Sansa's infatuation

The great hall of Winterfell's main keep had been baked into a noisy, sweltering furnace by hundreds of tallow candles and a roaring hearth.

The aroma of roast boar fat mingled with the sour smell of ale spilled across the floor.

Together, those smells formed a dizzying current of warmth.

The bard's lute music was torn to shreds by King Robert's coarse laughter and the lords' shouted toasts.

Brawny warriors sat bare-chested, with simpering whores in their arms.

Lynn stood in the hall's most inconspicuous corner, holding a cup of ale.

The stone pillar behind him was cold, shielding him from most of the heat.

Lynn quietly watched the grand tableau of hypocrisy before him.

Ned Stark sat in the seat of honor.

He drank cup after cup with Robert.

But the smile on his face was as stiff as a mask. He clearly wasn't accustomed to occasions like this.

Lady Catelyn, meanwhile, mingled with the noblewomen from the south.

Her manners were impeccable, but the worry deep in her eyes flickered in and out of view beneath the candlelight.

Soon, Catelyn left to help Sansa put her appearance in order.

Tonight, Sansa would take center stage, and she didn't want those southern noblewomen laughing at her.

Lynn's gaze swept over the crowd.

He spotted Jaime Lannister.

The Kingslayer was whispering something to his sister, Queen Cersei, drawing a soft, coquettish laugh from her.

But no one noticed.

Their beauty seemed so out of place amid the chaos-and so dangerous.

Lynn drained his cup of ale.

He turned and left the noise behind.

After he passed through a corridor hung with antler chandeliers, the cold air outside cleared his muddled head considerably.

A faint, hushed conversation drifted from a window ledge a short distance ahead.

It was Lady Catelyn and Sansa.

Sansa's voice held an eagerness steeped in wine and fantasy.

Her sky-blue gown gleamed softly in the moonlight, and her pretty face was filled with a young girl's dreams of the future.

"Prince Joffrey is so handsome, so brave!"

"I'm going to be his queen!"

"When will we marry?"

"Now, or do we have to wait?"

Though he couldn't see Lady Catelyn, Lynn could imagine the expression on her face.

Weariness, worry, and a trace of helplessness.

"Sansa, listen."

Catelyn's voice was soft, but its seriousness brooked no argument.

"Don't get carried away. Your father hasn't agreed yet."

Sansa asked in bewilderment.

"Then why won't he agree?"

"He'll soon be Hand of the King, second only to the king himself."

At that, Sansa broke into an excited smile.

Bitterness showed on Catelyn's face.

"Then he'll have no choice but to leave his home."

"And leave me."

"And of course, you'll be leaving home too."

A trace of confusion crossed Sansa's face.

"Didn't you leave your own home to come to Winterfell?"

"And one day, I'll be queen."

Sansa suddenly turned her head.

"Please, make Father agree!"

Catelyn wanted to say more.

But Sansa interrupted her impatiently.

"Please, marrying a prince is all I've ever wanted."

Catelyn looked into her daughter's hopeful eyes and remained silent for a long time before speaking slowly.

"This isn't one of the songs the bards in the North sing."

"Being queen isn't as simple as putting on pretty dresses and attending balls."

"You..."

"I understand!"

Sansa cut her mother off, her voice rising with the hurt of being misunderstood.

"I'll be a good queen, just like Queen Nymeria in the legends!"

"I'll bear him golden-haired princes."

"Mother, please, make Father agree soon!"

"I don't want to stay in Winterfell anymore. It's cold and boring here!"

The girl's pleading pierced Lady Catelyn's heart like a slender needle.

Lynn's face remained expressionless.

He felt neither sympathy nor contempt.

Like the most dispassionate chess player, he merely watched a piece destined to be sacrificed move joyfully toward a trap.

From this moment on, Sansa's fate was bound tightly to that bloodstained Iron Throne.

And he had no power to stop it, nor any desire to.

Power had already gone to Sansa's head.

Ned Stark had to go south.

It was his king's command, his dearest friend's request, and, above all, a responsibility he could not shirk as Warden of the North.

Lynn looked through the window into the depths of the courtyard.

There, an ancient, abandoned tower stood in the darkness like a broken fang.

A thought flashed through Lynn's mind.

That was where Bran would fall-and where Lynn could seize the greatest advantage currently within his reach!

Lynn silently stepped back, melted into the shadows again, and left the corridor.

He didn't return to his room.

Instead, he crossed the noisy courtyard and headed toward the other side of the castle.

Far from the lights of the main keep, only the patrolling guards' torches cast wavering patches of light into the darkness.

Lynn arrived at the foot of the abandoned tower.

The First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell.

He raised his head and gazed up at its crumbling walls.

He knew that Bran Stark, the boy who loved climbing, would fall from high above.

He would see something he shouldn't.

Jaime and Cersei's secret!

And that secret, like a stone cast into a lake, would send towering waves surging outward!

Saving Bran had nothing to do with noble morals.

Lynn had no morals to speak of. He wasn't some rigidly principled Stark.

What would a healthy Bran Stark, free of disability, mean to House Stark?

And what would I gain by saving the lord's second son at the crucial moment?

It would no longer be a matter of simple trust.

It would be a debt of gratitude great enough to change Lynn's fate.

A bargaining chip that could truly free him from his status as a prisoner and secure him a place.

This was the first piece he could play in this game of power-and the most crucial.

Lynn couldn't let himself miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Until he had power, he could only rely on schemes, just like Lord Baelish, Littlefinger.

Lynn had to act, but he couldn't be reckless.

He couldn't simply rush up and tell everyone something was wrong in the tower.

Not only would they take him for a madman, but it would also diminish the Starks' gratitude toward him.

He needed perfect timing, an unquestionable excuse, a plausible reason for him to happen to be at the "scene of the incident."

Lynn began surveying his surroundings.

At the foot of the tower lay a forgotten patch of ground, overgrown with weeds and scattered with discarded stones.

It was secluded. Almost no one would come here.

Except... the boy who loved climbing everywhere.

And, of course, Cersei and her brother, who enjoyed their secret trysts.

He now needed to learn Bran's habits, the routes he climbed, and the times he usually appeared.

Starting tomorrow, he would lie in wait here, day after day.

Until the day Bran and the golden-haired siblings appeared in this tower together.

Lynn withdrew his gaze, turned, and left.