A horn sounded from afar, dull and long, tearing through the afternoon silence of Winterfell.
The hunting party had returned.
The sound of hooves trampling over the drawbridge was chaotic and heavy. There were no cheers of triumph, only an oppressive silence enveloping everyone who returned.
The high spirits visible on King Robert's face at departure were gone. He dismounted, tossed the reins to a servant, and walked wordlessly toward the main keep.
Ned Stark followed closely behind. His expression was darker than the leaden clouds of a Northern winter.
Lynn stood in the shadow of the colonnade, watching it all. Thanks to the herbs, his injuries were no longer a major issue. But his face remained pale, providing him with a perfect disguise: a loyal warrior who had just been gravely injured saving someone.
Ned's steps paused as he passed him.
"Lynn, come to my study in a moment."
Lynn nodded slightly, watching Ned stride away.
Moments later, Lynn pushed open the heavy oak door of the study. No lamps were lit in the room; the light was dim. The fire in the hearth wasn't burning strongly, barely dispelling the chill in the room.
Ned Stark wasn't sitting in his Lord's seat. He stood by the window, back to the door, gazing at the gray sky outside. His tall figure exuded a mountain-like heaviness and exhaustion.
"My Lord," Lynn spoke, breaking the silence.
Ned turned slowly. He still carried the chill of the outdoors, and his hunting leathers bore a few dark spots of blood. At this moment, those grey eyes belonging to House Stark were bloodshot. Pain, anger, and a trace of confusion filled them.
He looked at Lynn, gratitude in his eyes.
"I heard from Catelyn," Ned's voice was hoarse, carrying unsuppressable fatigue. "You saved Bran."
"Bran is alive," Ned's voice was low. "But he hasn't woken up."
Lynn met the gaze of the Warden of the North.
"My Lord, have you ever considered," Lynn's voice was soft, "why Bran fell from the tower?"
Ned's breath hitched for a second. "He likes to climb. It was an accident."
He said the words, but couldn't even convince himself.
"An accident?" Lynn countered. "A child who loves climbing would slip and fall from a tower that isn't particularly hard to climb?"
"My Lord, this was no accident. This was attempted murder!"
The words "attempted murder" instantly dropped the room's temperature to freezing point.
Ned clenched his fists, knuckles turning white from the force. "Who?"
Lynn didn't name anyone specific but guided Ned. "Bran must have seen something he shouldn't have seen on the tower. Something... enough to get him silenced. And your castle, my Lord, currently has outsiders as guests."
Ned stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth in the room.
Jaime Lannister's handsome and arrogant face. Queen Cersei's beautiful but cold eyes. All clues pointed to the Lannisters.
"Why would they do this?" Ned's voice was filled with pain and confusion.
"Pursuing the reason is meaningless now, my Lord."
Although Lynn knew who wanted to create chaos and provoke a conflict between the two houses, he didn't intend to let the Lannisters off the hook.
Lynn interrupted Ned's thoughts. "The most important issue is... Bran is still alive. If he was pushed, then the culprit will absolutely not let him have the chance to wake up."
Ned's steps stopped. He turned sharply, staring dead at Lynn. A chill shot from his spine straight to the top of his skull.
"They... would try again?"
"They definitely will," Lynn's answer was decisive. "Right here in Winterfell. Right under your nose!"
Ned's face turned pale. He couldn't imagine such a vicious plot lurking within his own castle. His son lay in bed like a lamb waiting for slaughter.
Ned's fists clenched tight at his sides. "He's just a ten-year-old boy."
Lynn just stood there quietly, letting Ned's emotions ferment in this closed room.
"Lannister." Ned squeezed the name through his teeth. "Lysa's letter, your prophecy, Bran's fall... It all points to them."
Ned walked up to Lynn, his burning eyes fixed on him. "Tell me, Lynn. What did you see when you saved Bran? Did you see anyone else suspicious?"
Lynn shook his head. "I was at the base of the tower and only heard a scream, my Lord. When I arrived, I saw Bran falling from the air."
This answer made Ned slump back into his chair. The crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace seemed exceptionally harsh.
"What should I do now? Double the guard? Surround Bran's room?"
Lynn shook his head. "That would only alert the enemy. The culprit is among us; they know every move in Winterfell. We can't just defend."
A cold glint flashed in Lynn's eyes. "We need to set a trap. A trap that will make them walk right into the net."
---
Night. Deep as ink.
Winterfell had fallen into a deathly silence.
Suddenly.
A piercing scream tore through the night sky.
"Fire!"
"The library is on fire!"
The silent castle was instantly detonated. Countless torches lit up; chaotic footsteps and shouts echoed in the courtyard.
Robb Stark was the first to rush out of his room, his face full of anxiety. "Quick! Put out the fire!"
Lynn opened his eyes abruptly.
It's starting!
He looked into the distance.
A blaze soared into the sky. The firelight painted half the night sky a crimson red.
The library. The place in the castle that should be least likely to catch fire. It held centuries of Northern history and records.
This fire was enough to draw everyone's attention. Including most of the guards.
Robb and Jon would definitely lead people to fight the fire. That was their duty. And this gave the assassin the best opportunity.
Theon Greyjoy and other young squires were closely following Robb, rushing toward the tower lit by the orange-red glow.
In the chaos, no one noticed. Outside the room where Bran was recovering, in the deepest shadows, several figures stood motionless.
Lynn was among them. Sword in hand, leaning against the cold stone wall, his ears catching every movement around him.
He could hear the clamor of firefighting in the distance. He could hear Lady Catelyn's low whispers comforting the direwolf, Summer, inside the room. And he could hear an extremely faint footstep, almost merging with the wind, approaching.
Here he comes.
A dark shadow, hugging the base of the wall, slid silently beneath the window of Bran's room. He skillfully pried open the window and nimbly climbed in.
Inside the room.
Catelyn sat by Bran's bed. Her eyes were sunken; days without sleep had left her haggard. The direwolf Summer lay at the foot of the bed, a low growl of unease in his throat.
Catelyn stroked his head soothingly. "It's okay, Summer. It's just a fire; Robb will handle it."
Just then.
Summer stood up abruptly, all his fur bristling. He bared sharp fangs at the doorway, issuing a threatening roar.
A man stood there.
He wore inconspicuous roughspun clothes, small and thin, with a sickly pallor on his face. In his hand, he held a dagger.
The dagger was exquisitely crafted, its hilt made of dragonbone, the blade shimmering with strange ripples.
Valyrian steel!