Lynn looked at her.
He knew he had bet correctly. This promise was more precious than gold.
"My Lady," Lynn's voice was soft. "I want nothing. It is my duty to serve House Stark."
Catelyn was stunned. She hadn't expected this answer. Looking into Lynn's eyes, which seemed exceptionally calm in the candlelight, the respect in her heart deepened.
"Rest assured, Ned will give you a fair arrangement." Catelyn straightened up. "Heal well. If you need anything, order the servants directly."
With that, she gave Lynn one last look, turned, and left the room.
The moment the door closed, Lynn's taut nerves finally relaxed completely.
He had succeeded. He had gained the trust of House Stark, especially Catelyn Stark. This was the most crucial step in his plan.
It was also to let the world know that he had done a great favor for the Starks. That way, if the Starks ever turned against him in the future, they would have to weigh whether they could withstand the rumors and gossip from the outside world. Especially here in the North.
However, before Lynn could even catch his breath, the door was knocked on again.
This time, the knock was steady and forceful.
"Come in," Lynn said.
The door was pushed open. A golden figure walked in.
Jaime Lannister.
He was still wearing that gleaming golden armor, without a scratch from any blade on it. A playful smile hung on his handsome face. He closed the door behind him and walked straight to Lynn's bedside.
He looked down at Lynn, his blue eyes examining him like an interesting object.
"I heard about your deeds," Jaime began, his voice carrying a careless magnetism. "Catching a child falling from the sky with your bare hands. Truly a remarkable feat."
"You must be Jaime," Lynn asked calmly.
The smile on Jaime's face froze for a second. Then, it deepened, becoming more dangerous. "It seems you know me."
Lynn spoke as if to himself, "What are you doing here?"
"Naturally, to visit the hero of Winterfell." Jaime pulled over the chair Maester Luwin had just sat in and sat down. He crossed his legs and leaned forward slightly.
"I'm curious. Why were you at the base of that abandoned tower at that time?"
Jaime's gaze tried to dissect Lynn's mind. He wanted to see what Lynn was thinking right now. And what he might know.
Lynn didn't move. He didn't need any superfluous movements.
"I like quiet," Lynn spoke, his voice slightly muffled from lying down. "It's secluded enough there, no one to disturb me. It's a good place to practice swordsmanship."
This explanation was simple, direct, and flawless.
The smile on Jaime's face didn't change. But the scrutiny in his eyes grew intense.
"Practice swordsmanship?" Jaime repeated the phrase, dragging out the last syllable with a hint of mockery. "A man, instead of polishing his spear in the warm bed of a brothel, runs to such a godforsaken place to blow in the cold wind and practice swordsmanship. It's... surprisingly diligent."
Lynn's gaze moved from Jaime's face to his reflective golden armor. "In the North, the price of laziness is death."
Lynn's tone was flat. Like stating the most ordinary fact.
The smile on Jaime's face finally faded a little. He couldn't see a shred of fear in Lynn's eyes. Only a dead-water calm. This made him feel a twinge of irritation. Like punching cotton.
Jaime didn't press further. He knew he wouldn't get anything more by asking. Lynn's answer was impeccable.
His gaze moved away from Lynn's face and landed on the longsword at the head of the bed. It was a very ordinary standard-issue longsword. The hilt was worn smooth, and the scabbard had a few shallow scratches.
Jaime stood up. He reached out and picked up the sword. The weight of the metal seemed insignificant in his hand.
Schwing—
Jaime drew the longsword. The blade reflected a cold glint in the dim candlelight. He flicked the blade lightly with his finger, producing a crisp hum.
"A decent sword," Jaime commented. "It seems the Northern smiths haven't lost their touch."
His gaze returned to Lynn. That look became sharp.
"Have you used it to cut people?"
Lynn's gaze didn't waver. "I have."
His answer was simple and direct.
Jaime pointed the tip of the sword at Lynn, the edge glinting in the candlelight. "Many people."
The corners of Jaime's mouth curled up. "How does it feel to kill?"
Lynn smiled and said, "I don't feel anything. They wanted to kill me, so I killed them."
Jaime laughed too. He sheathed the longsword and casually tossed it onto the bed.
"The first time I killed someone, I was fifteen," Jaime's voice was flat. "An outlaw, on the Kingsroad. He wanted to steal my horse. I pierced his throat with my sword; his filthy blood sprayed all over my face."
Jaime looked at his hands—hands belonging to a knight, clean and strong.
"I vomited all night. I thought I would remember his face forever."
He paused, then looked at Lynn. "But now I can't remember it clearly. I've killed too many people. On the battlefield, in the tourney grounds, in alleyways. Killing, for me, is as simple as breathing."
Jaime stood up, walked back to the bedside, and looked down at Lynn.
"A person is like a ragged sack. Just a light poke, and they die. Killing isn't actually hard. The hard part is how to make others feel that your killing him is justified. And the simplest way is to let him draw his sword on you first."
Lynn's heart contracted. Jaime Lannister wasn't making small talk. He was giving a warning. He was telling Lynn that he was a cold-blooded executioner. Anyone who opposed him would face his stormy wrath.
With that, Jaime left.
Not long after Jaime left, an elegant figure appeared at the doorway.