Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The days passed, and slowly, Winterfell began to accept me.

At first, I was just another sellsword with a dubious past, someone the soldiers respected for his skill but didn't fully trust. An outsider.

But time has a way of wearing down suspicion.

Every morning, I trained with the guards, honing my skills alongside them.

✔ I sparred without arrogance, never humiliating my opponents.

✔ I took orders without complaint, showing discipline beyond that of a wandering sword-for-hire.

✔ I joined them for meals, drank with them in the evenings, listened to their tales of past battles, and shared just enough of my own experiences to build camaraderie.

Soon enough, the whispers faded.

I wasn't just the stranger who had killed bandits.

I was one of them.

Even Ser Rodrik had softened his watchful gaze, offering gruff nods of approval when he saw me train.

Robb and Jon respected my skill, Theon enjoyed my company, and the common soldiers had stopped regarding me as a mystery to be solved.

But while they grew to accept me, I remained careful.

I didn't let them see who I truly was.

Because my goals went beyond being a simple guardsman in Winterfell.

The First Glimpse of Sansa Stark

It happened on an early afternoon, just as I was finishing my morning duties.

I had spent the last few hours in the yard, drilling with the younger recruits, correcting their footwork and helping them refine their techniques.

After cleaning up, I made my way through one of the inner courtyards, where the noblewomen often strolled during the warmer hours of the day.

And that's when I saw her.

Sansa Stark.

My target.

She wasn't alone—she walked with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel her closest friends.

But I barely noticed them.

All I could see was her.

In my past life, Sansa had been beautiful in the show, a red-haired noblewoman with a quiet strength that grew over time.

But here?

She was breathtaking.

Her auburn hair gleamed like strands of fire beneath the pale northern sun, cascading down her back in soft curls.

Her eyes were the purest shade of blue, like deep, untouched waters reflecting the sky.

Her skin was flawless—pale, soft, untouched by hardship.

She walked with grace, her every step delicate and refined, trained to move as a lady should.

Her dress, a shade of icy blue, fit her perfectly, accentuating the natural curves of her body. Not overly voluptuous, but elegant, shaped by youth and noble breeding.

A vision of beauty, purity, and refinement.

A woman untouched.

A woman I would have.

I felt it in my bones. I would bed this woman. I would claim her as mine.

But not yet.

She was still beyond my reach, still too guarded, too proper to even glance in my direction.

For now.

A Fleeting Encounter

As she and her friends walked, their conversation was light, filled with innocent laughter and noble gossip.

I stood near a stone pillar, casually observing—not staring, but simply watching.

And then—she saw me.

Her gaze flicked toward mine for just a moment.

A second.

Barely that.

And then she turned away, continuing on as if I was no more important than the stone beneath her feet.

The look wasn't one of disgust or intrigue.

It was indifference.

To her, I was just another nameless guard, another blade in service to her father's house.

She didn't even acknowledge me.

And that only made me want her more.

She wasn't mine yet.

But she would be.

This was only the beginning.