Riverrun woke before the bells.
Mist lay low over the river, pale and slow-moving, clinging to the banks as if reluctant to leave. Torches burned along the inner walls despite the coming daylight, their flames steady in the still air. Servants moved quietly through corridors, laying fresh rushes, polishing stone that had already been polished once, then again. Banners were rehung—not because they were dirty, but because today demanded precision.
Blue dominated everything.
Not the soft blue of summer sky, but river-blue—deep, constant, patient. The trout of House Tully hung high above the courtyard, flanked by Riverrun's colors and lesser banners whose lords had arrived early enough to claim proximity. Some were there out of loyalty. Others out of obligation.
More than a few out of curiosity.
Garen stood in a small antechamber overlooking the courtyard, hands resting loosely at his sides. He wore mail and plate that had seen real use, cleaned but not hidden. No cloak. No sigil beyond the blue sash tied across his chest—the same blue his men wore.
Merrick stood nearby, checking buckles and straps with the practiced eye of a man who understood that details failed before courage did.
"You don't look nervous," Merrick said.
"I am," Garen replied.
Merrick snorted softly. "Good. Means you still know what's at stake."
Tom lingered by the doorway, armor newly cleaned, posture stiff in a way that betrayed how hard he was trying not to look stiff at all. He kept glancing toward the courtyard below, where the Dauntless Vanguard was assembling in clean formation.
Nearly a hundred men.
Blue over steel.
Quiet.
"They're watching us," Tom said.
"Yes," Garen replied. "And after today, they always will."
A horn sounded—low, controlled, unmistakable.
Merrick straightened. "That's our cue."
They stepped out together.
The courtyard had filled.
Minor lords lined the raised gallery opposite the dais, their expressions ranging from polite restraint to barely disguised displeasure. Knights of Riverrun stood along the walls, helms tucked under arms. Merchants and stewards clustered behind ropes at the edges, while smallfolk filled every space they were permitted, eyes sharp with the kind of attention born of lived consequence.
At the center stood Edmure Tully.
He wore his father's ceremonial mail, worked with blue enamel and silver, the sword of Riverrun at his side. His expression was calm, but there was steel beneath it—the look of a man who had chosen his moment and would not be swayed from it.
Garen walked forward alone.
Each step echoed.
Not because the courtyard was silent—there were murmurs, whispers, the shifting of boots—but because the space seemed to bend around the act itself. He felt the eyes of the Riverlands settle on him: men who had challenged him, men who had benefited from him, men who had waited to see whether he would fall.
He stopped before the dais and went to one knee.
The stone was cold.
Edmure did not speak immediately.
He let the silence stretch—not as theater, but as acknowledgment. This was not a knighthood bestowed in haste or gratitude. It was one that carried consequence.
"Garen," Edmure said at last, voice carrying clearly. "You came to my lands without title, without banner, and without protection other than your own word."
He paused.
"You took responsibility where others avoided it. You held roads without burning them. You answered provocation with restraint. And when challenged openly, you chose stability over pride."
Edmure drew his sword.
The sound rang clean and sharp.
"In the Riverlands," Edmure continued, "we remember those who guard the crossings when floods rise and enemies test the banks."
The blade touched Garen's right shoulder.
"In the name of the Father, who judges the weight of a man's deeds."
Left shoulder.
"In the name of the Warrior, who values discipline above fury."
A breath.
The sword rested briefly against the crown of Garen's head.
"And in the name of the Seven, whose mercy tempers strength with duty."
Edmure stepped back—but did not sheath the blade.
"Rise," he said, "not yet as knight—but as one who will choose his name."
A ripple of surprise moved through the crowd.
Garen stood slowly, eyes lifting to meet Edmure's.
Edmure turned slightly, addressing the gathered lords and witnesses.
"Storm," Edmure said, "is a bastard's name in the Stormlands."
The word landed heavily.
"It is a name given," Edmure continued, "to mark origin, not accomplishment. And while Garen has never denied where he came from, I will not insult the Riverlands—or him—by pretending that name still defines his station."
Some lords stiffened.
Others leaned forward, listening.
Edmure's voice remained steady. "Names matter. They tell the realm what we value."
He looked back at Garen.
"You stood guard over my people when law was thin and fear was thick," Edmure said. "You did not claim lordship. You did not demand reward. You guarded."
The sword lifted slightly, catching the light.
"Therefore," Edmure declared, "I grant you a new name—one that honors both your origin and your service."
The courtyard held its breath.
"From this day forward," Edmure said, "you shall be known as Ser Garen Stormguard."
The name rolled outward like a struck bell.
Stormguard.
The storm remained.
But it was held now.
Edmure placed the sword firmly on Garen's shoulder one final time.
"Rise, Ser Garen Stormguard," he commanded, "Knight of the Riverlands, sworn in fealty to Riverrun and House Tully."
Garen rose.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to sensation—the weight of armor, the echo of the name in his ears, the memory of another life where names had been earned in blood and fire rather than ceremony.
He bowed his head.
"I swear," he said, voice calm and carrying, "to guard the roads, the rivers, and the people of the Riverlands. To hold faith with House Tully. To place duty before pride, and restraint before cruelty."
The words were not borrowed.
They were chosen.
Edmure sheathed his sword.
"So sworn," he said.
The courtyard exhaled.
Some clapped—hesitantly at first, then with growing confidence. Others did not. A few minor lords remained rigid, faces set with resentment they could not now voice without consequence.
Among the Dauntless Vanguard, no one cheered.
They stood straighter.
That was enough.
Tom felt something tighten in his chest as he looked at Garen—Ser Garen now—and realized that the man he followed had just become something the realm could no longer dismiss.
Merrick inclined his head once, deeply, in a gesture that acknowledged not rank—but permanence.
As the crowd began to disperse, whispers followed in its wake.
Stormguard.
Stormguard.
The name spread quickly, already shedding its novelty and taking on weight.
Garen stepped down from the dais and walked past his men. No smiles. No speeches. Just a nod here, a glance there. The bond between them had not changed.
If anything, it had been tested—and held.
Later, alone by the river, Garen let the system surface for the first time since the ceremony.
[SYSTEM UPDATE — TITLE AND IDENTITY]
Name: Garen Stormguard
Title: Knight (Confirmed)
Fealty: House Tully (Sworn)
Force Association: Dauntless Vanguard (Sanctioned)
Political Standing: Elevated (Contested)
Regional Recognition: High
Personal Reliance: Unchanged
The ledger faded.
Stormguard.
Garen watched the river move past Riverrun's walls, indifferent to titles, faithful only to its course. The name did not make him stronger. It did not make him safer.
It made him responsible.
That was a heavier thing than any sword.
Behind him, the Riverlands adjusted—some with relief, others with anger, all with attention. Somewhere in the realm, men like Tywin Lannister would hear the name and file it away. In King's Landing, Varys would note the shift, while Petyr Baelish would wonder what leverage might one day exist. And in the North, Eddard Stark would hear that Riverrun had raised a knight who guarded rather than conquered.
All of that could wait.
For now, Garen Stormguard turned back toward his men and the work that did not end with ceremony.
The river still needed watching.
Author's Note:
And there you have it, knighted and given the name Stormguard. Honestly, I didn't know if I wanted to keep the Crownsguard name or not, as that would affect the trajectory of the story, but I also wanted to pay respect to the Crownsguard name. I thought Stormguard would be most fitting with the culture shown in Game of Thrones, and hopefully would open more roads of opportunity for our boy Garen.
In terms of romantic interests, I've honestly been scratching my head a little for options. I definitely want to add a romantic aspect because it is the easiest way to expand one's influence in Westeros. Pick a highborn lady and boom, you get access to their land and assets, but I haven't been able to conclude which house or woman.
If you have any ideas or suggestions, please leave a comment. Ideally, it would be just one woman. It can be a known character, or you can give me ideas of which house, and I can make up an OC for Garen.
Honestly, I have a lot of motivation and time right now so I plan to PUMP out for the next week or so, so look out for the DAILY PUMP!
Again, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to drop me a review if you haven't already, and toss this Stitch some powerstones. It would give me massive motivation and also help the story with its ranking, so more people would read it!