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Maester Luwin's room smelled of herbs and old parchment.
Lynn lay shirtless on the hard wooden bed, face down.
He felt the salve's coolness pressing down the burning pain of torn flesh.
"Your body's foundation is good." Luwin's voice was flatâno emotion. "The injury's less severe than I expected."
He rewrapped Lynn's wound with clean linen. Moved like he was treating fine leather.
"Your swordwork. Who taught you?"
The maester asked casually.
"Night's Watch instructor. Alliser Thorne." Lynn's voice came muffled through the pillow. "He only teaches how to stick a sword in someone fast. Nothing else."
The answer made Luwin's hands pause.
His gray eyes swept over the small, crisscrossing old scars on Lynn's body.
Not wounds from running away. Medals earned from countless face-to-face battles with wildlings on the Wall. Bought with life itself.
A coward deserter wouldn't have these.
"Rest well." Luwin asked no more. Packed his kit and turned to leave. "Lord Stark said you can stay here until you heal."
The door closed gently. No lock.
Lynn knewâthis was Ned Stark's signal.
He was no longer a prisoner. But a special subject under observation.
Lynn exhaled long and slow. Nothing to think about now.
Heal. Then wait.
Wait for that raven from King's Landing to seal all his "prophecies" with final proof.
Next day, Lynn was allowed to move freely in the castle. Two guards always followed at a distance.
Protection, or surveillance.
He avoided the courtyard. Robb and Theon were sparring thereâthe clang of swords irritated him.
He found a quiet corner. Leaned against cold stone. Soaked up the North's stingy sunlight.
Eyes closed, he replayed that night's fight with the bandits. Every sword angle. Every dodge timing. Every splash of blood.
These experiences, bought with lifeâhis foundation for survival.
Light, deliberate footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
Lynn opened his eyes.
A small figure stood before him, blocking that hard-won sunlight.
Arya Stark.
Winterfell's youngest daughter.
Hands behind her back. Wearing a gray boy's tunic. Hair messy as a bird's nest. Mud spots on her face. But those Stark gray eyesâshockingly bright.
Completely different from the show. Though small-framed, those eyes gave her a wild beauty.
"They say you're a good fighter." Arya's voice was crisp. Northern directness.
Lynn said nothing. Just watched her.
Arya stepped closer. Small fists clenched tight.
"Night's Watch swordwork is completely different from what Ser Rodrik teaches."
"Ser Rodrik says swordplay should be elegant. Like dancing."
She wrinkled her nose. Clearly disagreed.
"But your sword isn't."
"Your sword is fast. Direct."
She seemed to search for the right word.
Lynn's mouth twitched involuntarily.
This little girlâborn a wolf cub.
"Want to learn?"
Arya's eyes lit up instantly. Like two flames ignited in darkness.
She nodded hard. Face utterly serious.
"Teach me." The girl's voice held barely concealed pleading. "Please."
Lynn looked at her. At those eyes full of longing.
A chance to build deeper ties with House Starkâdelivered right to him.
And Ned Stark's most beloved daughter, at that.
"Alright. I'll teach you." Lynn slowly stood. Worked his still-stiff shoulder. "But it's an exchange."
"You teach me something too."
Arya froze. Hadn't expected that request.
She tilted her head, thinking. "But I don't know anything."
"You do." Lynn smiled.
"Likeâwhich secret passages in the castle does nobody know about?"
"Which kitchen steward hides ale?"
"How to sneak into the godswood without being caught?"
Arya's mouth slowly formed an "O."
She hadn't realized her daily "mischief" could be tuition.
"I agree!" No hesitation. Immediate acceptance.
"Deal. But not now. After I heal. And thisânobody can know."
"Come!" Arya thrust out her dirty little fist.
Lynn paused. Then extended his fist. Tapped hers lightly.
A simple contract sealed.
Suddenlyâurgent bells exploded across the castle.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The sound from the maester's towerâheavy and distant.
A raven had arrived.
Lynn's smile vanished instantly.
He looked up at that tall gray tower.
What had to comeâfinally came.
Arya heard the bells too. Glanced at the tower curiously. But quickly turned back to Lynn.
"It's settled! I'll find you tonight!"
She bounded off like a happy fawn.
Lynn didn't move. Just stood quietly, sensing the castle's shifting atmosphere.
Guard footsteps grew hurried. Servants' whispers dropped lower.
Invisible tension spread rapidly through the air.
Storm clouds gathering.
In the keep's study.
Fire roared in the hearthâcrackling loudly.
But the room's atmosphere was colder than the snow outside.
Ned Stark stood by the window, staring at the gray sky.
In his handâa small piece of parchment. Edges still bearing traces of the raven tube's wax seal.
Catelyn Tully, his wife, stood behind him. Face full of unconcealed worry and sorrow.
"Jon... he's dead." Catelyn's voice trembled slightly.
Her sister, Lysa Arryn, was now a widow.
The family relationships were complicated. Lysa was Jon Arryn's late-life wife, Catelyn's younger sister, and Ned was Arryn's foster son.
Ned didn't turn. Remained silent like a stone statue.
"The letter says sudden illness. Fever." Catelyn continued, hands twisting her sleeves tight.
"But another letter Lysa secretly sent says..." She paused. Seemed afraid to speak the terrible word.
"...murder."
"The Lannisters did it."
The study plunged into deathly silence.
Only the hearth's woodâmaking its final moans.
Ned slowly turned.
No expression on his face. But those gray eyes churned with stormy seas.
Lynn's words echoed in his mind like a curse.
"The Hand of the King. Lord Jon Arryn."
"He's dead."
"He'll be murdered."
Word for word.
Prophecy had become reality.
"Robert... the King is riding north." Catelyn's voice filled with unease. "He's coming to Winterfell."
"He'll ask you to go south. Replace Jon. Become the new Hand of the King."
Ned closed his eyes.
"And that will be the beginning of everything."
Lynn's words rang in his ears.
A bone-deep chill swept through Ned.
Rose from his feet. Spread through his entire body instantly.
Colder than the North's most bitter wind.
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