Andrew acted decisively and with the brisk efficiency of a seasoned field commander. In less than an hour, three hundred men were assembled outside Stone Hedge's main gate and set off in marching formation. What surprised Arthur was the composition of the force—only two hundred and thirty were actual combatants. The remaining seventy were support staff: cooks, grooms, blacksmiths, carpenters, and even a few engineers likely meant for siegecraft or bridge-building.
When Arthur questioned the discrepancy, Andrew answered bluntly, "These were Lord Hendry's instructions. The five hundred promised includes the full retinue, not just the swords."
In other words, the five hundred soldiers that Hendry Bracken pledged amounted to only four hundred and thirty actual fighters—if all the recruited road levies arrived on time. Arthur felt his stomach twist. And to make matters worse, the cost of provisioning the entire force—rations, fodder, replacement gear—would fall squarely on Arthur's shoulders. Hendry had conveniently omitted that part during the negotiation.
Arthur Bracken's understanding of noble shamelessness grew deeper. Hendry had the subtlety of a Frey and the opportunism of a Lannister.
As they marched, Arthur observed the soldiers more closely. Their gear confirmed his suspicion: cheap, well-worn chainmail covering the torso, with mismatched leather armguards and shoulder pads. Some had crude splint greaves; many lacked cloaks entirely. This was not an elite force—it was a levy host, meant more for intimidation and garrisoning than for front-line warfare.
Still, Arthur found some solace. House Blackwood's standing army was equipped similarly—chainmail and leathers, with a few better-outfitted household guards. The two families had long mirrored each other in both politics and military capability.
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Arthur reminded himself, were not equal when it came to arms and armor. Although the system mimicked the late feudal monarchies of Westeros' inspiration—the Middle Ages in Europe—the actual level of military equipment often resembled Renaissance standards.
In the West, for instance, the Lannisters fielded heavy infantry in full black plate armor, adorned with red cloaks and lion-crested helms forged in Lannisport. Their troops looked sharp, drilled, and brutal—more fit for a parade or pitched battle than a raid. Meanwhile, in the Riverlands, only the noble houses of note—Tully, Piper, Vance, Frey—could afford that kind of gear for their elite men-at-arms. Most other troops wore standard issue: a rounded helmet, chainmail over padded jerkins, and leather additions for protection.
Even the cloaks marked rank. Only knights and officers bore cloaks, often displaying their house sigils. In contrast, foot soldiers were plain and functional. The Vale was one exception; its knights wore bright silver plate with flowing white cloaks, giving them an appearance even more regal than the Kingsguard. But the Vale didn't need a large army—its terrain was its greatest defense. The Moon Mountains and the Bloody Gate made any invasion suicidal.
Farther north, House Stark's bannermen wore boiled leather and iron half-helms. Chainmail was reserved for the elite guard. The North had numbers, but not wealth. In Dorne, heat shaped everything: most footmen wore light brigandines or layered cloth armor to endure the sun-scorched deserts. Their soldiers were fast, nimble, and built for skirmishes, not sieges.
The Stormlands, under House Baratheon, were more akin to the Riverlands in terms of equipment—sturdy chainmail, modest iron helms, and durable but unremarkable arms. The Reach, rich and fertile, had near-Lannister levels of quality, especially among knights sworn to House Tyrell.
Thinking on all this, Arthur realized that if he wanted to make a name for himself during the chaos to come—the inevitable War of the Five Kings that was but months away—he would need more than just soldiers. He'd need troops—disciplined, well-equipped, loyal men who could stand against the better-equipped forces of the Crownlands, Westerlands, and Vale.
He would need weapons forged by skilled blacksmiths, plate armor for his captains, mail and proper shields for the levies. Even horses—not just half-starved plow nags, but destriers and coursers trained for battle.
Looking at his ragged men, Arthur made a decision: he would find a way to secure real equipment. There were old Bracken forges, disused but not ruined. There were tradesmen in Seagard and Fairmarket. And if he played his cards right, there were alliances to be made—some with gold, others with secrets.
But first, he had to reach the River Road. From there, the real march would begin.
All of this could only be acquired with coin—cold, hard gold dragons. That was the eternal truth in Westeros, whether in King's Landing or a backwater like Stone Hedge.
The silver lining was that the Mount and Blade system gave Arthur a unique advantage—his troops could bypass years of grueling drills through rapid promotion. As long as his soldiers survived battle, they gained experience. With enough experience, a green levy could be upgraded into a veteran with decent stats and improved morale. But that required time and, more importantly, proper equipment to keep them alive long enough to gain that experience.
The problem was that Arthur was broke.
His greatest fortune at the moment was the 180 gold dragons he had just won in a dice game—essentially blood money taken from the misfortune of others. As for the promised 700 dragons from Hendry's bet? Gone, likely never to be seen again. And when one considered the cost of arms and armor, 180 dragons didn't stretch very far.
That sum could barely buy the breastplates of thirty low-end chainmail suits. For a complete set—chainmail hauberk, iron helm, hardened leather armguards, greaves, decent boots, a tabard, and a proper sword—he might afford fewer than twenty sets. Real plate armor, like what was worn by knights in the Vale or Lannister bannermen, required triple or quadruple that amount.
Even worse, the problem wasn't just money—it was availability. In the north, the Beauty Market near the Blue Fork might have a set or two, perhaps armor scavenged from dead men or sold by passing mercenaries. In King's Landing, the armorer shops could muster ten sets if given enough coin and time. But to get dozens of standardized suits required tapping into the major foundries—like those run by House Lannister in Lannisport or Casterly Rock.
Unfortunately, House Lannister was already preparing for war. With the War of the Five Kings looming, they would prioritize equipping their own bannermen first. Arthur had no illusions: even if he could afford to place an order, the smiths of the Rock wouldn't spare a single rivet for a minor Bracken cadet.
The Vale offered better craftsmanship—the knights of the Vale wore gleaming, high-quality plate that rivaled even the Kingsguard. But most of those forges were on the eastern coast, beyond the Mountains of the Moon. Even with coin in hand, it would take weeks to place an order, and longer still for the armor to arrive. By then, Gregor Clegane—the Mountain That Rides—might already be burning villages along the Red Fork.
And the Vale's armor came at a steep cost. Too steep for a landless minor noble barely holding on to a patch of dirt.
Arthur groaned aloud, riding at the rear of his column, watching the chainmail-clad backs of his three hundred soldiers bob in the distance. He cursed himself for being a fool.
There was already armor in circulation—ready-made, stored, waiting to be bought. Why chase after Lannister stockpiles when wealthier Reach lords had more than enough to spare?
If one could produce enough gold, House Tyrell of Highgarden, House Hightower of Oldtown, or House Redwyne of the Arbor could easily sell off hundreds of suits. Each boasted standing armies in the tens of thousands. To them, selling armor to a nobody from the Riverlands was a mere business transaction—provided the price was right.
But the question remained: how could Arthur raise such money?
He knew better than to expect any fortune from Brynden Tully. The Blackfish wasn't the sort to play politics with gold, and even if Arthur held Blackwood hostages, Edmure Tully would likely step in to mediate. The Lord of Riverrun was an idealist—more eager to smooth tensions than to crush rivals. He might even ask Arthur to return the hostages and accept peace from House Blackwood.
Frustrated, Arthur shelved the matter for now.
Aside from building up his army, there was another pressing concern—defending his land. He could personally confront the Mountain if it came to that, but if Gregor attacked with even fifty men, Arthur's smallfolk wouldn't stand a chance. They were the backbone of his early power—farmers, millers, hunters. If they were slaughtered or fled, there would be nothing left to rule.
His castle was modest, more a stone holdfast than a true fortress. It lacked the grandeur and size of Riverrun, which could shelter thousands behind its triple walls and moat. Arthur's stronghold sat on a low hill overlooking the Red Fork's north bank—decent positioning, but little else.
Still, some improvements could be made. It didn't need to rival Storm's End. If it could hold off cavalry charges and fire for a few days, it would serve. Luckily, the terrain favored him—a hilltop made defense easier. Better yet, fortifying it wouldn't cost dragons, just labor.
Arthur resolved to have Jace—the local reeve—and the village headmen organize the able-bodied men into work crews. Once his business with Brynden was finished, they could begin fortifying the outer walls, raising a ditch, building palisades, and reinforcing the gates.
His goal was simple: hold out through the first wave of chaos. If he could endure the Mountain's initial forays into the Riverlands, he would be spared the worst.
The truth was, once the Lannister host fully entered the Riverlands, they would focus on the east bank of the Red Fork—burning, pillaging, and seizing strongholds of key houses: the Bracken main branch, the Vances of Wayfarer's Rest, the Pipers of Pinkmaiden, and those tied to the vast but cursed seat of Harrenhal.
Arthur's lands, situated on the less strategic north bank, would be spared the first blows. Edmure Tully had ordered the Vances and Pipers to gather four thousand men and block the Lannisters from crossing the river.
Arthur thought the order a bit too noble—almost suicidal—but he couldn't help appreciating Edmure's idealism. Thanks to that order, his own lands might remain untouched—for now.