Ned’s gaze bore into Lynn, trying to pierce through his calm exterior and see the secrets buried deep within his soul.
“What else did you see?” Against the crackle of the hearth, the question hung extraordinarily heavy in the air.
Lynn did not answer immediately.
He simply raised his eyes and met the Warden of the North’s gaze with absolute composure.
In those eyes, there was no fear, no hesitation—only a bottomless, tranquil calm.
“My Lord,” Lynn spoke softly, yet every word fell with utmost clarity.
“I know you have countless questions for me.” “But prophecy is a delicate, mysterious thing.
Sometimes, visions flash through my mind beyond my control.” “At other times, actively seeking a prophecy demands a cost far beyond what ordinary men can imagine.” “The future is like a fork in a dark road.
I can see that one path ends in a precipice.” “However, if you learn the exact location of that cliff right now, you might focus so intently on avoiding it that you miss the trap beneath your feet, only to tumble into an even deeper abyss.” These words carried more weight than any direct answer could have.
If a prophecy came without a cost, it would be far too good to be true.
The tension in Ned’s body finally loosened slightly.
He understood.
Lynn was using a language he could comprehend to explain a brutal truth.
Knowing too much was not necessarily a blessing.
Forcibly trying to alter a known tragedy could easily trigger a far more violent backlash.
Once the gears of fate were dragged off course by force, they would only crush anyone who tried to resist in an even grimmer fashion.
Seeing Ned fall silent, Lynn continued.
“My Lord, during this journey south, I have foreseen a few events that will come to pass.
I will lay out the solutions for you one by one.” “First, do not rush to investigate Lord Arryn’s death.
You only need to guard against Cersei, Janos, and Baelish.” “Pay special attention to Baelish.” “No matter what he tells you, My Lord, you may humor him, but you must not trust a single word that comes out of his mouth.
Not one word.” “The man possesses no honor or credibility whatsoever!” “Second, if you act in haste, the Gold Cloaks are turncoats who will inevitably betray you.” “If you truly wish to investigate Lord Arryn’s death, you should first weaken the City Watch—or better yet, bring them under your control.” The Gold Cloaks, named for their signature golden mantles, answered directly to the Iron Throne and served as the vital force maintaining law and order in the capital—or at least, “surface order.” After King Robert’s death, Ned could have used his authority as Regent to control the situation, but Littlefinger had betrayed him.
That betrayal led directly to the Gold Cloaks siding with Cersei, resulting in Ned’s arrest and the tragic chain of events that followed.
“Third, and most important of all!” “His Grace King Robert is in far greater danger than you imagine.” “You must remember only one thing!” “As long as he lives, you live!” “Keep a close eye on Robert’s meals and daily life.
Under no circumstances let him go hunting.” Ned’s body shook, an anxious expression flaring across his features.
“Are you saying someone wants to murder Robert?” “Who could possibly be so bold!” Lynn shook his head, refusing to answer the question directly.
“My Lord, I can only see scattered fragments.
As for the details, I do not know.” The Lannisters held a firm grip on King’s Landing.
Trying to take them on directly with just a handful of men from the North was an impossible task.
Lynn needed Ned to establish a firm foothold first and play defense.
Anything else would have to wait until Lynn built up his own strength.
If he told Ned the full truth directly, Lynn feared the uncompromisingly honorable lord would act recklessly, bringing about irreversible disaster.
“I understand.” “I will do as you say!” Ned nodded solemnly.
Lynn then added another layer of insurance for Ned.
“My Lord, if an accident truly befalls King Robert, you must immediately support Joffrey’s succession to the throne.
Agree to any conditions Cersei sets—including showing goodwill, flattery, or deference…” “And while their guard is down, leave for the North immediately!” “As long as you sit safely in the North, no matter what chaos unfolds in King’s Landing, you will remain untouched!” “There is only one thing…” Lynn looked straight into Ned’s eyes and spoke deliberately.
“I am afraid you will refuse to compromise…” Ned waved a broad hand dismissively.
“Rest assured, I will do exactly as you say!” He was no fool.
Hearing Lynn lay out these precise preparations made him sense the grave danger lurking ahead.
Since he had chosen to trust Lynn, he would follow this path to the very end!
Even if Lynn intended to harm him, he had no better alternative right now.
Ned stared at the young man before him.
This crow who had returned from the Wall, this anomaly carrying the power of mysterious prophecy…
“Lynn, can I trust you?” Lynn gave a subtle bow.
His tone carried no sycophancy, only the calm statement of a fact.
“It was you who pardoned me, My Lord.
Everything I have is tied to Winterfell, and to the entire North.” Having received his answer, Ned stopped probing into the shadowy future.
He made his decision.
“Once the King departs, you will return to the Wall with Benjen to explain your oath-breaking to the Lord Commander.” “When you return, I will grant you a new identity.” Ned looked at him, emphasizing every word.
“You will become my personal guard and ride south with me to King’s Landing.” Those words carried more weight than any amount of gold dragons or lands.
They meant Lynn would completely wash away the stain of being a prisoner and a deserter, securing a firm footing for himself.
Even if that foothold was the precarious House Stark.
For Lynn, who desperately needed a stepping stone, it was more than enough!
Lynn lowered his eyelids, hiding the surge of emotion that flashed through his eyes.
“As you command, My Lord.” …
On the other side of the banquet hall, the atmosphere was nowhere near as heavy as it was by the hearth.
Seated high at the main table, Cersei Lannister casually dragged a slender fingertip along the rim of her silver goblet out of sheer boredom.
Beside her, Catelyn wore a polite, well-practiced smile as she conversed with the Queen.
Yet in those blue eyes characteristic of House Tully, a persistent shadow lingered.
“This is your first time visiting the North, is it not, Your Grace?” Catelyn took the initiative to speak, attempting to break the awkward silence.
Cersei’s gaze passed right over her, landing on Sansa not far away.
The girl was gazing dreamily at her son, Joffrey.
A barely perceptible smirk crept onto the corner of Cersei’s lips.
“Indeed.
It is certainly…
unique here.” Catelyn’s smile stiffened slightly.
“I assure you, compared to King’s Landing, it must seem quite harsh.
When I first came to Winterfell, I felt frightened as well.” “Harsh?” Cersei’s voice was like the finest silk from King’s Landing—smooth, yet completely devoid of warmth.
“Harsh is an understatement.
The wind here could turn a woman’s skin into sandpaper.” Catelyn’s grip on her wine goblet tightened.
Just then, a figure stepped up to the table with a blend of eagerness and longing.
It was Sansa.
She had changed into a brand-new, sky-blue dress.
Her hair was immaculately styled, and her face flushed with a lovely, excited blush.
“Your Grace.” Sansa gathered her skirts and performed a flawless curtsy.
“Mother.” Cersei’s eyes slowly swept over Sansa.
That look was not one meant for a future daughter-in-law; it was the calculating gaze of someone inspecting a prized filly about to enter the market.
“Hello there, my pretty little dove,” Cersei said, her tone carrying a rare note of praise.
“You truly are beautiful.” Sansa’s heart fluttered with delight at the compliment.
Cersei set down her goblet and leaned forward slightly, drawing closer to Sansa.
Her emerald eyes sparkled with sharp, all-seeing shrewdness.
“How old are you, child?” “Thirteen, Your Grace,” Sansa answered dutifully.
“Thirteen…” Cersei appraised her figure, which was already beginning to show its curves.
“Are you still growing?” Not catching the underlying meaning, Sansa simply smiled and nodded.
“I believe so, Your Grace.” Cersei gently ran her fingertip along the glass, producing a faint ringing sound, before putting forth her question.
“Has your flowered moon come yet?” The air seemed to freeze in an instant.
The flush of excitement on Sansa’s face turned into a deep, burning crimson of embarrassment.
She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out.
She could only cast a helpless, pleading look toward her mother.
Catelyn’s expression darkened instantly.
A surge of anger at the blatant insult flared from the depths of her heart.
Her blue eyes flared with undisguised hostility for the very first time.
In the North, on her own home ground, right in front of her face, to humiliate her daughter like this!
Yet Cersei acted as if she hadn’t seen the fury in Catelyn’s eyes.
She merely picked up her goblet, swirling the dark red wine within, a playful smirk resting on her lips.
“Not…
not yet, Your Grace,” Sansa whispered, her voice as quiet as a mosquito’s buzz.
“Oh.” Cersei seemed somewhat disappointed, but she smoothly changed the subject with a smile.
“The direwolf embroidery on your dress is exquisite.
Did you make it yourself?” Sansa grabbed at the conversational lifeline like a drowning person.
“Yes, Your Grace.” “What a clever, skillful girl,” Cersei smiled warmly.
“You must embroider something for me in the future.” Overwhelmed by the sudden favor, Sansa agreed immediately.
After bowing, she practically fled back to her seat.
Cersei returned her indifferent gaze to Catelyn.
Her smile remained unchanged, but her words turned ice-cold.
“The whole realm is waiting for our two houses to produce a grandchild.” Catelyn suppressed her anger and forced a stiff smile.
“I have heard the rumors as well.” Cersei cast her gaze toward Sansa once more.
“Your daughter will become the darling of the court,” the Queen declared in a tone that sounded like a decree.
“A delicate flower like her shouldn’t be buried in the ice and snow of the North.” Catelyn’s face turned as cold as the winter snow outside the window.
Meanwhile, back at her seat, Sansa’s embarrassment was quickly replaced by an entirely different emotion.
Prince Joffrey was looking at her.
A charming smile graced his handsome face as he raised his goblet toward her from afar.
With a sudden rush, Sansa felt her cheeks burn furiously.
She flusteredly dropped her head, grabbing her companion’s arm and babbling incoherently, trying desperately to hide the sweet joy threatening to burst from her chest.
That humiliating question from the Queen had already been tossed to the back of her mind.