The figure was tall, slender, and dangerous.
Crimson silk wrapped her curves like a second skin, outlining a maturity that was ripe and devastating. Her golden hair was a complex architecture of braids, though a few rebellious strands caressed her pale neck.
Cersei Lannister.
The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
She was far more striking than the show had ever portrayed. Even Lynn, who knew the rot beneath the skin, felt a jolt of pure, visceral appreciation.
She wore no crown, but her arrogance was a tiara of its own.
The room still smelled of Jaime's leather and sweat. Cersei's arrival obliterated it. She brought the scent of the South—heavy, sweet roses and expensive perfume. It was an invasion. The fragrance filled the small, cold room, choking out the crisp Northern air.
Lynn's muscles tightened.
If Jaime was a lion baring its fangs, Cersei was a viper coiled in the garden, waiting for a bare ankle.
"I've heard of your bravery," Cersei said.
Her voice was like mulled wine—rich, warm, and capable of hiding poison. Her smile was there, but her eyes were cold emerald shards.
She glided into the room, the red silk whispering against the floorboards. She didn't look at Lynn immediately. She inspected the room—the rough bed, the lonely chair, the dust on the sill—with undisguised disdain.
Finally, she stopped at his bedside.
"A brave man of the Night's Watch."
Her lips curved, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
"You saved the Stark boy. Which means you saved the King from a terrible tragedy. How should I thank you?"
Lynn remained silent, watching her. He saw the beauty the singers praised, and the madness the whispers warned of.
A beautiful monster.
Cersei didn't mind his silence. She reached out. Her hand was manicured perfection, nails buffed to a shine.
Her fingertips grazed his arm over the rough wool blanket. Even through the fabric, he felt the ghost of her touch.
"Tell me, what do you desire?"
She leaned forward. Deliberately.
The neckline of her gown dipped, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts. It was a calculated move, a weapon as sharp as any sword. She offered the view like a bribe, testing his discipline, testing his greed.
Top tier, Lynn noted internally. She knows exactly what she's doing.
The floral scent grew heavier, suffocating.
"Gold?" she purred. "A position in King's Landing? A knighthood?"
Her voice dropped an octave, dripping with false promise. "Ask. A Lannister always pays her debts."
It was a honeyed trap.
If he took the gold, he was bought. If he showed ambition, he was a threat. If he showed knowledge, he was dead.
Cersei didn't leave loose ends. She severed them.
Lynn lowered his eyelids, masking the calculation in his gaze.
"To serve House Stark is my duty, Your Grace," he said, his voice steady. "That Bran lives is reward enough."
Cersei's hand paused.
A flicker of surprise rippled through her green eyes. She withdrew her hand, her smile stiffening just a fraction.
"A loyal dog," she mused. "Ned Stark is lucky to have you."
Then, the pivot. The real question.
"That poor boy. Bran." Her tone shifted to performative pity. "So tragic. I hear he loved to climb. Such a naughty child."
She let the words hang in the air.
"Yes, Your Grace," Lynn replied, his heartbeat steady as a metronome. "A terrible accident."
He gave her nothing. No hesitation. No extra details.
Cersei studied him. She was looking for a crack in the ice. A twitch of the eye, a bead of sweat.
She found nothing but the North.
"You were training? Right under the tower?"
"Yes, Your Grace. It's quiet there."
"And you saw him fall?"
"I heard a scream. I looked up. I saw him falling."
He repeated the script he had given Catelyn. Word for word.
Silence stretched. The fire in the hearth popped. The sweet scent of roses began to feel like the air in a tomb.
Finally, Cersei smiled again. Brighter this time.
"Lynn," she said, straightening up, the Queen once more. "Recover well."
She turned and walked away, her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm.
Lynn watched her go.
A Queen. And a wild beast.
The urge to conquer her rose in him—dark and primal. Not just to bed her, but to break that arrogance, to see that royal mask shatter. In this world, power was the only law. And she was the ultimate prize of power.
Just an appetizer for later. First, I survive.
She disappeared into the hall, but her scent lingered like a stain.
He wasn't safe yet. As long as Bran slept, the secret held. If the boy woke...
Knock. Knock.
A different sound. Light. Hesitant.
"Enter."
The door creaked open a crack. A small head poked through.
Messy brown hair. A long, solemn face. Grey eyes wide with worry.
Arya Stark.
She wore no silk or lace. She was in breeches and a tunic, a wooden sword stuck through her belt. The Wolf Blood.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him. She slipped inside and closed the door carefully.
She walked to the bed, looking up at him with pure, unfiltered awe.
"Are you hurt bad?"
Lynn shook his head, smiling. He reached out and ruffled her messy hair.
"They say you saved Bran," Arya whispered. Her face held the same hero-worship Sansa reserved for Joffrey, but this was real. This was earned.
"They say you caught him. They say you broke your bones to save him."
She looked at him as if he were Aemon the Dragonknight reborn.
"You're brave," she said fiercely. "Braver than Robb. Braver than Jon."
Lynn looked at the girl who would one day become No One. The girl who would kill the Night King in another life. Right now, she was just a sister who almost lost a brother.
"Thank you, Arya."
She bit her lip, her face scrunching up in determination.
Suddenly, she lunged forward.
Before Lynn could react, soft, cool lips pressed against his cheek.
A quick, clumsy peck.
Arya pulled back, her face exploding into a bright red flush. She looked like a startled rabbit.
"That's... that's for saving him!" she stammered.
She spun around and bolted. The door banged shut behind her as she fled down the corridor.
Lynn touched his cheek. It was still cool where she had kissed him.
The North remembers. And so do I.
DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
A low, mournful sound shattered the moment.
A horn blast echoed from the castle gates.
The King had returned.
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