Catelyn's heart seized.
"Who are you?" she screamed, her voice cracking with terror. "Get out!"
The man said nothing. His dead eyes flicked to Bran on the bed.
He raised the dagger.
"NO!"
Catelyn threw herself at him. She wasn't a warrior, but she was a mother. She grabbed his knife arm with the strength of desperation.
The assassin stumbled, surprised by the ferocity of the noblewoman.
"Get off me, you crazy bitch!"
He snarled, his free hand clamping around her throat.
Black spots danced in Catelyn's vision. She couldn't breathe, but she didn't let go. Her fingers dug into his arm like talons.
Summer roared. The direwolf launched himself, jaws clamping onto the man's calf.
The assassin howled in pain. He kicked out wildly, trying to shake the beast. His eyes went wide with panic and rage. He wrenched his arm free, raising the dagger high to plunge it into Catelyn's chest.
BANG!
The door exploded inward.
Lynn was a blur of motion.
He saw the scene in a single frame: the mother on her knees, the blade descending, the wolf snarling.
He didn't hesitate.
Lynn lunged, his sword a streak of silver.
The assassin sensed the death coming for him. He abandoned Catelyn, rolling away in a desperate scramble.
Lynn's blade hissed through the air, slicing across the man's ribs. Blood sprayed.
Before the assassin could recover, Stark guards filled the doorway, blocking every exit.
Trapped.
The man's eyes darted around like a cornered rat. He bit down on something in his mouth—poison—and decided to take one last life.
"DIE!"
With a guttural roar, he ignored Lynn and the guards, throwing himself toward the sleeping boy.
But Lynn was faster.
He stepped in, closing the distance.
SHUNK.
The sound was wet and final.
Lynn's sword pierced the man's throat, exiting the back of his neck.
The assassin froze. His eyes bulged, staring at Lynn in disbelief. He opened his mouth, but only a gurgling rattle came out. Blood bubbled from his lips.
He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
[Enemy Killed: 1. EXP +1]
[Current EXP: 7]
Closer. My Light Weapon skill is hungry.
He placed a boot on the corpse and yanked his sword free.
SQUELCH.
He wiped the blade on the dead man's tunic, the steel gleaming once more, before sliding it back into its sheath.
Silence fell over the room.
Catelyn slumped against the bedframe, gasping for air. Tears and sweat mingled on her face. She was shaking uncontrollably.
The guards stood with swords drawn, eyeing the corpse nervously.
Then, heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.
Ned Stark burst into the room.
He took it all in at once. The dead man. His terrified wife. His sleeping son.
And Lynn.
Ned's gaze locked onto the young man in black. The look he gave Lynn was complex—shock, relief, and a profound, unspoken trust.
Lynn had been right. Again.
Ned moved to Catelyn, checking her quickly, before his eyes were drawn to a glint on the floor.
He walked over and knelt.
The dagger lay in a pool of blood.
Even in the dim light, it was mesmerizing. The steel was dark, rippled like smoke on water.
Valyrian Steel.
The art of making it was lost to the Doom. There were perhaps two hundred such blades in all of Westeros.
And the hilt...
It was bone. Pale, ancient, and carved with intricate spirals.
Dragonbone.
Ned picked it up. It was impossibly light, yet it felt heavy with implication.
This wasn't a weapon for a hired knife. This was a prince's ransom. A lord's treasure.
To give such a weapon to a cutthroat to kill a child... it screamed of arrogance. It screamed of wealth.
It screamed Lannister.
"Clean this up," Ned ordered, his voice like grinding stones.
He didn't look at the guards. They scrambled to obey, dragging the body out by its heels.
Maester Luwin arrived a moment later, gently guiding a weeping Catelyn out of the room.
The door closed.
Ned and Lynn were alone.
Ned walked up to Lynn. He looked at the blood on Lynn's clothes, the calm set of his jaw.
Prophecy. The fall. The assassination.
Three times, this crow had stood between House Stark and ruin.
Ned held out the dagger.
"You saved Catelyn," Ned said quietly. "You saved Bran."
He pressed the hilt toward Lynn.
"This is yours."
Lynn looked at the blade.
He knew its history. He knew it belonged to Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger. He knew the lie about Tyrion Lannister that would soon be spun.
It was the spark that would burn the Seven Kingdoms.
"My Lord," Lynn said, hesitating perfectly. "It's too valuable."
"Valuable?" Ned let out a bitter laugh. "No amount of gold can buy a life."
"Take it."
It was a command.
"You're a warrior, Lynn. A warrior needs a weapon that matches his worth."
"You've earned it."
Lynn reached out. His fingers closed around the dragonbone hilt. It felt warm, alive.
The Catspaw Dagger.
Now, it was his.
Ned watched him grip the weapon.
"Lynn."
"Tomorrow, I ride South. But before that... I'll see you and Jon to the Wall."
Ned placed a heavy hand on Lynn's shoulder.
"Be ready."
With that, the Lord of Winterfell turned and left. He had a wife to comfort, and a war to prepare for, even if he didn't know it yet.
Lynn stood alone in the quiet room.
He looked down at the Valyrian steel. His reflection was distorted in the rippled metal.
He could have told Ned the truth. He could have exposed Littlefinger.
No.
Chaos is a ladder. And Lynn needed the realm to bleed.
He sheathed the dagger.
Let the games begin.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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