Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

Winterfell had never been busier.

The castle bustled with servants rushing through the halls, knights polishing their armor, and cooks preparing an endless feast. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced wine filled the air.

Everyone was preparing for one man.

Robert Baratheon.

The King of the Seven Kingdoms. The Usurper. The once-great warrior turned fat with drink and excess.

He was finally here.

The Royal Procession

The sound of hooves thundered through the courtyard as the royal procession entered Winterfell.

At the head of it all rode Robert Baratheon.

He was massive, even bigger than I had expected. Not in the way a warrior should be—but in the way a man lets himself go.

His armor struggled to contain his massive gut, his beard wild and unkempt. But there was still power in his presence, even if the years had dulled his edges.

Beside him, Ned Stark rode with his usual grim expression, looking as though he had already grown tired of the reunion.

The Lannisters followed closely behind.

✔ Queen Cersei, golden-haired and cold-eyed, looking upon the North with thinly veiled contempt.

✔ Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, riding with arrogance in every movement.

✔ Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, eyes sharp and watchful even as he drank from a wineskin.

Then came the Baratheon children:

✔ Joffrey, the golden-haired little bastard who thought himself a king. His smug smirk made my fingers twitch with irritation.

✔ Tommen, innocent, oblivious to the world.

✔ Myrcella, composed and polite, yet distant.

Behind them, the rest of the royal court, knights, guards, and attendants followed in a long line.

And just like that—the Game of Thrones had truly begun.

The First Day

As the royal group dismounted, King Robert roared with laughter, grabbing Ned Stark in a crushing embrace.

"Stark, you old wolf!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "You got fat!"

Ned didn't smile, but his lips twitched. "You're one to talk."

Robert threw his head back and laughed, clapping Ned on the back with a force that nearly sent the Northern Lord stumbling.

I watched carefully from my position near the guards, keeping my expression neutral.

✔ The King was unpredictable.

✔ The Lannisters were dangerous.

✔ The Starks were too trusting.

This was a dangerous mix of power and ambition.

And I intended to use it to my advantage.

The Banquet

That night, Winterfell held a grand feast in honor of the King's arrival.

The Great Hall was filled to the brim with nobles, lords, and soldiers, the tables overflowing with food and drink.

✔ Boar and venison, dripping with fat.

✔ Honeyed chicken and spiced sausages.

✔ Fresh bread, buttered and warm.

✔ Casks of ale and goblets of Dornish wine.

King Robert ate like a starving man, tearing into his food, laughing between mouthfuls.

I remained near the edges, watching as wine loosened tongues and ambition simmered beneath the surface.

✔ The Queen sat stiffly, her gaze distant, her expression unreadable.

✔ Joffrey sneered at the Northerners, making arrogant remarks that earned only cold glares.

✔ Tyrion drank more than any man present but still seemed the sharpest of them all.

Then, Sansa entered.

Draped in deep blue silk, her hair woven with delicate braids, the silver hairpin glinting beneath the candlelight.

She was breathtaking.

Joffrey noticed her, his smug gaze lingering on her a moment too long.

I clenched my jaw. That little bastard didn't deserve to look at her.

As Sansa took her seat near her family, her gaze flickered toward me—just for a second.

But I saw it.

The curiosity.

The wonder.

The silent question in her eyes.

A Game Begins

As the night stretched on, I remained in my corner, drinking slowly, letting the chaos unfold before me.

✔ The King was drunk.

✔ The Lords were speaking freely.

✔ Secrets were slipping through the cracks.

And I was there, listening, watching, planning.

Winterfell had changed.

The Game had truly begun.