Chapter 8

The early morning mist clung to the grounds of Winterfell as Benjamin Gilman made his way across the courtyard. The castle was already stirring, servants scurrying about their duties, guards changing shifts. But Benjamin's mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the previous night and the momentous decision he'd made.

He found King Robert in the Great Hall, breaking his fast with a spread that could have fed a small village. The king's face lit up as Benjamin approached.

"Gilman!" Robert boomed, bits of bread spraying from his mouth. "Tell me you've got good news for me!"

Benjamin couldn't help but grin at the king's enthusiasm. "Well, Your Grace, if the offer still stands, I think I'll take you up on that trip to King's Landing."

Robert's answering roar of approval echoed through the hall, causing several nearby servants to jump. "Ha! I knew you'd see sense! We'll make a proper lord of you yet, Gilman!"

As Robert launched into a detailed (and somewhat slurred) description of the delights awaiting Benjamin in the capital, the Soldier Boy found his gaze drawn to the other occupants of the hall. Ned Stark sat nearby, his face a mask of careful neutrality, though Benjamin could see the concern in his eyes. And there, at the far end of the table, sat Queen Cersei, her emerald eyes fixed on Benjamin with an intensity that sent a thrill down his spine.

Over the next few days, as preparations for the royal party's departure got underway, Benjamin found himself increasingly curious about the world he'd landed in. The politics, the history, the very structure of this feudal society – it was all so foreign to him. And so, swallowing his pride, he sought out Maester Luwin.

He found the old man in the library tower, surrounded by stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls. Luwin looked up as Benjamin entered, surprise evident on his lined face.

"Ah, Master Gilman," Luwin said, setting aside the book he'd been studying. "How may I assist you?"

Benjamin hesitated, unused to asking for help. "I need to understand this place better," he said finally. "The kingdoms, the houses, how it all fits together. Think you can give me a crash course?"

Luwin's eyes lit up with scholarly enthusiasm. "Of course! Please, sit. We'll start with the basics..."

For the next several hours, Benjamin found himself immersed in a whirlwind tour of Westerosi history and politics. Luwin proved to be an engaging teacher, and despite himself, Benjamin found his interest piqued by the complex web of alliances, betrayals, and ancient grudges that shaped this world.

As the days passed, Benjamin settled into a routine of sorts. Mornings were spent with Luwin, afternoons in the training yard, and evenings... well, evenings were for more recreational pursuits.

It was during one of his afternoon training sessions that fate intervened. Benjamin was demonstrating some hand-to-hand combat techniques to an eager audience of Stark guards when a commotion erupted from the nearby tower.

"Help!" a woman's voice screamed. "Someone help!"

Without thinking, Benjamin sprinted towards the sound. He arrived at the base of the tower just in time to see young Bran Stark's body plummeting from a high window. With superhuman speed, Benjamin launched himself forward, catching the boy mere feet from the ground.

For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then chaos erupted. Lady Catelyn came rushing out, her face pale with terror. She froze at the sight of Benjamin holding her son.

"He's alright," Benjamin said, gently setting Bran down. "Just a little shaken up, I think."

As Catelyn swept Bran into her arms, sobbing with relief, Benjamin's eyes narrowed. Something about this didn't feel right. An "accident" involving the king's host's son? It reeked of foul play.

He'd seen the kid climb up there over and over, without fail. But now he falls...?

His suspicions were confirmed later that evening when he overheard a heated argument between Jaime and Cersei Lannister in a secluded corner of the godswood. Though he couldn't make out the words, the tension in their voices and the fear in their eyes told Benjamin all he needed to know.

They're either fucking, or one of them has a fetish that puts Herogasm to shame. 'God I miss that...' he thought.

The incident with Bran had earned Benjamin some grudging respect from the Northerners, particularly Ned Stark. But it also brought him into conflict with Jory Cassel, the captain of Winterfell's guard.

"You may have saved the boy," Jory said one afternoon in the training yard, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger, "but that doesn't give you the right to undermine my authority with my men."

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. He wanted to laugh but didn't. "Undermine your authority? I'm just showing them a few tricks, Cassel. Not my fault if they find my methods more interesting than yours."

The tension between them finally boiled over into a sparring match that quickly turned into an all-out brawl. We all know this went, folks.

Despite Jory's skill, he was no match for Benjamin's enhanced strength and speed. The fight ended with Jory flat on his back, Benjamin's foot on his chest.

"We done here?" Benjamin asked, offering a hand to help Jory up.

Jory glared but accepted the help. "For now," he growled. 

'Poor bastard thinks he'll ever win,' Benjamin thought, walking inside to have a drink. Or maybe even see Mara.

As the days wore on, Benjamin found himself spending more time with the Lannisters, particularly Cersei. There was something about the queen that fascinated him – her beauty, certainly, but also the sharp intelligence behind her eyes, the hint of danger in her smile.

For her part, Cersei seemed equally intrigued and disgusted by Benjamin. She sought him out at meals and engaged him in conversation, her eyes always watching, assessing.

One evening, as they walked in the godswood, Cersei turned to Benjamin, her gaze direct. "You're not like the others," she said. "You don't simper and bow. Why is that?"

Benjamin grinned. "Never been much for bowing, Your Grace. Besides, from where I'm standing, the view is much better when you're standing tall."

Cersei's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger, disgust, and... something else. "You should be careful, Benjamin Gilman. Men who don't bend often break."

"Oh, was that a threat or a promise?" Benjamin asked, stepping closer.

For a moment, they stood there, tension crackling between them. Then Cersei turned away, her voice cold. "You would do well to remember your place, Gilman. You may have charmed Robert, but you're still nothing more than an upjumped sellsword."

As she stalked away, Benjamin couldn't help but smile. He'd seen the flush in her cheeks, the way her breath had quickened. Cersei Lannister might hate him, but she wanted him too. And that, Benjamin knew, could be a very dangerous combination.

But not for him.

As the two weeks drew to a close and preparations for departure reached a fever pitch, Benjamin found himself at a crossroads. He'd come to enjoy his time in Winterfell, and formed connections he hadn't expected. But the lure of King's Landing, of power and influence beyond anything he'd known before, was strong.

Plus, he wanted to explore. He was getting sick of the weather.