CH-2

My first four years in this new world were relatively calm. My mother kept me close, never letting me leave the inn. I had barely stepped outside, save for the small garden in the back. Having read both the books and seen the Game of Thrones series, I knew enough about its history to grasp the danger that lay ahead.

By the time I was four, I had begun wandering around the inn more freely. After casually asking a few visitors and overhearing my mother, I pieced together the year—it was 283 AC. We were nearing the end of Robert's Rebellion. The latest rumor I overheard was that Rhaegar Targaryen had headed to the Riverlands to face Robert's army.

Despite my best efforts to convince my mother to leave the city, she refused. The inn was our home, a place with food and shelter, and the world beyond was far too uncertain for her. What she didn't know—what I couldn't make her understand—was the looming danger. The sacking of King's Landing by Tywin Lannister was just around the corner.

Frustrated and feeling helpless, an idea struck me. In the inn's garden, there were piles of firewood. I could build a hiding place there for my mother and me. Somewhere we could hide until the chaos, the violence, and the rapes subsided.

With that plan in mind, I started immediately. Though I was only four, I looked more like a six-year-old—strong for my age and quick to learn. As I arranged the firewood, Harris and Emma, the innkeeper's children, found me. Harris, the oldest, was just a few months younger than me, and Emma was a year younger still.

"What are you doing, Arthur?" Harris asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Building a hiding place," I replied, not stopping my work.

"Can we help?" he asked eagerly.

"Sure, but it's a tough job. Are you sure you want to?"

They both nodded excitedly, and soon the three of us were hard at work.

Of course, it wasn't long before my mother and the innkeeper's wife noticed what we were up to. But they dismissed it as childish play and left us to it.

It took us three days to finish the hideout. It was a small hole, large enough for four adults to squeeze into. Once the entrance was covered with firewood, it blended in perfectly. I felt guilty that I had only planned for my mother and me, so I expanded it to fit the innkeeper and his family as well.

When we finished, we stood back, admiring our handiwork.

After that, I stopped going out into the garden much. Instead, I spent my time eavesdropping on the conversations inside the inn, waiting for the moment I'd hear that Tywin Lannister was at the gates of King's Landing. The moment I did, I'd drag my mother, the innkeeper, and his wife to the hiding place.

For a week, I waited anxiously, but the inn had mostly emptied because of the war, leaving me with little news. My mother noticed my restlessness and, after several days of me refusing to go outside, finally sent me to play with Harris and Emma.

When I saw them playing in the hiding place we'd built, for a brief moment, my worries melted away. Harris and Emma were just innocent children. They would grow up to be kind, like their parents. I, who had the brain of a mature man, saw them as just children instead of my peers. But my maturity hadn't gone unnoticed by the adults around me. I was far too serious for my age, though no one had said anything yet.

As I watched Harris and Emma play, a scream shattered the quiet.

I jumped to my feet and sprinted toward the inn. Everything was starting.

Bursting through the door, I saw the innkeeper wrestling with a soldier at the entrance. My mother and the innkeeper's wife were being dragged by their hair, screaming.

The moment they saw me, their shouts turned to desperate pleas.

"Run! Hide!" my mother cried, her voice breaking with terror.

For a second, I froze. All my preparations had been for nothing. Why had I listened to my mother and not stayed by the door, ready to act? But now it was too late. I couldn't help them—not in this body. A single sword strike would cut me in two.

Just then, Harris and Emma appeared in the doorway, confused and frightened by the commotion.

I took one last look at my mother before turning to grab Harris and Emma by the arms, dragging them toward the back garden.

There was a small door that opened to the alley behind the inn. I shoved it open, pushed the two children into the garden, and hurried them toward the hiding place. I slipped in behind them, pulling the wooden cover in place, concealing us beneath the pile of firewood.

Tears streamed down my face as I huddled inside.

Harris and Emma stared at me in confusion, their faces pale with fear. Then, as if sensing the gravity of the situation, they too began to cry. Silently, their small bodies trembling, they cried with the kind of terror only children can feel.

We waited in the dark, listening to the horrors unfold outside, praying we wouldn't be found.