A few hours had passed since the attack on the riverbank, yet none of them had moved far from the reeds. The sun now hung low in the west, and the air had cooled enough that the younger children shivered whenever the breeze came off the water. Everyone sat in a tight knot on the muddy grass, knees drawn up, arms around one another. Meggie and Lena pressed against Cassie's sides while Thom and Sam leaned on her legs. Cassie herself stared at nothing, her wet hair still dripping onto her shoulders, her face pale except for the red marks where the man's hand had covered her mouth. The little ones kept murmuring soft words to her while they stroked her arms.
Arthur stood a few paces away, the broken half of the stick still in his hand, his eyes scanning the treeline and the path that led back toward the city walls. Jory, who had appointed himself sentinel, stood beside him clutching another thick branch like a spear. The boy's knuckles were white around the wood, and every few seconds he shifted his weight from foot to foot, pretending he was not shaking.
Arthur took this opportunity to use the otherworld token and hopefully get something good out of it.
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[Otherworld Token Consumed]
You have received:
Book of the Alchemist By , Vol. I: Foundations of Transmutation (Epic)
A dense tome from a world ruled by Alchemy. Its pages contain the core principles of alchemical law, detailed transmutation circles, and the first steps toward reshaping matter. Understanding it will unlock techniques far beyond anything known in Westeros.
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A thick, leather-bound tome appeared in his hands with no warning, the cover stamped with strange interlocking rings and symbols that hurt to look at directly. Arthur turned it over once, then twice. The pages were filled with dense diagrams and script he could not decipher. He tried to focus on the words the way he sometimes focused on his status menu, hoping the system would let him read it, but nothing happened. The letters remained foreign, curling, sharp, and utterly unreadable. He exhaled through his nose, annoyed yet curious. Epic meant powerful, and powerful meant useful. He would simply have to find someone who could teach him, or he would teach himself, one line at a time. He sent the book back into his inventory before anyone could see.
A soft shuffle of feet made him look up. Cassie had stood. She wiped her face with the heel of her hand, took a deep breath, and walked over to him. The children watched her go, then went back to huddling together like frightened ducklings. Cassie stopped an arm's length away. Her voice came out small but composedd. "Arthur... thank you. Again. If you hadn't come when you did..." She trailed off, swallowed, and tried once more. "I owe you everything."
Arthur shook his head. "You don't owe me nothing. I'm just glad you're all right."
She managed a watery smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Still. Thank you."
He nodded once, then glanced at the sky. "We should start back. Sun's getting low, and Alys will worry."
Cassie turned to the children. "Up, everyone. Stay close together this time. Hands where I can see them, no wandering." Her voice cracked on the last word, but the children obeyed instantly, scrambling to their feet and forming the same single-file line they had used on the way out.
Arthur took the rear again, with Cassie beside him. Jory insisted on walking directly in front of them, stick held across his chest like a proper guard. The walk back through Flea Bottom felt longer than the walk out. The children no longer chattered; they walked in silence, clutching one another's tunics, eyes darting toward every shadow.
Cassie kept pace with Arthur, close enough that their shoulders brushed every few steps. After a minute she spoke, low so only he would hear. "I've had men look at me wrong before. Grab an arm in the market, whisper things when I carry water. But nothing... nothing like today. When he put his hand over my mouth and dragged me into the reeds, I thought, This is it. I'm going to disappear like the others." Her voice trembled, but she forced the words out anyway. "I thought I'd end up in a brothel or dead in an alley, and no one would ever would've known what happened to me."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "What others?"
Cassie stared at the muddy street ahead. "It's happened for years, ever since I was young. Girls from the orphanage, or girls we knew who slept on the steps sometimes. Every few moons one just... vanishes. Sometimes we hear later they were sold to a pillow house on the Street of Silk. Sometimes we never hear anything again. We change where we bathe, we go in bigger groups, we try everything, but they still come."
Arthur felt something cold settle in his stomach. "That stops now."
Cassie glanced at him.
"I mean it," he said. "No one is touching any of you again. Not while I'm here."
She studied his face for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod and stepped a little closer so that their arms stayed in contact the rest of the way home. They reached the orphanage just as the last light bled from the sky. The front door stood open, which was wrong; Alys always kept it barred until everyone was inside. From the street they could already hear shouts, the crash of breaking pottery, and a cry that was cut short.
Arthur's blood went cold. "Cassie, keep them here. Do not move until I come back."
Cassie's eyes widened, but she nodded and pulled the children into a tight cluster against the wall. Jory lifted his stick, ready to argue, but Arthur was already moving.
He sprinted through the gate and into the main hall.
The place had been turned upside down. Tables lay on their sides, bowls and cups shattered across the floorboards he had only just repaired. The new bench he had started building for the garden was now splintered in the corner. Three men moved through the wreckage. One, thick-necked and bearded, held Alys face-down on the ground, his knee between her shoulder blades while she struggled and cursed. Another kicked over the hearth grate, sending embers scattering. The third, tall and slim with a scar across his lip, rifled through the place for anything of value.
"Let her go," Arthur said. Sunset slid from his inventory into his grip, the long sword catching the orange glow of the hearth embers as he brought it up in a low guard.
The thick-necked brute who still knelt on Alys's back looked first. He drew a short, broad-bladed arming sword from the sheath at his hip. The tall, slim one with the scar across his lip yanked a curved hanger from his belt. The third man, shorter and heavier, produced a heavy falchion that looked as though it had seen more use chopping meat than fighting. All three blades came up at once.
The scarred man tilted his head. "So you're the little cunt who killed Wat, eh? Where's your stick then?" He said with a laugh which got the rest of them chuckling too.
Arthur did not answer them. He looked past the swords to where Alys lay pinned, her cheek pressed against the floorboards, one eye visible and wide with pain. "Alys," he said quietly, "Are you hurt?"
She opened her mouth to speak, but the brute shifted his weight and drove his knee harder between her shoulder blades. A loud involuntary cry tore from her throat, and her fingers scrabbled uselessly against the wood.
Arthur's voice dropped to a growl. "I said let her go."
The scarred man spat to the side and stepped forward, his boot crunching on a broken bowl. "The old bitch hasn't paid her dues in three moons. We work hard keeping the worst scum in Flea Bottom away from this place, and she spits in our faces by not handing over what she owes. Then, when she finally offers some goods instead, our collectors get assaulted and one of them ends up dead. That's disrespectful, boy. Very disrespectful."
Arthur's frown deepened. The words settled in his stomach like spoiled meat. He had assumed the men were simple thugs shaking down an orphanage, yet the way the scarred man spoke suggested something more worse, something Alys had agreed to at some point.
The thick-necked one jerked his chin toward the open doorway where Cassie and the children waited outside. "So now the price doubles. We take the black-haired girl tonight, and we take another one on top of that, just to remind the old woman what happens when she forgets who keeps her safe."
Anger flared hot behind Arthur's eyes. He turned his gaze back to Alys. "Alys," he said quietly, "Tell me this isn't true. Tell me you didn't sell Cassie to these men."
Alys's eye squeezed shut. She turned her face away as far as the knee on her back allowed. She did not speak, but the shame that flooded her expression was answer enough.
The scarred man barked a laugh that the others echoed.
"Been doing it for years, lad," the scarred man sneered. "Whenever the coin jar comes up light, she lets the boss pick whichever girl he fancies. Keeps the rest of the brats fed, don't it, Matron?"
Arthur raised Sunset until the point hovered between them. The laughter died as suddenly as it had begun. The three men shifted their grips on their own weapons and spread into a loose half-circle. Arthur's mind raced behind the calm mask he forced onto his face. Three armed men in a confined room. He had recovered most of his strength, yet three against one was still ugly odds, and he had no idea how skilled they were. If he fell here, Cassie and every child outside would be at their mercy. That was not a risk he could take.
He spoke into the silence. "How much does she owe you?"
The thick-necked man blinked, surprised by the question. "Two silver moons," he grunted.
Arthur's left hand dipped into the pouch at his belt. He drew out three silver coins, the last of the money he had carried from Harrowfield, and held them up between thumb and finger so the light glinted off them. "Three moons. Two to clear the debt. One for the inconvenience. Take them and walk away."
The scarred man stared at the coins, then threw his head back and laughed. "We'll just take the silver off your corpse, boy. You don't make deals with us."
Arthur let the coins drop back into his palm and closed his fist around them. His voice stayed calm. "You can try. But know this. The first man who comes at me dies. Maybe the second does too. I'm not a master swordsman yet, but I am decent with this blade, and I will kill as many of you as I can before I go down. So ask yourselves which of you wants to be the one bleeding out on these floors tonight."
The room went still. The only sound was Alys's ragged breathing and the faint crackle of embers. The three men looked at one another. The thick-necked one shifted his weight off Alys's back a fraction, uncertainty flickering across his face. The scarred man's tongue touched his lower lip as he weighed the naked steel in Arthur's hand and the absolute certainty in Arthur's eyes.
Arthur took one step forward. "Who's first?" he asked in an eerily calm voice.
A long second stretched. Then another. The scarred man's shoulders sagged a fraction. He lifted his free hand, palm out. "Give us the coin," he said trying to keep the crack out of his voice. Arthur flicked his wrist. The three silver moons arced through the air and rang against the floorboards and landed between the men's boots. The scarred man bent, scooped them up, and jerked his head toward the door. "We're square for this month, old woman. Next moon, same time. Don't make us come looking again."
The thick-necked brute released Alys at last. She rolled onto her side, gasping, but the men were already moving. Arthur stepped aside only enough to let them pass, Sunset still pointed at their chests until the last one crossed the threshold.
Outside, the scarred man paused when he saw the children pressed against the wall. His gaze slid over them and settled on Cassie. He pursed his lips and made a wet kissing sound that made her flinch and look away, colour draining from her face. Arthur moved until he stood between the man and the children, silent, until the trio disappeared into the darkening alleys.
Only then did he lower the sword.
"Everyone inside," he said. "Now."
Cassie herded the children through the door, Jory still clutching his stick like a lifeline. Arthur followed last, putting Sunset back into inventory the moment the door was barred behind them. The children scattered toward the corners they felt safest in while Cassie knelt beside Alys, helping the older woman sit up against the wall.
Arthur turned toward Jory, who still hovered near the doorway with the stick clutched in both hands.
"Jory," Arthur said, "take the little ones and get them into the sleeping rooms. Bar the doors from the inside. No one comes out until I come fetch you. Understand?"
Jory straightened at once, "Y-Yes A-Arthur." He spun on his heel and began herding the children. "You heard him. Move. Meggie, take Lena's hand. Ben, help Thom. Quiet now." Small feet pattered across the broken crockery as the children obeyed without argument. Within moments the corridor swallowed them.
When the last door shut, the hall felt suddenly too large and too quiet. Arthur bent, righted one of the few chairs that had not been smashed, and lowered himself into it. The wood creaked under his weight, and he let his forearms rest on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees while he stared at the floorboards he had nailed back into place only days earlier. Cassie remained kneeling beside Alys. She had pulled the older woman into a half-sitting position against the wall, one arm around Alys's shoulders while she used the hem of her own dress to dab at a cut on Alys's brow. When Arthur finally lifted his gaze, Cassie's eyes were already on him, wide, wet, and waiting.
Arthur drew a slow breath. "Alys," he said, "Tell Cassie what those men said. Tell her exactly what you've been doing here."
Alys's mouth opened, then closed. She looked away, shame pulling at the lines of her face.
Cassie's voice came out small. "Matron...?"
Alys swallowed hard. "Cassie, love, I—"
"Tell her," Arthur cut in loudly making them jump.
Alys's shoulders curled inward. She spoke to the floor at first, voice cracking. "When we can't pay the protection money... Rudge and his lot... they take a child instead. One of the older girls, usually. They say it settles the debt for a while..." Her words tumbled faster now, as though saying them quickly would make them hurt less. "It's happened five times that I know of. Maybe six. Little Jane two winters ago. Rose and Elly the year before that. Sweet Mara last spring. And... and little Beth..." She looked up at last with her eyes red. "I never wanted it. I fought them every time. But I had no choice."
Cassie's hand fell away from Alys's shoulder as though it had been burned. Tears spilled down her cheeks in silence stretched, then broke with a choked sob. "Jane?" she whispered. "Rose? You told us the girls ran away. You told us they'd found families." Her voice rose, cracking. "You gave them away. You let those animals take them."
Alys reached for Cassie's hand, but Cassie jerked back. "I had to!" Alys cried, defensive now, her voice rising to match the girl's anguish. "Do you think this is some song where a brave knight rides in and everything turns out right? This is Flea Bottom! If I didn't hand over one child, they would have dragged all of you out into the street and sold the lot! At least this way most of you stayed safe, fed, alive!"
Arthur rose slowly from the chair. The movement drew both women's eyes. His face was stone, but the hand that rested on Sunset's pommel trembled with barely leashed violence. He remembered waking in silk sheets that stank of perfume and fluids, remembered the taste of Red Sleep on his tongue, remembered months of his life stolen while Lysa laughed and counted her coin. The thought that Alys had done the same thing to children who trusted her made bile rise in his throat.
"You sold them," he said. "You looked those girls in the eyes every day and then you handed them over to be used."
Alys flinched as though he had struck her. "I kept the rest alive!" she shouted, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. "Every time I let one go it carved a piece of my heart out, Arthur. But if I hadn't, every child here would be dead or worse by now. I did what I had to do!"
Cassie pressed both hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Arthur took one step toward Alys, fingers tightening on the hilt. The air in the room felt suddenly thick.
Cassie saw the look in his eyes and scrambled to her feet. She threw herself between them, palms against Arthur's chest. "Arthur, no. Please." Her voice shook, but she did not move. "Please don't."
He stared down at her, jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped.
"I know she deserves to be punished," she whispered, tears still falling. "But If you kill her tonight, what happens to the little ones tomorrow? Who feeds them? Who keeps the next gang from burning this place to the ground?" She swallowed. "I hate what she did. Gods know I hate it. But... if someone had put a knife to Meggie's throat and told me to choose one life against thirty, I might have done the same thing." The admission seemed to cost her everything; her voice broke on the last word.
Arthur's let go of the swords hilt, but the urge to draw it again burned behind his eyes. He looked past Cassie to Alys, who sat hunched and weeping against the wall, then back to Cassie's pleading face.
"Please," Cassie said again, lNot tonight. Not like this."
The silence stretched until Arthur felt it might snap him in half. At last he exhaled through his teeth, a sound almost like a snarl. "I need air," he muttered. He turned on his heel and strode down the corridor toward the small room that had become his. The door shut behind him with a dull thud that echoed through the ruined hall.
Inside the room he leaned his back against the wall and slid down until he sat on the floor, knees drawn up, hands buried in his hair. He stayed there long after the house fell silent, breathing hard, trying to force the rage into something colder and more useful. Tomorrow he would decide what happened to Alys. Tonight he only knew that if he stayed in that hall one moment longer he would have done something he couldn't have taken back.
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STATUS MENU
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Name: Arthur of Harrowfield
Class: Farmer
Heritage: Valyrian / Stormlands
Age: 16
Level: 4
Unallocated Stat Points: 0
Title(s): [None]
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COMBAT ATTRIBUTES
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Strength: 16
Dexterity: 8
Constitution: 17 (+25%)
Intelligence: 4
Perception: 4
Luck: 3
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TRAITS
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[Comely]
You've got the kind of face that gets you smiled at, flirted with, and forgiven for things you probably should not be.
[Sword Prodigy]
You wield a blade like it belongs in your hand—faster learning speed, tighter reflexes, and better execution with swords.
[Sharp Ears]
Your hearing is unnaturally acute. You can detect faint sounds, whispers, and movement even from across the room.
[Blood of Valyria]
Your veins run silver and fire. Whether by birth or by bed, the Old Blood knows its own. Grants heightened affinity with magic, dragons, and Valyrian relics. Also makes you just a little more unhinged than you'd like to admit.
[Dexterous]
Your hands and fingers are exceptionally nimble. Tasks requiring precision, balance, and control are performed with greater ease. You are less likely to fumble, and you can learn skills involving fine motor work—such as swordplay, crafting, or stealth—with increased speed and efficiency.
[Linguist]
You possess an instinctive grasp of language. You can understand and communicate in any spoken tongue once exposed to it, even those long thought extinct. You also possess a natural affinity for learning magical languages, runic systems, and coded enchantments, allowing you to interpret and pronounce them with uncanny precision.
[Gift]
You may transfer one of your traits or skills to another individual. The recipient will receive a weaker version, but the skill or trait will be permanently removed from you. No duplication is possible.
[Inventive Genius]
You gain the instinctive ability to imagine, design, and improve tools, weapons, structures, and mechanisms far beyond the understanding of your time. Your mind naturally sees flaws and solutions. You feel a compulsion to tinker, adapt, and create. Every item you hold, every structure you see whispers possibilities of how to make it better.
[Demon Back]
The secret to overwhelming strength lies in the back. When the body is pushed past its limits, your muscles lock into a terrifying alignment that resembles the form of a demon. Strikes delivered in this state carry far greater force, and your strength briefly surpasses human limits.
⚠ Overuse places extreme strain on the body and risks permanent injury.
[Weapon Bond — Sword]
Your first true blade has become an extension of yourself. Each swing flows more naturally, precision improves, and your connection to sword styles grows stronger over time.
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SKILLS
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[Observe]
[Carpentry] (10/100) Apprentice)
[Conditioning] (25/100) [+25% Constitution]
└─ Recovery (Sub-skill)
[Novacaine] (54/100)
[Cooking] (10/100) (Novice)
[Tracker] (8/100) (Legendary)
[Axe Mastery] (49/100) (Novice)
[Carnal Knowledge] (65/100) (Adept)
[Shibukawa-ryū Jujutsu] (22/100) (Novice)
[Lumbering] (55/100) (Novice)
[Falling Star Style] (7/100) (Apprentice)
[Water Dancing Style] (0/100) (Novice)
[Herbal Insight] (Unique)
[Horse Riding] (10/100) (Novice)
[Poison Resistance] (0/100) (Journeyman)
[Massage] (0/100) (Master)
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(AN: So Alys has revealed herself to be not the kindhearted woman that they thought or maybe she is? Maybe this is the true extent kindess can go when confronted with a place like Kings Landing, anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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