The smile faded from Lynn's face little by little after Arya's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor, until it vanished entirely. He returned to his chamber, closed the door, and was left alone with only the longsword resting across his knees.
"When I grow up, I want to marry you."
Marry him? Merely existing like this was far from enough—surviving on Ned Stark's mercy and suspicion, relying on Maester Luwin's ointments and scrutiny. The feeling of his fate being held in others' hands gnawed at Lynn. He wanted no handouts; what he sought was the right to stand as an equal to the name Stark, and the supreme power that came with it.
As a transmigrator, Lynn knew all the intrigues of Westeros—a unique advantage second only to the Three-Eyed Raven. His gaze drifted to the blue interface visible only to him. And he had the system, his most crucial asset. Survival was merely the first step; now, he craved more. For instance… Arya.
...
At long last, the king's horn echoed above Winterfell—clear, resonant, and steeped in the ornate flamboyance of the South, shattering the stillness of the Northern dawn. The entire castle stirred to life.
From the highest tower of the main keep, a vast retinue stretched like a golden dragon, winding along the King's Road toward the castle. The crowned stag banner of House Baratheon and the roaring lion banner of House Lannister fluttered fiercely in the Northern wind. Knights' armor glinted brilliantly in the sunlight, while ladies' carriages were draped in exquisite canopies.
In the courtyard, the Stark family awaited in their finest attire. Ned Stark wore a gray fur cloak, his expression solemn. Lady Catelyn stood beside him, her face wearing a flawless smile. Robb, clad in newly tailored leather armor, stood tall and straight like a young pine. Sansa, in a sky-blue gown, blushed with excitement, her gaze darting repeatedly to the golden-haired prince at the head of the procession. Arya, looking incongruous in an iron helmet, wore a scowl of impatience. The youngest, Rickon, peered out curiously from behind his mother. Bran, the ever-energetic boy, was also among them.
Lynn stood behind an unobtrusive pillar, far from the center of the crowd, watching the grand meeting like an outsider.
The heavy clatter of hooves and the rumble of cart wheels grew closer. Robert Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, dismounted. At six and a half feet tall, he was a towering figure, standing head and shoulders above everyone else—impossible to miss. Bloated and fleshy, he had long lost the grace of his youth as the "Stag of the Stormlands." In his prime, clad in armor and a great helm crowned with antlers, he had been a true giant; even Ned struggled to lift his warhammer. Now, he was a shadow of his former self, yet the majesty of a king still commanded everyone's deference.
After a squire placed a stepping stool, Robert finally dismounted. Ned led his family to one knee. Robert strode coldly toward Ned, then flicked a finger upward, gesturing for him to rise. Only after Ned stood did Catelyn and the others rise slowly.
"Ned!" Robert's booming voice, laced with displeasure, echoed across the courtyard. "I've heard nothing from you all these years."
Ned bowed respectfully before speaking. "I have guarded the North for you, Your Grace. Winterfell stands ready to serve you always."
Robert studied Ned, whom he had not seen in years. After a long pause, he said slowly, "Ned, you've put on weight."
Ned shrugged slightly, his eyes flicking to Robert's own portly frame. Robert burst into laughter first, and Ned soon joined him. He then opened his arms and pulled Ned into a firm embrace, followed by Catelyn. Next, he turned to Ned's children, showering each with generous praise.
Close behind came Queen Cersei Lannister and her twin brother, Jaime Lannister—both dazzling in their splendor. Cersei was as beautiful as rumored, with deep green eyes and golden curls that exuded nobility. Jaime, a born lion, was even more striking: handsome features, bright golden hair, and an air of inherent superiority. Their smiles were polite but did not reach their eyes.
Ned's expression darkened at the sight of the Lannisters. House Lannister of Casterly Rock had been the last great noble house to join Robert's cause, waiting until victory was all but certain before declaring allegiance. Ned despised such opportunism. Furthermore, Jaime was the "Kingslayer"—a title Ned held in contempt, even acknowledging Jaime's formidable skill with a sword.
Lynn's gaze lingered on them briefly. He knew that beneath their magnificent exteriors lay secrets足以 topple the entire realm.
Cersei glided toward Ned with a polite but cold smile, extending the back of her hand. Ned kissed it reverently. "Your Grace," he said. Catelyn bowed as well. "Your Grace." Cersei nodded faintly, her smile barely perceptible.
When the pleasantries had dragged on long enough, Robert cut to the chase. "Ned, take me to the crypts."
Ned knew Robert wished to see Lyanna Stark's statue. Every deceased Stark was honored with a stone effigy in the crypts—Ned's late father, elder brother, and sister among them. He did not agree immediately, but glanced at Cersei first. As expected, her expression soured.
Lyanna had been Robert's great love; even in death, stolen away by Rhaegar Targaryen, she mattered more to him than his lawful wife. Cersei had once loved Robert, but he had only ever seen her as a tool to bind House Baratheon and Lannister. She would never forget their wedding night—Robert, drunk, had whispered Lyanna's name as he took her. It was the greatest shame of her life.
The thought darkened Cersei's mood further. "My love, we've traveled for a month," she said. "There's no hurry to visit a corpse."
Robert glared at his queen, ignoring her protest. "Ned," he said, jerking his head to signal Ned to follow. Ned glanced at Cersei once more before falling in step behind Robert.
The atmosphere grew tense. Arya turned to Bran, confused. "Where's the Imp?"
The Imp—Tyrion Lannister, Cersei and Jaime's younger brother, born a dwarf—was his notorious nickname. Cersei overheard Arya's quiet question. Her face darkening, she approached Jaime.
"Where is our brother carousing?" she snapped. "Go find that little beast."