Chapter 8- Asking for Help Late at Night

"I warned you—Sweetwater Spring holds 150 of our men—but you scoffed at it," Brynden sneered, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Arthur turned in his saddle, and sure enough, a host of infantrymen appeared behind them, no more than a few hundred paces away. Judging by their banners—black ravens on scarlet—there were nearly a hundred Blackwood men closing in fast. Their shields and mail glinted in the evening sun, and their pace was steady, purposeful.

The sudden sight of them sent a ripple of panic through Arthur's small column. Soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, and some peasants nearly stumbled.

Arthur took a deep breath. As lord, his role was not just to lead but to keep order.

"Don't panic!" he shouted, raising his sword for attention. "We ride for the keep! Once the gates close, they won't breach stone."

With his command, the fifty-strong escort surged forward, quickening their pace. The horses neighed in unison, boots pounded the ground, and wheels of the baggage carts creaked in haste.

Yule Bracken rode beside Arthur, eyes twitching with anxiety. "The enemy's closing fast. Let me ride for Stone Hedge—ask Lord Jonos for aid."

Arthur gave a tight-lipped smile. "And give you a head start? Stay in line, cousin. If you're not at the gates with us, you'll stay out and fend for yourself."

Arthur knew someone had to ride to Stone Hedge, but it couldn't be Yule. Lord Jonos Bracken—head of House Bracken—had always favored Arthur, his late brother's trueborn son. Yule, the second son from a lesser branch, barely held his favor.

Even if Amber, his steward, fled, she had a better chance of being believed. But if Arthur abandoned the column now, panic would turn to chaos. Their cohesion depended on his presence.

Once the leader runs, the rest scatter—Arthur understood that as well as any field commander. And some of the slower men, especially peasants like Darren or wounded ones like Piper, might be caught by the Blackwoods.

Arthur didn't care much for every man's fate, but he had enough sense of duty—and pride—to keep them from being slaughtered like sheep.

Yule said no more, his expression sulky, but he stayed with the group.

By dusk, the exhausted company reached the modest stone holdfast nestled beside the Red Fork's tributary. Arthur and Amber arrived atop their horses, barely winded. But men like Piper—sorely wounded from the skirmish—and Darren the farmhand looked half-dead, faces pale and clothes soaked in sweat. They had pushed beyond their limits.

Arthur ordered the portcullis down the moment the last man made it through, and the castle's meager defenders were rallied to the walls. Then he commanded the gates barred and sent messengers to gather all nearby villagers within the keep.

Without delay, Arthur led Amber, Yule, and a few trusted men down into the undercroft beneath the solar, where the family's treasury was kept.

He needed the gold.

First, he intended to send a gift—no, a bribe—to Lord Jonos at Stone Hedge to ensure reinforcements. Second, if aid didn't arrive soon and the Blackwoods besieged the castle, Arthur meant to flee—with or without his soldiers. He wasn't going to die over a ransom.

Third, and perhaps most urgently, he wanted to keep the gold away from Yule. Arthur didn't trust his cousin as far as he could throw him. If left alone with Amber, the steward might be easily tricked.

Amber was loyal but painfully honest—too honest for the kind of cunning this situation required. If Yule spun her a tale, she might hand over the treasury keys without blinking.

So Arthur insisted on Yule joining them—not because he trusted him, but because he wanted his cousin to know Arthur had taken the coin for himself. No room for lies or claims later.

The old man who oversaw the vault, Seril, was absent. But the main key was already in Arthur's possession, tied securely to a chain around his neck. The spare remained hidden in his own chamber under a flagstone—his mother's old hiding spot.

So there was no concern about being locked out.

Now came the real question: how much gold did House Bracken's minor cadet branch truly hold? Enough to sway Lord Jonos? Enough to buy their survival?

Arthur's heart pounded—not just from fear—but from the anticipation of seeing those glittering dragons again.

Arthur took out the iron key, its edges worn with age, and handed it to Amber. "Open it."

As she knelt by the lock, he turned and asked the guard behind him, "Where in the seven hells is Cyril?"

One of the men who had remained behind in the castle that day replied, "Said his son had business in Fairmarket. Left just after midday."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Right—Cyril's son. A known gambler who owed coin to half the Riverlands. The old steward had been fretting about him for years.

A rotten apple from a crooked tree.

In the original Arthur's memories, Cyril had once even stolen a silver candlestick from his solar—just to sell it and cover his son's debts. The theft had gone unpunished, Arthur letting him off with a harsh reprimand. The item wasn't worth much… but trust, once cracked, never mended clean.

With a clunk, Amber turned the lock and pushed open the thick oaken door.

The treasury was dim, the smell of damp stone lingering in the air. Several others stepped in behind them—Yule, Darren, and two guards.

Arthur's boots echoed on the flagstones as he strode toward the rear corner of the vault. There, beneath the family banner—red stallion over brown—rested the old iron chest where the coin was kept.

He froze.

The lid was already ajar.

He rushed forward and flung it open—empty.

Gone. All of it.

"Where's the gold?" he demanded, staring at the bare interior. "Seven hells, where is it?"

Amber's breath caught in her throat. "That's… seven hundred gold dragons. They're gone?"

Even Yule was stunned, his cocky smirk vanishing. "Did someone… get here first?"

Arthur turned slowly, face grim, scanning those with him. Suspicion hung thick in the room.

Amber was first to speak, shaking her head like a frightened deer. "My lord, I swear—on the Seven—it wasn't me. I've never touched the chest without you present."

Arthur's gaze settled on Yule next.

Yule laughed sharply, though it sounded more angry than amused. "If I'd stolen seven hundred dragons, you think I'd still be in this muddy little castle? I'd be in King's Landing by now, drinking Arbor Gold with the whores on the Street of Silk."

The two guards exchanged glances. But Arthur knew—they had no access to the undercroft, and only three people knew of the vault: himself, Amber, and Cyril.

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Cyril," he and Yule muttered at the same time.

Yule stepped forward. "It's got to be him. That old rat's the only one who had the time and knowledge."

Arthur's stomach twisted.

If he had truly traveled to this world by replacing the original Arthur Bracken, then the original must have died. But how?

Two people stood to gain.

The first was Yule—blood relative, and claimant to the Bracken inheritance. But while Yule was crude and vain, he lacked the ambition—or cunning—for murder. No, he was greedy, not lethal.

The second was someone like Cyril. A servant who knew every corner of the castle. Who could poison a goblet or mix something into food without raising suspicion. A man who had access to both Arthur's room and the spare key.

A man who might see the sudden chaos following Arthur's death as the perfect opportunity to vanish with a small fortune.

Arthur clenched his fists. "He killed the original," he muttered under his breath. "Waited until the house was distracted by succession talk… and then slipped out, gold in hand."

The timing was perfect. With the village raided by Blackwood men—Brynden's ruse—everyone's attention had turned to defense. Cyril must've taken the key, looted the treasury, and fled while no one was watching.

"I'm going to find that old bastard," Arthur growled.

But the damage was done. Without the gold, Arthur's only hope lay with Lord Jonos Bracken at Stone Hedge. If the territory was lost, he'd be a landless noble. In Westeros, such men were nothing.

This wasn't the continent of Calradia from Mount & Blade, where you could recruit soldiers at taverns. Here, loyalty was forged by oaths, blood, and coin.

And Arthur had no coin.

"There's no time to waste. I'll ride for Stone Hedge myself with two guards," Arthur declared. "Amber, you'll oversee the defense of the castle. Yule—coordinate with her. Make plans. Stay sharp."

Amber nodded, though her face remained pale.

Arthur added, voice low but firm: "Whatever happens, don't let Brynden leave. He's the key. If they have him, we've lost."

Moments later, he rode through the gates with two soldiers at his heels.

They hadn't gone far when the glow of fire caught their eyes. Torches lit up the eastern slope, figures forming a rough crescent around the keep.

The flames revealed the banner: a ring of black crows surrounding a weirwood.

"Seven hells," one of the soldiers hissed. "Blackwoods. They're surrounding us."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "Are they? We'll see who corners whom."

He wheeled westward. "Follow me. We cross at the bridge."

There was one crossing over the Red Fork to the west—a narrow stone bridge near the Kneeling Stack. From there, they could ride south toward Stone Hedge.

Arthur spurred his horse and galloped into the dark, racing toward the only hope left for House Bracken.