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In Maester Luwin's room, the scent of herbs and old parchment mingled, drifting into Lynn's nostrils.
Lynn lay bare-chested on the hard wooden bed.
He could clearly feel the cool sensation of the ointment pressing down on the burning pain of his torn flesh as it was applied to the wound.
"You have a very strong constitution."
Maester Luwin's voice was even, betraying no emotion.
"The injury is less severe than I anticipated."
He re-bandaged Lynn with clean linen, his movements as skilled as if he were handling a fine piece of parchment.
"Who taught you your swordplay?"
The Maester asked casually.
"Alliser Thorne, the instructor of the Night's Watch."
Lynn's face was buried in the pillow, his voice muffled.
"He only teaches how to stab a sword into someone as quickly as possible, nothing else."
This answer made Maester Luwin's hands pause.
His gray eyes swept over the crisscrossing small old scars on Lynn's body.
Those were not the kind of wounds left from fleeing.
Those were badges of honor, earned with his life in countless direct battles with wildlings on the Wall.
A cowardly deserter would not have such things on his back.
"Rest well."
Maester Luwin asked no more questions, packed his medicine box, and turned to leave.
"Lord Stark has instructed that you may stay here until your wounds heal."
The door was gently closed but not locked.
Lynn knew this was a signal from Ned Stark.
He was no longer a prisoner.
Instead, he was a special subject awaiting observation.
Lynn let out a long breath, no need to think about anything now.
He would heal his wounds.
Then, he would wait.
He would wait for the raven flying from King's Landing to put the final seal on all his "prophecies."
The next day, Lynn was allowed to move freely within the castle, always followed by two Guards at a discreet distance.
It was less protection and more surveillance.
He didn't go to the courtyard, where Robb and Theon were practicing swordplay, the clanging sounds irritating him.
He simply found a quiet corner, leaned against the cold stone wall, and basked in the North's meager sunlight.
He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he began to replay the fight with the bandits that night over and over.
Every angle of every sword swing, every timing of every dodge, every sensation of blood splattering.
These experiences, gained at the cost of his life, were the foundation of his survival.
A series of light, deliberate footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
Lynn opened his eyes.
A small figure stood before him, blocking the hard-won sunlight.
It was Arya Stark.
The youngest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell.
She had her hands behind her back, wearing a dusty gray boy's tunic, her hair a mess like a bird's nest, and mud splatters on her face.
But those gray eyes, belonging to House Stark, shone with astonishing brightness.
Even though she was only nine years old and slender, the spirit in those eyes gave her an untamed beauty.
"They say you're a good fighter."
Arya's voice was clear, with the straightforwardness typical of Northerners.
Lynn didn't speak, just watched her.
Arya took another step closer, her small fists clenched tightly.
"The Night's Watch swordplay is completely different from what Ser Rodrik teaches."
"Ser Rodrik says swordsmanship should be elegant, like dancing."
She pouted, clearly disagreeing.
"But your sword isn't."
"Your sword is fast, very direct."
She seemed to be searching for a word to describe it.
Lynn's lips twitched uncontrollably.
This little girl was born a she-wolf.
"You want to learn?"
Arya's eyes instantly lit up, like two flames ignited in the dark.
She nodded vigorously, her expression incredibly serious.
"Teach me."
The little girl's voice carried a hint of imperceptible pleading.
"Please."
Lynn looked at her, at her eyes full of yearning.
An opportunity to forge a deeper connection with House Stark was presented to him just like that.
And, it was Ned Stark's most beloved youngest daughter.
"Alright, I can teach you."
Lynn slowly stood up, stretching his still somewhat stiff shoulders.
"However, this is an exchange."
"You have to teach me something too."
Arya paused, evidently not expecting such a request.
She tilted her head, thinking: "But I don't know anything."
"You do."
Lynn smiled.
"For example, what secret passages are there in the castle that others don't know about?"
"Which kitchen steward secretly hides ale?"
"How can you sneak into the Godswood without being discovered?"
Arya's mouth slowly formed an "O."
She hadn't expected that the "mischief" she usually got up to could actually be used as tuition.
"I agree!"
She didn't hesitate, agreeing immediately.
"It's a deal."
"But not now, wait until my wounds heal."
"And, no one can know about this."
"Come on!"
Arya held out her dirty little fist.
Lynn was taken aback.
He then extended his own fist, gently tapping it against her small one.
A simple pact had been made.
Just then, an urgent bell exploded in the castle air.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The sound from the Maester's Tower was heavy and distant.
A raven had arrived.
The smile on Lynn's face vanished instantly.
He looked up, gazing at the towering gray tower.
What was meant to come, finally came.
Arya also heard the bell; she looked at the tower with a puzzled expression but quickly turned her attention back to Lynn.
"It's a deal! I'll come find you tonight!"
Arya finished speaking and skipped away like a joyful fawn.
Lynn didn't move.
He just stood silently, sensing the changes happening within the castle.
The Guards' footsteps became hurried, and the servants' whispers were much lower.
An invisible tension was rapidly spreading through the air.
A storm was brewing... In the main keep's study.
The flames in the fireplace roared, crackling.
But the atmosphere in the room was colder than the snow outside.
Ned Stark stood by the window, looking at the gray sky outside.
In his hand, he clutched a small piece of parchment.
The edge of the paper still bore the remnants of a raven's wax seal.
Catelyn Tully, his wife, stood behind him.
Her face was filled with unconcealed worry and sadness.
"Jon... he's dead."
Catelyn's voice trembled slightly.
Her sister, Lysa Arryn, had become a widow.
The relationship between the two families was somewhat complicated.
Lysa Arryn was old Arryn's wife in his later years, and Lysa was Catelyn's sister, while Ned was Arryn's foster son.
Ned didn't turn around.
He remained silent, like a stone statue.
"The letter says it was a sudden illness, a fever."
Catelyn continued, her hands tightly twisting her sleeve.
"But another letter Lysa secretly sent says..."
Catelyn paused, seemingly afraid to utter the terrible word.
"...It was murder."
"The Lannisters did it."
The study fell into a deathly silence.
Only the firewood in the fireplace let out its final mournful cries.
Ned slowly turned around.
There was no expression on his face, but in his gray eyes, a turbulent storm raged.
Lynn's words, like a curse, echoed wildly in his mind.
"Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn."
"Soon, he will die."
"He will be murdered."
Word for word.
The prophecy had become reality.
"Robert... the King, is on his way North."
Catelyn's voice was full of unease.
"He's coming to Winterfell."
"He wants to ask you to go South, to replace Jon, and become the new Hand of the King."
Ned closed his eyes.
"And this, is the beginning of all tragedies."
Lynn's words rang in his ears.
This sent a chilling cold through Ned.
The chill rose from the soles of his feet, instantly spreading through his limbs and bones.
It was colder than the North's most biting winds.
Hi guys! I use Webnovel to promote my Etsy shop. Sorry if this story isn't very good. In my Etsy shop, you'll find many customized gift products for your loved ones. Please check it out and support us!
etsyshop/BHAGYSMART
Link is in my aboutHi guys! I use Webnovel to promote my Etsy shop. Sorry if this story isn't very good. In my Etsy shop, you'll find many customized gift products for your loved ones. Please check it out and support us!
etsyshop/BHAGYSMART
Link is in my about