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A horn call came from afar, dull and long, tearing through the afternoon silence of Winterfell.
The hunting party had returned.
The sound of hooves crossing the drawbridge was chaotic and heavy.
There were no shouts of triumph, only a heavy silence that enveloped everyone who returned.
King Robert's face no longer showed the exhilaration it had at their departure.
He dismounted, tossed the reins to a servant, and walked towards the main keep without a word.
Ned Stark followed closely behind.
His face was more somber than the leaden clouds of a northern winter.
Lynn stood in the shadow of a pillar, watching it all.
His injuries were no longer serious thanks to the herbs.
But his face was still pale, which provided him with a perfect disguise.
A loyal warrior, just severely wounded while saving someone.
Ned's steps paused for a moment as he passed him.
"Lynn, come to my study later."
Lynn nodded slightly, watching Ned stride away.
A moment later, Lynn pushed open the heavy oak door to the study.
The room was unlit, and the light was dim.
The fire in the fireplace was not burning brightly, barely dispelling the chill in the room.
Ned Stark was not sitting in his lord's chair.
He just stood by the window, his back to the door, looking out at the gray sky.
His tall figure conveyed a mountain-like heaviness and exhaustion.
"My Lord."
Lynn spoke, breaking the silence.
Ned slowly turned around.
He still carried the chill of the outdoors, and his hunting leathers were stained with a few dark bloodstains.
At this moment, those gray eyes of House Stark were bloodshot.
Pain, anger, and a hint of bewilderment.
He looked at Lynn, and in those gray eyes, there was gratitude.
"I heard from Catelyn."
Ned's voice was hoarse, with an uncontrollable weariness.
"You saved Bran."
"Bran is still alive."
Ned's voice was low.
"But he hasn't woken up."
Lynn's gaze met the Warden of the North's.
"My Lord, have you ever considered..."
Lynn's voice was very soft.
"Why did Bran fall from the tower?"
Ned's breathing hitched for a moment.
"He likes to climb."
"It was an accident."
He said this, yet he couldn't even convince himself.
"An accident?"
Lynn retorted.
"A child who loves to climb, losing his footing from a tower that isn't difficult to climb?"
"My Lord, this was no accident."
"This was murder!"
The two words "murder" instantly dropped the air in the room to freezing point.
Ned clenched his fists, his knuckles white from the effort.
"Who was it?"
Lynn didn't say exactly who, but guided Ned.
"Bran must have seen something he shouldn't have on the tower."
"Something... enough to get him silenced."
"And your Lord's castle now has outsiders as guests."
Ned suddenly stood up and paced back and forth in the room.
Jaime Lannister's handsome and arrogant face.
Queen Cersei's beautiful but cold eyes.
All clues pointed to Lannister.
"Why would they do this?"
Ned's voice was filled with pain and confusion.
"It's meaningless to pursue the reason now, My Lord."
Although Lynn knew who wanted to create chaos and provoke a dispute between the two families, Lynn did not intend to let Lannister off the hook.
Lynn interrupted Ned's thoughts.
"The most important question is..."
"Bran is still alive."
"If he was pushed, then the killer will never let him have a chance to wake up."
Ned's pacing stopped.
He suddenly turned, staring intently at Lynn.
A chill ran from his spine all the way up to the crown of his head.
"They... will strike again?"
"They will."
Lynn's answer was firm and unequivocal.
"Right here in Winterfell."
"Right under your nose!"
Ned's face turned ashen.
He couldn't imagine such a vicious plot lurking in his own castle.
His son lay in bed, like a lamb to the slaughter.
Ned's fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"He's only a ten-year-old child."
Lynn just stood there quietly, letting Ned's emotions ferment in the confined room.
"Lannister."
Ned squeezed the surname through his teeth.
"Lysa's letter, your prophecy, Bran's fall..."
"All of this points to them."
Ned walked up to Lynn, his eyes burning with fury, staring intently at him.
"Tell me, Lynn."
"When you saved Bran, what did you see?"
"Did you see any other suspicious people?"
Lynn shook his head.
"I was at the foot of the tower then, I only heard a scream, My Lord."
"When I arrived, I saw Bran falling from the air."
This answer made Ned slump back into his chair.
The crackling of wood burning in the fireplace sounded particularly harsh.
"What should I do now?"
"Strengthen the guards? Surround Bran's room?"
Lynn shook his head.
"That would only alert the enemy."
"The killer is among us, they know every move in Winterfell."
"We cannot just defend."
A cold glint flashed in Lynn's eyes.
"We must set a trap."
"A trap that will make them fall into it themselves."
Night.
Deep as ink.
Winterfell fell into a deathly silence.
Suddenly.
A piercing scream tore through the night sky.
"Fire!"
"The library is on fire!"
The silent castle was instantly ignited.
Countless torches lit up, and chaotic footsteps and shouts echoed in the courtyard.
Robb Stark was the first to rush out of his room, his face full of anxiety.
"Quick! Put out the fire!"
Lynn suddenly opened his eyes.
They're here!
He looked into the distance.
In the distance.
A blaze of fire shot up into the sky.
The fire illuminated half the night sky in a crimson glow.
The library.
The place in the castle that should least catch fire.
It housed centuries of Northern documents and history.
This fire was enough to attract everyone's attention.
Including most of the guards.
Robb and Jon would certainly lead people to put out the fire.
That was their responsibility.
And this, precisely, gave the assassin the best opportunity.
Theon Greyjoy and the other young squires were following closely behind Robb, rushing towards the tower glowing with orange-red flames.
In the chaos, no one noticed.
In the deepest shadows outside Bran's sickroom, several figures remained motionless.
Lynn was among them.
He held his sword, leaning against the cold stone wall, his ears catching every slight movement around him.
He could hear the distant clamor of firefighting.
He could also hear Lady Catelyn's low whispers comforting the Direwolf "Summer" in the room.
And he could hear a very faint footstep, almost blending with the sound of the wind, approaching.
They're here.
A dark figure, hugging the wall, silently slipped to the window of Bran's room.
He skillfully pried open the window and agilely climbed in.
Inside the room.
Catelyn was sitting by Bran's bed.
Her eyes were sunken, and several days and nights without sleep had left her haggard.
The Direwolf "Summer" was lying at the foot of the bed, emitting uneasy growls from his throat.
Catelyn soothingly stroked his head.
"It's alright, Summer."
"It's just a fire, Robb will handle it."
Just then.
"Summer" suddenly stood up, his fur bristling.
He faced the direction of the door, baring his sharp fangs and letting out a threatening roar.
A man stood there.
He was dressed in inconspicuous coarse cloth, small in stature, with a sickly pallor on his face.
In his hand, he held a dagger.
The dagger's design was extremely ornate, its hilt made of dragonbone, and its blade shimmered with strange ripples.
valyrian steel!