(AN: This is going to be the last chapter for a while. Mostly in part due to the fact that I'm only twenty chapters ahead now and need to build them up again. I won't lie though it does get annoying reading the same comments over and over again. One thing I feel like I need to emphasise is this isn't a self-insert. Arthur's character is written from the POV of a dumbshit peasant. 'So telling me oh he's so stupid he should have done this,' is in itself a stupid comment.
'This is so depressing he just keeps suffering.'
If his suffering were in any way realistic then you'd be having a level of suffering not seen since Metamorphosis. The fact he manages to win eventually even if he has short term losses is the most unrealistic part of this story. He is at the bottom of the food chain, he has to work hard to rise above his station, and yes that'll involve a lot of hardship.
'The world rebalancing system.'
Honestly I feel like this one's a bit ridiculous, it sounds like you're getting upset because the games too hard. Not once have I seen a comment that has offered valid critique on why this shouldn't be in the story. What I think it narrows down to is that the MC isn't getting overpowered at the rate you want him too. Shame. But ASOIAF is a low tier world when it comes to power, Arthur will eventually outclass everyone in the known world. This adds more challenges for him to overcome as well as adds more ways to make canon interesting.
Adding Judge Holden for example, who will definitely help make things more interesting.
Anyway that's about my rant over.
If you don't like this story for the reasons mentioned above I'm not gonna debate with you, so don't bother trying to debate me. Like what do you want me to say? Please like my story?
To everyone else this doesn't affect sorry for taking up your time complaining. Enjoy the chapter. )
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A man pulled his hood lower as he rode into the village on a horse that had seen better days, its ribs showing faintly beneath the saddle. People paused in doorways or slowed their steps as he passed, eyes flicking to the hooded figure before they hurried on, pulling children closer or finding sudden reasons to look away.
He dismounted near the center of the village, tying the horse to a post outside the small inn that served as the heart of the large village. His cloak was stained with road dust, and his boots left prints in the mud as he moved from shop to shop. No one greeted him and conversations died when he approached.
But he didn't care he was only here for one reason.
Inside the inn first, he pushed through the door and stood in the common room where a few men nursed ale at the tables. The innkeeper froze behind the bar, cloth in hand, while the stranger drew a folded parchment from inside his cloak. He unfolded it on the counter, revealing a charcoal sketch of a young man's face.
"Seen this boy?" the stranger asked.
The innkeeper leaned forward cautiously, squinting at the drawing before shaking his head. "Can't say I have," he muttered, backing away as if the parchment itself might bite. The few patrons glanced over, then returned to their drinks in silence.
The stranger folded the picture without a word and left, the door swinging shut behind him.
He moved to the blacksmith next. The smith paused mid-swing, hammer raised, as the hooded man entered and placed the sketch on the anvil. "This lad pass through?" he asked.
The smith wiped sweat from his brow, studying the face before grunting. "Might've seen someone like him a while back. Bruised up, kept to himself. I believe he sold me an axe and bought a knife... I can't remember too clearly."
"Where'd he go?"
"Don't know. East road, maybe."
The stranger nodded and departed, the smith watching until he disappeared down the lane.
Shop after shop yielded the same: blank stares, quick shakes of heads, nervous shrugs. The baker claimed no memory, the stable hand swore no strangers had bought feed, and the miller busied himself with his sacks rather than look at the drawing. The village seemed to hold its breath while the man walked through their roads. Finally he entered the tailor's shop, a narrow building with bolts of cloth stacked along the walls. A woman in her middle years stood behind it, mending a shirt with quick stitches. She looked up as the door opened, her needle pausing mid-air when she saw the hooded figure.
He approached the counter without preamble, unfolding the parchment and laying it flat where she could see. "This boy," he said. "Seen him?"
The woman set her work aside slowly, leaning over the drawing with eyes that narrowed in recognition. She hesitated, glancing toward the door as if weighing whether to speak.
"Yes," she said finally. "He came in a while back. Bruised and banged up, poor lad. Said he was attacked by wolves on the road."
The stranger's gloved hand tightened slightly on the counter's edge. "Where did he go?"
The woman shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twisting the thread in her lap. "I... I'm not sure I should—"
His other hand slammed down on the counter suddenly, and the impact revealed a dagger driven point-first into the wood between them, its blade buried an inch deep. The woman's eyes widened in terror, a small gasp escaping her as she stumbled back against the shelves.
"East," she whispered quickly with her hands raised. "Probably heading to King's Landing. That's where all the travelers go when they pass through here, looking for work or... or whatever brings them to the city."
The stranger held her gaze for a long moment, then eased the dagger free with a smooth pull and sheathed it beneath his cloak. "Thank you," he said flatly, folding the parchment and tucking it away. He turned and left the shop without another word, the door closing behind him as the woman sank into her chair with shaking hands.
Outside, the stranger stepped into the road and placed two fingers to his lips, letting out a sharp whistle that cut through the village quiet. Moments later, a dog trotted from around a corner. It padded straight to the man's heel, falling into step as he untied his horse and mounted.
With a final glance around the uneasy village, the hooded stranger rode out the way he had come, the dog loping alongside while village folk watched from windows and doorways until both man and beast disappeared down the King's Road.
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"You are a complete moron!" Cassie said loudly.
Arthur glanced up briefly from the workbench, where he secured the final hook to the rope with a twist, and sighed deeply while he set the tool down. "It will be fine," he assured her, wiping his hands on a rag that hung from his belt. "There is hardly any danger if I plan it right."
Cassie stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she gestured toward the grappling hook that lay half-assembled on the wooden top. "Hardly any danger?" she repeated incredulously. "You are breaking into the Red Keep, Arthur, the home of the royal family where kings and queens walk the halls. They will kill you on sight if they catch you."
Arthur straightened from the bench, turning fully toward her while he rested his hands on the edge of the table behind him. "Not if I get into Mira's chambers," he explained calmly, though tension lingered in his shoulders. "If I can do that, then it won't matter if I'm caught she can at least speak on my behalf and I can at least tell her I am alive and waiting for her."
Cassie shook her head, frustration clear in the way she paced a short distance across the shed floor. "What if she is not there?" she asked, stopping to face him again. "What if you climb all that way and find an empty room?"
Arthur picked up the grappling hook once more, testing the strength of the knots with a tug. "I will leave a note," he replied simply.
Cassie narrowed her eyes further, skepticism etching her features. "Do you even know your letters?" she questioned, her hands moving to her hips.
Arthur set the hook down again and crossed the space between them in two steps. "It would be a stupid plan if I did not," he commented dryly, pulling her into his arms with gentle insistence.
Cassie resisted for a heartbeat, her body tense against his, but she softened as he held her close. "It is a stupid plan regardless," she murmured against his chest, her voice muffled while worry laced every word.
Arthur hugged her tighter, one hand stroking her back in slow circles while he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I will be fine," he assured her softly. "I will not get caught, Cassie. The walls are high, but the grappling hook will get me over. A quick message to Mira, and I slip out the same way."
She pulled back enough to look up at him, tears gathering in her eyes as she searched his face. "You say that as if it is simple," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "But what if a guard spots you on the climb? What if Mira's chambers are watched, or she has moved? If they take you, they will hang you or worse. I cannot lose you now, Arthur, not after everything."
Arthur cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled over her cheeks. "I know the risks," he admitted quietly, "and they scare me too. But Mira waits in there, thinking I might be dead or lost forever, I have to reach her somehow. This is the only way." He leaned down and kissed her gently, his lips lingering on hers until she relaxed against him. "Trust me, Cassie. I will come back to you."
She clung to him for a long moment, her arms wrapped around his waist while sobs shook her shoulders. "Promise me you will be careful," she whispered finally, pulling back with reluctance. "No risks beyond what you must take."
"I promise," Arthur said solemnly, kissing her forehead once more.
Cassie nodded at last, acceptance settling over her though sadness lingered in her eyes. "Finish what you need," she said, stepping toward the door. "But do not leave without saying goodbye. I will wait in the hall."
They kissed again before she turned and slipped out of the shed, the door closing softly behind her.
Arthur stood motionless for a breath, staring at the door where she had left, then he turned back to the workbench. He picked up the grappling hook and added the final wraps of rope around the iron prongs, securing them with knots that he tested twice for strength. "Done," he said to the empty room, a small smile crossing his lips as he held the device up to inspect it.
His gaze shifted then to the heavy book that rested beside the hook on the bench, its leather cover stamped with symbols that still puzzled him in places even if he understood them. This tome formed the crux of his plan, the element that would turn a desperate climb into a viable entry. The alchemy text he had obtained through the system's token held knowledge from another world, and he had devoted the last two days to poring over its pages, deciphering the dense script and diagrams that explained transmutations of matter.
Much of it remained beyond his grasp—complex formulas for turning lead into gold or air into fire that required skills, tools and ingredients he did not possess. Yet one section he had been able to learn with his persistent study; a basic transmutation circle for converting stone into sand. The process involved drawing an array with chalk on the target surface with symbols at each corner, and putting a small amount of blood as a catalyst to activate the change, while focusing intent to direct the alteration. With this, he could create a doorway through the Red Keep's outer wall, slipping inside without having to actually go anywhere heavily guarded.
Arthur breathed heavily as he closed the book, his chest rising and falling. This path carried danger in every step; the climb to reach a suitable spot, the alchemy that might fail if he drew the circle wrong, the guards who could spot him at any moment. Yet he had to proceed, for Mira waited beyond those walls, and delay only prolonged their separation.
He gathered the book, the grappling hook, and a stick of chalk into his pack, slinging it over his shoulder before he stepped out into the garden.
...
Arthur left the orphanage as the sun started its descent toward the horizon. He had said his goodbyes inside the main hall earlier, hugging Jory and ruffling Meggie's hair while Alys pressed a bundle of bread and cheese into his hands. Cassie had walked him to the gate, her arms wrapped around him in a final embrace that lingered until he gently pulled away, promising again that he would return before dawn. Now he walked alone through the winding streets of Flea Bottom, his pack slung over one shoulder with the grappling hook and other equipment tucked securely inside.
He moved quickly toward the Iron Gate, which marked the boundary between the city proper and the open lands along the Blackwater Rush. Guards at the gate barely glanced at him as he passed through, one of thousands who came and went each day, and soon the walls fell behind him while the path turned to sand that led along the coast. He followed the rocky line where sand met cliff, his boots sinking slightly into the damp ground with every step.
The massive rock cliff that supported the Red Keep rose ahead after an hour of walking, its sheer face towering three hundred feet or more into the fading sky. Arthur stopped at the base, craning his neck to take in the height that seemed to pierce the clouds, he had to admit he was a little intimidated. Jagged outcrops dotted the surface, offering potential handholds, yet the wind whipping off the bay carried salt that stung his eyes and made him wonder if he'd fall. When he was younger, climbing trees or barn roofs had often ended with scraped knees or falls that left him breathless, and this wall dwarfed anything he had attempted before.
He hesitated there for several minutes, staring upward while doubt whispered in his mind, but the thought of Mira waiting somewhere atop that height pushed him forward. Arthur breathed heavily, drawing air deep into his lungs to calm his nerves, and reached for the first holfd. He pulled himself up while his foot scrambled for purchase on a lower ledge, and began the climb.
Wind gusted stronger the higher he went, tugging at his cloak and threatening to unbalance him, he pressed his body flat against the rock whenever it intensified. At fifty feet he risked a glance downward, the beach now a distant strip where waves looked like mere ripples, and vertigo hit him suddenly, his stomach churning as if he might fall at any moment. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing through his nose until the sickness passed, and forced himself to continue without looking back.
Higher still, around a hundred feet, his fingers slipped on a wet patch of moss that clung to a crevice, and his body lurched sideways while his heart leaped into his throat. One hand clung desperately to a narrow ledge, his nails scraping stone as he dangled for a terrifying second, but he swung his free arm upward and caught another hold that held firm. He pulled himself securely with shaking arms while pressing his forehead against the cliff while sweat dripped from his brow, and whispered curses under his breath before resuming the climb.
The sun hovered just above the horizon when he finally reached the base of the castle wall, which rose seamlessly from the cliff's top in smooth stone that offered fewer natural grips. Arthur clung to the edge, breathing heavily as his chest burned from exertion, and relief washed over him that he had made the initial ascent before full darkness fell. The wall presented a harder challenge, its surface mortared tightly with only occasional seams or protrusions, but he unslung the grappling hook from his pack and used its iron prongs like picks to chisel small holds where he could.
He climbed painstakingly, driving the hook into cracks and pulling himself upward inch by inch while his arms screamed in protest. Sweat soaked his tunic completely, and his breaths came in ragged gasps that echoed off the stone. At a point where the wall curved slightly, he swung the grappling hook upward with all his remaining strength, the rope uncoiling as it arced toward a lantern holster mounted high above. The prongs caught with a metallic clang that made him wince, but the hold held firm when he tested it.
Arthur relaxed then, his body sagging against the rope while he dangled freely for the first time, the tension easing from his limbs as the line supported his weight. He breathed deeply, wiping sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, and allowed himself a moment to rest before the final push. In that quiet pause, realization struck him suddenly... he had no idea where Mira's chambers lay within the vast keep. Without a map or guide, he could wander halls for hours without finding her.
What was wrong with him?!
Arthur slammed his palm against the wall in frustration, calling himself an idiot under his breath. He always charged straight ahead when it came to Mira, driven by emotion rather than thought, with no plan beyond the immediate goal and no preparations for what followed. Even now, wisdom dictated that he climb down and return another time with better knowledge, perhaps after questioning servants or observing from afar.
Yet he could not bring himself to retreat, the knowledge that Mira waited so close compelling him to press on despite the risks. "Mira," he whispered to the stone, "where are you?"
After a moment of silence he felt something.
A subtle feeling tugged at him then, an inexplicable nudge that drew his gaze upward toward a section of the wall slightly to his right, as if an invisible thread pulled him in that direction.
Arthur blinked, confusion flickering through him, but he followed the impulse and climbed along the rope until he reached a spot that felt right in a way he could not explain. He secured the grappling hook higher and pulled out the chalk from his pack, drawing a rectangular outline on the stone with careful strokes that formed a doorway shape. At each corner he sketched a five-pointed star enclosed within a circle, then connected them with lines that met at the center of the rectangle. He nipped his finger with his mouth, drawing a bead of blood that he smeared on each star and the central intersection.
"Okay," he murmured to himself, "now focus and intent." He placed his palm on the central star and commanded the stone to turn into sand, willing the change with every ounce of concentration he possessed.
Blue electricity sparked suddenly along the chalk lines, the symbols lighting up with a bluish-white glow that illuminated the wall for a heartbeat before the stone within the rectangle crumbled away into fine sand that the wind scattered into the night. Arthur stared in disbelief at the opening he had created. "That was incredible!" He said louder than he meant to as he saw the otherworldly force work.
He stepped through into a dark narrow staircase, slashing ghe air with his hand as it felt musty with the scent of stone and dust that suggested long disuse. Arthur fumbled in his pack for the prepared torch, striking flint to ignite it until flames flickered to life and cast dancing shadows along the walls. The passage stretched upward in small spirals, so narrow that his shoulders brushed both sides as he moved, he wondered briefly what purpose such a small staircase served within the keep.
Uncertainty gripped him at the first landing, where the stairs branched into corridors that twisted away into darkness without lights or signs. He paused for a moment when another nudge pulled him toward the left passage, an unexplainable certainty that urged him forward. Arthur followed it without question, navigating through the labyrinth of narrow halls.
The nudges guided him at every turn, steering him toward paths that ascended gradually through the keep. He finally reached what appeared to be a solid wall but revealed itself as a concealed door upon closer inspection, complete with a small peephole carved at eye level.
Arthur peered through it into a vast chamber beyond, furnished with heavy drapes and a massive bed where a woman lay sleeping under silk covers, her hair catching the faint moonlight in shades that looked blonde in the dark. Excitement surged through him. "That had to be Mira!" He whispered to himself, and he searched the wall for the opening mechanism until his fingers found a hidden latch that clicked softly when pressed.
The door swung inward silently, and Arthur slipped into the room with his torch extinguished to avoid startling Mira when she woke up. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, providing just enough illumination to navigate the space so he didn't cause noise that might alert guards in the castle. He crossed the rug-covered floor carefully, avoiding a table and a scattered chair, until he reached the bed where Mira slept peacefully.
Arthur eased onto the mattress beside her, his heart pounding with anticipation as he reached out to wake her gently. His hands started at her hips, his fingers kneading with pressure that drew from his [Massage] skill, each stroke designed to rouse pleasure. He moved upward along her sides, thumbs circling in patterns that made her stir with soft sighs, her body responding even in sleep.
"Mira..." Arthur whispered.
Mira breathed heavily as his touch intensified, moans escaping her lips while he leaned in to kiss her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. Arthur pressed his hardening length against her bum through the covers, grinding slowly, something she returned by rubbing against him. He rubbed her thighs, kneading the flesh beneath his hands and making her arch her back as her breathing got heavier. When he moved his hands up her night dress and through the forest of curls between her thighs he could feel that she was wet. Her entire sex was drenched they even began to pour down her anus and soak the bed. He began to slowly rub her sex still using his [Massage] skill which seemed to work incredibly well.
Her breathing got heavier and heavier and her moaning started to get louder and louder. Eventually he brought her to an intense climax with caresses that left her shuddering, "uhhhh..." her quiet moan filling the room while pleasure coursed through her body. Arthur's hands then slid upward over her stomach toward what he expected to find full breasts that he remembered fondly yet his fingers encountered average curves instead, smaller and firmer than Mira's.
'No...' Arthur thought, confusion turning to dread as he paused. He pulled back slightly, allowing more moonlight to fall across her head, and horror gripped him when he saw her hair was not blonde but silver-gold.
No, no, no, no, no.
He knew only one family carried that mark, and panic surged as he realized he had entered the chamber of a Targaryen princess and touched her in ways that condemned men to death.
The woman turned toward him in her post-climax haze, her eyes fluttering open before widening in shock as she registered the stranger beside her.
No, no, no, no, no, no.
A notification flashed in his vision then.
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[NEW QUEST RECEIVED]
GOOD LUCK, PAL
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Description:
You have just been caught in the room of Princess Rhaella Targaryen. You have touched her, a crime that even lords would be executed for. How are you going to get yourself out of this one, pal?
Objectives:
- Escape
- Convince Rhaella to let you go
Optional Objectives:
- Finish what you started
Rewards:
- Otherworld Token
- +5 Luck
Optional Rewards:
- Trait: Don Juan
Failure:
- Execution
- Imprisonment
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(AN: Damn Arthur, you're a bit of an idiot but tbh that's how he's supposed to be. He has pretty low intelligence which is only decreased when considering his love for his wife. But he's only young he'll learn his lessons. That's if he can survive through next chapter. Tbh I'm fine killing Arthur and making Lunk the new MC. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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