Margaery played along with her cousins' boasting, offering just the right amount of surprise and admiration. Though she wasn't well-versed in the art of war, she possessed enough courtly polish and common sense to follow the gist. Judging by the claim that Arthur had slain hundreds during a skirmish with House Blackwood, she mused—half-jesting—that this Bracken might well be the greatest warrior Westeros had ever seen.
Her interest deepened when she learned the reason for the fight: the brutal killing of three villagers from Shire, one of them heavily pregnant. Arthur's willingness to risk war over such a loss spoke of something more than ambition. "Wicked Raventree, and Brynden Blackwood too," Little Rose exclaimed with a hint of drama, but Arthur noticed a change in her expression—she was beginning to look at him differently.
"To defend against Blackwood retaliation, I've been forced to raise troops as quickly as I can," Arthur explained. "Aside from acquiring arms and armor here in the Reach, I was also hoping to recruit brave warriors from your fertile lands."
"It's just a shame that my uncle isn't showing Mr. Arthur much support," Hobber muttered, referring to Lord Mace Tyrell, his true uncle and Lord of Highgarden.
"I suspect it's Lord Randyll Tarly's doing," Horace added. "He's long been on good terms with our cousin Garlan."
"Why would he interfere with you?" Margaery tilted her head, genuinely curious. "You've only just arrived in Highgarden."
"It might be because I'm traveling with a group of Dornish sellswords," Arthur replied. "Lord Randyll heard about them during his visit, and I suspect he intervened by claiming the Bloody Mummers were under my hire."
"Even if the Bloody Mummers are unsavory and Dornishmen unpopular," said Hobber, "they were recruited to defend your land, not cause mischief. Lord Randyll's reaction was excessive."
He conveniently left out that it had been Garlan Tyrell who had personally blocked Arthur's transaction—blood was blood, after all.
"My father isn't always the best judge," Margaery said diplomatically, keeping her poise. Even if she agreed, she couldn't speak ill of Mace Tyrell in front of an outsider.
"Once I return from the school, I can escort you to speak with my father this afternoon," Margaery offered. "I'll do my best to persuade him."
"That would be more than I dared hope for," Arthur said, bowing his head with genuine gratitude. For House Tyrell, which maintained over 10,000 professional soldiers, 300 suits of armor were hardly a burden. But for Arthur, they were a game-changer.
Their meal arrived then, hot dishes brought forth by the tavern boy. After they satisfied their hunger, Margaery returned to the school she had founded nearby, while Arthur and the Redwyne twins made their way to the town center to begin recruitment.
"The Blood Troupe charges twenty gold dragons per man. If Mr. Bracken is recruiting Reach-born warriors, he should offer more—say, thirty per head," Hobber suggested.
"It might be smarter to vary the rate," Horace added. "More for those who bring their own gear, less for those who come empty-handed."
They stood beneath the shadow of the ferry town's central sept, the mayor having arrived to help maintain order. Thanks to the Redwyne twins and their grape-blazoned cloaks, over two dozen warriors had already arrived—though many were loners, unaligned with any known sellsword company.
Arthur felt a twinge of unease toward the freelancers. Solo mercenaries, like the infamous Bronn, were notoriously difficult to control. Bronn had switched allegiances from Lady Stark to Tyrion Lannister the moment his purse grew heavier. Arthur wanted no such risks in his ranks.
"What I need most right now," Arthur said firmly, "is loyalty and obedience. Not just swords for hire."
Beside him stood Wager Huot, the grim Qohorik leader of the Blood Troupe. He wore black Qohorik plate and a neatly trimmed goatee, his foreign bearing unsettling the locals. Wager stepped forward and helped screen the arrivals with the sharp eye of a seasoned commander. Of the 20 or so men present, only 11 were selected. The rest, Wager dismissed as drunkards or cowards.
Arthur frowned. The number was far too low.
"You might consider issuing a conscription order," Wager suggested, stammering slightly through his thick accent.
One of his lieutenants quickly stepped in to clarify. "Word spreads fast among the free companies, ser. Promise a small bounty just for showing up, and more warriors will come from across the Reach—perhaps even from the Stormlands or Westerlands."
The mayor chimed in with enthusiasm. "Two silver stags per man for the interview would do it. Post the offer and they'll be here by dawn."
Arthur nodded. He had more than 50,000 gold dragons left, and at 210 silver stags to a gold dragon, the expense was minimal.
"Very well. Issue the order. Two silver stags per man for any armed mercenary who presents himself within the next two days," Arthur announced. "Make sure the word spreads far and fast."
He tossed the mayor a gold dragon. "For your trouble."
"Of course, my lord. With ravens and riders, word will reach every village and road within fifty leagues. Expect dozens more by morning."
As the mayor turned to leave, Arthur stopped him once more.
"I'll also need a caravan—a reliable one—to haul hundreds of suits of armor across the Red Fork to the north bank near Harrenhal. Payment is generous."
"For another gold, I'll have it arranged by tomorrow," the mayor promised. "You'll see the wagons alongside the arriving mercenaries."
Arthur nodded in approval. He'd have to remain in Ferrybridge another day, but it was a price worth paying.
By Essosi standards, the price was a bargain. In Essos, a mercenary of the Second Sons might cost 100 gold dragons per month. Here in the Reach, the same warrior cost less than a third. Peace had made the region ripe for recruitment.
With the mayor gone and the conscription underway, Arthur, Hobber, and Horace made their way toward Margaery's school. In the afternoon, they would all ride together to Highgarden—Arthur to settle his debts with Lord Paxter Redwyne, and Margaery to plead his case to her father, the Lord of the Reach.
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