CHAPTER 2

287 AC, Raventree Hall, Riverlands, Westeros

Ser Ryse Rivers POV

Ser Ryse Rivers, the master of arms at Raventree Hall, had held his position for as long as memory served him. His father, too, had been master of arms before him—a lineage steeped in the art of combat. But Ryse's origins were less noble. Born to a common whore during a bandit-hunting campaign, he was never acknowledged by his father until he displayed prodigious talent with a sword. At the tender age of nine, he became a squire under the master of arms, a position that would shape his destiny.

Five years later, at the age of fourteen, Ryse outdueled his own father and half-brothers. Lord Bronus Blackwood, then the ruler of Raventree Hall, knighted him on the spot. The envy of his half-siblings was palpable; they resented the bastard's ascent to the position of Master of Arms. But Lord Bronus silenced them by issuing a challenge: anyone who could defeat him in single combat would be welcomed as the new Master of Arms. Ryse proved his mettle during the Name's Day melee, securing his place in Raventree Hall's hierarchy.

Lord Bronus's son, Tytos Blackwood, was a good lad. Ryse had trained him well, fought alongside him during the rebellion, and now looked forward to training the next generation of Blackwoods. Rumors swirled around young Bryden, but Ryse paid them little heed. In Westeros, every noble family had its share of peculiarities. The Blackwoods' obsession with protecting their heir, however, bordered on excessive. Bryden was sheltered to an extreme degree, and the castle buzzed with whispers about his peculiar upbringing.

Marwyn, the castle's Maester, added to the intrigue. His perpetual smile and contented demeanor unnerved Ryse. The Citadel's attempts to replace Marwyn were futile; the Maester's refusal and subsequent laughter echoed through the halls. No wet nurse, no other Maester—only Marwyn attended to Bryden. The young lord's eyes, molten gold irises, held an otherworldly quality. When they locked onto Ryse, discomfort settled in. He pushed it aside and focused on his duty.

As Bryden and his cousin David Blackwood entered the courtyard, Ryse greeted them. David, ten years old and Bryden's best friend, looked up to Ryse with reverence. "Ser Ryse," David began, "I've heard tales of your prowess. Can you truly take on ten men and emerge victorious?"

Ryse chuckled. "No man can fight two trained opponents simultaneously and expect to win. Our encounter with bandits you mention in the tale was different—they were starved, poorly armed, while we knights wore steel armor and rode on horseback. It was an easy victory."

David's expression fell; he'd imagined a grander tale. "But the bards say Ser Arthur Dayne killed a hundred Kingswood Brotherhood men single-handedly!"

Ryse grinned. "Bards embellish, my young lord. Even legends have their limits." And with that, he began imparting his knowledge to the eager cousins, hoping to shape them into formidable warriors—the future defenders of Raventree Hall.