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The door creaked open.
Lynn didn't turn. He sat shirtless by the hearth, firelight licking at his wounded skin. The air smelled of herbs and blood.
Arya slipped inside and shut the door. She stood there, small hands clutching her dress, grey eyes fixed on Lynn's back.
His broad shoulders were covered in bruises. A long gash ran from his left shoulder to his waist, crudely stitched. It looked like an ugly centipede crawling across his muscle.
A warhammer had done that in the last fight.
Arya's nose stung. Her eyes reddened.
She rushed to his side. Lynn was awkwardly dabbing black salve on a rib wound.
"You're a fool!" Arya's voice cracked, angry and desperate.
Lynn paused. He turned to see her biting her lip, fighting tears. She looked like a furious little wolf who didn't know what to do.
Arya snatched the salve and started applying it to his wounds.
"Why are you doing this? You already beat them! You already proved yourself!"
Her voice rose, trembling.
To her, Lynn was already the greatest hero in Westeros. And smart, too. He didn't need to prove anything to those foul-mouthed crows.
"Lynn, I'm a Stark. If I say the word, Mormont will let you go! He swore an oath to my father!"
Lynn said nothing. He just watched her. Firelight danced in his eyes, reflecting her tear-streaked face.
He reached out to ruffle her hair, then stoppedâhis hand was covered in blood and salve.
"Arya." His voice was soft. "I'm not doing this to prove anything."
He sat her down on a stool. They faced the fire together.
Lynn's gaze seemed to look far beyond the flames.
"If I can't even walk out of Castle Black with my head high..." He paused. "How can I return to Winterfell and marry you?"
Silence.
Only the crackle of burning pine.
Arya froze. She stared at his profile, sharp and serious in the firelight.
Marry... me?
The words exploded in her mind like thunder.
She'd imagined many reasons. Honor. Freedom. Proving himself to her father.
But never this.
Every drop of blood Lynn shed in that yard, every woundâit was for her. For a distant, solemn promise.
"Waaahâ!"
Arya burst into tears. They poured down her face like a broken dam.
But this time, it wasn't from pain or frustration. It was something elseâsomething that made her heart tremble.
She threw herself at Lynn from behind, wrapping her small arms around him as tightly as she could, as if trying to melt into him.
Her face pressed into his back. Hot tears soaked the bandages.
Lynn's body stiffened. The embrace pressed on his wounds, sending sharp pain through him.
But he didn't move. He let her hold him, feeling her tremble, hearing her muffled sobs.
This isn't the only reason, Lynn thought. But it's the one she needs to hear.
In Westeros, where men ruled with iron fists, no one spoke to women like this. Arya had never heard such words.
She was overwhelmed.
After a long while, her crying stopped. She came around to face him, eyes red and swollen but shining in the firelight.
She stood on her toes and wiped her tears with her sleeve. Then, with absolute seriousness, she said:
"I'll wait for you."
Then she noticed the two guards standing in the shadows, grinning.
Her face burned. She covered it with her hands and ran out of the room.
Lynn sat alone by the fire. He looked at his calloused hands, worn from gripping a sword.
His lips curved into a faint smile.
Night deepened. The castle fell silent. Only the wind howled like ghosts.
Lynn lay in bed, breathing steady, seemingly asleep.
The door opened silently. A shadow slipped insideâa black-cloaked man holding a dagger. Moonlight glinted off the blade.
He crept toward the bed, eyes gleaming with murderous intent. He raised the dagger.
Two figures exploded from the shadows.
Stark guards.
A knife slashed the assassin's throat. A sword pierced his heart.
Splurt.
Hot blood sprayed. The assassin's body went rigid. He looked down at the blade through his chest, gurgling.
Then he collapsed.
The whole thing took seconds.
Lynn sat up, looking at the twitching corpse.
"Someone actually tried to kill me?"
Then a voice echoed in his mind.
[Your soldier killed 1 enemy. Experience +2.][Current Experience: 2]
Lynn's body jolted. His pupils contracted.
Not me. Torren's men killed him.
And I still got the experience?
Thunder roared in his mind.
He stared at the guards, who had melted back into the shadows. Their loyalty was absolute.
He remembered Ned's words in Winterfell.
"This hundred-man squad is yours. They answer only to you."
So that's it.
If soldiers were completely loyal to him, their kills counted as his.
A wild, intoxicating realization flooded Lynn.
His greatest limitationâshattered.
He didn't need to kill everyone himself. He could build an army. A loyal army that would farm experience for him endlessly.
From this moment, the world became far more interesting.
~~~~ââ~~~~~~~~ââ~~~~
The story isn't over...
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