(AN: This is gonna be the last chapter for a while, maybe a week or two. I'm 29 chapters ahead and I want it to stay that way so I'm gonna build them up a bit. 👍🏻)
Arthur glanced out the window at the fading light, the city's rooftops bathed in the orange glow of sunset. "Guess it's time to go earn some coin," he said to himself, standing from the bed with a wince as his ribs protested. Mira sat up, her shift slipping off one shoulder, and reached for him, her hand brushing his arm.
"Be careful," she said in a soft voice. "Don't let them work you too hard. And come back soon, I hate being alone..."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment in the warmth of her skin. "I'll be fine. Just a few casks to unload. I'll be back before morning." She nodded, though worry lingered in her eyes, and he slipped out the door, the stairs creaking under his boots as he descended to the common room. Lira looked up from behind the bar, wiping a tankard with a rag, her crooked smile appearing as she caught sight of him. "Off to work already? You're a dedicated one."
Arthur returned the smile, a polite curve of his lips that made her cheeks flush pink under her freckles. "Gotta eat," he said simply, tipping his head in farewell before pushing through the door into the street.
As he walked toward the Lion Gate, Arthur's mind turned to the plans forming in his head of how he was going to make it in this city. First, the immediate. Willem's job wasn't just for the copper star; it was a chance to build a connection. The trader knew the city, moved in circles with merchants and probably knew a few nobles. If anyone could point him to a hedge knight looking for a squire, it was Willem. Squireships were the key to everything: training, coin, a path to knighthood. Without it, he'd be just another farm boy scraping by on dock labor, and that wouldn't keep Mira safe or fed long-term.
Then there were the smaller ideas. The champagne bottles from the token, that strange, bubbly wine from some other world, sealed in glass that sparkled unnaturally. Willem dealt in wine; a trader might know someone who'd pay well for novelties like that. A few stags could buy better gear, maybe even a horse if they haggled right. And the Growth Pills? Maybe he could sell them as well, there were probably quite a few people who would pay to grow a bit taller.
Beyond that, the city itself loomed in his thoughts. King's Landing was great so far, but there was much he didn't know and with how grand it was there was no doubt just as many dangers. He needed to learn the safe streets, the work that paid well. Mira could help in kitchens or as a seamstresse, but he'd watch for lechers like the innkeeper. And the hedge knight had to be found soon. Tourneys came and went; delay too long, and he'd miss out on the opportunity to compete and get noticed.
He thought about all of this until the gate came into view, gold cloaks lounging against the walls, their cloaks stained from the day's dust. Willem's carriage sat waiting, and the trader waved as Arthur approached, his salt-and-pepper beard splitting in a grin.
"There you are, lad! Right on time. Hop on, this here's Lunk, my muscle for the heavy lifting."
The large man sitting beside Willem turned, his broad face splitting into a dopey smile. Lunk was built like a barn door; thick arms, a neck that blended into his shoulders, his tunic straining at the seams. His eyes were a bit too wide, his movements slow as he extended a ham-sized hand. "Hullo," he said in a deep voice.
Arthur clasped it, feeling the calluses like rough stone. "Arthur. Good to meet you."
Lunk nodded enthusiastically, his grin widening. "Me Lunk. Me Lift good."
Willem chuckled, flicking the reins to start the mules forward. "Aye, he's a beast with the crates. Simple as bread, but loyal as they come. Saved my arse from a cutpurse more than a few times over the seasons—grabbed the bastard by the collar and shook him like a rat."
Lunk beamed at the praise, flexing one arm unnecessarily. Arthur settled on the bench, the carriage jolting over cobblestones as they rolled into the heart of the city. Willem launched into talk almost immediately. "King's Landing's a right maze, lad. You and your pretty wife'll need to learn it quick. One piece of advice I always give is to the Street of Silk at night especially when you've just been paid; the girls there'll charm your purse empty before you know it. I favor Lysa's Place myself. Got a redhead named Tansy, curves like the Narrow Sea, and a mouth that—"
Arthur shifted, a flush creeping up his neck. He liked women, sure... but paying for it held no appeal. Besides, Mira would skin him alive if she caught wind. "Appreciate the tips," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "But I'm more interested in work. You know any hedge knights taking on squires? Someone good who doesn't just want a servant but will actually teach me."
Willem nodded. "Knights, eh? Ambitious one aren't ya, the tourney fields are held in what used to be the dragon pit, plenty gather there. I even know a few myself, as a wine trader I'm used to selling to all types of people."
The carriage rattled over a rut, Lunk grunting as he braced a crate. "Lunk like knights," he said simply. "Big swords."
Willem laughed. "See? Even Lunk knows. As for drinks after this, there's a spot by the Gate of the Gods, The Rusty Anchor. Good ale, cheap whores if you're inclined."
"Appreciate it," Arthur cut in again, steering the talk. "But tell me more about the knights. Any word on tourneys coming up?"
Willem obliged, prattling on about the upcoming lists for the next Tourney, the odds on favorites, and which hedge knights had reputations for fair pay versus those who stiffed their help. Lunk chimed in occasionally with his childlike enthusiasm. Arthur listened closely, filing away names and spots, the conversation easing the knot in his chest. Willem was a goldmine of info, and by the time the Red Keep's massive walls loomed ahead, Arthur felt better about the city.
The Red jeep was even more amazing close up than it was from afar. The gates formed a strongpoint, it had tiers of red stone with dragons etched along the jambs and the lintel, an iron portcullis waiting above the arch, murder holes set in the throat, and thick doors held open while dozens of gold cloaks watched the road and checked every cart that came near.
Willem drew the carriage to a stop and a sergeant came forward with a ledger under his arm and a quill behind his ear. "What is your cargo?" the man asked.
"It is wine for the cellars. It is Braavosi red, twelve casks," Willem said, and he passed over a sealed manifest. The sergeant broke the seal, read the page, lifted the canvas, counted the rows, and prodded one crate with the tip of his sword; then he nodded and waved them through. "You will unload in the lower yard. The servants will take it from there," he said.
They rolled into the outer courtyard, as gold cloaks drilled in files while a captain called time. Arthur let the place settle over him. He had never stood inside a royal keep—he had never been in a keep of any kind—and the scale of it made his chest feel tight in a way that was not fear but close to it. So many eyes could fall on one man here and a common face meant little; he told himself to keep his back straight, to speak only when asked, and to make no sudden moves. He wanted to remember every part of it so that he could tell Mira what it was like, and he knew that words might still fall short.
Willem took them down a ramp cut into the yard, where the air cooled with each step and smelled of stone, damp wood, and old wine. The vaults opened in long rows under low arches. Torches burned in iron brackets and threw a soft light. Racks held bottles by the thousand, each row marked with chalk for date and lot. A steward in red-and-black livery met them with two servants and a slate. "You will stack them by the white mark," he said. "You will not roll them. You will place them rim to rim."
"Stack them neat in the vaults, lads. Do not drop them, wine like this sells for stags a bottle," Willem said.
Lunk got to it first, set his feet, slid his hands under the hoops, and lifted two casks at once. His face tightened and his breath came hard through his nose, yet he kept moving and he set them down square. Arthur followed. The pull on his ribs stabbed at the first lift, but he found a rhythm and kept pace, and he set each cask on the pallet, checked the bung, turned the stamp outward, and reached for the next. The cool air lay on his skin and the scents of oak and fermentation sat heavy in his nose. He had never seen so much wine kept in one place, and he thought about how much coin must be locked under this floor, and how many men had worked to fill these racks, and how the king's house could drink for years without the cellars running dry.
A notification moved across his vision.
+1 Strength.
He stilled and felt the change run through his arm and into his grip 'Nice,' he thought.
When they finished the last row, the steward scratched their count on the slate and pressed his mark on the manifest. Arthur drank from his waterskin and leaned against a barrel. A grated vent opened toward the courtyard above, and when he glanced up he caught movement.
A young man close to his age trained with a knight inside a ring of sand. The knight drove from the shoulder and the hip and kept his guard high. The younger man met each stroke, stepped off the line, and struck back on the open angle, and his feet shifted without wasted movements. His hair was the color of molten silver and tied back; his eyes were a deep purple that took the light; his face was symmetrical and straight in a way that drew the eye whether a man wished to look or not. Arthur watched the rhythm, tried to name the strikes, and counted the moments until he saw the younger man take the third beat with a counter he had never seen before. He had never watched swordwork done at that pace from so near. The neat balance of it stirred something in him and he felt a clear want to learn how to move like that, and he thought that he would give a month of pay just to stand at the ring and ask questions until the knight grew tired of him.
Though his attention was soon drawn away with the rest of the men in the courtyard.
A woman descended the steps into the yard, her silver hair tumbling in lustrous waves to her shoulders, framing a face of ethereal perfection; high cheekbones flushed with rose tinted colour, full lips like ripe plums parted slightly, and violet eyes that burned like molten amethyst, drawing men like moths to a flame. Her body was equally as tantalising as her face. She had pert breasts straining against the crimson silk of her gown, a wasp-waist cinched in a corset that flared to wide hips swaying hypnotically. Long, lithe legs sheathed in delicate flats.
Her pale skin glowed like moon-kissed marble; she had a thin gold chain nestling in the cleft between her heaving cleavage, while a metal dragon brooch guarded the elegant curve of her throat. Twenty strides away, she stood on common stone, every inch the goddess incarnate. Arthur's gaze devoured her, mouth agape at the beauty that unraveled him thread by thread.
Willem bumped his shoulder and laughed at him. "You can keep looking with your eyes, but you should keep your thoughts in your head. That is Princess Rhaella Targaryen. She is the king's granddaughter. You have the same chance with her that you have with the queen, and let me be clear you do not have any chance with the queen. You should close your mouth and you should keep your hands on the work."
Heat rose in Arthur's neck. "I was only looking," he said, and he picked up another cask. The lift came easier now, and he set it in place and checked the mark again.
After everything was done they signed off and Willem folded the signed paper and tucked it away. He clapped Lunk on the back and the sound echoed in the vault. "That is good work, boys," he said. "Now we will drink. The Rusty Anchor is calling. It has the best ale on this side of the Blackwater and Maisie is on shift."
Lunk nodded with quick, eager strokes. "Drink is good and Maisie is pretty," he said.
Arthur rolled his shoulders and felt the day settle in his bones, and he weighed a bed against the chance to sit with Willem and pull on new threads. "I am in," he said.
"That is the spirit," Willem said. "Let us go."
...
Arthur followed Willem and Lunk through the winding alleys off the Street of Silk, the carriage left tethered at a stable for a penny. The trader walked confidently , his hat in his hands, while Lunk lumbered beside them, humming a tuneless melody that built into a bawdy song as the lanterns of the district flickered to life. "Oh, the lass with the jug of wine, she poured it down my throat so fine, her lips like honey, her bed like sin, and come the morn I'd do it again!" Lunk belted out, his massive hands clapping t on his thighs.
Willem threw his head back and laughed, a full-throated guffaw that echoed off the stone walls. "By the gods, Lunk, you sing like a drunk ox! 'Her bed like sin'—aye, and your breath like the Blackwater at low tide! But keep going lad!"
Lunk grinned, undeterred, his squint narrowing in concentration as he launched into the next verse. "She danced with skirts up to her knee, and whispered sweet things just for me, her thighs like pillows, soft and white, and all the night we fucked till light!"
Arthur couldn't help but chuckle, it was small at first then louder as the absurdity of it sank in. The big man's enthusiasm was infectious, his simple joy making Arthur relax a tad. "You've got a voice for ballads, Lunk," Arthur said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ever think of the bard's life?"
Lunk beamed, his cheeks flushing. "Lunk sing good? For girls?"
"Aye, for the girls," Willem said, still chuckling as he pushed open a heavy oak door etched with faded roses. "And tonight, you'll have your pick."
The place was no tavern, it hit Arthur like a slap to the face as the perfumed air and low moans hit him the moment they stepped inside. The Rusty Anchor was a brothel, its common room dim and hazy with lantern smoke, velvet curtains partitioning alcoves where shadows moved and women moaned. Women in sheer shifts or less lounged on cushioned benches, their skin oiled and gleaming, breasts spilling from their bodices, thighs bare and inviting as they poured wine or trailed fingers along patrons' arms. At one table, a raven-haired girl knelt between a merchant's legs, her hand working his cock with lazy strokes, his head thrown back in a groan. Another, blonde and freckled, straddled a sailor's lap, her hips grinding slowly as she fed him grapes from her fingers.
Arthur's face heated, his steps faltering as he took it in. He'd heard tales of such places, but seeing it made his stomach twist with a mix of curiosity and unease. Willem, oblivious or uncaring, barreled aheadr.
"Madame Lysa!" Willem called, spreading his arms wide as a woman in her forties rose from a corner booth, her dark hair piled high with jeweled pins, her gown of emerald silk cut low to showcase ample cleavage marked by a faint scar. She moved with the grace of a cat, her eyes sharp as daggers, and Willem enveloped her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. "Your two favorite customers are back! Pour the Dornish Red, Lunk's got a thirst that could drain the Blackwater!"
Lysa laughed, a throaty sound, but swatted his chest as he set her down. "Willem, you old goat, always making a spectacle. And who's this fresh meat you've dragged in?" Her gaze slid past Lunk—who was already eyeing a busty redhead across the room—and landed on Arthur, appraising him like a bolt of cloth at market. She stepped closer, her perfume heavy with jasmine, and tilted his chin up with a manicured finger, inspecting his face, then prying his mouth open to check his teeth. "Very good, slender and short, good teeth, no pox marks. Clean lines, too. How much, Willem? A stag for the night?"
Arthur jerked back, his cheeks burning. "What?"
Willem burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Easy, Lysa, he's my friend, and not for sale! Arthur's a squire in the making, not one of your pretty boys. Though if you twist his arm, who knows?"
Lysa pouted playfully, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Pity. He has that pretty boy charm, women eat it up, especially nobles." She turned to Lunk, who had lumbered forward, his massive hand reaching out toward her breasts with childlike eagerness. "Lunk, you sweet beast, hands off, you're too big for me remember." She swatted his fingers away with a silk fan, the snap sharp in the air. "But Catarina's ready for you. She's got hips that could crush a man's hips and a voice that begs for more. Go on, she's in the blue alcove."
Lunk's face lit up like a child at feast. "Catarina! Yes!" He shuffled off, already humming his song under his breath.
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, the room's heat pressing in, the women's eyes lingering on him from across the space. "This... isn't what I had in mind for a drink," he said to Willem.
Willem waved a hand, guiding him to a booth upholstered in faded red velvet. "Don't fret, lad. You don't have to partake, just sit and drink, watch if it suits. We'll have a round first, then see where the night takes us. Lysa's got the best Dornish red this side of the Narrow Sea."
They sat, the cushions sinking under Arthur's weight, and Willem snapped his fingers for a serving girl—a lithe brunette in a shift that left little to the imagination. "Three flagons of the red, and the platter with cheeses and bread. Make it quick, love."
The girl winked and vanished into the haze. Willem leaned back, his eyes scanning the room. "So what was it you wanted to speak of before, hedge knights, eh? I know a few, Ser Harlan's solid, as I said, but he's picky with squires. Takes 'em young and breaks 'em hard. Then there's Ser Rylard Hollard, the fool knight, jests more than he fights, but he's got a tourney purse or two under his belt. Poor as dirt, though; can't afford to pay much."
Arthur nodded, filing it away. "Harlan's my mark for now I suppose. Any others looking?"
Willem shrugged. "Not that I know. City's full of 'em, but most are scraping by. In four or five moons, there's the great tourney for the king's nameday, and the melee is open to all comers. Win that, and knights'll line up to take you on. Get noticed, lad, and you're set, cause I doubt you'll go places as Harlan's squire."
Arthur considered it, the idea sparking hope amid the doubt. "Sounds good. Five moons isn't too long." But it was five moons of dock work or worse, scraping pennies to keep them paid. "I'll need steady pay till then." He muttered to himself.
The girl returned with the flagons of wine sloshing over the rims, and the platter—hard cheese veined with blue, crusty bread, and olives glistening in oil. Lunk was already at his alcove, Catarina's laughter ringing out as something thumped against the wall. Willem raised his flagon. "To the road ahead!"
Arthur clinked his against it and took a sip, the ale bitter and strong, far from the watered swill of home. It hit his throat like fire, and he coughed, the burn making his eyes water. Willem laughed, patting his back hard enough to rattle his ribs. "Easy, lad— that's Dornish wine, not any beer or ale, it's sour. Builds a man's chest hair."
Arthur shook it off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the warmth spreading through him. "Strong stuff. How's it priced? What's a man pay for a decent bottle?"
Willem leaned in, his voice dropping to a trader's cadence. "Depends on the place and the vintage, lad. Cheapest swill goes for a star a bottle, basically vinegar in a jug. Good table wine, a stag a bottle. Up from there: Dornish red for a a few moons, Lyseni whites for a dozen stags if they're sweet. Rare stuff? Pentoshi firewine or Braavosi black or Arbour Gold. The king's cellars pay gold dragons for the truly fine aged in oak, smooth as a whore's whisper."
Arthur nodded, the numbers swimming in his head. "Rare, eh? Say I had something from the Summer Isles, never seen in Westeros. A wine with bubbles, sealed in glass. How much?"
Willem paused mid-sip, his eyes narrowing with skepticism, then he barked a laugh. "Summer Isles bubbly wine in glass? Sounds like a sailor's yarn, lad. But if it's real and tastes good it could fetch a few dragons a bottle. Maybe more if it's as rare as you claim. Nobles love novelties; pour it at a feast, and you'll have lords bidding gold for it."
Arthur leaned forward, the ale loosening his tongue. "It's real. Two bottles, sealed tight. Thought you might know a buyer."
Willem set his flagon down, his grin sly. "Tomorrow, then. Bring 'em to the wagon yard at dawn, we'll uncork one, see if it's gold or goat piss. But enough business for tonight. Relax, Arthur. The city's got you wound tight as a tourney bowstring. Drink, let the world spin a bit."
Arthur didn't feel good about it, the room's haze and the women's bold stares making him uneasy, but he thought some things were necessary. It wasn't like he was spending coin, and Willem's goodwill could open doors. He raised his flagon. "To the city, then."
They drank more, the wine flowing like river water, Willem ordering a second round and then a third, the platter refilled with smoked fish and olives. Lunk reappeared from his alcove, his face flushed and grinning, Catarina trailing behind with a wink. The mood lightened, Willem launching into a tale of a Dothraki who tried to haggle for his own horse, Lunk guffawing at the punchline. Arthur loosened up despite himself, the wind warming his blood, the laughter pulling him in. He started to have fun, clapping along to a lute player's tune, the room's energy was infectious.
Soon they were singing, Willem leading a chorus of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," Lunk's bass rumbling through the verses, Arthur joining in too A woman slid onto his lap then, a curvaceous brunette with kohl-rimmed eyes and a shift that barely contained her breasts, her hand trailing down his chest as she sang the next line into his ear. "Fair maid, fair maid, the bear will chase," she purred, her fingers toying with his belt.
Arthur drank more, the ale blurring the edges, his arm slipping around her waist out of habit. The song swelled, the room joining in, and for a moment, the weight of the city lifted.
Eventually, Arthur stood, the world tilting slightly as he pushed the woman off his lap. "I don't feel so well," he said, his words slurring just a touch.
Willem smiled, his eyes glinting in the lantern light. "What's wrong, lad? Too much of the good stuff?"
Arthur stumbled, his hand reaching for the table, but the room spun, darkness rushing up to meet him. He fell over, the floor hard against his cheek, and everything went black.
He then started to dream.
In the dream, Arthur felt like he was falling into a void, it felt endless and cold it reminded him of the place he came from before he was Arthur, the stars winking out one by one above him as the blackness swallowed him whole. His body twisted, weightless, the air thick with a metallic tang that coated his tongue. Faces flashed by—Gormon's snarling mask, Mira's tear-streaked smile, the silver-haired woman from the Red Keep—before dissolving into nothingness.
*Gasp!*
He woke naked on a bed, the sheets tangled around his legs, his head pounding like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil. The room spun in his vision, the worst he'd ever felt—even the fever back in Harrowfield hadn't clawed at him like this, his stomach was churning, his mouth felt dry as dust, every muscle was aching with a deep, bone-weary fire. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead where the skin felt clammy and hot.
Notifications flashed in his vision.
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You have unlocked skill: Poison Resistance (0/100) (Novice)
+300 Poison Resistance
Congratulations Poison Resistance has levelled up. (Novice) — (Apprentice)
Congratulations Poison Resistance has levelled up. (Apprentice) — (Journeyman)
+400 Carnal Knowledge
Congratulations Carnal Knowledge has levelled up (Novice) — (Apprentice)
Congratulations Carnal Knowledge has levelled up (Apprentice) — (Journeyman)
Congratulations Carnal Knowledge has levelled up (Journeyman) — (Adept)
+6 Constitution
+6 Strength
Congratulations Demon Back has been unlocked.
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"What the..." Arthur muttered.
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[New Quest Received]
WELCOME TO KING'S LANDING
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Description:
You woke up poisoned bruised and spent. Figure out what happened to you before it happens again.
Objective:
– Discover who did this and how
Bonus Objectives:
– Identify the exact poison or method used
Rewards:
– +25 XP
– Otherworld Token
Failure:
– Serfdom
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(AN: So it seems something has happened can anyone guess what it was? What happened to Arthur why did he get such a boost in stats what happened to him? Surely he can't get such a boost in stats so quickly and what's with that quest.)
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