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Winterfell had changed.
The air no longer held only cold and tranquility.
Instead, there was a commotion mixed with excitement, tension, and anticipation.
The King was coming.
This news spread like a gust of wind.
It swept through every corner of the castle.
In the kitchens, the scent of baking bread lingered twenty-four hours a day.
The forge fires burned all night, and the clanging never ceased.
The Guards needed to polish every piece of their armor.
Maids, carrying piles of clean linen, hurried through the corridors, their footsteps soft and urgent.
Lady Catelyn Stark was at the center of this storm.
She was like a tireless queen bee, orchestrating the entire castle's operation with precise and stern commands.
"The best batch of ale from the cellar!"
"Change all the guest room sheets to new ones, scented with lavender!"
"Tell the stable boys to thoroughly wash all the horses for the King's procession; not a single stray hair!"
Her voice echoed clearly and powerfully in the courtyard, arranging everything in an orderly fashion; she was a capable woman.
But deep within those blue Tully eyes, there was a trace of worry that could not be dispelled.
Ned Stark, on the other hand, was completely aloof.
He did not appear in the courtyard, nor did he inquire about any preparations.
He simply stayed alone in his study or went to the Godswood.
He polished his greatsword, Ice, forged from valyrian steel, over and over again.
As if only this could bring him a moment of peace.
Lynn sat on the steps leading to the armory, feeling this undercurrent.
Since the prophecy was confirmed, he was no longer a prisoner.
On the contrary, Catelyn and Ned treated him with great courtesy.
Lynn had a warm room.
His three meals a day were no longer black bread and cold water, but freshly baked soft bread and hot meat stew.
He even had his own longsword.
All of this he had exchanged for that bloody battle and the mysterious prophecy.
Lynn's gaze swept across the bustling courtyard, landing on Theon Greyjoy, who was practicing archery in the distance.
This ward of the Iron Islands had a face full of excitement at the prospect of meeting the King.
He was called a ward, but in reality, after that rebellion, he became a hostage.
But the Stark family did not treat him differently; Ned regarded him as his own son, teaching him etiquette, imparting skills, and instilling the loyalty of the wolf house.
Theon's posture as he drew his bow became increasingly elegant.
Every arrow hit the bullseye, drawing cheers from the few stable boys around him.
Theon enjoyed the feeling of being the center of attention.
He was not like the Stark children, who could feel the weight hidden beneath the glory.
For Theon, the ward, this was just a grand feast.
Lynn withdrew his gaze.
He knew that beneath this superficial harmony, cracks already existed.
Just then, a figure walked into the courtyard.
It was Jon Snow, the one who knew nothing.
He wore simple leather armor, carried a blunt practice sword, and silently walked towards the training dummy in the corner.
He did not join Robb and Theon.
He was always like this, habitually choosing a less conspicuous position.
At that moment, Lady Catelyn happened to walk out of the main keep, preparing to inspect the stables.
Her gaze and Jon's gaze briefly met in the air.
It was only for an instant.
The relatively gentle expression on Catelyn's face instantly froze.
All warmth disappeared from her blue eyes, leaving only icy disgust.
She did not say a word.
She simply turned slightly and quickened her pace.
As if another glance at Snow would defile her eyes.
Jon's body stiffened for a moment.
The sword he had just raised also stopped in mid-air.
The expression on his face was as if it had been swept by the cold wind of winter; all its brightness dimmed.
He silently lowered his arm and bowed his head, his black hair covering his eyes.
Lynn took all of this in.
Catelyn's hatred was so naked, so undisguised.
In Westeros, bastards were the open shame of noble families.
Their surnames would uniformly be called Snow.
The bastards of Storm's End were named Storm, in the North it was Snow, in the South it was Sand… different in each region, but locals would know at a glance.
And Jon's existence constantly reminded Catelyn of her husband's past infidelity.
It was normal for men leading armies to sometimes need to vent their desires and leave behind bastards; Catelyn understood this.
But it would have been fine if he had been raised elsewhere, yet Ned chose to raise him right under her nose.
Moreover, whenever she asked about Jon's mother, Ned would get angry with her.
She poured all her anger onto Jon.
Although she did not abuse Jon, it could be said that.
Jon Snow grew up under Catelyn's disdainful glares.
The clamor in the courtyard seemed to be irrelevant to Jon at this moment.
He stood there alone, his figure appearing especially lonely.
Lynn watched all of this.
For the character Jon Snow, Lynn generally admired him more.
He certainly had his flaws in the show; he let down Ygritte, and to prevent Daenerys from becoming the next Mad King, he stabbed Daenerys at Tyrion's prompting, which was also a betrayal of his leader… But Jon was very straightforward, loyal, a character of mixed good and bad.
Lynn also would not forget the scene where Jon, for Ned's youngest son Rickon, drew his sword alone against a thousand troops in the Battle of the Bastards.
Fear is a biological instinct, courage is a human hymn.
Not everyone can bravely draw a sword.
But sometimes, being too righteous is not a good thing.
However, Jon was still young now, and he had plenty of time to make him less "rigidly righteous."
Lynn also had the idea of winning Jon over.
That evening.
Lynn was in his room, carefully polishing his longsword with a whetstone.
The blade reflected his calm face.
Maester Luwin's ointment was very effective; the pain from his wound had significantly lessened.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The door was pushed open a crack, and a head peeked in.
It was Jon Snow.
"I… I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
Jon's voice was a little hesitant.
"No."
Lynn put down the whetstone and pointed to the only chair in the room.
Jon walked in, closing the door behind him.
He did not sit down, but stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped together somewhat awkwardly.
"You are Night's Watch."
Jon finally spoke, his gaze falling on the longsword in Lynn's hand.
"Mm."
Lynn responded.
"Then… what is it like up at The Wall?"
In Jon's eyes, there was a trace of a young man's curiosity and longing.
"Very cold."
Lynn's answer was simple and direct.
"Colder than Winterfell."
"The wind is like a knife, cutting into your bones."
"What kind of people… are the Night's Watch?"
This was what Jon truly wanted to ask.
"All kinds of people."
Lynn leaned back in his chair, looking at him.
"Thieves, bandits, gamblers in debt, knights who've lost their lands, and… people like me."
"Of course, there are also some noble sons who go for honor."
Lynn added.
"But very few."
Jon fell silent.
Lynn's words were completely different from what he had imagined.
In his imagination, The Wall was a place full of honor.
There, lineage no longer mattered.
Everyone was a black brother, jointly defending against threats from beyond The Wall.
"At The Wall, does a person's birth truly not matter?"
Jon's voice was very low, with a hint of uncertainty.
"Can a bastard… also earn respect?"
Lynn looked at him.
Looking at this future Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Looking at the confusion and vulnerability on his face at this moment, unbefitting his age.
"At The Wall, people only care about your skill with a sword, whether you dare to stand at the front when the wildlings charge."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"No one cares if your name is Snow or Stark."
"They only care if you are reliable."
Jon's eyes slowly lit up.
It was a light like finding a home.
"However."
Lynn changed his tone.
"It is not a hero's resting place, Jon."
"Once you put on the black, you must give up family, lands, never marry, never father children."
"Your entire life will be dedicated to that cold wall."
"Until you die."
Silence fell in the room.
Only the wind outside the window whistled.
The light on Jon's face dimmed little by little again.
He wanted to escape Winterfell, to escape Lady Catelyn's cold gaze.
But he had never thought the price would be so heavy.
"I understand."
After a long while, Jon said in a low voice.
"Thank you, Lynn."
He turned, preparing to leave.
"Jon."
Lynn called out to him.
"Your father loves you very much."
Jon's footsteps paused.
"But sometimes, love cannot solve all problems."
Lynn looked at him, saying each word distinctly.
"Who you become, in the end, is still your own choice."
Jon did not turn back.
He just stood at the doorway, his figure stretched long in the dim light.
Then, he pushed open the door and walked out.
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