The clamor of the feast hall had long since faded.
All that remained was the sporadic clatter of cups and plates as servants cleared away the mess.
Night wind seeped through the cracks in the window, leaving Lynn’s room in dead silence.
He had not lit a lamp.
Moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting a cold patch of light onto the stone floor.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, his longsword resting across his knees.
He was waiting.
*Knock, knock-knock.* A faint, almost cautious knock sounded at the door.
Lynn opened his eyes in the dark, entirely un-surprised.
As expected.
Those who ought to come would always come.
Lynn slid off the bed, stepped barefoot onto the freezing stone floor, and lifted the latch.
Two figures stood outside.
Maester Luwin held a lantern that flickered violently in the wind.
The usually placid face of the maester was weighed down with gravity.
In the shadows behind him stood a taller figure: Ned Stark.
The presence of the Warden of the North made the cramped room instantly oppressive.
Lynn stepped aside to let them in.
Ned ducked to pass through the low doorway.
He didn’t look at Lynn; his gaze swept past the sparse furnishings before resting on the longsword on the bed.
Maester Luwin closed the door behind them, shutting out the biting wind.
“I apologize for disturbing your rest at such a late hour,” Maester Luwin said.
His voice was like the man himself—dry, cautious, and unfailingly polite.
“My lords.” Lynn gestured respectfully toward the only chair in the room.
Ned didn’t sit.
He merely stood there, radiating an aura colder than the winter night outside.
From the folds of his bulky robes, Maester Luwin pulled a small parchment roll tied with thin string.
It was pitifully small, almost completely hidden in his palm.
“A letter from the Eyrie.” Maester Luwin untied the string with slow, deliberate care.
“It arrived through secret channels.
Lady Catelyn has already deciphered the code.” Unfurling the parchment, he held it near the lantern light, which illuminated the unease in his eyes.
“It is from Lady Lysa…
Lord Jon Arryn’s widow, and Lady Catelyn’s sister.” Only the maester’s raspy voice echoed in the room.
“In this second secret letter, she claims Lord Jon Arryn did not die of sickness—and she claims to possess concrete proof.” Maester Luwin looked up at Lynn.
“If what Lysa says is true, then Lord Arryn was indeed murdered.” Fire burned in Ned’s gray eyes.
“Lysa says it was the Lannisters,” Ned growled.
“The Lannisters.
My beloved foster father, murdered by the Lannisters!” The words sounded dragged through Ned’s teeth, dripping with intense hatred.
The suffocating fury—like a volcano on the verge of erupting—made the air in the room turn stiflingly hot.
*I am surrounded by vipers…* Ned recalled Robert’s words in the crypts.
He remembered Cersei’s beautiful, frigid face.
He remembered Jaime Lannister’s insolent, mocking eyes.
The prophecy.
The warning.
Now, all of it had turned into bloody reality.
Ned snapped his head toward Lynn.
His gaze held no trace of doubt or scrutiny anymore—only the painful realization of truth, alongside the desperation of a drowning man reaching for a lifeline.
“Your prophecies have all come to pass.
What should we do now?
Must I still go to King’s Landing?” Maester Luwin also looked toward Lynn.
For the first time, awe and terror toward an unknown power flitted through the learned old man’s eyes.
Prophecy—a legendary power.
And its wielder stood right before him!
Lynn met both their gazes.
He took the letter from Maester Luwin’s hand and tossed it into the fireplace.
“My lord, you must go to King’s Landing.” “What?” Ned nearly thought he had misheard.
“Go to King’s Landing?
Into that den of wolves and tigers that killed my foster father?
How is that any different from suicide?
Shouldn’t we change our plans?” “That is precisely why you must go south, my lord.” Lynn looked straight at Ned, measuring every word.
“The Hand of the King, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, died in his own bed.
And the killer is very likely the woman in the king’s own bed.
You know better than I what peril King Robert is in.
He trusts you.
He needs you.
In a time like this, who else in all the Seven Kingdoms would dare go to King’s Landing to root out the vipers coiled beneath the Iron Throne?
My lord, you swore fealty to your king.” Lynn’s words cut cleanly to the core of Ned Stark’s soul.
Honor.
Duty.
Loyalty to his dearest friend.
These were carved into his bones, integral to his very existence.
Ned’s breathing turned heavy.
He clenched his fists.
Yet bad fortune had always met the Starks whenever they traveled south.
His father and brother had answered the Mad King’s summons, only to be tortured to death.
And the previous Hand had died to treachery.
If he became the new Hand, he would inevitably become the target of all.
Lynn watched him quietly, watching the Lord of Winterfell agonizingly torn between loyalty and danger.
In Lynn’s mind, however, a far more audacious calculation was taking shape.
Ned Stark had to go to King’s Landing.
Even if Ned refused, Lynn would find a way to nudge him south.
This wasn’t Lynn deliberately sending Ned to his death.
As long as Ned was willing to discard his foolish notions of honor…
as long as he answered southern intrigue with Northern steel, then Lynn could guarantee results.
There were far too many opportunities in King’s Landing—enough for a direwolf to claim the Iron Throne as Prince Regent.
Though the path might be treacherous, Lynn wasn’t afraid of risk—not after transmigrating here with a system to enhance his combat strength.
House Stark would be his spring board and a safe harbor to grow his power early on.
Relying on others was never as good as holding power oneself.
His ultimate goal had always been the Iron Throne!
A spark of fervor flared in Lynn’s eyes, imperceptible even to himself.
He was going to play this game of thrones.
And he was going to win.
House Stark was his fastest route to supreme authority.
On a practical level, Ned was a genuinely good man who actually got things done.
On a personal level, given his connection with Arya Stark, Ned would be his father-in-law in the future.
As long as House Stark supported him, he wouldn’t mind sharing the rewards with them.
Besides, he possessed a system.
Give him enough time to develop and grow strong, and Lynn would fear no living creature save for dragons and the Night King!
“I understand,” Ned spoke slowly after a long silence.
The conflict and anger in his eyes faded, replaced by grim resolve in the face of peril.
“I will go to King’s Landing.
I will uncover the truth and avenge my foster father.” Maester Luwin opened his mouth to speak.
Truthfully, he supported Ned’s journey south, but walking into a lion’s den filled him with worry for his lord’s safety.
In the end, he could only let out a helpless sigh.
Ned gave Lynn a deep look.
“You’ve done well.
Once you’ve finished your trip to the Wall, come to King’s Landing.
I will be waiting for you there.” Without another word, Ned turned around, opened the door, and his tall frame quickly vanished into the dark night.
Maester Luwin set the lantern on the table and offered Lynn a solemn bow.
“House Stark owes you a debt of gratitude.” Having said that, the old maester followed his lord out.
Silence returned to the room.
Lynn walked over and pushed open the window.
Freezing night air rushed in, dispersing the room’s stifling gloom.
Lynn looked up at the waning moon, his hands clenching into fists as a plume of white breath escaped his lips.
The game had officially begun.
Jon Arryn was murdered through a conspiracy between Cersei and Littlefinger, while Lysa Tully, Arryn’s wife, was still tangled up with Littlefinger and ultimately helped kill her husband.
Simply put, Catelyn’s sister Lysa was not only Arryn’s wife, but also Petyr Baelish’s mistress.
But the one Baelish truly desired was Ned’s wife, Catelyn, who had married Ned instead.
What a tangled web of romantic lunacy.
Lynn couldn’t reveal to Ned right now that Littlefinger had orchestrated Jon Arryn’s poisoning.
Ned already detested Baelish; if he found out, he would probably execute him on the spot.
And as a hidden player outside the main factions, Lynn didn’t want Littlefinger removed from the board so early.
Baelish thought his scheming was the pinnacle of political genius, completely unaware that a cheater had already read his entire playbook—all of Littlefinger’s secret manipulations were played face-up to Lynn!
Furthermore, Lynn had no intention of exposing Baelish right away.
Baelish posed no threat to Lynn whatsoever.
He needed Littlefinger to keep muddying the waters so he could reap the rewards undisturbed.
As long as Lynn thwarted Littlefinger’s plots against House Stark, a desperate Baelish would drive a wedge between the stags and the lions.
And that was precisely what Lynn wanted to see.