Noon. The Bay of Crabs. Saltpans.
The castle of House Cox overlooked the entire port. The town itself was small but possessed a certain rugged charm. The air around the castle was thick with the scent of salt and the sea breeze, but because of its modest size, it lacked the overwhelming, suffocating stench of larger port cities. The local economy was driven primarily by the salt-panning industry and the deep-sea fishing trade across the Narrow Sea.
"This way!"
Ser Quincy Cox was incredibly welcoming to the heir of House Whent. The castle's drawbridge was lowered, and the guests crossed the moat, stepping into the keep's entryway.
House Cox was a landed knightly house—relatively wealthy, but by no means a major military power. Geographically, Saltpans sat uncomfortably close to the domains of two major lords: House Whent and House Darry.
With House Darry's strength severely crippled after the rebellion, House Whent was in a much stronger position. Naturally, Ser Quincy was eager to lean on Harrenhal for support.
(For context, the most powerful knightly house in Westeros was House Templeton of Ninestars in the Vale. Though technically only landed knights, their wealth and military strength rivaled that of many high lords, capable of fielding armies of over a thousand men.)
"Thank you for your hospitality, Ser Quincy," Arthur said smoothly.
"You are too kind, Master Arthur," Ser Quincy beamed, his enthusiasm genuine.
After Arthur partook in the traditional bread and salt of House Cox, they formally entered the castle. Having eaten bread and salt beneath his roof, the guest right was invoked; the host could not harm the guest. (This was Westeros before the Red Wedding, after all, where such ancient laws still held weight.)
For men like Ser Lucas, who were accustomed to the monolithic scale of Harrenhal, other castles felt almost comically miniature.
Ser Quincy was built like a beer keg—stout, fleshy, and broad. He looked less like a hardened knight and more like a jovial tavern keeper.
Arthur and Ser Quincy moved into the castle's main receiving hall. A lavish feast had already been prepared, and Ser Quincy's family was there to keep them company. Trout, herring, cod, oysters, and clams—the table was laden with deep-sea bounty.
Ser Quincy had several sons, but their talents were painfully average. They were far more comfortable managing the docks, the salt pans, and the fishing fleets than they were swinging swords or riding in tourneys; they hardly seemed like proper knights at all.
"May the Seven bless His Grace! Long live King Robert!" Ser Quincy toasted, raising his goblet.
"May the Seven bless His Grace! Long live King Robert!"
"May his reign be long and prosperous!" the guests echoed, raising their cups in unison.
Goblets clinked together, the atmosphere joyous and celebratory.
It was a strange scene. Only a few years ago, every man in this room had marched beneath the dragon banner of House Targaryen, fighting for the Royalist cause at the Battle of the Trident. But today, across the length and breadth of the Seven Kingdoms, no one dared challenge Robert's rule—on paper, at least. Robert's reign wasn't threatened by external forces, but rather by the deeply convoluted, toxic web of internal politics.
"Try the trout. We just pulled them in; the flavor is exceptional this season," one of Ser Quincy's sons offered proudly.
The roasted trout was crusted with almonds and cooked to perfection. Arthur didn't stand on ceremony, happily digging into the feast House Cox had provided. He cut into a piece of sturgeon, savoring the sweet, tender white meat.
"Saltpans and Harrenhal are practically neighbors. We should absolutely maintain a strong, positive relationship," Ser Quincy declared.
"That is exactly my hope as well," Arthur replied with a warm smile.
"Indeed!"
"Hear, hear! Absolutely!"
The hall erupted in a chorus of agreement, the atmosphere growing increasingly lively as they toasted the blossoming friendship between House Whent and House Cox.
Ser Quincy was no fool. Saltpans might be militarily weak, but he possessed the shrewd, calculating mind of a merchant.
Right now, House Tully seemed to be riding high, bathing in the glory of the rebellion's victory. But their position was far from unshakeable. House Tully's core, direct holdings were simply too small. As the other Riverlords slowly recovered their strength and wealth from the war, the Tullys' outsized influence would inevitably wane, returning them to their historical baseline.
This was likely why Hoster Tully had fully supported the Iron Throne's decision to heavily penalize the eastern Riverlands. Aside from House Frey, the crown had levied massive fines and land seizures against the major eastern houses—Whent, Mooton, and Darry in one fell swoop.
Furthermore, with the "Blackfish" Brynden Tully having exiled himself to the Vale, Riverrun was currently occupied solely by Hoster and Edmure. Hoster was frail and ailing, while Edmure was unmarried and known for being a remarkably mediocre knight. Two bachelors running a paramount house made it incredibly difficult to suppress the ambitions of restless, recovering vassals.
Logically speaking, besides Edmure, Lord Hoster himself was a prime tool for marriage alliances. Great lords like Tywin and Hoster—men who refused to remarry after the deaths of their beloved wives—were extreme outliers. Being a romantic was nice in poetry, but in politics, it was purely emotional and foolish. Men like Old Walder Frey or Lord Leyton Hightower, who remarried constantly to produce litters of eight or nine children, were operating according to standard Westerosi logic.
"We have a good life here, but we face two major difficulties," Ser Quincy said, leaning in. "First, the wildling clans from the Mountains of the Moon occasionally cross over to harass my lands, raiding our fields and terrorizing the smallfolk. Second, our port simply can't seem to grow. Without gold, I can't increase the size of my garrison or hire more men-at-arms. I can barely scrape together the coin to properly train my own sons as knights. Buying a single, decent suit of plate and mail requires selling a mountain of fish. Because of this, many of my boys aren't properly equipped for knighthood."
He exaggerated slightly, but the core truth remained: training and equipping a knight was exorbitantly expensive. Many men simply chose to remain squires their entire lives because they couldn't afford the necessary gear.
"As a close neighbor and friend to House Cox, House Whent will naturally provide whatever assistance is within our power," Arthur promised smoothly.
This was exactly where the Gods Eye Fleet proved its worth. The longships could easily navigate the Trident and cross the estuary to provide rapid reinforcement. The current at the mouth of the Trident was much calmer and more forgiving than the treacherous waters of the Blackwater Rush.
Furthermore, the mountain clans weren't a particularly terrifying enemy in a pitched battle. Their equipment was garbage, they were chronically malnourished, and they possessed almost no cavalry or proper armor. Historically, the wildlings relied entirely on the treacherous terrain of the high passes to ambush travelers on the high road.
What Arthur needed right now was to establish a three-dimensional defensive chain—a solid line of control stretching from Harrenhal all the way to the Bay of Crabs.
"That is wonderful news," Ser Quincy said, genuinely relieved. Arthur's promise essentially amounted to a military protection pact.
The western Riverlands were too far away, as was King's Landing. And the fact that Hoster Tully had actively supported the Iron Throne's punitive measures against the east—rather than advocating for clemency—proved he had no interest in winning over the eastern lords. By tacitly allowing the crown to squeeze them, Hoster had demonstrated he wouldn't provide them with any meaningful support.
While the crown had seized half of House Darry's lands as royal fiefs, King Robert couldn't care less about managing them. Robert despised counting coppers, and the royal bureaucrats sent to oversee the lands had no connection to the locals in Saltpans.
Under these conditions, the surviving Royalist houses of the eastern Riverlands naturally gravitated toward one another out of sheer self-preservation.
(In the original timeline, the severe weakening of houses like Whent, Mooton, and Darry created a power vacuum. House Frey exploited this by using their immense wealth to hire massive numbers of hedge knights and sellswords, drastically increasing their own military power. It was a classic domino effect.)
But now, if Arthur could successfully consolidate the power of the eastern Riverlands, that same butterfly effect would dramatically amplify the strength of House Whent.
"We Rivermen... we Rivermen need to stand together," Ser Quincy slurred slightly, the wine beginning to take hold. "It's a tragedy, truly. All the Kings of the Trident are nothing but bleached bones now. Even today, the fate of the Riverlands isn't decided by Rivermen. If the ancient River Kings had just granted us proper trading charters, who knows? Saltpans might be a true city by now."
Saltpans, Fairmarket, Seagard, Maidenpool, Lord Harroway's Town—the ancient Kings of the Rivers and the Hills had deliberately blocked these towns from obtaining city charters, fearing they would grow too powerful and challenge their authority.
Land, population, and thriving towns—these were the lifeblood of a lord's power. If Hoster Tully couldn't protect those interests, the lords would inevitably look for someone who could.
Arthur just smiled, offering no immediate reply.
Anyone who read the histories knew this land was a graveyard of countless failed dynasties.
House Mudd was destroyed by the Andal invasion; it took an alliance of seven Andal Kings to finally defeat the legendary Tristifer IV Mudd, the Hammer of Justice, in his hundredth battle.
House Justman was annihilated by King Qhored Hoare of the Iron Islands.
House Teague was wiped out by the Storm King, Arlan III Durrandon.
House Durrandon was subsequently driven out by Harwyn "Hardhand" Hoare.
House Hoare pioneered the terrifying "overland portage" of longships and built the impregnable Harrenhal, only to be burned to ash by Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion the Black Dread.
And now, the Tullys ruled as Lords Paramount, relying primarily on marriage alliances to maintain their grip.
Looking back, the history of the Riverlands was nothing but a long, bloody list of dead Kings and shattered kingdoms.
But failure was an excellent teacher.
The Trident desperately needed a true King. A victorious one.
"Ah, well. No use crying over ancient history. To the Trident!" Ser Quincy cheered, raising his cup once more.
"To the Trident!"