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Winterfell's great hallâbaked by hundreds of tallow candles and roaring hearths into a clamorous, sweltering furnace.
In the airâroasted boar's grease mixed with spilled ale's sour tang. These smells formed a dizzying warm current together.
The bard's luteâtorn to shreds by King Robert's crude laughter and lords' loud toasts.
Muscular warriors bare-chested. Embraced delicate whores.
Lynn held a cup of ale. Stood in the hall's most inconspicuous corner.
The stone pillar behind himâcold. Blocked most of the heat.
Lynn quietly observed this grand and hypocritical tableau.
Ned Stark sat at the head table. Drank cup after cup with Robert.
But his smile was stiff as a mask. Clearly uncomfortable with such scenes.
Lady Catelyn moved among southern noblewomen. Her manner impeccable. But deep worry flickered in her eyes under candlelight.
Soon, Catelyn left. She needed to fix Sansa's appearance.
Tonight, Sansa would be the center of attention. She didn't want southern ladies laughing at them.
Lynn's gaze swept the crowd.
He saw Jaime Lannister. That "Kingslayer" whispered something to his sister, Queen Cersei. Drew her coquettish laugh.
But no one noticed. Their beautyâso out of place in this chaos. Yet so dangerous.
Lynn drained his ale. Turned. Left the clamor.
Through a corridor hung with antler chandeliersâoutside air cleared his muddled head considerably.
A suppressed, subtle conversation drifted from a nearby window ledge.
Lady Catelyn and Sansa.
Sansa's voice held urgency soaked in wine and fantasy.
Her sky-blue gown shimmered softly in moonlight. That pretty face full of girlish longing for the future.
"Prince Joffrey is so handsome, so brave!" "I'll be his queen!"
"When will we marry?" "Now or should we wait?"
Though Lynn couldn't see Lady Catelyn, he could imagine her expression.
Weary. Worried. Helpless.
"Sansa, listen." Catelyn's voice was soft but seriously firm.
"Don't get excited. Your father hasn't agreed yet."
Sansa asked in confusion. "Why wouldn't he agree?"
"He'll soon be Hand of the Kingâsecond only to one, above ten thousand."
Speaking of this, Sansa showed an excited smile.
Bitterness crossed Catelyn's face.
"Then he'll have to leave his home." "Leave me." "And you'll leave home too."
Sansa's expression held confusion.
"Didn't you also leave your homeland to come to Winterfell?"
"And I will one day become queen."
Sansa suddenly turned. "Please, make Father agree!"
Catelyn wanted to say more. But urgent Sansa interrupted.
"Please! Marrying a prince is my lifelong wish."
Catelyn looked at her daughter's longing gaze. Silent for a long time before slowly speaking.
"This isn't the songs Northern bards sing." "Being queen isn't just wearing pretty dresses and attending balls."
"Youâ"
"I know!" Sansa interrupted her mother. Voice raised slightly. Tinged with misunderstood grievance.
"I'll be a good queen, like Queen Nymeria in the myths!"
"I'll bear him golden-haired princes." "Mother, pleaseâmake Father agree quickly!"
"I don't want to stay in Winterfell anymore. It's cold and boring here!"
The girl's pleaâlike a thin needle piercing Lady Catelyn's heart.
Lynn's face showed no expression. No sympathy. No contempt.
Just like the coldest chess playerâwatching a piece destined for sacrifice cheerfully walk toward a trap.
Sansa's fateâfrom this momentâwas bound tightly to that blood-stained Iron Throne.
And heâpowerless to stop it. Didn't want to stop it.
Sansa was already drunk on power.
Ned Stark must go south. The King's command. A friend's request. His duty as Warden of the Northâinescapable.
Lynn's gaze passed through the window. Toward the courtyard's depths.
Thereâan ancient abandoned tower stood in darkness. Like a broken fang.
A thought cut through Lynn's mind.
That was where Bran would fall. Also where Lynn could seize his greatest benefit!
Lynn retreated silently. Melted back into shadow. Left the corridor.
He didn't return to his room. Instead crossed the noisy courtyard. Walked toward the castle's other side.
Far from the keep's lights. Only patrol guards' torches cast flickering spots in darkness.
Lynn reached the abandoned tower's base.
The First Keep. Winterfell's oldest part.
He looked up. Gazed at that broken wall.
He knewâBran Stark, that boy who loved climbing, would fall from above.
He'd see what he shouldn't see. Jaime and Cersei's secret!
And this secretâlike a stone thrown into a lakeâwould stir towering waves!
Saving Bran wasn't about noble morality. Lynn had no morality to speak of. He wasn't a rigid Stark.
A healthy, undisabled Bran Starkâwhat would that mean to House Stark?
And himselfâsaving the duke's second son at a critical momentâwhat would he gain?
No longer simple trust. But a debt that could change Lynn's fate.
Leverage to truly shed his prisoner status. Gain a foothold.
Thisâhis first and most crucial piece in this game of thrones.
Lynn wouldn't miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance. Without power, he could only use schemesâlike Lord Petyr Baelish.
Lynn must act. But not rashly.
He couldn't just rush up and tell everyone there was a problem in the tower.
That would make him look crazy. And dilute the Starks' gratitude.
He needed perfect timing. An unquestionable excuse. A reason to appear at the "scene" that made complete sense.
Lynn's gaze began scanning the surroundings.
Below the towerâa forgotten clearing. Overgrown with weeds. Scattered with abandoned stones.
Very remote. Almost no one came here. Except... that boy who loved climbing everywhere.
And of course, those incestuous golden-haired siblings.
He needed to learn Bran's habits. His climbing routes. His usual schedule.
Starting tomorrow, he'd stake out here. Day after day.
Until that dayâwhen Bran and those golden-haired siblings appeared together in this tower.
Lynn looked away. Turned and left.
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