Winterfell had changed.
The air no longer held only cold and stillness.
In their place came a bustle mingled with excitement, tension, and anticipation.
The king was coming.
The news swept through like a gust of wind.
It reached every corner of the castle.
In the kitchens, the scent of baking bread lingered around the clock.
The smithy's fires burned all night, and the hammering never stopped.
The guards had to polish every piece of armor.
Serving women hurried through the corridors carrying piles of clean linen, their footsteps quick and light.
Lady Catelyn Stark stood at the center of this storm.
Like a tireless queen bee, she directed the entire castle with precise, stern commands.
"Only the best batch of ale from the cellars!"
"Replace all the guest-room sheets with new ones, scented with lavender!"
"Tell the stableboys to groom every horse needed for the king's procession. Not a single stray hair!"
Her voice rang through the courtyard, clear and firm. She kept everything in perfect order, a capable woman.
Yet deep in those blue eyes of House Tully lay a trace of worry she could not dispel.
Ned Stark stayed entirely apart from it all.
He neither appeared in the courtyard nor asked about any of the preparations.
He simply remained alone in his study or went to the Godswood.
He cleaned Ice, the greatsword forged from Valyrian steel, over and over.
As though this alone could bring his heart a moment's peace.
Lynn sat on the steps leading to the armory, sensing the undercurrents.
Ever since his prophecy had been confirmed, he was no longer a prisoner.
Instead, Catelyn and Ned treated him with every courtesy.
Lynn had been given a warm room.
His three meals a day were no longer black bread and cold water, but freshly baked soft bread and hot meat broth.
He even had a longsword of his own.
He had earned all of this through that bloody fight and his mysterious prophecy.
Lynn's gaze passed over the busy courtyard and settled on Theon Greyjoy, who was practicing archery in the distance.
The ward from the Iron Islands wore an expression full of excitement at the prospect of seeing the king.
He was called a ward, but in truth, he had become a hostage after the rebellion.
Yet the Starks had not treated him differently. Ned regarded him as his own son, teaching him manners, skills, and the loyalty of House Stark.
Theon drew his bow with ever greater flair.
Every arrow struck the bull's-eye, drawing cheers from several stableboys nearby.
Theon enjoyed being the center of attention.
Unlike the Stark children, he could not feel the weight concealed beneath that glory.
To Theon, their ward, this was merely a grand feast.
Lynn looked away.
He knew cracks already existed beneath this outward harmony.
Just then, a figure entered the courtyard.
It was Jon Snow, the one who knew nothing.
Wearing plain leather armor and carrying a blunted practice sword, he quietly approached the training dummy in the corner.
He did not join Robb and Theon.
He was always like this, instinctively choosing somewhere less conspicuous.
At that very moment, Lady Catelyn emerged from the main keep, preparing to inspect the stables.
Her gaze briefly met Jon's.
Only for an instant.
The fairly mild expression on Catelyn's face froze at once.
All warmth vanished from her blue eyes, leaving only cold disgust.
She said nothing.
She merely turned slightly aside and quickened her pace.
As though another glance at Snow would sully her eyes.
Jon stiffened.
The sword he had just raised stopped in midair.
His expression seemed swept by a winter wind, all its brightness fading.
He silently lowered his arm and bowed his head, his black hair hiding his eyes.
Lynn took it all in.
Catelyn's hatred was so naked, so utterly undisguised.
In Westeros, bastards were a noble family's public shame.
They were all given the surname Snow.
Bastards around Storm's End bore the name Storm, those in the North were called Snow, and those in the south were called Sand...
It differed from place to place, but the locals recognized it at a glance.
And Jon's existence constantly reminded Catelyn of her husband's past infidelity.
Men leading troops into battle sometimes needed to satisfy their desires, and leaving a bastard behind was hardly unusual. Catelyn understood that too.
She could have accepted him being raised elsewhere, but Ned insisted on raising him right under her nose.
And whenever she asked about Jon's mother, Ned grew angry with her.
She vented all her anger on Jon.
Though she had not abused him, it was fair to say this.
Jon Snow had grown up under Catelyn's scornful gaze.
At that moment, the bustle in the courtyard seemed to have nothing to do with Jon.
He stood alone, looking especially lonely.
Lynn watched it all.
On the whole, Lynn admired Jon Snow as a character more than he disliked him.
His portrayal in the show certainly had its faults. He had let Ygritte down, and, prompted by Tyrion, he had stabbed Daenerys to keep her from becoming the next Mad King. That counted as betraying his own leader...
But Jon was straightforward and loyal, a character with both strengths and flaws.
Nor would Lynn forget the scene in the Battle of the Bastards when Jon drew his sword alone against an army for Ned's youngest son, Rickon.
Fear was the instinct of living creatures; courage was humanity's anthem.
Not everyone could bravely draw their sword.
But sometimes, being too upright was not a good thing.
Still, Jon was young. Lynn had plenty of time to make him less "rigidly honorable."
The idea of winning Jon over took root in Lynn's heart as well.
That evening.
Lynn sat in his room, carefully honing his longsword with a whetstone.
The blade reflected his calm face.
Maester Luwin's ointment worked well, and the pain from his wounds had eased considerably.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The door opened a crack, and a head poked inside.
It was Jon Snow.
"I... I'm not disturbing you, am I?"
Jon sounded hesitant.
"No."
Lynn set down the whetstone and pointed to the room's only chair.
Jon stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
He did not sit, merely standing in the middle of the room with his hands twisting together awkwardly.
"You're in the Night's Watch."
Jon finally spoke, his gaze settling on the longsword in Lynn's hand.
"Yes."
Lynn answered.
"Then... what's it like at the Wall?"
Jon's eyes held a young boy's curiosity and longing.
"Very cold."
Lynn's answer was simple and direct.
"Colder than Winterfell."
"The wind cuts like a knife, right into your bones."
"What sort of people... are in the Night's Watch?"
This was what Jon truly wanted to ask.
"All sorts."
Lynn leaned back in his chair and looked at him.
"Thieves, bandits, gamblers in debt, knights who've lost their lands, and... people like me."
"Of course, there are also noble sons who go there for honor."
Lynn added that.
"Just not many."
Jon fell silent.
Lynn's words were nothing like what he had imagined.
In his imagination, the Wall was a place full of honor.
There, birth no longer mattered.
Everyone was a brother in black, standing together against the threats beyond the Wall.
"At the Wall, does a person's birth really not matter?"
Jon's voice was low, tinged with uncertainty.
"Can a bastard... earn respect too?"
Lynn looked at him.
At this future Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
At the confusion and vulnerability on his face, so at odds with his age.
"At the Wall, people only care how well you wield a sword, and whether you dare stand at the front when the Wildlings charge."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"No one cares whether your name ends in Snow or Stark."
"They only care whether they can count on you."
Jon's eyes slowly brightened.
It was the light of someone who had found a place to belong.
"But."
Lynn changed tack.
"It isn't a haven for heroes, Jon."
"Once you take the black, you must give up your family and lands, never marry, and father no children."
"Your entire life will be devoted to that cold wall."
"Until you die."
Silence fell over the room.
Only the wind outside the window howled.
The light on Jon's face faded little by little.
He wanted to escape Winterfell, to escape Lady Catelyn's icy gaze.
But he had never imagined the price would be so heavy.
"I understand."
Only after a long while did Jon speak softly.
"Thank you, Lynn."
He turned to leave.
"Jon."
Lynn stopped him.
"Your father loves you very much."
Jon stopped in his tracks.
"But sometimes, love can't solve everything."
Lynn looked at him and spoke, each word slow and deliberate.
"What kind of person you become is ultimately your choice."
Jon didn't look back.
He simply stood in the doorway, his shadow stretching long, so very long, in the dim light.
Then he pushed the door open and walked out.
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