It was just before dawn.
The courtyard of Winterfell was already filled with the neighing of horses and the excited barking of Direwolves.
Servants, their breath misting in the cold, led restless steeds.
Knights laughed loudly, checking their saddles and bows.
The air was filled with the crisp scent of leather, horse sweat, and morning frost.
King Robert Baratheon still bore the traces of a hangover on his swollen eyelids.
But he was full of vigor.
For him, nothing could dispel the boredom of Winterfell better than a good hunt.
"Ned!"
Robert's booming voice cut through the courtyard's din.
"Don't dawdle!"
"The wild boars of the North won't wait for us!"
Robert slung an arm around Ned's shoulder.
The force of it made Ned stumble.
Ned Stark had changed into practical leather armor, a hint of helplessness on his face.
He wasn't enthusiastic about this.
But he couldn't refuse the King's excitement.
His gaze swept through the crowd and quickly found the figure standing in the shadow of the colonnade.
Lynn.
He was dressed in black and cloaked, a longsword at his waist, as still as a stone.
Ned walked over.
After their secret talk last night, his opinion of this young man had undergone a drastic change.
It was no longer simply a protector and a prisoner.
Instead, it was a subtle, reliant trust.
"Lynn."
Ned's voice was steady.
"Come with us."
"A day on horseback is better than being cooped up in the castle."
"Besides, with you there, I'll feel more at ease."
That last sentence was his true intention.
Lynn looked up.
He met Ned's sincere gray eyes and also saw King Robert's curious gaze from not far away.
Lynn shook his head.
"Thank you for your kindness, my Lord."
Lynn's voice was calm and unruffled.
"It's just that the old wounds I sustained fighting bandits are still throbbing faintly."
He pointed to his ribs and arm.
"A long ride would likely be too much for me."
"I'd like to stay in the castle and do some recovery exercises."
This reason was impeccable.
It was both reasonable and showed the duty of a warrior.
The invitation in Ned's eyes turned into understanding.
He nodded.
"Very well."
"Take care of yourself."
Ned clapped Lynn heavily on the shoulder, then turned and followed the King's party.
The horn sounded again.
The large hunting party streamed out of the gates of Winterfell.
The sound of hooves and barking gradually faded.
The courtyard fell silent in an instant.
After the clamor receded, a vast stillness enveloped the entire castle.
The calm on Lynn's face also slowly faded as the last rider disappeared from view.
It was replaced by a hunter's focus.
Lynn didn't return to his room.
Instead, he took his sword, crossed the empty courtyard, and walked towards the forgotten tower.
The First Keep.
The wind whistled through the broken battlements, making a mournful sound.
Lynn chose a sheltered, open space.
It offered a wide view and was secluded enough not to attract attention.
Lynn drew his longsword.
The blade, in the gray morning light, cut cold arcs through the air.
Thrust.
Parry.
Dodge.
He was single-minded, as if truly just a diligent warrior practicing his sword.
But his ears caught every sound around him.
His eyes, like a hawk's, were fixed on the ancient tower.
He was waiting.
Waiting for a boy.
Waiting for a brother and sister.
Waiting for an opportunity that could change the fate of the entire North, even the Seven Kingdoms.
Time, in the monotonous sound of his sword, passed little by little.
Until a small figure in a gray tunic entered his field of vision.
Lynn sheathed his sword.
Bran Stark.
The boy, like an energetic young Direwolf, ran around the empty castle.
His father and brothers had gone hunting, and he had been left behind.
Bored, climbing became his only pleasure.
Bran's gaze was soon drawn to Winterfell's oldest structure.
The First Keep.
He had climbed the First Keep countless times.
But the boy's face still showed eager excitement.
Lynn had every movement of Bran under control.
Bran began to prepare for his climb, while his Direwolf, Summer, squatted on the ground, head tilted, letting out uneasy whimpers.
Here they come.
Almost simultaneously.
Another tall, golden figure silently glided out from the direction of the main castle.
Jaime Lannister.
He wasn't wearing his dazzling golden armor, but a discreet hunting outfit.
His steps were light and wary, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.
Only after confirming no one was around did he slip into the shadows of the First Keep.
Immediately after.
Queen Cersei also appeared.
She covered her brilliant golden hair with a hood and quickly followed Jaime's footsteps.
The two figures, one after the other, disappeared into the dark maw of the tower's doorway.
Lynn showed a faint smile.
Everything was exactly as he remembered.
Bran had already begun his climb.
Like a nimble monkey, he used his hands and feet, finding purchase in the mottled stone wall, steadily ascending.
Lynn's breathing was extremely light.
The sword in his hand also stilled.
He began to move his feet, seemingly casually, approaching the base of the tower.
Every step was precisely calculated.
He had to appear in a position that was "just right" to be passing by here.
He had to react with the most "instinctive" response the moment the boy fell.
Not too early.
And not too late.
The sound of the wind carried a suppressed, non-childlike gasp leaking from a high window in the tower.
Lynn looked up.
He saw the small figure had already climbed to the middle-upper section of the tower.
The top floor of the First Keep had been sealed for a long time.
A high window was broken.
Cold wind poured in, stirring up dust on the floor.
Sunlight pierced through narrow arrow slits, drawing clear beams of light in the air, illuminating the dancing dust motes.
This was the most secluded corner of all Winterfell.
Cersei Lannister leaned against the cold stone wall.
Her luxurious silk gown was casually pushed down.
Her waterfall of golden hair was spread loosely across the dust-covered wall.
Jaime Lannister had also shed his cumbersome cloak, wearing only a white shirt.
The same golden hair, the same emerald eyes.
"We shouldn't be here."
Cersei's voice was breathless, and tinged with excitement.
"It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
Jaime looked up, a familiar, carefree smile on his face, indifferent to everything in the world.
"Robert and his pack of northern fools are probably chasing a doe's backside right now."
"Who would care about us?"
Jaime reached out, his fingertips gently tracing Cersei's slightly trembling skin.
The gesture was full of possession and adoration.
"I've waited a month."
"The journey gave me no opportunity."
Jaime's voice grew hoarse.
He pulled Cersei closer, bent down, and inhaled her scent.
"A whole month."
"I'm going mad."
Cersei let out a suppressed gasp.
The cold stone wall and the hot bodies created a stark contrast.
Dust danced wildly in the beams of light.
Faint, suppressed sounds echoed intermittently in the forgotten tower.
And just outside the tower.
A small figure was climbing the ancient wall, using both hands and feet.
It was Bran Stark.
He loved to climb.
He loved the feeling of having all of Winterfell beneath his feet.
Today, the King and his father were out, and Ser Rodrik wouldn't come to scold him.
This was the best opportunity.
He was going to climb the First Keep, which no one dared to climb.
The wind blew across his cheek, bringing a biting chill, but it only made him more excited.
Familiar rocks, firm handholds.
He moved quickly up the vertical wall like a nimble monkey.
Higher and higher.
The people in the courtyard had all become tiny black dots.
Then, Bran heard a sound.
It came from the window at the top of the tower.
It wasn't the wind.
The sound was strange, like someone crying.
Curiosity drove him to speed up.
He climbed onto the windowsill.
And then, Bran saw him.
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