Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The news spread like wildfire. By the next morning, all of King's Landing was talking about the nameless sellsword who had defeated Jaime Lannister in open combat. The tale was embellished in every retelling—some claimed I had bested him in three swift strikes, others that Jaime had barely escaped with his life. But the truth was far simpler: I had disarmed Jaime Lannister, forced him to yield, and left him walking away with his pride wounded.

But pride was a dangerous thing in King's Landing. And mine had just attracted the attention of every major player in the game.

Cersei's Wrath

"A mere sellsword," Cersei hissed, pacing within her chambers, fury radiating from her in waves. "A common mercenary dared to humiliate my brother?"

Her anger was palpable. The Queen's golden hair shimmered in the candlelight as she clenched her goblet so tightly I half-expected it to shatter. Jaime was her pride, her champion, her unshakable pillar of strength, and now, in the eyes of the court, he had been bested by an unknown man.

"What do you wish to do, Your Grace?" one of her handmaidens asked nervously.

Cersei's emerald eyes narrowed. "Find out everything about him. Where he came from, what he wants, and—most importantly—who he serves. If he thinks he can embarrass the Lannisters and walk away unscathed, he is sorely mistaken."

The order was given. The Queen wanted my head on a spike.

Littlefinger's Curiosity

Petyr Baelish was no fool. If there was one thing he hated, it was unknown variables. And I had just become the biggest unknown in the city.

"Strange, isn't it?" he mused to himself, idly tracing a finger along the rim of his wine cup. "A sellsword, a nameless figure, yet he manages to defeat Jaime Lannister? How… unexpected."

Littlefinger had built his influence by knowing more than anyone else, and he despised being caught off guard.

"Find out who he is," he instructed one of his spies. "Every detail. Who he speaks to, where he goes at night, what he desires. If he is merely lucky, then we have nothing to fear. But if he is more… then we must be prepared."

The Master of Coin was watching me now. That much was clear.

Varys' Interest

Unlike Littlefinger, Varys did not panic when presented with an unknown element. He observed.

The Spider sat in his chamber, his fingers steepled, listening as one of his little birds relayed the tale.

"Fascinating," he murmured, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "A man who fights like a knight but moves like a shadow. And yet, he bears no sigil, no allegiance. How very… interesting."

He already knew Cersei would want me dead, and Littlefinger would want to control me. But Varys? He simply wanted to understand me.

"Watch him," he whispered to his spies. "Let us see what he does next."

Robert's Curiosity

When King Robert heard of the fight, his reaction was completely different from the others.

"Hah!" he bellowed, slamming his goblet down, nearly spilling wine all over his tunic. "Someone finally put Jaime in his place? I would've paid a hundred gold dragons to see it!"

Unlike Cersei, Robert held no illusions about Jaime's perfection. The Kingslayer was a fine warrior, but the King had grown tired of the golden-haired knight's arrogance.

"Bring the sellsword to me!" Robert declared. "A man who can fight like that is worth keeping around."

Arya's Excitement

"Tell me everything!" Arya demanded, her eyes alight with curiosity and excitement as she all but bounced on her feet.

We were in a secluded courtyard, where we often trained, and she had hounded me the moment she heard the tale.

"Was it really as fast as they say? Did you cut his sword in half? Did he run away like a coward?" She fired question after question, barely stopping to breathe.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "No, Arya. He didn't run. Jaime is one of the best swordsmen in Westeros. If he had taken me lightly, I might not be standing here now."

Her brow furrowed. "But you still won. You beat him."

I nodded. "Because I knew how he fought. I didn't overpower him—I outmaneuvered him. Sometimes, winning isn't about being stronger. It's about being smarter."

She grinned. "That means I still have a chance to beat you."

I smirked. "You have a long way to go, little wolf."

Sansa's Reaction

Sansa had tried to act indifferent when she heard the news. She tried to act as though it didn't matter. But I saw the way her eyes lingered on me when we spoke, the way she hesitated before asking.

"You… fought Ser Jaime?" she finally asked one afternoon in the gardens.

I nodded. "I did."

Her blue eyes flickered with something unreadable. "And you won?"

"I did."

She bit her lip, glancing away. "He's one of the greatest knights in the realm."

I tilted my head, watching her reaction. "Does that impress you?"

She hesitated. "It… surprises me."

I took a slow step closer, lowering my voice just slightly. "Is that all?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I— I just don't understand how. You're… you're not a knight."

"No," I agreed, smiling. "But does that mean I can't be great?"

She looked at me then, truly looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something flicker behind those perfect blue eyes—curiosity, intrigue, maybe even admiration.

I had taken another step closer to her.