Disclaimer: I do not own the IPs involved with this story. Game of Thrones, a Song of Ice and Fire, and Red Dead Redemption are owned by HBO, George R. R. Martin, and Rockstar, respectively.
Artwork by Hotpot AI.
Author's note: Contains spoilers for the ending of Red Dead Redemption 2.
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Arthur Morgan lay there on the mountaintop, facing west. Despite the overwhelming urge to do so, he couldn't bring himself to cough anymore, he simply was too weak as his lungs filled with fluid, and he slowly drowned. Despite this, however, he was at peace. The Van der Linde gang was finished, and he couldn't help but wish it could have ended differently, preferably in Tahiti. He attempted a chuckle, but all that came out was fluid. Spots began to appear in his vision as he saw his last dawn.
The last thought on his mind was of John and his family. He was honestly jealous of John if he were honest with himself. He hoped they could put this far behind them and live on the right side of the law with the gang gone. These were Arther Morgan's last thoughts as his eyes lay open before the sunset.
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Arthur woke up with a start to the sound of a bell. He looked around; it was his old tent in the gang's camp. He took one long breath in. It was free of mucus and other such things, and he could breathe free of pain for the first time in a long time. He pulled himself out of the roll and got himself dressed before he made his way out of the tent. Was all that really just a dream? It seemed too real. He had died, he felt that, and he didn't want to experience that ever again.
"John? Dutch? You there?"
Arthur called out as he lifted the tent's flap and saw the camp. The camp was seemingly empty, but there was a pot of stew over a fire. Arthur's hand moved to a holster that wasn't there. There were no weapons in his tent, not even his Varment rifle.
"Hu ha," a raspy voice called out, laughing, causing Arthur to jump again. He turned, bracing himself. A malevolence and ancientness to that laugh caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. His hands were once more drawn to weapons that weren't there. Once more, finding nothing as he faced the stranger, no THE Stranger, death. Arthur felt this knowledge come to him, unbidden and from some alien place within his mind he didn't know existed.
He stepped toward the figure unbidden, The Stranger directed Arthur to sit, and he felt compelled to do so. When he sat by the fire with the Stranger, he felt a sudden peace and Understanding with the man, no the thing before him. A piece of bread came conjured from nowhere. The Stranger broke it in half, handing it to Arthur. He took it and almost went to bite into it before stopping himself.
"So, your death? Kinda figured you'd be some demon, angle, or the grim reaper, not this, but I suppose there's not much to discuss that now, is there?" asked Arthur.
"Huuu," said the Stranger in a groaning fashion as half of the bread disappeared under the Stranger's hood, and an ungodly ripping, then squelching noise was heard like the bread was made from meat like a cow was stuck through a wheat thresher while harvesting grain. This caused Arthur to look down at the bread in horror before he noticed that there was something in the bread's center. A sausage of some kind was seemingly baked into the bread.
"Hahaha hu," laughed the stranger as it pulled out a bowl. Pulling a ladle from the pot and pouring the soup into the same bowl, he handed it to the outlaw, who took it cautiously. Looking at the seemingly normal bowl of soup before him, he grabbed a spoon that probably wasn't there before on a table that he didn't remember seeing.
Arthur dipped the bread in with the soup and bit. It was alright, he supposed, but good enough to fill him up. He and the stranger ate silently until the bowl before him became empty instantly, bottoming out. Arthur finally couldn't keep his thoughts to himself anymore.
"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that you've brought me here for something. Unless this is going to be my personal hell for how I lived, but I doubt someone. . . Something like you wouldn't be playing games like that. Why are you doing this? Why am I here, stranger?"
The stranger abruptly stood, and the world spun. The camp was gone, and so were his clothes. They were changed out for a bathrobe, of all things. Arthur looked around, confused. He was in a stone temple with many faces still sitting before a desk of all things. The Stranger sat there upon a throne. That, along with the desk, made him appear rather snug, almost like he was stuck between the desk and the throne.
The entity slid a piece of thick paper over to him. On it were words. They were in an unfamiliar language, but somehow he could not understand it. There was also an illustration next to it depicting something that wasn't quite human. It might have been a man once, but something was done to him. Arthur could see it even now despite it. . . no, the Night King on the paper, knowledge flowed into him about the creature. The Long Night, the wall, and most importantly, the raising of the dead. It appears the Stranger, in no uncertain terms, wished for this creature's death, as the dead were the Stranger's domain, not its.
These thoughts came unbidden to him despite having no prior knowledge like they were being written into his head. The process brought on something akin to pain but was removed as he no longer had a body. Something akin to a sense of vertigo overtook him as he slouched further into the chair as the Stranger unrolled a scroll of all things. Ink and quill appear next to it. Further knowledge came to unbidden to him once more, involving its nature.
"You want me to sign a contract to kill this 'Night King' of yours? What do I get out of it? Why me and not someone like Davy Crocket, hell, even George Washington?"
The Stranger briefly raised his hand, and Understanding of the situation filled him. The knowledge, however, was too much, and he could feel himself fracturing like he was thrown in one of those new-fangled washing machines with a barrel of straight raisers.
Knowing why the being did this to him was tearing his very being apart.
Suddenly the knowledge left him, and he could feel the Stranger knitting him back together. He felt wrong like something was lost to him with this exchange, but he supposed he should be careful what he wished for from the being next time. He looked down at the contract once more.
"What do I get out of this?"
The being once more communicated in Understanding rather than words. Arthur's face drew back in horror. If his face could have gone pail to reflect his shock, it would have, but this body of his was not one of flesh and blood. So some things were lost with it.
"I don't suppose there is much of an option, then, but I can't just go over there as I am. But I reckon you knew that already."
With a wave of his hand, the Stranger caused the room to collapse on itself, then implode into being once more. It was the same room with only four changes. A bow, revolver, knife, and repeater lay on the table. Their make was foreign to him, being unlike anything he had seen before. Understanding was given to him about the weapons. The bow was a recurve made from Ebony, designed to be fired on a horse. The knife was made up of something that reminded him of Damascus steel with the way the steel rippled and shined, Valerian steel, the Understanding told him.
The repeater made from the same wood was inlaid with depictions of the very being before him, the Stranger. There was no intake for ammunition and no outtake for it to be dispensed. The same could be said for the revolver. Its chamber was fixed to the gun and unable to be popped out the side to be reloaded. The two guns' shapes and designs overall were utterly unnecessary. They could have been simple tubes like a damn musket for all that mattered. The Understanding given to him told him that they ran off of something.
Thinking about the energies within the weapons brought about the same vertigo sensation from before from the Understanding given to him. This caused him to think about the very thing dispensing this knowledge. It wasn't the Stranger. It was almost like something else was within his head, no soul with him. The feeling of vertigo intensified with this.
The Stranger chuffed once more, waving its hand, and the Understanding was now gone. Whatever entity or wayward soul it was now gone from him, leaving him with only fragments of knowledge as suddenly Arthur felt something that was lost with his near unmaking in attempting to understand the Stranger's motives was returned to him.
The Stranger growled as he moved the paper closer to him, urging Arthur to make his decision.
Arthur hesitated only for a moment before signing the contract. As he dipped the pen into the ink well, a stream of slimy back tendrils lept from the pen, then onto the paper.
The outlaw could feel his very being bound to its word and law as his name, and all he was, was put upon it. The spirit and words of the contract became imprinted upon him. After the signing, the inky tendrils lept from the vial and swallowed him whole.
The world collapsed in on itself once more, leaving only the Stranger's laughter to accompany him into the darkness.
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Arthur woke up with a start once more. Gone were the robes. Once more, he found himself in his regular clothes. He found himself in a pool at its very bottom. He did not feel the need to breathe as he steadily swam up it. He emerged from the reservoir. Arthur himself in a chamber of statues. Various people were in the chamber, some cripples, the old, and some seemingly rich men waiting in line. The old and crippled seemingly stared at the pool in contemplation.
There was a sudden shout, then the clatter of feet as an old man ran away, screaming from the pool and pointing back at him.
"A thing! A thing has risen out from the poison pool!" he cried out as he ran away, screaming like a madman. The man may be old, but he sure could run, Arthur, supposed.
Arthur attempted to speak but instead found himself coughing up the water from the pool suddenly and violently. When he was finished, he looked up and saw a crowd had gathered around him. They were, however, not brave enough to get any closer than around thirty feet (9 meters) from him. Arthur stood up. He was seemingly in a stone building of some kind. As he looked around with narrowed eyes as saw several figures, one of which was a statue of the stranger. Arthur felt the need to move towards it. The crowd parted before him, none daring to go near as he walked towards the statue of the Stranger.
"Stranger ain't got a face. Giving him one just doesn't feel right."
Arthur said to no one in particular. The crowd was taken aback by Arthur's words for some reason, causing him to turn his eyes to the crowd. They began to disperse at his sight for some reason, causing Arthur to look down in confusion as he brought up his hand. It had the same paleness back in Beaver Hallow, like he was still sick with TB or dead.
"Who are you to say what the stranger should look like? Are you one of the Faceless men? Is that how you survived the poison pool?" A higher-pitched this time female voice called out.
The crowd had vacated the temple. All but the infirm and priests in robes were left beside the girl.
"How can a person be faceless? That ain't no man if they don't have one. Also poison? You know what, never mind that. Can you tell me where I am?" asked Arthur.
"You're in Bravos, in the house of Black and white, home of the faceless men, sir. . ." the girl continues as if waiting for him to say something.
"Arthur, Arthur Morgan, " said the former outlaw.
"Arthur? Were you named after the Sword of the Morning?"
"I don't know who that is, little lady. Now, where is Bravos when it comes to the wall? I need to get there." asked Arthur.
"Why do you need to go there? Looking to take the black and kill someone on the wall of all places? It's over the narrow sea and north. You'd need a ship to go there," The girl said.
"Aye, I got something to kill, but it hasn't been a man for a long time. You seem to know your geography, girl. What's your name? Why are you here of all places?" asked Arthur.
The girl seemed to freeze for a moment before saying, "Arey, and why I'm here is none of your business, sir."
"Got a mouth on you, that's for s." Arthur was interrupted by a knife flying toward his face; he attempted to dodge it, causing it to ricochet off the side of his skull, leaving a gash.
Arthur went for his revolver, to his relief, found it. He brought it up cocking back the hammer, and fired. The Priest's head near exploded. Causing Arthur to look in consternation at the gun.
"What the fuck?"
"By the seven!"
The other priests turned their heads to the pair.
"Welp, time to bolt."
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So it was that Arthur ran from the house of White and Black, not having any clue as to why it was that the priest of the faceless men tried to kill him. They ran past the lake shore of the house and then into the city proper. Bravos was a shock to Arthur. It was so different from what he was used to. It was like being in a storybook, like Constantinople before the sacking or Carthage. Such cities came to mind when seeing the richer parts of Bravos, the city, however, stank like a pigsty. He looked around at the girl.
"Why are you following me," asked Arthur
"You busted that faceless man's head open without even touching him. The faceless men won't help, and you seem like the kind of person to. . ."
"To what, little miss? Go on a little personal killing spree for you?"
"No, I... I want to learn how you did that so I can cross off my list. So are you a wizard?"
"List? List of what?"
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