💎 WEEKLY POWER GOALS 💎🔥 30→2ch | 60→5ch | 100→8ch | 200→15ch | 400→25ch⏰ Resets Monday!
————————————————————
Dawn broke cold over Winterfell.
The courtyard erupted with life. Horses screamed. Hounds bayed, their breath misting in the frigid air. Servants hauled saddles, their fingers numb. Knights laughed too loud, checking their bows with the swagger of men who'd drunk too much the night before.
The smell hit you first: leather, horse sweat, frost. That sharp northern bite that cut straight to the bone.
King Robert Baratheon looked like shit.
Puffy eyes. Bloated face. The stink of wine still clinging to him like a second skin. But his voice? That boomed like a warhammer striking steel.
"Ned!" He clapped Eddard Stark on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him. "Stop dragging your feet! Northern boar won't wait for us to finish our bloody prayers!"
Ned wore hunting leathers, his face carved from duty and resignation. He didn't want this. But when your king demands a hunt, you hunt.
His eyes found Lynn.
The boy stood in the shadows of a stone pillar, black cloak wrapped tight, sword at his hip. Still as a statue. Silent as a grave.
After last night's conversation, Ned saw him differently now. Not just a prisoner under protection. Something more. Something he might actually need.
"Lynn." Ned's voice dropped low. "Come with us."
"A day on horseback beats rotting in the castle." He paused. "And I'd feel better with you there."
That was the real reason.
Lynn looked up. Met those honest gray eyes. Saw King Robert's curious stare from across the yard.
He shook his head.
"Appreciate the offer, my lord." His hand touched his ribs, then his arm. "But the wounds from those bandits still ache. Long ride like that?" He grimaced. "I'd be useless."
"I'll stay. Do some recovery drills."
The excuse was perfect. Dutiful. Warrior-like. Reasonable.
Ned's invitation melted into understanding. He nodded, squeezed Lynn's shoulder once—hard—and turned back to the king's party.
Horns blared.
The hunting party surged through Winterfell's gates like a flood. Hoofbeats. Dog barks. Laughter. All of it bleeding away into the distance.
Then... silence.
The courtyard emptied. That vast, hollow quiet that only comes when chaos suddenly stops.
Lynn's calm mask slipped.
He didn't go back to his room.
Instead, he crossed the empty yard, sword in hand, heading for the forgotten tower.
The First Keep.
---
Wind moaned through the broken battlements. Lynn found a sheltered spot—open view, isolated enough that no one would bother him.
He drew his sword.
Steel sang. Cut the gray morning light into ribbons.
Thrust. Parry. Dodge.
He looked like a diligent warrior, drilling alone.
But his ears tracked every sound. His eyes locked on that ancient tower.
He was waiting.
For a boy. For a pair of golden-haired siblings. For the moment that would crack the North—and the Seven Kingdoms—wide open.
Time crawled.
Then—
A small figure in gray burst into view.
Lynn lowered his sword.
Bran Stark.
The boy ran like a wolf pup, all energy and no sense. Father and brothers gone hunting. Left behind. Bored out of his skull.
Climbing was all he had left.
Bran's eyes locked onto the oldest structure in Winterfell.
The First Keep.
He'd climbed it a hundred times. But the grin on his face said he'd climb it a hundred more.
Lynn watched every move.
Bran started his approach. His direwolf, Summer, sat below, whining uneasily.
Here we go.
---
A tall, golden figure slipped from the main keep.
Jaime Lannister.
No shining armor today. Just hunting clothes, dark and plain. His eyes swept the yard like a predator checking for threats.
Coast clear.
He vanished into the First Keep's shadow.
Moments later—
Queen Cersei.
Hood pulled low over that cascade of golden hair. She moved fast, following her brother's path.
Both disappeared into the tower's black mouth.
Lynn smiled.
Just like I remembered.
---
Bran was already scaling the wall.
Fingers found cracks. Toes wedged into gaps. He moved like a monkey, quick and confident, higher and higher.
Lynn's breathing slowed.
His sword stilled.
He began to move. Casual. Aimless. Drifting toward the base of the tower.
Every step calculated.
He had to be in exactly the right place. At exactly the right time.
Not too early.
Not too late.
Wind carried something down from the high window. A sound. Muffled. Breathless. Not a child's sound.
Lynn looked up.
Bran was halfway to the top now.
---
Dust hung thick in the air of the First Keep's highest room.
Sunlight stabbed through arrow slits, carving bright columns through the gloom.
Cersei Lannister leaned against cold stone.
Her silk gown pooled on the filthy floor. Golden hair spilled wild across the wall. Breathing hard. Eyes bright with danger and desire.
Jaime Lannister had stripped off his cloak. White shirt, half-unlaced. Same gold hair. Same green eyes.
"We shouldn't be here." Cersei's voice trembled—with fear or excitement, hard to say. "It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Jaime looked up, that cocky grin splitting his face. "Robert and his northern fools are chasing a deer's ass through the woods."
His fingers traced her skin. Possessive. Loving.
"I've waited a month." His voice went rough. "The road gave us no privacy."
He pulled her close. Buried his face in her hair.
"A whole month. I was going mad."
Cersei gasped.
Cold stone. Hot skin. Dust dancing in the light.
Soft, broken sounds echoed in the forgotten tower.
---
Outside, a small shape climbed higher.
Bran Stark loved this. Loved the feeling of standing above Winterfell, above everyone.
Today, with Father and the king gone, no one would stop him.
The First Keep. The tallest, oldest, most forbidden climb.
Wind bit his face. Made him grin wider.
Stone by stone. Handhold by handhold.
The courtyard shrank below him.
Then—he heard it.
A sound from the window above.
Not wind.
Something else. Like... crying?
Curiosity burned.
He climbed faster.
Reached the window ledge.
And looked inside.
————————————————————
🔥 Want to read the next 25 chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on - patreon.com/DarkGolds]