Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The throne room of the Red Keep was bathed in golden light as I walked across the polished stone floor. Every eye in the court was on me, whispering and murmuring as I strode forward. King Robert Baratheon had summoned me, and when a king calls, one does not delay.

Seated on the Iron Throne, Robert Baratheon looked every bit the warrior he had once been, though now dulled by years of wine and indulgence. He grinned as I approached, his fingers drumming idly against the armrest.

"So," he bellowed, his voice filling the chamber, "you're the one who bested Jaime Lannister."

The court grew even quieter. Cersei sat to the side, her face a mask of cold fury. Littlefinger smirked, while Varys merely observed, his expression unreadable. I knew this moment mattered—one wrong word and I could make powerful enemies.

I gave a respectful bow. "It was merely a duel, Your Grace. Ser Jaime is a formidable opponent."

Robert let out a bark of laughter. "Formidable? Aye, but you beat him. Don't sell yourself short, lad. Not many can claim such a feat."

I kept my tone humble. "Perhaps it was luck, Your Grace."

Robert grinned wider. "Luck, skill—it doesn't matter. You did what others couldn't. And for that, you've earned a reward." He leaned forward, studying me. "Tell me, sellsword, what is it that you want? Gold? A castle? Women?"

The room held its breath. I had thought carefully about my request. Gold fades, a castle could be taken, but a title? A title granted by a king was something that lasted.

I met Robert's gaze. "If it pleases Your Grace… I would ask for knighthood."

A hush fell over the court.

Then, Robert threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Knighthood? That's it? You take down the Kingslayer and all you want is a damned title?"

"A title and the honor that comes with it, Your Grace," I said smoothly.

Robert wiped a tear from his eye. "Hells, why not? Half the knights in Westeros don't deserve their titles anyway." He gestured for a sword to be brought forward, and a Lannister blade was placed in his hands. Cersei's lips thinned as she watched.

"Kneel."

I did, lowering myself before the Iron Throne as Robert lifted the blade.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. Rise, Ser Damon Waters."

As I stood, the court erupted in murmurs. A bastard, a commoner, now a knight. Some were amused, some surprised, and some, like Cersei, were furious.

Robert clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't make me regret this, lad."

I inclined my head. "I won't, Your Grace."

His grin widened. "Good. Now, I ride for the hunt tomorrow. You're welcome to join, but I doubt you'll keep up with me."

I smiled, but internally, I knew the truth. This would be Robert Baratheon's last hunt. And I would say nothing.

Lessons in Shadows

That evening, I met Arya in the empty corridors where we trained. She was still riding the high of my victory.

"A knight! You're a knight now!" she exclaimed. "But I thought you said knights weren't all good."

I smirked. "They aren't. But titles open doors, Arya. And power is about knowing which doors to walk through."

She considered that, then took her stance, wooden sword at the ready. "Teach me something new. Something useful."

I nodded and crouched slightly. "Alright. Today, we learn how to disappear."

She frowned. "Disappear?"

"Not every fight is about winning, Arya. Sometimes, it's about escaping to fight another day." I stepped into the shadows, using the flickering torches to obscure my figure. "King's Landing isn't a battlefield—it's a jungle. And in a jungle, the best predators don't get seen until it's too late."

Arya's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I want to learn."

"Then watch. Listen. Learn."

The lessons in survival had begun.

Ned Stark's Discovery

While I was teaching Arya, Ned Stark sat in his chamber, his brow furrowed as he read through the ledgers left by Jon Arryn.

Page after page, the pieces fell into place. Hair color. Birth records. Unnamed bastards. Ned was not a man who delved in whispers, but even he could see the truth now.

He pushed back his chair, his heart heavy. "Joffrey is not Robert's son. None of them are."

The weight of the revelation crushed him. He should have gone straight to Robert. He should have moved faster. But instead, he made a fatal mistake.

He confronted Cersei.

The Queen's Warning

That evening, under the dim candlelight of the royal gardens, Ned Stark met Cersei Lannister. He held no sword, only the truth.

"You should leave," he said plainly. "Take your children and go. When Robert returns, I will tell him. And when he knows, he will come for you."

Cersei tilted her head, her green eyes gleaming like a cat's in the dark. "You should have taken the throne, Lord Stark. You would have been a good king."

"I serve Robert."

She sighed, stepping closer, the scent of her perfume heavy in the air. "When you play the game of thrones, you win… or you die."

Ned's jaw clenched. "I am giving you a chance. Take your children and go."

Cersei only smiled. "I will do what I must. I only hope you will do the same."

And with that, she walked away, leaving him to his fate.