Lynn's party rode back to Winterfell.
Along the way, Lynn alternated between riding and necessary physical training.
Attribute points could be raised through personal effort—he'd never waste any time that could be used for improvement.
Time slipped quietly past in the monotonous journey.
Finally, Winterfell's massive grey silhouette appeared again on the horizon's edge.
Direwolf banners fluttered atop the walls in cold wind—as if welcoming their return.
The column's appearance caused a modest commotion at the gates.
Robb Stark and Ser Rodrik Cassel hurried over upon hearing the news.
When they recognized the arrivals, their steps unconsciously slowed.
This column—utterly transformed from departure.
Every soldier silent, movements uniform.
Lynn at the very front made them feel an indescribable strangeness.
His features remained calm.
But those eyes held something deeper, more profound.
Most eye-catching—the two longswords at his waist.
One they recognized—the Valyrian steel sword "Longclaw" gifted by the Old Bear, though the bear-head pommel had been replaced with a direwolf.
Ravens had already mentioned this.
But the other...
Robb's breath caught.
That slender blade with black jade dragon-head hilt—he'd only seen in ancient book illustrations.
The Targaryen royal heirloom sword—Dark Sister!
How could this thing appear at Lynn's waist?
"Lynn!"
Robb suppressed the turmoil in his heart, striding forward quickly.
"You're back!"
Lynn dismounted, nodding to Robb and Ser Rodrik.
"How's Bran?" Lynn immediately asked what concerned him most.
"He's well."
Mentioning his brother, warmth crossed Robb's tense face.
"Maester Luwin says he's recovering quickly. Can already walk a few steps holding the wall."
Lynn felt some relief.
Just then, Arya—like an agile little cat—leaped from her horse, rushing straight into Robb's arms.
"Robb!"
"Arya?" Robb joyfully embraced his little sister.
Arya broke free, face full of unconcealed pride.
"We went to the Wall! Even beyond the Wall!"
"We killed so many wildlings, and Lynn killed a... a terrifying monster!"
The little girl gestured excitedly, incoherently describing her adventure, words full of worship for Lynn.
Robb and Ser Rodrik exchanged glances, looking at Lynn with increasingly complex expressions.
Just how many secrets does this man hide?
Lynn first visited Bran.
The once lively, active boy now sat quietly in a chair. The scenery outside the window could no longer tempt him to climb.
Clearly, that "accidental" fall left an indelible shadow in his heart.
Lynn delivered Jon's letter and conveyed Jon's longing.
Seeing Bran's long-absent smile, Lynn felt relieved.
A Bran who didn't become the Three-Eyed Raven—still that likeable Stark child.
Only Bran didn't know—his fate had been completely rewritten invisibly by the man before him.
He'd never be paralyzed again. Never be targeted by the Three-Eyed Raven.
This lifetime—he could peacefully serve as Robb's bannerman.
Lynn was arranged in the Guest Tower's most spacious room.
Flames roared in the hearth, hot springs flowed through pipes—the room warm as spring.
Winter loved this temperature.
But it still preferred curling in furs, then sprawling on the bearskin rug before the hearth, three heads contentedly dozing.
In just days, its body had ballooned—grown a whole size larger.
Now as big as a half-grown hunting hound.
Its scales shimmered with blue-green dreamlike luster in the firelight.
Those once-scrawny forelimbs had become thick and powerful.
Sharp claws at the ends occasionally scratched unconsciously across the carpet, leaving deep marks.
The three heads' personalities grew increasingly distinct.
The middle amber-eyed head—most composed.
It spent most time sleeping. Occasionally opening eyes, it would scrutinize Lynn with an almost evaluative gaze.
This gave Lynn an illusion—as if it were thinking.
The left glacial-blue-eyed head—a dutiful sentinel.
Always vigilant. Any disturbance made it raise its neck, throat releasing threatening growls.
As for the right blood-red-eyed head—still synonymous with violence and greed.
Either tearing at carpets or attempting to gnaw table legs—as if its world contained only two things:
Destruction and eating.
Lynn sat at the table, holding Aemon's Valyrian language texts, mouth reciting ancient words in extremely low voice.
"Lykirī." (Be calm.)
The moment he spoke, the blood-red head preparing to bite a chair paused.
It shook its head impatiently, blood-red eyes full of reluctance.
But under Lynn's gentle gaze, it finally lay back down resentfully, throat releasing dissatisfied rumbles.
Now they were finally quiet.
Lynn's lips curved slightly upward.
This little one—though violent—quite obedient.
Soon, knocking sounded.
"Lynn, it's me, Robb."
Lynn's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"I'm here. Come in."
The door opened.
Robb Stark and Maester Luwin entered one after another.
Their gazes immediately fell on the two swords at Lynn's waist.
Especially that black jade dragon-hilted "Dark Sister."
Its ancient sharpness made the entire room's air heavier.
"Lynn, I must say—you've brought us quite a surprise this time."
Robb's tone—very complex.
He approached Lynn, eyes probing.
"Mormont giving you 'Longclaw'—I understand. But this one..."
His gaze fell on Dark Sister.
"If I'm not mistaken, this is the Targaryen royal heirloom sword."
Maester Luwin also approached, grey eyes full of scholarly rigor and obsession.
He leaned forward, carefully examining the dragon carving on the hilt and unique ripples on the blade.
So excited his fingers beneath grey robes trembled slightly.
"Gods above, it really is 'Dark Sister'..."
"Missing for nearly a century..."
Maester Luwin raised his head.
"You... where did you find it?"
Lynn simply smiled, not answering.
He reached out, patting the book beside him.
"A gift from an old friend."
His movement woke the little one on the carpet.
"Come. Meet them."
The middle amber-eyed head groggily lifted, yawning.
"This is..."
Robb's attention was drawn over.
He saw a strange creature's head emerge from the furs, molten-gold eyes curiously surveying him.
"What strange creature is this?"
Robb frowned.
This looks too weird.
Entire body covered in scales.
During the journey, to avoid attention, Winter had been kept in a black-cloth-covered cage. This was Robb's first time seeing it.
However, the next second—
The left glacial-blue head suddenly burst from another fur, releasing a hostile hiss at the two uninvited guests.
Immediately after, the right blood-red head also emerged, baring mouthfuls of serrated fangs, black smoke even faintly rising from its mouth.
THUMP!
The furs were completely pushed aside by three heads, sliding to the floor.
A complete monster—possessing three heads, four legs, and a pair of vicious flesh wings folded on its back—fully exposed before Robb and Maester Luwin.
The room's air instantly froze.
Robb's expression—from curiosity to confusion to horror, finally becoming blank.
He instinctively stepped back, hand already gripping sword hilt, body trembling slightly from massive shock.
"By the Old Gods and the New..."
Maester Luwin's voice no longer calm.
Blood drained completely from his face. Those eyes that had read countless texts now bulged like copper bells.
His proud rationality and scholarship—shattered before this living magical creature.
"Dragon..."
Maester Luwin's lips trembled, uttering the word.
"This is a dragon..."
No. It's more terrifying than dragons. More bizarre.
Three heads!
This isn't a dragon at all!
This is a monster crawled from the seven hells!
Lynn slowly stood, walking to Winter's side, soothingly stroking its middle head—as if petting a docile kitten.
He looked at the dumbstruck Robb, speaking calmly.
"This is my greatest gain from this trip."
"Perfect timing. I also have a favor to ask of you."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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