Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

Winterfell remained alive with murmurs long after the engagement was announced.

The news had spread like wildfire—Sansa Stark was to marry Joffrey Baratheon.

Most of the castle saw it as a match of honor, duty, and power.

But I saw it for what it truly was—a slow-moving disaster.

And I was already working to make sure Sansa saw it too.

Ros' First Influence Move

The best way to change a mind was not through direct confrontation.

It was through subtlety.

And that was why I had sent Ros to work through Jeyne Poole.

Jeyne was young, impressionable, and eager to gossip.

All Ros had to do was plant the right seeds.

The First Whisper

Sansa and Jeyne walked along the courtyard, the early morning frost crisp beneath their steps.

Beth Cassel was with them, giggling about how wonderful it must be to be promised to a prince.

Jeyne was even more excited than Sansa herself, sighing dramatically.

"You'll be a queen one day, Sansa! You'll live in King's Landing, surrounded by gold and silk!"

Sansa smiled softly, but there was something hesitant about it.

Beth nudged her. "What is it?"

Sansa shook her head. "Nothing… just thinking."

And that was when Ros entered the conversation.

She had been sitting nearby, idly stitching a piece of embroidery, positioned perfectly to be overheard.

She didn't look up when she spoke.

"I lived near White Harbor once," she mused, her tone casual. "Met a woman who worked in the Red Keep. Said King's Landing is nothing like the songs."

The girls turned toward her, curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean?" Beth asked.

Ros let out a soft chuckle, as if she had only now realized she was speaking aloud.

"Oh, I shouldn't say."

That was all it took.

Jeyne practically bounced on her feet. "No, you must tell us!"

Ros sighed as if reluctant.

"She told me…" she leaned in slightly, "that it smells like rot and filth, and that the noblemen fight like wild dogs, smiling in the daylight and cutting throats in the dark."

The shift in Sansa's expression was instant.

"That can't be true," she said, voice softer, as if trying to convince herself.

Ros gave a small, knowing smile.

"Maybe not all of it. But tell me, my lady—how well do you know your betrothed?"

Silence.

Sansa had no answer.

Jeyne, ever the romantic, defended Joffrey immediately. "Prince Joffrey is beautiful and noble! He'll be the greatest king in history!"

Ros simply tilted her head.

"Of course, my lady. If a prince looks like a king, then surely, he must act like one too."

The words were innocent enough.

But they did their job.

A seed of doubt had been planted.

Sansa would think about them, wonder if she truly knew Joffrey.

And when she saw the cracks in his golden façade?

She would remember this moment.

A Conversation with Tyrion Lannister

That evening, I found myself in the Great Hall, drinking alone in a quiet corner.

Not truly alone, of course.

Tyrion Lannister was there, watching me.

He approached with a smirk, his goblet sloshing with deep red wine.

"A man who drinks alone is either a philosopher or a fool," he remarked, seating himself across from me without invitation.

I chuckled. "And what does that make a man who drinks with a Lannister?"

Tyrion grinned. "A risk-taker."

We drank in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

"You're not like the other guards," he observed. "Most of them carry themselves like loyal dogs or Northern brutes. But you?"

His sharp eyes glimmered with curiosity.

"You're… something else."

I shrugged. "A sellsword is just a man who sells his blade to the highest bidder."

Tyrion scoffed. "Perhaps. But clever men don't stay mere sellswords forever. They find their way into grander things."

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

"Tell me, Damon Waters… do you have grander ambitions?"

I swirled my wine, considering my answer.

What did I want him to believe?

Finally, I exhaled. "I want what every man wants. A comfortable life. Good coin. Better company."

Tyrion chuckled. "A noble answer for a man with no noble ties."

"I don't believe in noble ties," I said simply. "I believe in power. And power is earned, not given."

Tyrion raised his goblet in approval. "On that, we agree."

He took a deep sip before changing the subject.

"Tell me, Damon… have you ever been to Essos?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Once."

"And? What did you think?"

I smirked. "It's a place where men with nothing can become men with everything."

Tyrion nodded. "That's what I've heard. And what of the North?"

I chuckled. "The North is the opposite. A place where men with everything die with nothing."

Tyrion laughed. "Oh, I do like you."

He set his goblet down, his expression turning slightly more serious.

"King's Landing is a dangerous place, Damon. Men like you either thrive or disappear."

I met his gaze, smirking slightly.

"Then I suppose I'll have to be careful, won't I?"

Tyrion studied me for a moment longer before grinning.

"Yes. I suppose you will."

He drained his goblet and stood. "A pleasure, Damon Waters. I do hope we speak again."

And with that, he walked away, his short frame disappearing into the crowd.

I sat back, finishing my own drink, considering the conversation.

Tyrion Lannister had noticed me.

That could be useful.

Or dangerous.

Either way, it meant one thing.

I was no longer just a shadow in the North.

I was a player in the game.

And the game had only just begun.