Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The castle remained cloaked in sorrow, its walls heavy with the weight of Bran Stark's fall. Servants moved quietly, their whispers hushed in the great halls, as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace that held Winterfell together. It had been days since the boy's accident, and still, he had not woken.

Lady Catelyn Stark, gaunt and sleepless, remained at her son's bedside. But on this morning, a letter changed everything.

A Message from Lysa

The letter arrived with the dawn, sealed with the sigil of House Arryn. Maester Luwin brought it to Lady Stark's hands, his face grim. She broke the wax, unrolling the parchment with trembling fingers. Her eyes flickered across the words, widening with each passing second.

The Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn.

Lysa's words were desperate, warning of treachery and hidden knives. She claimed the Queen's family was responsible for her husband's death, and urged Catelyn to act before it was too late.

Catelyn's breath caught in her throat. The Lannisters. It made sense, too much sense. Bran's fall, too, had felt like more than an accident. Her fingers clenched around the parchment. She had to tell Ned.

Damon and Sansa

While Winterfell reeled from the letter's revelation, Damon Waters sought out Sansa Stark. He found her sitting alone near the castle's training yard, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face pale from restless nights.

"You shouldn't be alone, my lady," he said, his voice smooth as he approached.

Sansa looked up, startled, then quickly wiped at her eyes. "I wasn't crying," she insisted.

Damon offered a knowing smile and sat beside her, careful not to seem imposing. "Of course not. A lady of Winterfell is always strong."

She sniffed. "It's just… Bran. And father is leaving soon."

He nodded, watching her closely. "Your father is doing what he thinks is right. But I imagine it's difficult, having your family pulled apart."

Sansa sighed, looking away. "He's taking me with him."

That was expected, but Damon feigned mild surprise. "King's Landing… it's not like Winterfell."

Her gaze flickered toward him. "You've been there?"

"A long time ago," he lied smoothly. "It's beautiful, but dangerous. Everyone smiles, but few are your friends."

Sansa bit her lip. "I don't know if I want to go."

Damon leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice just enough to make her feel as if this was a secret shared between them. "Then let me offer some advice. Be careful who you trust, and never let them see your fear."

She looked at him then, truly looked at him. "You sound as if you know a lot about these things."

He chuckled. "Let's just say I've been in places where trust is a dangerous thing."

Sansa hesitated before whispering, "Will you be staying here?"

"For now," he answered truthfully. "But if you ever need a friend, you have one in me."

A small smile touched her lips before she quickly turned away. Damon knew the seed had been planted.

Ned's Decision

Inside the Lord's solar, Eddard Stark read Lysa's letter in silence. His face, already lined with worry, darkened further as his eyes scanned his sister-in-law's frantic words.

"The Lannisters…" he murmured, placing the parchment down.

Catelyn sat across from him, her hands clasped tightly. "We cannot ignore this, Ned."

He exhaled slowly. "I had no intention to." He glanced toward the window, his mind working through the pieces. "Robert wants me in King's Landing. If this is true, then I cannot leave this matter to chance."

Catelyn's grip on his hand tightened. "Then I will stay. I will not leave Bran."

Ned nodded. "I wouldn't ask you to." He stood, the weight of duty pressing down upon him. "I'll take Sansa and Arya. We leave in three days."

Catelyn swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Be careful, my love."

Ned Stark, ever the honorable man, gave her a solemn nod. "I always am."

As the sun rose higher, casting golden light upon Winterfell's walls, the first steps toward a larger conflict had been taken. And within the shadows, Damon Waters watched, waiting for the storm to come.