The days that followed Arthur's return to the Red Keep were, to put it plainly, chaos. Rhaella and the others had been waiting for him at the gates when the Goldcloaks marched the survivors up from the harbour. She had thanked Arthur so many times and with such genuine feeling that he had eventually run out of ways to respond gracefully and settled for nodding.
When she learned that Duncan had been the one skulking around the Red Keep in the small hours of the night, drinking in harbour taverns and following leads without a word to anyone, the warmth in her eyes had curdled into something considerably angrier.
Arthur had made a quiet exit from that particular conversation, but the sound of Rhaella's voice carrying down the corridor behind him suggested that being a prince offered very little protection from a Targaryen female.
The matter of the Velaryon daughters had caused an entirely different kind of uproar.
Lord Daemon Velaryon had not known they were gone. That detail alone had set half the Red Keep buzzing with disbelief. A man of his standing not noticing the absence of his own daughters until two guards brought them to his door, tearful and bruised and wrapped in borrowed cloaks, was the sort of thing that people would be repeating for months. Arthur had been present when it happened and he had watched the colour drain from the Lord's face as he realised how close he had come to never seeing his daughters again
What followed had been deeply uncomfortable.
Daemon Velaryon was one of the most powerful lords in the Crownlands. His house commanded fleets and harbours and trade routes. Arthur knew what most lords were like and how they treated people like him. Those expectations seemed to go out the window as Daemon had taken both of Arthur's hands in his own and held them while he thanked him. Arthur had not known where to look. He was a squire. He slept in a small room and cared for Ser Duncan's stuff for a living and this man was thanking him as if he had pulled the sun into the sky.
When Daemon had moved to offer a reward Arthur had declined before the offer was fully formed.
The Lord had blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I thank you, my Lord, but I cannot accept it," Arthur had said.
Daemon had studied him for a long moment. "You saved my daughters from men who meant to sail them to the other side of the world. I think a reward is more than appropriate."
"It may be," Arthur had replied carefully. "And even if I am not yet a knight. I intend to live by the Knights vows as best I can until the day I do. Protecting women and children is not a deed I would take coin for."
Eventually, after a long silence Daemon had nodded, slowly and with something in his expression that Arthur could not quite name. "Your wishes will be respected," he had said. "But if you change your mind, there will be no judgement from me, you have found a friend in my Family and when you are Knighted should you ever wish to swear your sword then know I will give you a place at my hearth."
Ser Gerold had been more straightforward about the whole thing, which Arthur had found considerably easier to receive. The old knight had listened to the full account without interruption and then looked at Arthur for a moment before saying that he had done well. Not just for finding the eggs, but for keeping the prince safe, and discovering the girls. Coming from Ser Gerold, that was the equivalent of an accolade from the King.
Though in truth Arthur didn't care much about the applause and thanks, he would have liked nothing more than to just find a quiet corner, sit down between Mira and Cassie, and not move for approximately three days.
He did not get that.
The wounds on his arm and thigh had been cleaned and bound but his body was tired in the deep way that came from too many nights stacked together without enough sleep between. He had been awake for the better part of a full day when the harbour fight happened and recovery was slower than he would have liked.
But the exhaustion he could manage. What he could not manage was the knowledge sitting quietly at the back of his mind every time he looked at Cassie.
He knew.
He had known for days now and it sat behind his skin like a splinter he could not reach. Every time she laughed or complained about something or leaned against his shoulder in the evenings he felt the knowledge pressing down harder. She deserved to know. She had deserved to know long before he did. And every hour that passed without her knowing felt like a small betrayal he was committing on her behalf.
He had tried to corner Duncan about it. Twice. The first time the prince had been pulled away by a steward before Arthur could get more than a sentence out. The second time Duncan had listened, nodded in a way that suggested he understood completely, and then been swept into a conversation with three different lords that seemed to have no end. Arthur had stood in the corridor for a few hours before accepting defeat and walking away.
The reason he held his tongue with Cassie was simple. She deserved to hear it from her father. Not secondhand, not filtered through Arthur's clumsy attempt to soften the blow. From Duncan himself, face to face, with no intermediary. That was the only version of this that was fair to her and Arthur was determined to hold the line until it happened, no matter how much the secret weighed on him.
What Duncan was apparently doing instead of having that conversation was organising a feast.
Arthur had learned about it the same way he learned about most things in the Red Keep, which was by overhearing someone else discuss it in a corridor. Arthur had no idea what they were celebrating. Most of the royal family was still away, which struck him as an odd time to hold anything formal, but it was not his place to ask questions and so he had returned to his duties and waited.
The day of the feast arrived the way all anticipated things eventually did, without much warning and with Arthur still not entirely sure what it was for.
The day of the feast arrived the way all anticipated things eventually did, without much warning and with Arthur still not entirely sure what it was for. It was only a few hours before it began and he sat alone in the small chamber that served as his quarters in the white sword tower.
He had come here after his morning duties ended and for the first time in what felt like weeks he found himself with a stretch of unbroken time where no one called for him and no urgent message pulled him away.
He settled onto the wooden stool beside the table that held his whetstone and a small clay bowl of oil while he drew out the plain steel sword he had taken to carrying in place of Sunset. He gripped the hilt with one hand and laid the blade across his lap as he began to run the whetstone along the edge.
This moment of solitude also gave him the chance he had been waiting for to finally make use of the tokens he had carried since the system had granted them to him after the rescue at the harbour. He finished the edge on one side of the sword and turned it over to work the other while he considered the risks of using the familiar token in such a confined space, but when he thought about it he couldn't imagine the system giving him anything so large that he could not simply take it out through the door.
He set the sword aside once both edges gleamed and wiped his hands on a scrap of cloth before he decided it was time to get this over with.
"Okay, let's do this," Arthur said to himself while he activated the token.
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[FAMILIAR TOKEN CONSUMED]
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[NEW FAMILIAR UNLOCKED: PET SHOP (RARE)]
Description:
A ruthless falcon with the ability of Horus, which commands limited mastery over ice. Pet Shop can generate and control ice for attacks and area control. The falcon has the intelligence of a human and does not like being talked down to, any attempt to do so will result in a menacing glare (at best).
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A falcon materialized on the stone windowsill with a rustle of feathers. It was a striking mix of dark brown and white. The bird fixed Arthur with a glare that could have frozen the Blackwater Bay itself, its blue eyes narrowed and its beak set in what looked like perpetual disapproval. Frost began to spread across the windowsill beneath its talons while thin tendrils of ice crept outward like spiderwebs. The falcon shifted its weight as though it found the entire room beneath its dignity.
Arthur rose slowly and crossed the short distance to the window, careful not to startle the creature. "Well, hello there," he said quietly and even extended one hand toward the bird. "You must be my new familiar. I have never had a companion quite like you before."
He reached out and stroked the top of the falcon's head, the feathers felt sleek and surprisingly cool beneath his touch. The bird did not pull away, but it did not soften either; instead it turned its head just enough to fix him with an even more menacing glare. Frost continued to bloom beneath its feet while the air around the windowsill grew noticeably colder.
Arthur chuckled despite himself and kept stroking the feathers. "You are a moody one, aren't you? I wonder if you could carry messages for me. That would be useful."
As if the bird had understood every word, it lifted its left leg and held it out toward him. Arthur's eyebrows rose while he stared at the outstretched leg. "That is... amazing," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "You really are an amazing creature aren't you—"
'What was his name... I can't call him Pet Shop, can I?' He thought for a moment.
"I guess I'll have to give you a name," he said as he tapped his chin. He thoight for a moment about what to call the creature and then decided the name that had come with the token's description felt right. "Horus. That is what I will call you. It fits better than anything else I could come up with."
He reached into the small pouch at his belt and pulled out a strip of dried meat he had and offered it to the falcon on the flat of his palm. Horus regarded the offering for a long second before snapping it up with a quick jerk of its beak, swallowing it in one piece while still maintaining that same haughty glare. Arthur watched the bird eat and then rubbed the back of his neck while he considered the practical side of things.
He had never been a falconer, and he had no real idea how to care for a creature like this or what it might need beyond the occasional bit of meat. "I suppose I should ask... is it all right if I leave you alone for now? The feast is about to start, and I cannot be late escorting Mira and Cassie."
Horus answered with a piercing screech that echoed off the stone walls before the bird launched itself from the windowsill. It shot out through the open window and vanished into the sky above the Red Keep, leaving behind only the fading pattern of frost on the sill. Arthur stood there for a moment and watched the empty space where the falcon had been. "I suppose that answers that," he said to himself, as he shook his head and turned back toward the center of the room.
He sat down once more at the small table while he reached into the system again and activated the second token.
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[OTHERWORLD TOKEN CONSUMED]
[TRAIT ACQUIRED: CREATION (LEGENDARY)]
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Description:
You gain the ability to create any non-living object from your body by converting stored energy into matter, provided you fully understand the object's structure and composition down to its smallest details. The more complex the item, the greater the mental strain and energy cost required to produce it. Shortcuts can be made at great expense.
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Arthur's eyes widened as the full weight of what he had carried settled over him.
He could create anything.
Anything at all, provided he paid the proper price in understanding or power.
The realization felt enormous, it felt like he was holding a piece of divinity, that he had the power thT the gods might wield, and for a long moment he simply sat there while the possibilities unfolded in his thoughts.
Excitement rose inside his chest as he decided to test the ability with something simple. He pictured a loaf of bread in his mind, the way the dough was kneaded, the yeast that made it rise, the heat of the oven that turned it golden and crusty. He focused on that image while he channeled the ability, and the air in front of him shimmered once more. A warm loaf of bread appeared on the table, steam still rising from its crust as though it had been pulled from the oven only moments earlier.
Arthur picked it up while the bread felt soft in his hands, the crust crackling faintly under his fingers. He tore off a piece and tasted it while the flavor spread across his tongue, rich and fresh and exactly like the bread the castle kitchens produced on their best days.
"This is incredible," he whispered while he took another bite and felt the warmth spread through him.
He would never need to worry about coin again, not if he learned how gold bars and coins were forged, how weapons were shaped, how armor was tempered. The ability opened doors he had not even known existed, and the urge to experiment further surged through him as he considered trying something larger or more complex right there in the chamber.
But the sounds of the castle had grown louder outside his door, the clatter of footsteps and the ring of bells signaling that the feast was truly about to begin. He had no more time to test the limits of what he could now create. Arthur stood while he brushed the crumbs from his hands and moved to the small chest that held his better clothes.
He dressed quickly pulling on the clean tunic and breeches that Mira had chosen for him only a few days earlier. Once he looked presentable enough for the great hall he stepped out of the chamber and pulled the door shut behind him and walked down the corridor toward the rooms where Mira and Cassie waited.
(AN: So Arthur has gotten some pretty OP stuff this chapter. I mean come on Creation along with Alchemy is gonna go hard. Anyway this is all going to be a big help when he finally gets his own keep. Hope you enjoyed.)
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