Game of thrones: The Lustful sellsword

The road stretched long and unbroken, winding through the open fields and quiet woods of the Crownlands. It had been over a week since we left King's Landing, and though we remained ever vigilant, we had yet to encounter any ambushes or pursuers.

The journey had been smooth, almost too smooth for my liking. Perhaps it was because the Lannisters were still in disarray, too preoccupied with their own internal chaos to send hunters after us. Or perhaps it was because the gods themselves had decided to look away from this game for a moment, granting us this rare calm before the inevitable storm.

Inside the carriage, the air was thick with unspoken thoughts.

Ned Stark, ever the brooding man of honor, sat in silence, his mind undoubtedly lost in thoughts of war, justice, and duty.

Arya, on the other hand, was anything but silent. The little wolf was full of restless energy, her sharp eyes darting to the road outside every few minutes as if expecting an ambush to come barreling from the trees.

"Are we close to Riverrun yet?" she asked for what felt like the hundredth time, her voice tinged with impatience. "Or are we still stuck in the middle of nowhere?"

I smirked. "Patience, little one. We still have a ways to go. The Riverlands are vast, and Riverrun doesn't move, so it's not going anywhere."

Arya rolled her eyes at my answer. "I hate sitting in this stupid carriage all day. I should be outside, learning to fight, not stuck here doing nothing."

I chuckled. "You should be glad we haven't been ambushed yet. Carriages may be boring, but at least they don't try to stab you in the back."

Arya grumbled but seemed to accept the logic. "Still… if someone does try to attack us, I want to be ready."

Sansa, who had been exchanging glances with me now and then, finally spoke up, her voice softer than her sister's. "Fighting isn't always the answer, Arya. Sometimes, words are more powerful."

Arya scoffed. "Tell that to the people Joffrey had executed."

A silence settled in the carriage. Arya's words held a weight that none of us could easily ignore.

The Reward Yet to Be Claimed

As the carriage rocked gently along the road, I mentally checked the system interface. The reward from the Herculean task of saving Ned Stark and his daughters had been sitting there for days, waiting for me to claim it.

System Notification: Reward AvailableStatus: Unclaimed

And yet, I hadn't opened it.

Not yet. Not until I delivered them safely to their family. Only then would I allow myself to see what my efforts had truly earned me.

Ned Stark's Future

Turning my attention back to the real world, I looked at Ned Stark, the man who should have been dead.

"Lord Stark," I said, breaking the silence, "what will you do once you reach your family?"

Ned's gaze flickered toward me, his expression unreadable. He did not answer immediately, and I already knew why.

I knew what he would do.

He would support Stannis.

He would throw himself into another fight, another battle of honor and duty, because that is who he was.

He wouldn't change, no matter how much pain it had brought him. It was both his greatest strength and his greatest flaw.

When he finally spoke, his voice was measured. "My place is with my family. I will do what is necessary to protect them."

A vague answer, but an answer nonetheless.

"Necessary," I echoed, smirking slightly. "And does 'necessary' involve handing the throne to Stannis?"

Ned's eyes locked onto mine. He knew that I knew.

"He is the rightful heir," Ned said firmly, as if reciting something he had long since accepted.

I sighed, leaning back against the carriage wall. "Rightful heirs don't always win, my lord. You should know that better than anyone."

Ned's jaw tightened, but he did not refute my words.

"Besides," I continued, my voice lowering slightly, "Stannis isn't the only thing you should be worrying about."

Ned frowned. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated for a moment, then dropped the first real bombshell of this journey.

"I heard a rumor while I was in King's Landing," I said casually. "Apparently, Lysa Arryn is having an affair with Petyr Baelish."

Ned's entire body stiffened.

The silence that followed was deafening.

He turned to me sharply, his expression dark and almost disbelieving. "What?"

"You heard me," I said, keeping my tone even. "I can't say if it's completely true, but from what I gathered, Lysa Arryn and Littlefinger are far closer than most people realize."

Ned shook his head, as if trying to reject the idea outright. "Lysa loved my brother Jon. She would never—"

"Love is a strange thing, Lord Stark," I interrupted. "People love in ways that don't always make sense. Lysa may have loved Jon Arryn once, but I'd wager she's loved Petyr Baelish far longer."

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"

"I keep my eyes open."

A simple answer, but one that made Ned Stark rethink everything.

His worldview, the things he had taken for granted, the assumptions he had built his entire understanding of the realm upon—all of it was now suspect.

Littlefinger had always been an ally in his mind, a man he had once known in his youth, a man he had once thought harmless.

Now, that illusion was beginning to crack.

The Weight of Doubt

For the rest of the evening, Ned sat in silence, deep in thought.

He did not argue. He did not refute.

He simply thought.

Arya eventually fell asleep against Sansa's shoulder, her small frame rising and falling with steady breaths.

Sansa, however, was still awake, watching the exchange between her father and me with a quiet, careful gaze.

She had seen her father shaken for the first time.

And she had seen who had shaken him.