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The Tyrells raised their sons to be loyal brothers who would always support the heir and serve the family.
The Starks did the same.
But the real difference lay with the sharp-tongued Queen of Thorns.
A wise old woman in the house was worth a fortune.
The Starks lacked such a guiding elder.
If Rickard Stark had personally raised Robb, he might have forged a far darker, sharper wolf.
"How strange," the Queen of Thorns said, shifting away from Harrenhal's lingering resentment toward Robert. "Your grandfather and father were never exceptional with a stick, yet here you are—quite the prodigy."
Arthur's feigned modesty could be either genuine humility or the cunning of a deep thinker.
"I'm only good at that one thing," Arthur replied with a light smile.
The Queen of Thorns tapped her nose. "Beating people with sticks doesn't make you clever, but every young man loves it. Garlan and Loras both adore it. Garlan especially admires you. If you're interested, you could spar with them for fun."
"Thank you for the kind offer, but I won't be staying long. I must continue south," Arthur answered courteously.
"Heading south doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself here. We can easily feed your entire retinue," the Queen of Thorns said bluntly. "Highgarden is delightful. My foolish son keeps a host of singers, and we've brought in flute players, fiddlers, and harpists. We have the finest horses, pleasure barges for cruising the Mander, the best hounds and falcons, boy."
The Gardeners and Tyrells had always loved art, music, and culture.
Only Highgarden had been praised in countless songs across the Seven Kingdoms.
Simple reason: Highgarden had the gold and leisure to pay bards to sing its praises.
"Highgarden's fame echoes throughout the realm. When I return from my travels, I'll take my time admiring this castle," Arthur replied evenly.
"What a pity," the Queen of Thorns said with exaggerated regret.
"Then you can instruct your admirer now. Garlan, weren't you hoping to cross blades with the little bat? Make up for missing the chance to be humbled at Dragonstone," the Queen of Thorns asked.
"Wouldn't that be too sudden?" Garlan, still carrying a touch of baby fat, looked startled.
"Nothing sudden about it. Your idol won't be staying long," the Queen of Thorns said impatiently. "Will you indulge us, little bat?"
"Gladly," Arthur answered simply.
His own squires weren't present—Wylis and young Lucas had been sent to rest.
Arthur made do with a spare set of Tyrell rose-embossed practice armor for the occasion.
Beneath it he wore a padded gambeson—very green indeed.
"Forgive me, Arthur," Garlan said, donning his own armor and lifting the shield blazoned with twin golden roses.
The green-clad Garlan charged forward, his blunted sword cutting the air with impressive force.
"Garlan—for Highgarden!" Margaery and Loras cheered their brother's name.
Willas watched with solemn intensity.
The Queen of Thorns observed the match, her twin guards Redwyne and Redwyne—Left and Right—studying every move.
The twins stood nearly seven feet tall and were still growing.
They shared the same strong jaw, the same deep blue eyes, and the same thick red beards.
Arthur stood like a rock in a storm, unmoved.
Garlan was already strong for his age—nothing like the flowery Reach poseurs.
But Arthur was the immovable center of the storm.
Clang!
Garlan pressed hard, but Arthur simply braced his blade the instant the force landed.
Crack!
The two blunted swords met.
Garlan's eyes widened as he felt his power slip beyond his control.
The impact exploded from the point of contact and bloomed through his body.
"How is this possible?" Garlan barely had time to reset before the next strike arrived.
"My turn!" Arthur retracted, then exploded—spinning slash, precise and devastating.
Arthur kept pouring on power, his eyes and hands lightning-fast.
He normally trained with a heavier, wider replica of Dawn.
Using a standard practice blade only magnified his terrifying speed advantage.
Garlan swung desperately, shield raised, but he had no answer.
Fast! Fierce! Heavy!
Arthur's swordplay was a true storm, leaving Garlan gasping for air.
Arthur used no flashy tricks.
Simple, precise strikes backed by overwhelming force were unstoppable.
Garlan's shield flew away. The blunted blade hammered him again and again until he yielded.
Arthur had held back.
Had he struck the head, the second rose would have been concussed.
"I lost! You're even more terrifying than last time," Garlan said with a rueful smile.
He stood panting, body aching in a dozen places.
Yet he felt he had learned more in these few minutes than in months of ordinary training.
His opponent was a true freak—stats off the charts, the most monstrous young talent of the age.
Even basic strikes carried monstrous power. No wonder he had dominated Dragonstone.
Sparring with lesser men taught nothing compared to facing a true master.
A shame Arthur was only a second-tier lord. Such opportunities were rare.
"Magnificent! Magnificent!" Willas breathed, then clapped enthusiastically.
The gap between peers was staggering.
Even little Margaery and Loras joined the applause.
Young Loras, still unconvinced, declared, "You beat my brother, but one day I'll challenge you, Bat Knight."
"Looking forward to it," Arthur laughed.
If the future is yours, prove it.
Sadly, Loras would never get the chance to surpass him.
"Little bat is indeed impressive. Take your new friend and enjoy yourselves, Garlan, Loras, Margaery. I'm tired. Willas, stay and talk with me," the Queen of Thorns said, suddenly weary.
"As you wish, Grandmother," Garlan replied, shedding his armor.
He led Arthur, his younger brother, and sister off to see Highgarden's sept and its many wonders.
In the garden remained the Queen of Thorns, her guards Left and Right, and Highgarden's heir, Willas.
"What do you make of him?" the Queen of Thorns asked her twin protectors.
In the years to come, Garlan and Loras would be the public blades.
But the Queen of Thorns's twin Redwyne guards—Left and Right—were Highgarden's hidden ace.
"Strong," Left said after a moment. "Ser Garlan is no weakling, but the opponent was simply too much. The black bat's endurance, speed, strength, and swordwork don't belong to his age. He fights like a veteran of the cruelest wars."
Right nodded. "Logically, a tall man rarely possesses such explosive agility and stamina. It's unnatural. And today he wasn't even using his preferred heavy blade—he normally trains with something closer to Dawn."
"Still, he isn't invincible," Left added. "For example, Lord Tywin's dog is also a monster."
"If even the Hound falls to him, his talent may rival the Sword of the Morning," Right said gravely.
"Rival the Sword of the Morning? No wonder the proud Daynes sent their master-at-arms to train him," the Queen of Thorns said, a cold gleam in her eyes. "We have many rivals on the tourney field. I thought the young ones were only the Kingslayer, the Mountain, and the Hound. Now we have a black bat as well."
"I am certainly not his match," Willas said calmly.
"Of course you aren't. But you are Highgarden's heir—you cannot be too weak. Your father has three sons. It's only natural he wants a second 'Longthorn,'" the Queen of Thorns said, clasping her hands.
"While others shape the next Sword of the Morning, we must hurry and shape the next Longthorn," the Queen of Thorns said with clear concern.
The tourney champion was its own ecological niche—fiercely competitive.
"Garlan and Loras both have real promise," Willas emphasized.
"The tourney field is just men hitting each other with sticks. Do it well enough and you attract followers. The little bat is handsome, capable, and cunning. Who knows what he'll become," the Queen of Thorns mused.
"He sits too close to the Iron Throne to interfere with our plans," Willas reminded her.
"I hope so! There's no harm in letting your brothers befriend him—he truly is exceptional," the Queen of Thorns nodded. "But nothing must obstruct the rose's grand design. When Loras is a little older, we'll send him to Storm's End to squire for Renly. Renly already likes him. Garlan must become your loyal sword and shield. Margaery is still small, but she'll have her uses—her marriage value is enormous."
"I understand," Willas said.
"No, you don't, Willas. Hitting people with sticks is the tourney field. Power is played with the mind. We must make the rose stronger," the Queen of Thorns shook her head. "If there were a path into King's Landing, Highgarden wouldn't need to pin everything on Renly."
Willas nodded. Besides Margaery, the Queen of Thorns often tutored him personally.
Marriage alliances, hyping the next Longthorn, forging pacts—these were Highgarden's three axes.
Even if they currently lacked a way into King's Landing, they had never given up the dream.
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