The Great Hall of Winterfell had been turned into a noisy, sweltering furnace by hundreds of tallow candles and the roaring hearths.
The rich scent of roasting wild boar grease mingled with the sour stench of spilled ale, combining into a dizzying wave of heat.
The music of the bard’s lute was shredded to pieces by King Robert’s boisterous laughter and the loud toasts of the northern lords.
Muscular warriors sat with their doublets unbuttoned, fondling pretty prostitutes in their laps.
Meanwhile, Lynn stood in the dimmest corner of the hall, holding a mug of ale.
The stone wall behind him was cold, keeping the oppressive heat at bay.
He quietly observed the grand, hypocritical scene before him.
Ned Stark sat in the seat of honor, matching Robert cup for cup.
Yet the smile on Ned’s face was as stiff as a mask; he was clearly ill at ease in such a setting.
Lady Catelyn moved gracefully among the southern noblewomen.
Her manners were flawless, but beneath the candlelight, a faint thread of anxiety flickered in her eyes.
Soon, Catelyn slipped away from the feast to check on Sansa’s attire and composure.
Sansa was set to be the star tonight, and Catelyn refused to let the southern ladies find anything to mock.
Lynn’s gaze swept across the crowd.
He spotted Jaime Lannister.
The Kingslayer was whispering something to his sister, Queen Cersei, drawing a sultry, low laugh from her.
Few noticed them.
Their sharp, dazzling beauty seemed dangerously out of place in such chaotic surroundings.
Lynn finished his mug of ale in one long gulp.
Turning, he left the raucous hall.
Stepping down a corridor hung with antler chandeliers, the cool night air outside cleared his heavy head.
A hushed, hurried conversation reached his ears from a nearby window alcove.
It was Lady Catelyn and Sansa.
Sansa’s voice carried an urgent edge, soaked in wine and romantic fantasy.
Her sky-blue gown gleamed softly under the moonlight, her pretty face illuminated by bright, youthful longings for the future.
“Prince Joffrey is so handsome, so brave!
I’m going to be his queen!” “When will we be married?
Right now, or do we have to wait?” Though Lynn couldn’t see Lady Catelyn’s face, he could easily picture her expression.
Exhaustion, worry, and a touch of helplessness.
“Sansa, listen to me,” Catelyn’s voice was gentle, yet carried a firm, undeniable seriousness.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Your father hasn’t agreed to it yet.” Sansa sounded utterly bewildered.
“Why wouldn’t he agree?” “He’s about to become the Hand of the King—second only to the monarch himself!” Sansa added with an excited smile.
Catelyn offered a bitter look.
“Which means he will have to leave his home.
And leave me.” “And you will leave home as well.” Sansa looked confused.
“Didn’t you leave your home to come to Winterfell, Mother?
And one day, I will be the Queen.” Sansa suddenly turned to grab her mother’s hand.
“Please, make Father agree to it!” Catelyn tried to speak, but Sansa cut her off impetuously.
“Please!
Marrying a prince has been my dream my whole life!” Looking at the desperation in her daughter’s eyes, Catelyn stayed silent for a long moment before speaking slowly.
“This isn’t one of the songs the northern bards sing.
Being a queen isn’t just about wearing pretty dresses and attending grand balls.
You—” “I know!” Sansa interrupted her mother, her voice rising in defensive frustration.
“I will be a good queen, just like Queen Nymeria in the legends!
I’ll bear him golden-haired princes.” “Mother, please!
Tell Father to say yes quickly!” “I don’t want to stay in Winterfell anymore.
It’s cold and boring!” The young girl’s pleading was like a thin needle pricking Catelyn’s heart.
Lynn stood in the dark, his face devoid of emotion.
He felt neither sympathy nor contempt.
He was simply a cold chess player, watching a piece destined for sacrifice march gleefully into a trap.
From this moment on, Sansa’s fate was bound tightly to that bloodstained Iron Throne.
And he had no power to stop it—nor did he care to.
Sansa was already blinded by the illusion of power.
Ned Stark was bound to go south.
It was the King’s command, a lifelong friend’s plea, and a duty he could not shirk as Warden of the North.
Lynn’s gaze shifted through the window toward the deep interior of the courtyard.
There, an ancient, abandoned tower stood tall against the night sky, like a broken fang sticking out of the dark.
A thought flashed through Lynn’s mind.
That was where Bran would fall.
And it was also where he could seize the greatest possible leverage for himself!
Lynn backed away silently, melting into the shadows as he left the corridor.
He did not return to his room.
Instead, he crossed the noisy courtyard toward the far side of the castle—far from the torches of the main keep, where only patrolling guards occasionally cast flickering light against the dark stone.
Lynn stopped at the base of the broken tower.
The First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell.
He looked up at the crumbling masonry.
He knew that Bran Stark, the boy who loved to climb, would fall from high above.
Because he would see something he shouldn’t have seen.
Jaime and Cersei’s secret.
And that secret would act like a stone dropped into a quiet lake, setting off monstrous waves across the realm.
Saving Bran wouldn’t be born out of noble morality.
Lynn had no morals to speak of; he was no rigid, honor-bound Stark.
What would a healthy, unmaimed Bran Stark mean to House Stark?
And what would Lynn gain by saving the Lord’s second son at the critical moment?
It wouldn’t be simple trust.
It would be a debt of gratitude grand enough to rewrite Lynn’s destiny.
A bargaining chip that could truly free him from his prisoner status and earn him a real seat at the table.
This was the first and most crucial move he could make in this game of thrones.
Lynn could not afford to miss this golden opportunity.
Before he possessed real strength, he had to rely on scheme and strategy—just like Lord Petyr Baelish.
He had to act, but he couldn’t be reckless.
He couldn’t simply rush up and tell everyone there was something wrong inside the tower.
Doing so would not only make him look like a madman, but it would also cheapen the gratitude House Stark would feel toward him.
He needed the perfect timing, an unquestionable excuse, and a completely logical reason to be “coincidentally” present at the scene.
Lynn began to survey his surroundings.
Beneath the tower lay an abandoned patch of land, choked with weeds and strewn with discarded stone blocks.
It was remote and quiet; almost no one came here.
Except for…
that boy who loved to climb everywhere.
And, of course, the golden twins who loved their secret trysts.
He needed to learn Bran’s habits, his climbing routes, and the times he usually roamed.
Starting tomorrow, he would lie in wait here, day after day.
Until that fateful day arrived, when Bran and the golden twins appeared together on that tower.
Lynn withdrew his gaze, turned, and vanished into the darkness.