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Days passed.
Winterfell was thoroughly abuzz, like a beehive that had been poked.
The King's entourage had already reached the White Knife!
This news made everyone in the castle quicken their pace.
The forge fires burned day and night, their clangorous hammering almost drowning out the sounds of training in the courtyard.
In the kitchen, the fat cook, Gage, bellowed.
He was directing the helpers to move barrel after barrel of ale into the cellar.
The scent of roasted meat mixed with the aroma of freshly baked bread, drifting far in the cold air.
Lynn sat on the low wall leading to the Godswood.
He no longer needed to be guarded by the Guards.
That bloody battle, and the prophecy that had come true, had earned him this limited freedom.
Lynn was a Night's Watchman, and Ned, seeing Lynn's usefulness, had temporarily kept him in Winterfell.
Lynn would eventually be sent back to The Wall.
Lynn's wounds, under Maester Luwin's care, had already scabbed over.
New skin itched slightly at the edges of the wounds, bringing a tangible sense of life returning.
Lynn just watched quietly.
He watched Robb and Theon engage in more rigorous sparring than ever before, under the guidance of Ser Rodrik.
Wooden swords clacked, dull and powerful.
He watched Sansa Stark, accompanied by her mother Catelyn, selecting fabrics for the feast.
Sansa's face showed a maiden's longing for the splendor of the South.
He watched Jon Snow.
He was still in that secluded corner, alone, swinging his practice sword over and over again.
Sweat soaked the black hair on his forehead, but he paid it no mind.
It was as if he wanted to vent all his energy in these silent strikes.
Everyone was busy.
Busy preparing for a grand glory.
Only Lynn knew they were busy preparing for a storm that would sweep across the Seven Kingdoms.
A light, quick footsteps sounded from behind him.
Lynn didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Arya had been clinging to him these past few days.
"They're all so stupid."
Arya's voice held a hint of disdain.
She copied Lynn, climbing onto the low wall and sitting beside him.
Her legs dangled, swinging by The Wall.
"Sansa only thinks of her prince, and Theon only wants to show off his prowess to the King."
"Mother wants me to learn embroidery; she says the ladies from the South will be watching me."
Arya mimicked Lady Catelyn's tone, her voice high-pitched and somewhat comical.
But there wasn't the slightest smile on Arya's face.
"I don't want them to watch me embroider."
"I don't want to embroider."
Lynn turned to look at her.
The little girl's face was filled with a stubbornness unbefitting her age.
"Then just practice your sword," Lynn said.
Lynn had a good impression of this Arya.
"Ser Rodrik won't teach me; he says swords are for boys."
Arya's voice dropped, full of grievance.
"Father said that after winter ends, Bran and Rickon will start learning too."
"But not me."
Lynn didn't speak; he just pulled a thin twig from his pocket.
With his finger, he drew a crooked figure on the dusty wall.
"Let me tell you a story."
Lynn's voice was very soft.
"Far in the East, even further than Essos, there was a girl."
"Her country was invaded by enemies, and her father was old and frail, unable to go to war."
"So, she cut off her long hair, put on her father's armor, and went to the army in his place."
...
Arya's eyes grew brighter and brighter as she listened.
She stopped swinging her legs, listening with rapt attention.
Only when Lynn finished did she ask impatiently.
"No one found out she was a girl?"
"They did."
Lynn smiled.
"But by then, she had already achieved great military feats through her wisdom and bravery."
"She became a hero admired by all the soldiers."
"Finally, she defeated the enemies and saved her country."
Lynn used the twig to draw a crown on the little figure's head.
"What was her name?"
Arya pressed, her eyes sparkling like stars.
"Mulan."
Lynn softly spoke the name.
"Mulan..."
Arya chewed on the unfamiliar pronunciation.
This story was not like the knightly tales Ser Rodrik told.
Nor was it like the boring ancient myths about the Children of the Forest from the old wet nurse's mouth.
There was no magic in this story, no dragons.
Only a girl, and her sword.
Yet it stirred her heart more than any other story.
"Do you know many more stories like this?"
Arya looked up at Lynn.
Her grey eyes reflected Lynn's calm face.
"Many."
"Then will you tell them all to me from now on, alright?"
"Alright."
Lynn nodded.
The clamor of the courtyard seemed to drift away from them.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds, falling on them both, bringing a touch of warmth.
Arya was silent for a long time.
She looked at Lynn.
She looked at his always calm eyes, at his faded black cloak.
He was different from everyone else in Winterfell.
Father loved her, but wanted her to be a lady.
Mother loved her, but wanted her to be elegant like Sansa.
Her brothers loved her, but treated her as a little sister who needed protection.
Only Lynn.
Only he saw her as a warrior who could wield a sword.
Only he would tell her the story of "Mulan."
He understood her.
"Lynn."
Arya's voice suddenly became very serious.
Lynn turned to look at her.
"When I grow up, I'm going to marry you."
There wasn't the slightest hint of a joke on the little girl's face.
It was a childish, yet incredibly solemn declaration.
As if making the most sacred vow.
The smile on Lynn's face slowly froze.
One story was enough to win this little girl over?
Actually, it wasn't Arya's lack of reserve, but rather that the story of Mulan truly resonated with her heart.
After all, it was a classic story from another civilization; how could she resist it?
Lynn looked at Arya.
He looked at her clear, grey eyes, belonging to House Stark.
He looked at her well-made dress.
Who was she?
Arya Stark, from House Stark, which had ruled the entire North for thousands of years.
The bloodline of the Duke of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and the most beloved little princess.
And who was he?
Lynn.
A newcomer with no background or influence, an unknown, a Night's Watch deserter, a prisoner who had only barely found peace through a prophecy.
Marry him?
It didn't seem like a good match at all.
However, Lynn didn't care.
For a transmigrator, crossing class boundaries was not a difficult thing to achieve.
"Alright."
Lynn reached out and, as usual, ruffled Arya's slightly messy hair.
A smile returned to Lynn's face.
"But you're still young; let's talk about it when you're older."
Having transmigrated, why be so proper?
Go boldly!
Otherwise, wouldn't the transmigration have been in vain?!
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