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Several days passed.
Winterfell boiled like a kicked beehive.
The King's convoy had reached the White Knife!
The news quickened everyone's pace threefold.
The smithy's forge burned day and nightâhammering nearly drowning out the courtyard's drilling.
In the kitchens, fat cook Gage bellowed. Directed helpers hauling barrels of ale into the cellars.
Roasting meat's char mixed with fresh bread's wheat scentâdrifted far through cold air.
Lynn sat on the low wall leading to the godswood.
No longer needed guard supervision. That bloody battle and fulfilled prophecy had earned him this limited freedom.
Lynn was a man of the Night's Watch. Ned kept him at Winterfell temporarily because he was useful.
Eventually, Lynn would be sent back to the Wall.
Lynn's wound had scabbed under Maester Luwin's care. New flesh itched slightly at the edgesâbringing the tangible sense of life recovering.
Lynn just watched quietly.
Watched Robb and Theon sparring under master-at-arms Ser Rodrik's guidanceâmore strictly than ever.
Wooden swords clashed. Dull and forceful.
Watched Sansa Stark with her mother Catelyn, selecting fabrics for the feast. Sansa's face held girlish longing for southern splendor.
Watched Jon Snow. Still in that remote corner, alone. Swinging his practice sword again and again.
Sweat soaked his black hair. He didn't care. As if venting all his energy into silent strikes.
Everyone was busy. Busy welcoming grand glory.
Only Lynn knewâthey were welcoming a storm that would sweep the Seven Kingdoms.
Light footsteps approached from behind.
Lynn didn't need to turn. He knew who it was.
Arya had been pestering him these past days.
"They're all so stupid." Arya's voice held disdain.
She copied Lynn's posture. Climbed the low wall. Sat beside him. Legs swinging.
"Sansa only thinks about her prince. Theon only wants to show off before the King."
"Mother wants me to learn embroidery. She says the southern ladies will be watching me."
Arya mimicked Lady Catelyn's toneâvoice high and thin. Comical.
But Arya's face held no humor.
"I don't want them watching me embroider."
"I don't want to embroider."
Lynn turned. Looked at her.
The little girl's faceâfull of stubbornness beyond her years.
"Then just practice swordwork." Lynn said.
He liked this Arya.
"Ser Rodrik won't teach me. He says swords are for boys." Arya's voice dropped. Full of grievance.
"Father says when winter ends, Bran and Rickon will start learning too."
"Just not me."
Lynn said nothing. Just pulled a thin twig from his pocket.
With his finger, he drew a crooked human figure on the dusty wall.
"Let me tell you a story." Lynn's voice was soft.
"In the distant East, farther than Essos, there was a girl."
"Her country was invaded. Her father was old and frailâcouldn't go to war."
"So she cut her long hair. Put on her father's armor. Went to the army in his place."
...
Arya's eyes grew brighter as she listened.
She stopped swinging her legs. Listened intently.
When Lynn finished, she asked eagerly. "Didn't anyone discover she was a girl?"
"They did." Lynn smiled.
"But by then, she'd already earned great merit through her wisdom and courage."
"She became a hero all the soldiers admired."
"In the end, she defeated the enemy. Saved her country."
Lynn used the twig to draw a crown on the little figure's head.
"What was her name?" Arya pressed. Eyes shining like stars.
"Mulan." Lynn said the name softly.
"Mulan..." Arya tasted the unfamiliar pronunciation.
This story wasn't like the knight tales Ser Rodrik told. Or the boring ancient myths about the Children of the Forest from the old nurse.
This story had no magic. No dragons. Just a girl and her sword.
Yet it stirred her heart more than any other tale.
"Do you know many stories like this?" Arya looked up at Lynn.
Her gray eyes reflected Lynn's calm face.
"Many."
"Qin Liangyu, Joan of Arc, Florence Nightingale, Mu Guiying, Fu Hao... They were all great heroes."
"Will you tell them all to me?"
"Yes." Lynn nodded.
The courtyard's clamor seemed distant now. Sunlight broke through clouds. Fell on them both. Brought warmth.
Arya was silent for a long time.
She looked at Lynn. At those always-calm eyes. At his faded black cloak.
He was different from everyone at Winterfell.
Father loved herâbut wanted her to be a lady.
Mother loved herâbut wanted her elegant like Sansa.
Her brothers loved herâbut treated her as a little sister needing protection.
Only Lynn.
Only he treated her as a warrior who could wield a sword.
Only he told her Mulan's story.
He understood her.
"Lynn." Arya's voice suddenly turned serious.
Lynn turned to look at her.
"When I grow up, I want to marry you."
The little girl's face held no trace of jest.
Lynn's smile slowly froze.
A loli...
I'm not picky.
Hmm... not impossible...
One simple story and I've abducted the duke's youngest daughter?
Actually, it wasn't Arya's lack of restraintâMulan's story truly struck her heart.
After all, it was a classic from another civilization. A little native girlâhow could she resist?
Lynn looked at Arya.
Arya was... a bit young.
But he could wait until she grew up.
He urgently needed a foothold. A marriage alliance with the Starks would be optimal.
Just slightly difficult.
After all, Arya came from House Starkârulers of the North for thousands of years.
Daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. The most beloved little princess.
He was a newcomer. No background or power. A nobody. A Night's Watch deserter. A prisoner who'd barely earned safety through prophecy.
Marry him?
To outsiders, they didn't match at all.
But Lynn wasn't afraid.
For a transmigrator, crossing class barriers wasn't hard. Without that ambition, what was the point of transmigrating?
"Alright." Lynn reached out. Like always, ruffled Arya's messy hair.
Lynn's face showed a smile again.
"But you're still young. We'll talk when you grow up."
Three years minimum...
Past-life concepts ran deep. Even in this world, Lynn felt slightly uneasy about such a little loli.
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