Chapter 6

The days following Benjamin Gilman's arrival at Winterfell passed in a blur of activity. The castle buzzed with preparations for the impending royal visit, servants scurrying about like ants in a disturbed hill. Amidst this controlled chaos, Benjamin found himself settling into an uneasy routine, his presence a constant source of fascination and trepidation for the inhabitants of the ancient fortress.

It was on one such busy afternoon that Lord Eddard Stark sought out his unusual guest. He found Benjamin in the courtyard, casually leaning against a wall, watching the preparations with an amused smirk on his face.

"Benjamin," Ned called, his voice carrying the weight of his station. "A word, if you please."

Benjamin pushed off from the wall, sauntering over to where Ned stood. "What's on your mind, Stark? Finally decided to take me up on that arm-wrestling challenge?"

Ned's face remained impassive, though a flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes. "The king will be arriving within the week," he said, his tone measured. "I need your assurance that you will comport yourself with dignity and respect during his visit."

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "Dignity and respect? Come on, Ned, where's the fun in that?"

"This is not a game, Benjamin," Ned replied, his voice low and intense. "King Robert is not just my liege lord, but my oldest friend. His visit could have far-reaching consequences for the North and for all of Westeros. I'm asking you, just this once, don't act like an ass."

For a moment, Benjamin looked as though he might argue. Then, surprisingly, his expression softened slightly. "Look, Stark, I get it. This is important to you. I can't promise I'll suddenly start bowing and scraping, but I'll try not to cause an international incident. That work for you?"

Ned nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "It will have to do. Thank you, Benjamin."

As Ned turned to leave, Benjamin called after him, "No promises though!"

The Lord of Winterfell shook his head, a mix of exasperation and grudging amusement on his face as he walked away.

Later that same day, Benjamin found himself cornered by young Arya Stark in one of Winterfell's many winding corridors. The girl's grey eyes were alight with curiosity and determination.

"Is it true that where you come from, women can be fighters too?" she demanded without preamble.

Benjamin blinked, caught off guard by the direct question. His first instinct was to scoff - after all, in his experience, women were better suited to photoshoots and PR stunts than actual combat. But looking down at Arya's eager face, he felt an unexpected twinge of... something. Guilt? Responsibility?

"Well, kid," he began, choosing his words carefully, "it's complicated. Where I come from, there are some women who fight. They're not common, but they exist."

Arya's eyes widened. "Really? Can you tell me about them?"

Benjamin hesitated for a moment, He was probably the least equipped to deal with this. Regardless he made a decision. "Tell you what, how about I tell you about one of the toughest women I've ever known? Her name was Grace Mallory."

For the next hour, Benjamin regaled Arya with tales of Grace Mallory's exploits, carefully edited to be more inspirational than realistic. He spoke of her bravery, her skill, and her unwavering dedication to justice. With each word, Arya's excitement grew, her mind clearly racing with possibilities.

As he finished his story, Benjamin felt a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, he knew he'd probably given the kid false hope - after all, this was Westeros, not America. But on the other hand, seeing the fire in Arya's eyes made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, she could prove him wrong.

'If I ever make it back, she owes me a beer.' he thought.

"Thanks, Benjamin!" Arya exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. "I'm going to train even harder now. I'll be just like Grace Mallory!"

As she ran off, Benjamin couldn't help but shake his head. "Good luck, kid," he muttered. "You're gonna need it."

The encounter with Arya left Benjamin in a contemplative mood, one that was quickly dispelled by the arrival of Theon Greyjoy. The young Ironborn swaggered up to Benjamin, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I hear you've been causing quite a stir, Gilman," Theon said, a smirk playing on his lips. "Lord Stark's got his smallclothes in a twist trying to figure out what to do with you."

Benjamin grinned, recognizing a kindred spirit. "What can I say? I have that effect on people. You don't seem too bothered by it, though."

Theon shrugged. "I'm not exactly the model of Northern propriety myself. It's refreshing to see someone else shake things up around here."

The two fell into easy conversation. Benjamin found himself enjoying Theon's company - the young man's rebellious streak and sardonic humor resonated with his personality. But something about his face was so punchable. It was odd.

As the day wore on, their conversation turned to more... adult topics. Theon boasted of his conquests in the Winter Town brothel, while Benjamin regaled him with carefully censored stories of his escapades back in America.

"You know," Theon said, a conspiratorial grin on his face, "I could show you around the brothel if you're interested. Ros is a particular favorite of mine - hair as red as autumn leaves, and tits that could make a septon weep."

Benjamin laughed, clapping Theon on the shoulder. "Appreciate the offer, kid, but I think I've got that covered. Speaking of which..." He trailed off, his eyes catching movement at the end of the corridor.

There, partially hidden behind a corner, was Mara. The servant woman was clearly trying to be discreet, but her eyes were locked on Benjamin with an intensity that was hard to miss.

"Oh" Benjamin murmured. "Looks like I've got a not-so-secret admirer. If you'll excuse me, Theon, I think I need to address this... situation."

Theon followed Benjamin's gaze, his eyebrows raising as he spotted Mara. "By the Drowned God, Gilman, you work fast. Have fun, and try not to break her."

With a final laugh and a crude gesture, Theon sauntered off, leaving Benjamin alone in the corridor with Mara.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Mara stepped out from her hiding place. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wrung her hands nervously in her apron.

"M'lord," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I was wondering if..."

Benjamin cut her off, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. "Mara, darling, what did I tell you about calling me 'lord'?"

Her blush deepened. "Benjamin," she corrected herself. "I was wondering if... if you might like some company this evening?"

A slow, predatory grin spread across Benjamin's face. Without a word, he scooped Mara up in his arms, her surprised squeak quickly turning into a giggle as he carried her towards his chambers.

As the door closed behind them, Benjamin couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this medieval world had its perks after all.