Arthur stumbled through the rain-soaked alleys of King's Landing, the cobblestones slick beneath his bare feet, he was barely able to hold himself up as he shimmied against the wall. The world tilted, his vision blurring as blood seeped from the wound in his stomach, red rivulets mixing with the rain. Each step was a battle, his legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion, pain, and the cold grasp of the stranger. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to keep moving, he wouldn't be able to save Mira if he died and there was no way in the seven hells he would fail at that.
His hearing was the first to leave him as the sound of the city faded to a distant drone, the shouts of pursuit swallowed by the downpour and a static, after that his knees buckled, sending him crashing into a pile of crates in a narrow alleyway. Then he lost his vision, but nonetheless he kept crawling, though soon he couldn't even do that and darkness swallowed him whole.
...
Voices broke through the haze as he slipped in and out of consciousness, faint at first, like whispers from a dream. "Quick, lads over here!" a boy's voice called.
Arthur tried to move at that voice. He thought that Karl and the others had found him. But he couldn't move, he couldn't even stay awake.
"There's a man, hurt bad!" The boys voice spoke again.
"Bring him in, out of the rain!" a woman's voice answered, cutting through the fog in Arthur's mind. "Hurry, before he bleeds out!"
Hands grabbed him, dragging him across the wet stones. Arthur groaned, his head lolling as his body was lifted, the pain in his stomach flaring with each jolt. The voices blurred again, fading into darkness as he slipped under darkness once more.
He came to briefly, still unable to open his eyes. He was inside now, the air smelled of damp wool and herbs, and he could feel the warmth from a hearth. Boys' voices surrounded him, their words overlapping. "He's cut deep Matron, look at the blood!" one said in a panic. "Will he die?"
"Hush, Jory," the matron replied. "Fetch the boiled water and clean rags. We'll do what we can." She pressed her hands pressed against his stomach, peeling back the soaked bandage, and Arthur screamed, his body jerking as a needle pierced his flesh, the pain sharp even through the haze. "Hold him still, Thom," she ordered, and smaller hands pinned his shoulders.
Arthur faded again, the world dissolving into black, only snippets of sound pulling him back. "The wound's clean, but it's deep," the matron said. "He's lost too much blood. If infection sets in..." Her words trailed off, and Arthur slipped under once more, the pain a dull roar in the void.
The next time he surfaced, heat consumed him, his skin burning as if he stood in a forge. A fever had taken hold, his body shaking with chills despite the sweat soaking the rough blanket beneath him. The matron's voice was softer now, laced with resignation. "It's up to the gods now," she said. "We've done what we can, I've cleaned the wound, packed it with yarrow. Keep the compresses cool and pray to the mother for him."
A child's voice whimpered nearby. "He looks like my brother did... before."
Arthur tried to speak, to ask for Mira, but his tongue felt like lead, and darkness claimed him again.
Time blurred, hours or days passing in fragments of consciousness. A girl's voice broke through his haze at times, it was soft and sweet, singing him a lullaby that drifted like a breeze over his fevered mind. "By the river, by the stream, where the willows softly dream..." Her words were gentle, her touch cooler as she pressed a damp cloth to his forehead, her fingers brushing his hair back. "Sleep, ser," she whispered between verses. "You're strong you'll pull through." Arthur wanted to open his eyes, to see her face, but his lids were too heavy, and the song carried him back to the dark, a fleeting comfort against the burning pain he felt.
When he finally woke, nearly a week later, the world was bearable again, though his body felt like it had been dragged through the seven hells. He lay on a narrow cot in a small, cluttered room. A single window let in pale morning light, revealing shelves lined with jars of dried plants and a wooden table scarred from years of use. His stomach throbbed, the wound stitched tight with coarse thread, fresh bandages wrapped around it, though his shoulder and thigh still ached. He was alive, though, and that was more than he'd expected.
He shifted, wincing as he sat up, his head pounding but at leasst clear of the fever's fog. The room was empty, but footsteps approached from beyond the door, which made Arthur tense snd look for a weapon. A woman entered, older, her grey hair tied back in a bun, her apron stained with what looked like broth and blood. She carried a tray with a bowl of steaming porridge and a cup of water.
"You're awake," she said, her voice warm but cautious as she set the tray on the table. "Thought we'd lost you to the Stranger, lad. I'm Matron Alys, keeper of this orphanage. My boys found you in the alley, bleeding like a stuck pig. What's your name?"
"Arthur," he said, his voice hoarse, his throat dry as he reached for the water, the matron saw this and gave him the cup. He drank deeply, the coolness soothing the rawness. "Thank you... for saving me."
Alys nodded, her eyes sharp as she studied him. "You're lucky Jory's got a soft heart, saw you collapse and wouldn't leave you to die. That wound in your gut was a nasty one, but we stitched it clean. Fever nearly took you, though. Our girl, Cassie sat by you,and cared for you through your fever."
"Where am I?" he asked, glancing around the modest room.
"Orphanage in Flea Bottom," Alys replied, handing him the porridge. "Eat slow, you've had naught but broth for days. We're not rich, but we don't let folk die if we can help it."
He spooned the porridge, the warmth spreading through him, though his mind was already racing. Mira. He had to find her, had to get to Willem's manse. Madame Lysa was his only lead, but the brothel was a death trap now. Karl, the gold cloaks, they'd be waiting. He set the bowl down, his hands shaking slightly. "I need to go," he said, swinging his legs off the cot, pain lancing through his stomach.
Alys frowned, stepping closer. "You're in no state to wander. You'll rip those stitches and bleed out before you reach the gate. Rest lad and tell me who you're running from, and maybe I can help."
Arthur shook his head, his voice low. "No one can help. My wife... she's out there, taken by a man who betrayed me. I have to find her."
Alys's expression softened, but her voice stayed firm. "You won't find her dead. Stay and recover, eat, let me check your wounds. Whoever's after you won't find you here, my boys know how to keep quiet."
He hesitated, the exhaustion pulling at him like a tide. Mira's face flashed in his mind, her smile, her touch, the way she'd clung to him in the forest. He couldn't stop, but he couldn't collapse again while trying to save her. "Fine," he said finally. "But when im recovered I'm leaving."
Alys nodded, satisfied for now. "Good. Rest, Arthur. You'll need your strength."
Arthur leaned back on the cot, the porridge sitting heavy in his gut, his body sore but still kicking, he let his eyes close for a second, exhaustion pulling at him hard. Though before he could get some rest a notification popped up in his head.
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[QUEST COMPLETED] ESCAPE THE ANCHOR
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Description:
You scrapped your way out of the Rusty Anchor, dodging capture and leaving that den in the dust. You didn't get your stuff back or sneak out quiet, but you're alive, that's a win for now.
Objective:
• Get out of the Rusty Anchor before they grab you. ✅
Bonus Objectives:
• Slip out without being hurt. ❌
• Grab your stolen gear before leaving. ❌
Rewards:
• 100 XP
• Random Weapon
Failure Avoided:
• Getting caught
• Ending up a slave
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Arthur let out a breath, a tiny bit of relief hitting him. He'd made it out, just barely, but it didn't feel like much without Mira. Another notification flashed, telling him about an item in his inventory. He focused on it, and the details rolled out in his mind.
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[ITEM RECEIVED]: SUNSET
A sword forged of meteoric iron, akin to the legendary blade Dawn. Its edge gleams with an orange hue when light strikes it. This blade requires no maintenance and will never dull, its edge eternal.
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Arthur's jaw dropped a bit. A blade like Dawn? That was huge. He almost wanted to pull it out right there to look at it, to weird it, but another notification lit up again.
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[QUEST COMPLETED] SWORD PRODIGY WITH NO SWORD
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Description:
A prodigy without a blade is no prodigy at all. You have claimed your first true sword and taken the first step toward becoming the swordsman you were meant to be. Steel now answers your call, and your path begins in earnest.
Objective:
• Get a solid sword. ✅
Rewards:
• [Passive] Weapon Bond (Sword): Boosts your skill a bit with the first sword you use a lot.
• Skill Unlocked: Water Dancing Style (0/100) (Novice)
Failure Avoided:
• Being defenseless
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Arthur blinked, a little thrown. That quest?, he'd forgotten all about it, something from way back in Harrowfield, despite it not being that long ago it still felt like a lifetime he'd been away from that place. Water Dancing Style sounded interesting, like those Braavosi fighters he'd heard about in the stories, but it didn't fill the hole in his chest. Mira was still out there, and he was stuck here, useless. He tried to get up, pain shooting through his gut where the stitches pulled, and he flopped back down with a groan.
He lay there, feeling like a total failure, hating himself for screwing up. He'd dragged Mira out of Harrowfield, swore he'd keep her safe, give her a better life, and now she was gone, stuck with that bastard Willem, probably scared shitless. What was the point if he couldn't even do that much? His eyes stung, tears trying to push through, but he was too damn tired to cry. He fought to keep them open, but his lids were heavy, and before he knew it, sleep hit him hard, Mira's name stuck on a loop in his head.
When he woke up, a soft voice was humming through the room, a sweet little tune that felt like a warm blanket. "By the river, by the stream, where the willows softly dream..." A girl sat by his cot, stitching up a tunic. Her black hair fell in waves down her back, catching the morning light, and her eyes were a bright vibrant green and were locked onto her work. She was gorgeous, maybe a couple years older than him, with a slim face and pale skin that looked almost ghostly in the light. Her body was lean, not curvy like Mira's, but she far suited her body more than she would Mira's she looked delicate and ethereal like a doll.
She stopped singing when he stirred, flashing a warm smile. "Sorry if I woke you," she said. "Didn't think you'd be up yet."
Arthur shook his head, propping himself up a bit, wincing as his stitches tugged. "Nah, it was a beautiful song," he croaked. "You're the one who looked after me when I was asleep aren't you?"
She nodded, setting the tunic down. "Mhm, that's me. My names Cassie. How'd you know it was me?"
"I heard your singing," he said. "It stuck with me I suppose. Thanks for helping keep me alive."
Cassie's grin got bigger, her eyes lighting up. "No problem. You were a mess when Jory dragged you in. Matron Alys was the one who treated you, I just did what I could." She got up and leaned in close, pressing her hand to his forehead, her touch felt nice and made his face heat up a little. "Hmm, still warm, but the fever's gone, thank the gods."
She stepped back, grabbed a cup, and filled it with water from a jug on the table, handing it over. "Drink slow," she said. "I can see you're tougher than you look, but don't push it."
Arthur took the cup, their fingers brushing, and sipped, the water easing his dry throat. "Thanks," he said again, feeling a bit better. He looked at her closer—she was a real beauty, that slim face and green eyes like something out of a bard's song. There was also something about her, like she didn't belong here. If she wasn't in that patched dress, he'd have bet she was some noble's daughter.
"You got lucky," Cassie said, picking up her needle again. "That gut wound? Most guys would've been dead by dawn, bleeding out in Flea Bottom's gutters. Never seen anyone bounce back that fast from cuts like yours."
Arthur touched the stitches on his stomach, red and sore but healing up. "Maybe the gods were looking out," he said, knowing it was his Recovery skill doing the work.
Cassie grinned, her needle flying through the fabric. "Gotta be not many would've made it."
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[NEW QUEST RECEIVED] THE DAYS THAT VANISHED
Description:
You woke up in an orphanage, alive when you should've been dead, your head all fuzzy. They say you were found half-dead in Flea Bottom's gutters and patched up. But what went down between that night at the Rusty Anchor and now? Figure out the truth.
Objectives:
• Find out how you got here
• Talk to the caretaker who fixed you up
Bonus Objective:
• Get back any stuff you had when they found you
Rewards:
• +25 XP
• Minor Item (Random Trinket)
Failure:
• Nothing
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Arthur brushed it off, his mind too fried to even consider quests at the moment. He lay back staring at the ceiling while Cassie's song started up again,. He shifted, wincing as his stitches pulled, and turned his head toward her. She sat by the cot, her needle moving quickly through the tunic, her green eyes fixed intently on the stitches she was setting.
"Who actually runs this place?" Arthur asked. "I heard Jory found me, but who's in charge? And how many people are actually living here?"
Cassie paused her sewing, setting the tunic gently on her lap, and finally looked up at him. "This is Matron Alys's orphanage; it's been hers for nigh on twenty years. She basically takes in any stray that lands on her doorstep; orphans, runaways, anyone with nowhere else to go. Jory's one of the older boys, maybe fourteen, and he's got sharp eyes for spotting trouble; he's the one who found you in the gutter, bleeding like a butchered hog. All in all, we've got about twelve kids here, ranging from babes to near-grown, plus Alys and a couple of us older ones who help manage things."
Arthur nodded slowly, his hand resting on the bandage over his stomach. "How the seven hells does she afford to keep it running?"
Cassie shrugged, the motion subtle, before picking up her needle again. "Alys is a survivor; she just scrapes by. Sometimes a lord or lady will toss her a stag or two when they're feeling particularly pious, but for the most part, she earns it by selling herbs and mending clothes for people who can barely afford it themselves. She's got a real knack for healing, too. She's saved plenty of people worse off than you, believe me. The kids help out where they can, running errands, sometimes nicking bread from the market when the times are really lean. We definitely don't starve, but no one here is feasting either."
He took that in, glancing around the small, spare room—jars of dried plants sat on rough shelves, the table was scarred, and the single window let in only a pale, grudging light. "Sounds like a brutally hard life, honestly. Why do you stay?"
"Where else would I go?" Cassie countered, completely devoid of bitterness. "I was left here as a babe. Alys raised me, taught me how to sew, how to sing that old tune, and how to keep the little ones fed and occupied. Out there, on my own in Flea Bottom? I'd either be whoring or dead by now, plain and simple. Here, I have a bed, a roof, and I feel like I actually have a purpose. It isn't much, but for people like us, it's enough."
Arthur's jaw tightened, the thought of Mira, who was now trapped in some manse with Willem, making his blood hot. "Has anyone ever just disappeared? Someone like me, who was brought in hurt, or maybe someone who was forced to leave?"
Cassie's eyes flicked to him. "Some leave when they're old enough, they join the Night's Watch, or maybe find work that pays at the docks. Others... well, they just vanish. Flea Bottom's cruel like that, and there's no law down here. Alys does her best to keep us safe, but she can't watch everyone all the time. You, though, you're the first person we've pulled in half-dead in a long time. Most don't even manage to make it through the first night."
Arthur nodded slowly as Cassie's words sank in. "I see," he said. He shifted on the cot, the pain from his stitches flaring, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp stab in his stomach. His legs shook, but he braced a hand on the wall, determined to stand.
Cassie was on her feet in an instant, her hands out to stop him. "What are you doing? You're not healed enough to be moving about like some fool knight!"
"I've gotta get my strength back," Arthur said, shaking his head as he steadied himself. "Can't just lie here."
She jabbed a finger at his chest, her green eyes narrowing. "You're being ridiculous, Arthur. You'll rip those stitches and bleed all over my floor. Sit back down."
He ignored her, forcing himself upright, his breath hitching as he sat up fully. Pain burned through him, but he clenched his fists and took a shaky step, his legs holding just enough to keep him standing. Cassie sighed, her hands dropping to her hips. "Fine, you stubborn mule. Matron said you'd need at least another week of healing, but you're clearly not listening."
"I'm fine," Arthur said, though his voice wavered as he took another step, his hand still on the wall. He tried to stand straight, but his knees wobbled, and he gripped the cot's edge to keep from falling.
Cassie rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath. "Hold on a moment. If you're set on getting up, you'll need a fresh tunic. You're not walking about looking like a beggar." Before he could protest, she grabbed the hem of his tattered tunic and yanked it off, the sudden move making him flinch in surprise. She turned to a basin on the table, dipping a rag in water and wringing it out.
"That's not necessary," Arthur started, his cheeks flushing as she stepped close, wiping the sweat from his brow and chest.
"Hush," she said, not looking up as she scrubbed the grime from his shoulders. "You're filthy, and I'm not letting you ruin my work with sweat stains." She moved to his arms, cleaning the dried blood and dirt, her hands steady despite his weak protests.
When she finished, she grabbed the tunic she'd been sewing, a simple linen garment in cloth. "This should do," she said, holding it up. "Apologies if I got your size wrong, I guessed from looking at you."
Arthur blinked, caught off guard. "You made this? For me?"
Cassie smiled, a quick flash of her teeth as she flicked his forehead with a finger. "Who else would it be for, you daft man?"
He rubbed his forehead, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Cassie. Let me pay you for it."
She giggled, waving him off. "My work's not worth that. Just wear it and don't tear it up in a day."
Arthur pulled the tunic on, the fabric soft against his skin, fitting well enough despite being a touch loose. With Cassie's help, he stood fully, her arm steadying him as they crossed the room. "Thank you," he said again, and she nodded, guiding him through the door into the main hall of the orphanage.
The hall was a mess of rotting wood and sagging beams, the furniture patched together from mismatched chairs and tables that wobbled on uneven legs. Children ran through the space, their shouts and laughter filling the air, some chasing each other with sticks, others wrestling over a rag ball, their clothes threadbare but clean. In the center of the room, Matron Alys stirred a pot of stew over a fire pit, the scent of onions and barley wafting up as she muttered to herself.
Alys looked up as they entered, her lined face creasing with a frown. "Arthur! What are you doing out of bed? And you, Cassie, letting him wander about like some fool sellsword! He'll tear those stitches and be back to bleeding."
Cassie crossed her arms, smirking. "Don't blame me, Matron. He's stubborn as a mule, wouldn't stay down no matter what I said."
Alys huffed, pointing her wooden spoon at Arthur. "Men and their pride. No brains above the belt I say. Sit, lad, before you fall over. You're lucky to be alive, boy. Don't go throwing it away because you think you're the Conqueror reborn."
Cassie glanced back, her tone teasing. "Told you, Matron, he's got no sense. Up and walking like he wasn't half-dead a week ago."
"Enough from you," Alys said, swatting at her with the spoon. "Go finish the lunch, girl. The little ones are starving."
Cassie sighed but obeyed, her eyes catching Arthur's with a playful glint before she turned to the pot. Alys looked him over, her hands on her hips. "Wait here a moment. I got a few things that. Doing to you." She shuffled out of the hall and returned minutes later with a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She set it on the table, unwrapping it to reveal his belongings from the night he collapsed—the overlarge breeches and tunic from the inn, now tattered and bloodstained, barely salvageable. But the four silver stags gleamed untouched in a small pouch, their weight solid in his hand.
"Found these with you," Alys said, her voice gruff but kind. "Jory didn't touch a coin. He's an Honest lad. You're lucky."
Arthur's fingers closed around the pouch, surprise flickering through him. "All of it's here? Thought Flea Bottom would've cleaned me out."
Alys snorted. "Not in my house. Lunch is soon, simple stew and bread. Mind the little ones, they'll pester you with questions. Curious as cats, the lot of them."
Arthur nodded, tucking the coins into his new pants, before sitting down and waiting for food.
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[QUEST COMPLETED] THE DAYS THAT VANISHED
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Description:
You uncovered the missing pieces of your story. The Sisters of the Orphan's Grace found you collapsed in the filth of Flea Bottom, delirious and half-dead. They tended your wounds, cleaned your body, and gave you shelter until you could stand again. The days you lost may never fully return, but you've learned the truth — you survived because someone chose mercy over indifference.
Objective:
– Learn how you were found ✅
– Speak to the caretaker who treated you ✅
Bonus Objective:
– Recover any belongings you had when found ✅
Rewards:
– +25 XP
– Ring of Warmth
└ A finely crafted silver band that radiates gentle heat. Even on the coldest days, it feels like standing before a hearth fire. Prevents frostbite and lessens the effects of cold weather.
Failure:
– Nothing
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(AN: So Arthur has finally met a kind person in kings landing, or has he? Who knows she could end up being worse than Cersei or she could be the Melissandre type. Anyway hope you enjoyed and like the new girl I've introduced. Don't worry canon characters will be romanced, but I need to at least make it realistic. Who is gonna take a second look at a peasant.)
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