Along with a dozen other Goldcloaks, Arthur and Ser Duncan rode out of the Red Keep quickly, putting distance between them and entering the city proper. Vendors were just opening their stalls, hawking fresh bread and fish from the bay, while beggars stirred in the alleys, eyeing the mounted group as they rode past.
At first, Arthur believed they would be heading back to the Kingswood to continue the Iron Mile, the grueling task that had left him exhausted and aching the day before. He could still feel the phantom weight of the axe in his hands, the burn in his muscles from chopping and dragging timber. But as they veered north along the winding roads, he realized they were not aiming for the King's Gate at all. Instead, the towers of the Dragon Gate loomed ahead, which meant that they would have to be travelling north along the coast.
Arthur glanced sideways at Ser Duncan, the towering Lord Commander sitting in his saddle. Arthur had questions bubbling up inside him, a mix of curiosity and unease. Why this direction? What task awaited beyond the walls? But he held his tongue for a while longer, not wanting to seem impatient or presumptuous on his first full day as squire.
As they drew closer to the gate, the traffic thickened. Wagons laden with goods from the Crownlands rumbled through, and merchants haggled with guards over tariffs. And at that point Arthur could no longer contain his uncertainty. He cleared his throat and turned slightly in his saddle. "Lord Commander, if I may ask respectfully, why are we heading out of the city through the Dragon Gate?"
Duncan glanced at him, his face breaking into a deep chuckle that rumbled like distant thunder. "I wondered if you were going to ask or just keep riding in silence, lad. You've had that thoughtful look for an hour past now, like a man chewing on a tough bit of mutton."
Arthur felt a flush creep up his neck, but he met Duncan's eyes. "I apologize, Lord Commander. It's just that I expected we might return to the Kingswood to continue the Iron Mile. Yesterday's work... it felt unfinished."
Duncan nodded as he guided his horse around a slow-moving cart. "Usually, that would be the case. A squire needs to build strength and endurance, and the Iron Mile is as good a forge for that as any. But today will be different. Opportunities sometimes arise, and a person must learn to seize them."
They approached the Dragon Gate now. The structure was imposing, flanked by high walls and watchtowers where more Goldcloaks stood sentinel. The group reined in their horses, and at a signal from Duncan, they all dismounted in unison. The Goldcloaks on gate duty snapped to attention, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of the Lord Commander himself. One of them hurried forward to take Duncan's reins, while another grasped Arthur's horse by the bridle, leading it aside to the attached stable.
Duncan handed off his own mount and turned to the nearest gate sergeant, a grizzled man with a scarred cheek. "Fetch some armor for the lad here. Proper Goldcloak issue. He'll need it where he's going."
The sergeant saluted sharply. "At once, Lord Commander."
Arthur blinked in confusion, his mind racing. Armor? Goldcloak issue? He glanced at the yellowcloaked men around him. Was this some test? Or worse, was he being reassigned? The thought sent a knot twisting in his gut. He had fought hard to earn his place as a squire, from the melee to the grueling first day. Joining the City Watch felt like a demotion, a step away from the knighthood he aspired to.
Duncan must have caught the bewildered expression on Arthur's face, because he let out another hearty laugh, clapping a massive hand on Arthur's shoulder. The impact nearly staggered him. "Come, walk with me, lad. Before you start thinking I've tossed you to the wolves."
Arthur nodded, falling into step beside the giant knight as Duncan strode through the gate. The Goldcloaks parted without a word, and soon they were outside the city walls, crossing into the open fields beyond. The Blackwater Rush sparkled to the east, and the land rolled gently northward toward distant hills. They walked a short distance until the city's noise faded to a murmur, granting them privacy amid the grass.
Duncan stopped and turned to face Arthur. "You're probably confused about all of this."
"I am, Lord Commander," Arthur admitted, standing straight despite his worry.
The big man nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let me put your mind at ease. I'm not removing you as my squire. You have that place, and you'll keep it as long as you prove worthy."
Arthur exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief flooding through him like cool water on a hot day. "Thank you, ser. I feared I had disappointed you already."
Duncan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not at all. But one thing you should understand is that my training will be different from what you'd expect from another knight. In my heart, I'm still a hedge knight, wandering the roads and facing whatever the Seven throw my way. I believe only in action and experience does a man become a Knight. He needs the grit of the real world, the mud, the blood, the choices that weigh on the soul. That means when opportunities arise, you'll conduct affairs on my behalf. You'll learn by doing, not just watching."
Arthur absorbed the words. "I understand, ser. I'm ready for whatever you ask."
Duncan turned then, his expression growing severe, his eyes locking onto Arthur's with an intensity that made the younger man straighten further. "You are skilled and brave, lad. I've seen that much. But if I do not think you are knight material, then you shall never be a knight. Understood?"
The weight of the words settled on Arthur like a heavy cloak. He met Duncan's gaze without flinching, nodding firmly. "Understood, Lord Commander. I won't let you down."
"Good," Duncan said, his tone lightening as he clapped Arthur's shoulder again, this time more gently. "Your first task is simple enough, but it'll test you. There's a group of Goldcloaks routing out a band of outlaws who've been preying on travelers north of here. You'll deliver a message from me, then you'll assist them until the task is complete. Help them root out the bandits, protect the innocent, and bring justice. Show me what you're made of."
"Yes, Lord Commander," Arthur replied, his pulse quickening at the prospect. Bandits? It sounded dangerous, but exhilarating too, a chance to apply his skills beyond the tourney field.
Duncan nodded approvingly, then paused as if remembering something. "One more thing... when you're conducting business out in the city or beyond, don't refer to yourself as my squire. Out there, you're just like everyone else, a man doing his duty. No special treatment, no pulling rank. Earn respect through your actions, not your title."
Arthur nodded again, committing it to memory. "I will, ser."
Duncan glanced back toward the gate, where the Goldcloaks waited. "Get ready and head out. I'll be returning to the Red Keep. I expect you back before the week has ended, with a full report."
"As you command," Arthur said with a short bow.
"And Arthur," Duncan said as he made the boy turn. "You may not have taken the Knights oath yet, but I expect you to conduct yourself as a man who has."
They walked back inside the gate together, the Goldcloaks straightening at their approach. The sergeant from earlier approached with a bundle of armor: a yellow cloak, chainmail hauberk, a simple helmet, and padded gambeson. Arthur accepted it with a nod, retreating to a nearby room to change. He stripped off his squire's tabard and donned the Goldcloak gear. It felt heavier than his previous set, with the faint scent of oil and sweat from prior use. As he buckled the last strap, he looked at himself in the reflection of a shield. No longer was he the squire of Ser Duncan the Tall, now he was back to one of the faceless unknowns.
Same old same old.
Emerging, he found one of the Goldcloaks waiting with a fresh horse. The man handed over the reins. "The group's holed up in a village just south of Rosby, near the old mill by the stream. Can't miss it. Ride carefully, roads ain't always safe."
Arthur swung into the saddle, adjusting his seat. "Thank you. I'll make good time."
The Goldcloak grunted in acknowledgment, and Arthur wheeled his horse northward. He glanced back once, seeing Duncan already mounting up to return to the keep. The Lord Commander's wave was brief and the only thing that followed as a nod.
Something which Arthur returned before he urged his mount forward. Though he was quickly distracted when a notification popped up onto his screen.
────────────────────────────────
[NEW QUEST RECEIVED]
WHAT MAKES A KNIGHT
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Description:
Ser Duncan has assigned you a task to test what kind of man you are. Do not disappoint him.
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Objectives:
• ????
• ????
Optional Objectives:
• ????
Rewards:
• Familiar Gem (Horse)
• +500 XP
• ????
Failure:
• Loss of Squire Class
• Possible Death
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"A bit of an ominous quest..." he muttered to himself before he spurred his horse into a canter as he left the Dragon Gate behind, the city's walls fading into the distance. The road north was well-trodden, a wide dirt path flanked by rolling fields of tall grass that swayed gently in the coastal breeze.
It felt nice riding out here.
He'd spent most of his life cooped up in Harrowfield, toiling on the farm under his father's iron rule. When he'd finally left that forsaken place, the journey had been a blur of fear and survival, not having any time to truly appreciate the beauty. But now, with the wind tousling his hair and the sun warming his face, he could see it.
He smiled, a genuine curve of his lips that reached his eyes, imagining Mira and Cassie's faces lit up by the same view. When he had the time he'd bring them here.
As the miles stretched on, however, doubts crept in like shadows lengthening across the fields. Arthur's grip tightened on the reins as he pondered Ser Duncan's words. Was the Lord Commander being truthful when he sent him out like this, framing it as unconventional training? Or was it a polite way to shuffle him aside? Duncan had only taken him as squire because of the king's insistence after the melee, a reward for saving Prince Aerys.
Perhaps the big knight didn't truly want the burden of training a lowborn like him, someone without noble blood or polished manners. Arthur sighed, the sound lost to the wind. It didn't do well to dwell on unknowns; he'd learned that much in his short, tumultuous life. Actions spoke louder than suspicions. He'd complete this task, prove his worth, and let the rest unfold as it would.
The sun arced high and began its descent, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange. Arthur paused a few times by a stream to water his horse and stretch his legs, munching on a strip of dried meat from his saddlebag.
The ride was long but invigorating, his body adapting to the saddle's sway with each passing hour. By the time the village came into view it had been around eight hours. His thighs ached faintly, but a familiar notification flickered in his mind's eye.
+20 Horse Riding
The boost brought a small grin. Horsemanship was something he'd need if he were to ever become a true Knight. The lists may look simple, but he knew they were anything but.
As Arthur approached the village, the idyllic scene soured subtly. The fields here were patchy, some plots overgrown with weeds as if untended for weeks, and the mill's wheel turned sluggishly. He slowed his horse to a walk, scanning for signs of the Goldcloaks. A few villagers were out, an old man mending a net by his door, a woman drawing water from the well. Children's laughter should have echoed in a place like this, but the few he spotted fell silent as he neared before they scattered like startled birds.
Arthur reined in near the village center, a small square with a weathered well and a communal bakehouse. Dismounting, he led his horse to a trough, letting it drink while he approached the boys, who had regrouped but kept their distance. "Excuse me," he called gently, trying to come off as friendly. "I'm looking for the Goldcloaks stationed here. Can you point me their way?"
The children exchanged glances, their faces paling, but none spoke. One boy, no older than ten, clutched the ball tighter and backed away, while another whispered something before they all bolted down an alley, leaving Arthur standing alone. He frowned, a prickle of unease stirring inside of him.
Odd behavior, but perhaps they were shy around strangers.
He turned to the woman at the well, who had frozen mid-draw. She was middle-aged, her dress threadbare, and as he drew closer, he noticed the bruises along her arms and a fresh welt on her cheek, half-hidden by stringy hair. "Pardon, goodwoman," Arthur said softly, not wanting to startle her. "I'm seeking the Goldcloaks. Do you know where they've set up?"
She hesitated, her eyes darting toward the outskirts before meeting his briefly. Her voice was a whisper, laced with tremor. "The old barn... by the mill. Follow the path east." She hauled the bucket up quickly and hurried away without another word.
Arthur watched her go, noting how she glanced over her shoulder as if expecting pursuit. The village felt off, it felt like someone had just died there. He shook it off for now; perhaps the bandit troubles had everyone on edge. Remounting, he followed her directions, the path winding past the mill to a large barn on the village's edge.
Laughter spilled from within mingled with the clink of mugs and the strum of a lute. He dismounted again, tying his horse to a nearby post with a secure knot, and approached the double doors. As he did the sounds grew louder with shouts of merriment, dice rattling, and a slurred song about a maiden fair.
He knocked loudly, the rap echoing against the wood.
No answer came, only a burst of laughter from inside. Knocking again yielded the same, so Arthur pushed the door open, stepping into a haze of smoke and lantern light. The scene before him was a feast in all but name. Tables groaned under platters of roasted fowl, loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and flagons of ale and wine.
Around two dozen Goldcloaks at least, lounged about, some dancing with tankards in hand, others gambling at dice or cards, coins clinking across the straw-strewn floor. A few sang off-key, arms linked, while others tore into meat with greasy fingers. Barrels lined the walls, and the air reeked of spilled drink and sweat. It looked more like a tavern revel than a military outpost.
Arthur stood in the doorway, taking it in before clearing his throat. "I'm looking for the officer in charge."
The noise dipped slightly, a few heads turning his way with bleary eyes, but no clear answer came. Murmurs rippled before the revelry resumed. Arthur was about to get annoyed before a hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind.
Arthur turned to face a broad-shouldered man in his forties, with a mop of curly brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a face that beamed with joviality. His gold cloak was draped over one arm, his tunic stained with ale, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. "Well met, brother!" the man boomed. "Serjeant Handor, but these louts call me Serjeant Handsome. Can't imagine why, must be my winning smile!" He flashed a grin, revealing white teeth, and laughed heartily, slapping Arthur's back.
Arthur straightened, offering a polite nod. "Arthur of Harrowfield. Pleased to meet you, Serjeant."
Handsome's eyes twinkled as he sized Arthur up. "Harrowfield, eh? I've been there before, a fine town. What brings a strapping lad like you to our little corner of the Crownlands? Come to join the fun?"
Arthur kept his tone formal, though the man's infectious cheer made it hard not to smile. "I've been sent with a message from Kings Landing, and to assist in tracking down the bandits plaguing the area."
Handsome's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, then he threw back his head and laughed, a deep belly rumble that drew chuckles from nearby men. "Why didn't you say so sooner? Lads! Pour a drink for our city brother here! Make it the good stuff, no swill for a messenger from on high!"
A tankard was thrust into Arthur's hand before he could protest. "I appreciate it, Serjeant, but I'm—"
"Nonsense!" Handsome waved him off, steering him toward a quieter corner table with an arm around his shoulders. "Relax, lad. You're amongst friends here. No need to stand on ceremony. Drink up, it'll put hair on your chest!"
Arthur hesitated but took a small sip to be polite. They then sat down, and Handsome accepted the sealed letter from Arthur's pouch, cracking the wax with one hand. He scanned it quickly, his jovial expression flickering to a frown for just a moment before he sighed dramatically, tossing it onto the table. "Ah, well. I suppose those supplies I requested are going to be late again. The city's always dragging its feet."
Arthur glanced around the barn, noting the abundance of food, the overflowing platters, multiple barrels of ale. It didn't look like they were short on supplies at all; if anything, this lot seemed better provisioned than some any hall he'd ever seen bar the Red Keep. But he kept the observation to himself, not wanting to offend.
Handsome leaned back, folding his arms with a grin. "So, what's your story, Arthur of Harrowfield? Wait don't tell me you're some wide-eyed recruit fresh off training."
Arthur nodded, sticking to a simple truth mixed with a lie. "Something like that. Came to King's Landing from a small town, looking for work. Ended up in the Watch."
Handsome roared with laughter, slapping the table so hard a mug jumped. "By the Seven, lad, you just described half the sad sacks in here! Small town boys with big dreams, eh? Well, you've come to the right place. We take care of our own."
The warmth in his voice was disarming, and Arthur found himself relaxing despite the rowdiness. "I wanted to ask more about the bandit problem? How bad is it?"
Handsome's mood dampened slightly, his smile fading to a thoughtful grimace, but he recovered quickly with a shrug. "Ah, it's a nasty business. These scum have been hitting villages all around, stealing livestock, grain or whatever they can carry. Worse, they've... well, they've forced themselves on some folk. Raping and pillaging like savages. We chase 'em down, but they always stay one step ahead. Many are locals you see, they born and raised in these parts. They've got family hiding them, sneaking supplies, tipping them off. Makes it hard to root 'em out."
Arthur frowned, unable to believe that villagers would shelter such monsters. "Why would they protect men like that?"
Handsome shrugged again, taking a swig from his own tankard. "Some people don't want help, even when the enemies are banging on the gate. Loyalty runs deep, or maybe fear. Either way, we've got our work cut out."
Arthur leaned forward. "I can help with that. I'm quite a good tracker, if you give me a starting point, a recent trail or sighting, I could probably find them."
Handsome eyed him skeptically for a moment, then broke into another grin, clapping Arthur's arm. "Ambitious, are we? I like that spirit! Might be you're just what we need. But relax for today, lad. Get your bearings." He turned and bellowed across the room, "Quartermaster! Over here!"
A wiry man with a sour face and a ledger under his arm ambled over, his expression pinched like he'd bitten into a lemon. "What now, Serjeant?"
Handsome gestured grandly. "Get young Arthur here situated, show him the ropes, make sure he knows what's what around here. Bedroll, rations, the works."
The quartermaster grumbled under his breath, annoyance flickering in his eyes, but he nodded curtly. "Fine. Follow me, recruit."
Arthur stood, thanking Handsome, who waved him off with a wink. The quartermaster led him out of the barn into the evening air. He then led Arthur through the cluster of tents pitched haphazardly around the barn. The man moved with a brisk, irritated stride, muttering under his breath about extra duties and city boys. Arthur followed closely, wondering if the man knew he could hear him.
They stopped at a supply wagon first, and the quartermaster rummaged through crates, pulling out a bedroll, and a small pouch of dried rations. "This is how it works around here," he grumbled, thrusting the items into Arthur's arms. "You need food, you come to the barn at dawn and dusk. Ale and wine are in the barn, but don't guzzle it all or Handsome'll have your hide. Weapons and armor repairs, see the smithy over there by the mill. He's a surly bastard, but he knows his trade."
Arthur nodded, adjusting the bundle. "And if I need extra supplies? Bandages or oil for my blade?"
The quartermaster snorted, waving a hand toward the village lights twinkling in the distance. "Take what you need from the villagers. They've got plenty of stores hidden away, gardens, livestock. A chicken here, a sack of grain there."
Arthur paused, a flicker of concern tightening his chest. Taking from villagers who already looked hard pressed? It sat wrong, like a stone in his gut. "From the villagers? Without paying?"
The man shrugged, his expression indifferent. "This is a small price to pay for peace, and it's only temporary. We're out here risking our necks against those bandit scum. They owe us for keeping the roads clear. Don't overthink it, recruit."
Arthur supposed it made sense on the surface. The Goldcloaks were putting their lives on the line, patrolling and fighting against the bandits. A bit of food or supplies seemed a fair trade. Yet it still felt wrong, especially if the villagers couldn't provide. He pushed the thought aside for now, not wanting to stir trouble on his first night. "Understood."
The quartermaster grunted and led him to a small tent at the edge of the camp, its flaps tied open to reveal a simple pallet on the ground and a lantern hanging from the center pole. "This is yours. Keep it tidy, or the rats'll move in. I'm heading back. Don't wander off and get yourself killed."
With that, the man turned and stalked away, leaving Arthur alone in then tent. Arthur sighed, dropping his gear inside the tent and running a hand through his hair. The day had been a long and had not gone the way he'd expected. After a few minutes rest he decided to look around before turning in for the night, perhaps clear his head and get a better sense of the place.
Stepping out, he wandered toward the village proper, the paths muddy from recent rain. The streets were eerily quiet, the homes shuttered tight despite the early hour. The village was strange to say the least and that wasn't even counting the villagers themselves.
All of them looked hungry, their cheeks were sunken and their clothes were hanging loose on thin frames. Arthur's suspicion grew, a quiet unease settling in his bones. This village was merely eight hours away from the capital, it should definitely be thriving, at least a lot more than this. He knew villages had some hard times, but had the bandits really been such a big problem?
He tried asking questions about the bandits, approaching a group of three men huddled near a well. "Excuse me, good sirs. I'm new here. I wanted to ask about the bandits, have they struck recently? Any word on where they might be hiding?"
They exchanged nervous glances, one muttering an apology before they scattered. "Sorry, ser. Can't talk. Got work." Another simply shook his head and hurried away, leaving Arthur standing alone.
He frowned, realizing something strange was happening. He could feel it in his gut, that instinctive pull he'd learned to trust. His gut had saved him before, in the melee, it had led him to Rudge and even Rhaella.
But what was it trying to tell him now?
Arthur paused in the middle of the path.
The Shining.
It had guided him unconsciously before. Now for the first time, he tried to use it purposely, focusing on the ability within him like stoking a dormant fire. He took off his helmet, tucking it under his arm, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The world around him blurred at the edges as he reached inward. It had guided him before, and he needed it now. Perhaps it would lead him to some tracks that would help him find the bandits, or reveal bandits hiding in the town itself. That would explain why people were nervous.
At first, nothing came.
He strained himself harder making his brow furrow, but the ability eluded him, slipping away like smoke through fingers. Frustration started to build inside of him; was it not something he could command at will?
He pushed harder, visualizing the feelings as faint lights in the dark he could follow, but the village remained silent in his mind. To the point where he considered giving up, opening his eyes with a frustrated exhale. Maybe it only worked in moments of need, not on demand.
Then, faintly, he felt something, a tug like a thread pulling at his awareness and his eyes were drawn to a boy drawing water from the well at the village center, the same well where the bruised woman had been earlier. The lad was thin, perhaps twelve, with dirt smudged cheeks.
This wasn't what Arthur expected, there was no trail of bandits or hidden cache, but he sighed and decided to follow the boy, hoping perhaps it would lead him somewhere interesting. Of course, he had to wait until the boy was gone before trailing him; his armor and cloak lit him up like a beacon.
When the boy hefted his bucket and trudged away, Arthur followed him, his [Tracking] skill making it easy to follow the fresh footprints in the mud. They led him to a house at the edge of the village, a modest cottage with a sagging roof and walls patched with mismatched wood.
Arthur approached quietly, circling to find a shutter cracked open just enough to peer through. Inside, the boy tended to a very attractive young woman lying on a straw pallet, her skin olive tone showed she clearly of Dornish descent, with long dark hair matted with sweat and full lips parted in labored breaths. She was beaten and bloody, bruises blooming across her arms and face, her dress torn and stained. Fever flushed her cheeks, and she moaned in pain everytime her son touched her.
The boy was very sad and looked like he was on the brink of crying as he dipped a cloth in water to dab her forehead. "Mother, please. Hold on. I'll get more water." His voice cracked, as eventually tears started streaking his face as he adjusted her blanket, whispering pleas to the gods.
Why would he be led here, Arthur wondered, his heart twisting at the sight. But it didn't matter right now, the woman needed help and he couldn't walk away.
He went to the door and knocked firmly. "Boy, let me in. I mean no harm."
Silence stretched, the boy not answering for a moment. Arthur tried again. "I'm here to help. Open the door."
Still nothing, but then the door creaked open a sliver, and the boy lunged out with a pitchfork. "I'll kill you! You won't get inside! Leave us alone!"
Arthur dodged easily, stepping aside as it whistled past. The boy swung wildly again, fueled by anger and desperation, but Arthur avoided the attacks easily. He caught the shaft mid swing, twisting to disarm the lad, the pitchfork clattering to the ground. "Calm down. I'm not here to hurt you."
The boy didn't believe him, snarling as he lunged with bare fists, pummeling at Arthur's armored chest. "Liar! You're like the others!"
Arthur pushed him to the ground, pinning his arms. "Calm down again. If you want to help your mother, you'll listen to me."
The boy hesitated for a moment, torn between his mistrust and his worry for his mother, eyes darting toward the open door where her labored breaths echoed. Finally, he nodded, slumping in defeat. Arthur released him and stood, offering a hand up. The boy ignored it but rose, brushing dirt from his knees.
Arthur nodded and went inside, the boy trailing warily on his tail. The interior was sparse, a single room with a hearth, table, and the pallet where the woman lay. Arthur went around looking before he then turned to the boy. "Start a fire. We need boiling water."
The boy obeyed, though his eyes never left Arthur, watching like a hawk as he knelt by the woman's side.
Arthur wasn't a healer, but he was a little bit of an expert when it came to herb lore thanks to his [Herbal Insight]. Seeing that she was feverish, he knew which plants he'd need to help with that; willow bark for pain, yarrow for fever, perhaps garlic for infection.
He inspected her body gently, lifting her sleeves to reveal more bruises. When he looked further down, careful not to disturb her modesty, he saw more concerning marks, torn fabric, and even blood dried on her thighs.
She'd been raped.
How many times, he didn't know, but to be in this condition, it must have been brutal and repeated. Arthur frowned, a cold anger coiling in his chest. He'd make sure those bandits received justice. The boy continued watching him like a hawk at some point having reclaimed the pitchfork he'd dropped.
"What's your name boy?" Arthur asked kindly as he turned to him. The boy didn't reply at first, glaring suspiciously. Arthur then instead introduced himself. "I'm Arthur of Harrowfield. What's your name?"
The boy hesitated, then muttered. "Ben of Littlestow."
Arthur nodded. "Ben, your mother is very sick. I can help her, but I need your help. I need you to go and find willow bark, yarrow flowers, a handful of garlic cloves. One has a yellow top with white petals, the other is blue, and garlic shouldn't be hard to find. Bring them back quick."
Ben did so immediately, dashing out into the night without another word.
While he was gone, Arthur took off his gloves and started channeling Hamon, the sun like energy rippling through his breaths. It was mostly why he'd sent the boy away as it would be much harder to explain this, and he didn't want to be accused of sorcery in a backwater village.
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, channeling the energy into her body. The energy soothed inflammation, knit minor wounds, and eased her pain. Combined with his Massage skill, he was shed to help alleviate her pain and relieve tension and promote healing. Bruises faded from angry purple to faint yellow, her breathing calmed, and the fever's flush receded. It took a while, but he managed to get it done before Ben returned with a basket full of herbs.
+10 Hamon
Arthur thanked the boy, then got up and put some water in the pot over the fire, now crackling warmly. He showed Ben how to make a herbal mixture, crushing the yarrow and willow bark, adding garlic, steeping it into a tea. "Give her this every few hours. Keep her cool with damp cloths. She should be well in a day or two."
Ben nodded then whispered. "Thank you."
Arthur rubbed his head affectionately, ruffling the boy's hair. Then, gently, he asked about the bandits. "Was it them who did this to her? The bandits?"
Ben looked at him incredulously.
But before he could answer, the sounds of two drunken men appeared near the house, slurred laughter and stumbling footsteps. Ben tensed, his face paling as he grabbed the pitchfork again.
Arthur walked toward the door and opened it, stepping out to confront two Goldcloaks weaving unsteadily, tankards in hand. They spotted Arthur and burst into laughter. "Oi, lookit this! You warm her up for us, new blood? We like 'em feisty, but broken in's fine too!"
Ben came out behind Arthur, glaring at the men murderously, his small frame shaking with rage.
The Goldcloaks saw him and howled. "It's the brat! What, you let him watch? Teachin' him early, eh?"
Ben tried to lunge at them, pitchfork raised, but Arthur caught him mid stride, holding him back. "Go inside. Now."
The boy hesitated for a moment before listening to Arthur and retreating. Arthur turned to the men. "What do you think you're doing here?"
The Goldcloaks got annoyed, one shoving forward. "What, you ain't done yet? Come on, my sack's about to explode. Move aside!"
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Did you rape this woman?"
They laughed, thinking he was joking, doubling over in mirth. "Rape? Nah, just takin' our due! She likes it rough!"
Arthur's face hardened. "I'm taking you to Serjeant Handor. Now."
This made them laugh harder, one wiping tears. "Handsome? He'll join in! Get out the way, fool." They both tried to shove Arthur aside, their hands grabbing at his arms.
Arthur moved like lightning, brutally taking them out. He twisted the first man's arm with a sharp wrench, snapping his thumb with a crack, then kicked his legs out from under him. As the man howled, Arthur swung him by the neck into his friend, the impact sending both tumbling.
The Goldcloaks cursed and shouted, scrambling up. "You bastard! We'll gut you!"
The pair scrambled upright, their faces twisted in rage. The taller one lunged with a haymaker that whistled past Arthur's ear. Arthur dropped and drove his knuckles upward into the solar plexus, the fist sinking deep enough to lift the man onto his toes.
The shorter one charged right behind, shoulder lowered like a bull. Arthur pivoted on his lead foot, let the momentum carry the man past, then whipped his fist down across the exposed jawlin.
They recovered faster than expected, splitting left and right and trying to overwhelm him. Arthur slid between them, caught the taller man's wild right hook at the elbow, used the incoming force to spin him off-balance while his free leg hooked the ankle and jerked it forward. The Goldcloak's knee hyperextended with a loud pop as Arthur's heel stomped straight down through it, ligaments shredding like wet rope. The man screamed while his leg folded uselessly beneath him.
The shorter one roared and swung a left cross. Arthur met it head-on, snapping his forehead into the man's face; the impact split the upper lip wide open, blood sheeting down the chin as the nose flattened with a sickening crunch. Both Goldcloaks reeled, one clutching his destroyed knee, the other pawing at his ruined mouth.
Arthur stepped in over them. As he put each foot over the man's crotch and started to push down. Testicles burst under the feet, a wet, grinding pop echoing as the men's screams climbed into animal shrieks. They started convulsing on the ground, hands clawing uselessly at their groins while urine and blood soaked through their trousers.
After he was done panting slightly, looked towards the door and the boy that was stood there watching. "Stay inside," he said as he handed him one of the men's daggers. "Keep your mother safe. Lock the door."
Ben nodded fiercely while taking the blade.
Arthur then dragged them both by their feet back toward the barn, their groans trailing behind. When he arrived he burst inside, causing a commotion as heads turned.
Serjeant Handsome just laughed, shouting over the crowd. "Hah! Only a few hours, and the boy's in his first scrap! What'd they do, cheat at dice?"
Arthur shouted back, voice cutting through the feast. "I caught these two trying to rape an innocent woman! I demand they be punished!"
The others laughed, some slapping tables in amusement, others jeering. "Rape? That's just fun 'round here!"
This annoyed Arthur and he found his fists clenching at the callousness.
Serjeant Handsome stood up, his jovial face turning serious and headed toward him. "Easy, lad. Come outside for a moment. Let's talk."
Arthur explained himself outside. "They were at her door, drunk, admitting it! This can't stand!"
Handsome nodded solemnly, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I hear you. But listen, there's more to it than meets the eye. Her husband? He's the leader of those bandits. Responsible for killing quite a few of our friends, good men with families. The lads... they're grieving, lashing out."
Arthur shook his head. "That's no excuse for raping his wife!"
Handsome agreed, sighing. "You're right, it ain't. I've turned a blind eye before, out of shared grief. But no more. I'll flog them tomorrow, make an example. Publicly, so everyone sees justice done."
Arthur wasn't happy at them getting off so lightly, a flogging for such a crime seeming insufficient, but in the end, he wasn't in charge. What could he do? Challenge the whole camp? "Fine. But it better happen."
Handsome nodded. "It will. Now, you look spent. Retire for the night, clear your head."
Arthur agreed, thinking that was best, and headed off to his tent, leaving Handsome standing there in the torchlight.
One of the men came out, rubbing his jaw. "That Arthur really gave 'em a beating. Broke more'n a few bones and unmanned them."
Handsome hummed thoughtfully. "Aye. He's going to be a problem. Deal with him quietly like. Can't have him stirring things up."
(AN: Arthur is on his own little adventure, don't worry though it'll end next chapter. There is a reason for this and I think it's in character for a certain person. Anyway after this we'll be going through his training and probably a time skip of maybe a few years? Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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