare.

The training yard was buzzing with energy. Hendry sat atop a padded chair beneath a crimson canopy, flanked by two familiar heirs: Carell Vance, future Lord of Wayfarer's Rest, and Mark Piper of Pinkmaiden. Around them milled hedge knights, squires, and lesser lords. It seemed Arthur had interrupted a hunting party or pre-battle gathering.

"You're telling me," Hendry said, voice cool, "that my family should send men to aid you so you can extort an earl?"

Arthur kept his tone measured. "We're family. And this is a chance to strike a blow against the Blackwoods while making coin."

"Family?" scoffed a voice from the crowd. "You rule nine villages and a crumbling mill."

Laughter rippled through the knights. Some covered their mouths. Others didn't bother.

Arthur glanced to Hendry. So far, the heir to Stone Hedge hadn't joined in mocking him. That was something. Still, Arthur knew what this looked like—begging before better-born cousins. He'd gambled on kinship and found himself a jester.

Hendry leaned forward. "Arthur, you always leap to swords and shields. This is the Riverlands, not Dorne. We're not savages. Why not send word to the Blackwoods? Tell them it was a misunderstanding. Release the prisoners, they'll pull back their men. Bloodless. Clean."

That couldn't happen.

He had lost his silver, half his stores, and barely clung to control. Without the ransom from Brynden Blackwood, he couldn't recruit, couldn't build.

Arthur's mind raced. Then, like a flash of lightning, a plan struck him.