After Arthur made his vow, a heavy silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the muffled sobs of Darren. But that silence did not last.
"Who do you think you are?" a senior captain of the Tully guards barked. "You think you can speak of justice and punishment like you're the Warden of the North?"
The Blackwood men joined in at once, their voices like a tide crashing down.
"A hedge lord from the Red Fork dares bark at great houses?"
"If it weren't for the support of House Mallister and the Riverlands' southern lords, you'd still be hoeing fields and licking boots."
"The earl offered you gold dragons out of courtesy. Don't mistake kindness for weakness."
Arthur's hand tightened around the haft of his sledgehammer. Edmure Tully, seated beside his uncle Ser Brynden and trying to maintain the appearance of calm leadership, stood slowly. The young Lord of Riverrun admired Arthur's fire—his refusal to bow before power—but he feared the Blackwood-Bracken feud would reignite and cost the Riverlands dearly.
"Mr. Arthur," Edmure said gently, "you've made your point. Don't let pride blind you. You've already shown more loyalty to your people than most lords would."
"Accept it?" Arthur's voice cracked with fury. "Why should I accept that a killer walks free?"
"Yes, I know how you all see me. Just a landed knight with a keep too small to have a proper name. A minor bannerman of a disgraced house, clinging to the ashes of old wars."
"But Darren and his people pay their tithes. They send sons to fight when I call, and daughters to the harvest festivals. When bandits raid their flocks, they come to me for justice, for protection. And I swore I'd give it."
He pointed the hammer at Tytos Blackwood.
"The lives of your household men matter to you. And Darren's wife, her unborn child, her scream before she died—that should matter to you too."
He swung the hammer next toward Edmure and the Tully retainers.
"And you—Riverlords who claim to guard the realm—how dare you try to silence justice when it isn't convenient for you?"
"Today," Arthur growled, "I will be willful—for Darren."
He stepped forward, each footfall a defiance. "I want Santaga's blood. I want the world to know that not every lord sells justice for coin."
Desmond quickly placed himself between Edmure and Arthur. Blackwood men drew closer to their earl, ready for a fight.
Seeing his fate sealed, Santaga wailed, "Lord Tytos, save me! I've served your house faithfully! Will you let this upstart butcher me in your sight?"
The Blackwood men jeered.
"Strike him, and we'll burn every croft in Moulin!"
"We'll salt your fields and hang your kin from your own gatehouse!"
Brynden Tully, face pale from the gore already staining his tunic, shouted, "Double the price! Three thousand more! Don't kill him!"
Darren, kneeling beside the lifeless body of his wife, looked up at Arthur with tear-filled eyes. There was no plea in his expression—only faith.
Arthur did not hesitate.
He raised the hammer high above his head.
Crack!
Bone, blood, and brain scattered in a wide arc. Some struck Brynden, who recoiled in horror, shrieking like a child.
Silence followed, thick as fog.
A Tully officer roared, "You'll regret this, Moulin dog! House Tully does not forget defiance!"
Arthur turned, eyes burning.
"I do not care."
He faced the Blackwoods now. "I do not care about your banners, your boasts, your noble names. If you ever harm my people again—if even one child from Moulin dies by your hand—I will give you something to mourn."
"And if I have no lands? If I must become a sellsword, roaming the roads like Sandor Clegane? So be it."
He took one step forward and locked eyes with Tytos Blackwood.
"This time, one Santaga paid the price. If there is a next time—if blood is spilled unjustly again—I will take one of your sons, or perhaps that lovely daughter I hear you hide in Raventree Hall like a pearl in a cave."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Blackwood knights surged forward but were stayed by a single raised hand from Tytos, whose face had gone pale beneath his beard.
Arthur's voice dropped to a deadly calm.
"So keep your kin safe, Lord of Raventree. Lock your gates. Guard your halls. Because I'll be watching—and justice always collects its debt."
I, Arthur Bracken, keep my word."
Each syllable fell from Arthur's lips like the ring of steel on stone, and though no horn had sounded, the battlefield was silent.
The words did not just echo—they settled, sinking deep into the hearts of those present, as if Westeros itself had paused to listen.
Faced with Arthur's vow and the corpse of Santaga cooling beside him, not a soul in Raventree's retinue dared speak. Even the brashest among the Blackwood men found their mouths dry and their blades sheathed.
Edmure Tully, still standing beneath the banner of House Tully with the silver trout above him, looked at Arthur. In that moment, he saw not a minor lord, nor a half-forgotten cadet of a feuding house, but a man worthy of respect. There was something about Arthur's conviction—unyielding, defiant, and noble—that made Edmure feel small in comparison.
Wasn't this what I wanted to be? he thought. To protect the smallfolk, to bring justice to the Riverlands—not just for the lords, but for all?
"Wait, we—"
The same Tully officer who had earlier condemned Arthur now tried to recover the upper hand. But Edmure snapped, cutting him off with unusual fire.
"Enough!" Edmure said, voice sharp with rare authority. "Is it unreasonable for a lord to protect his own people? Are we Tullys so far gone that we side with murderers for the sake of alliances?"
His voice carried across the gathering. "Here is my ruling," Edmure said, lifting his voice for all to hear. "Raventree Hall will pay Lord Arthur Bracken and his people a sum of three thousand gold dragons in compensation. The families of the slain and wounded will receive reparations as per Riverlands custom."
"In return," he continued, glancing to Arthur, "Lord Arthur will release the captives, and House Blackwood will not pursue retaliation. This matter will be settled, now and henceforth."
Arthur, breathing more evenly now that his fury had passed, gave a nod of agreement. The storm had burned itself out, leaving only cold resolve behind.
The Blackwood men looked at him with frozen expressions, their gazes as sharp as daggers. But none challenged the judgment. It was not fear alone—they knew Edmure spoke with the backing of Riverrun, and to press further now would risk turning the Lord Paramount himself into an enemy.
"Then it is done," Lord Tytos Blackwood said, voice flat and unreadable. "I'll send a steward to fetch the gold. We'll conduct the exchange here—prisoners for payment."
He paused, then added with a thin smile, "The Trident always flows, Lord Arthur. I suspect we'll have… many chances to meet again."
Arthur did not miss the venom hidden beneath the courtesy. The warning in Tytos' tone was unmistakable. It was not over.
He knew the truth. His position was fragile. Even the five hundred men who marched with him today were borrowed. He had no great levy, no fleet, no ravens soaring at his call. For now, he would have to bide his time—one calculated step at a time.
Then, from the northern treeline, came laughter—bold and unrestrained.
"Hahaha! Many chances indeed, Lord Tytos!"
Heads turned as a mounted host approached. The golden stallion on a crimson field flapped proudly in the breeze.
It was the banner of House Bracken.
At the head rode a thick-chested old man with a short gray beard and a commanding presence. He dismounted with the ease of a man who'd fought on a hundred fields. Janos Bracken, Lord of Stone Hedge, and Arthur's cousin.
Arthur recognized him immediately. And not just him—everyone did. Janos was no footnote. He had fought during Robert's Rebellion, stood beside Hoster Tully at Seagard, and had once faced off against Tytos himself over a borderland dispute. The Blackwood-Bracken feud stretched back centuries, and few men embodied it more than Janos.
Arthur quickly counted—there were more soldiers than the Tullys had brought. Easily six hundred. And not green recruits either. These were veteran riders and men-at-arms with matching armor and discipline.
"I heard there was trouble near Raventree," Janos said, striding toward his nephew. "Seems I arrived just in time."
Turning toward Edmure, he smiled thinly. "I have some thoughts on this settlement, Lord Edmure. Nephew—best you hear them."
Without waiting, he raised his voice and gestured to the men behind him. At his command, his soldiers began to fan out, forming a loose ring around Arthur, the Blackwood prisoners, and the gathered lords.
"Three thousand dragons?" Janos scoffed. "That pays for broken fences and singed hay bales. But what of my nephew's honor? What of Brynden Blackwood's ransom?"
He pointed toward the bound son of Tytos, standing silent among the captives.
"No, no. Ten thousand dragons, and not a copper less. For the insult, the blood spilled, and the name you tried to trample underfoot
."
Janos turned to face the stunned Blackwood retinue and sneered.
"And as for you, Lord Tytos—who are you to threaten my kin? We've parried your little knives for generations. You think this feud makes you brave? The only thing it makes you is predictable."
Arthur said nothing, but he could feel the tide shifting. The presence of Stone Hedge behind him changed the board. The Bracken name still carried weight in the Riverlands, and Janos wasn't here just for diplomacy.
No—this was politics, the way it was played in Westeros: with swords, silver, and legacy.
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