Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The gardens of the Red Keep were quiet in the late afternoon sun, the scent of fresh roses mixing with the sea breeze from Blackwater Bay. I stood beneath the shade of an elm, absently toying with my sword hilt, waiting. It had become a routine by now.

And sure enough, Sansa arrived.

Dressed in a pale blue gown, her auburn hair catching the sunlight, she approached with a careful grace that had become second nature to her. She was getting used to court life, to the expectations of a future queen. But despite all her training in poise and decorum, I could still see the hints of uncertainty in her eyes when she looked at me. A part of her still sought answers she wasn't sure she wanted.

"Ser Damon," she greeted, her voice carefully polite, yet carrying a hint of warmth.

I smiled, bowing slightly. "Lady Sansa. To what do I owe this honor?"

She hesitated for a moment before sitting on the stone bench beside me. "I wanted to ask you something."

I leaned against the tree, folding my arms. "Ask away."

She studied me, her blue eyes searching. "What is it like? Being a knight?"

I chuckled. "Ah, so you wish to know what it's like to be one of the finest, bravest, most dashing men in all the Seven Kingdoms?"

Sansa rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm being serious."

I smirked. "Alright, I'll tell you. Being a knight is… complicated."

She tilted her head. "Complicated?"

I nodded. "Most knights live by an ideal, a code of honor. But the reality is, not all knights follow it. Many are brutes who take what they want, use their titles as shields. Others are pawns, serving the will of powerful lords without question. The armor, the title—it's just a mask."

Her face fell slightly, as though I had tainted something beautiful for her. "But you're different?"

I took a step closer, lowering my voice slightly. "I'd like to think so. I don't wear the title for power, or for coin. I wear it… because it opens doors. Because it allows me to do things that others can't. And maybe… just maybe, because I want to be better than the monsters hiding behind the same title."

She was silent for a moment before asking, "And what do you think makes a true knight?"

I smiled. "A true knight?" I paused, then said softly, "A man who protects those who cannot protect themselves. A man who stands when others run. A man who holds his sword only when it is truly needed."

Her eyes lingered on me, and I could see something shift within them. Curiosity. Interest. Something else.

"That sounds… noble," she murmured.

"And yet, nobility is so often punished in King's Landing," I said lightly. "But enough about me. Tell me, my lady, how do you feel about this arrangement with Joffrey?"

Her lips pressed together. "Joffrey is… the prince. My betrothed. I am to be his queen one day."

I raised a brow. "That doesn't answer my question."

She hesitated, then looked away. "I— I used to dream of being queen. Of marrying a gallant prince, of grand feasts and songs written about my reign. It was all so perfect in my mind."

"And now?"

She bit her lip. "I don't know."

Her honesty was unexpected, but welcome. The cracks in her fantasy were growing. The seeds of doubt had taken root.

I took another step closer, close enough that she could feel my presence. "Sometimes dreams aren't what we expect them to be."

She exhaled softly, her fingers playing with the embroidery on her gown. "No, they aren't."

Before I could say more, the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted us. A messenger was running through the gardens, searching. Looking for me.

"Ser Damon!" he called, breathless. "Urgent news!"

I straightened. "What is it?"

He swallowed, then spoke the words that would change the course of the realm.

"Lord Tywin Lannister has declared war on the Riverlands. Jaime Lannister is marching with him."

The War Begins

Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, had finally made his move.

The banners of House Lannister had been raised, their forces marching toward the Riverlands, striking down the Tully vassals who had sided with Lady Stark in capturing Tyrion.

Jaime Lannister led a host to lay siege to Riverrun, while Tywin gathered his forces near Harrenhal, preparing to crush any who opposed them.

The war had begun.

King's Landing was abuzz with panic and whispers. The city watch prepared for riots, merchants doubled their prices, and the common folk feared the chaos to come.

But that wasn't the only news that would shake the kingdom.

Robert's Last Hunt

Miles away from the capital, in the dense forests outside King's Landing, King Robert Baratheon lay on the ground, his breathing shallow, blood pooling around him.

A great boar had gored him, but it was not the beast alone that had sealed his fate. The wine he drank had been laced with poison, ensuring that even a minor wound would be fatal.

The king, drunk and wounded, knew his time was near.

He sent for Ned Stark.

The Last Will and Testament of Robert Baratheon

"Ned," Robert rasped as the Lord of Winterfell knelt beside him. "Gods, I was never meant for this throne."

"Don't speak, Your Grace," Ned urged, but Robert grunted.

"No, listen to me. Joffrey… you'll look after him, won't you? You'll rule until he comes of age?"

Ned hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Of course, Your Grace."

Robert exhaled, relieved. "Good. Good. Take my will. Write it."

Ned dipped his quill and wrote the words that should have secured the realm's future.

"…to rule in my stead, until my son Joffrey comes of age."

But he did not write "Joffrey." He wrote "my rightful heir."

A single change that would alter everything.