Dawn had barely broken.
Winterfell's courtyard was already filled with the neighing of horses and the excited barking of hounds.
Their breath steaming white, servants led restless steeds.
Knights laughed and talked loudly as they checked their saddles and bows.
The air carried a sharp mingling of leather, horse sweat, and morning frost.
The traces of a hangover still lingered on King Robert Baratheon's puffy eyelids.
But he was full of energy.
To him, nothing dispelled the tedium of Winterfell better than a good hunt.
"Ned!"
Robert's booming voice drowned out the clamor of the entire courtyard.
"Stop dawdling!"
"The boars of the North won't wait for us!"
Robert threw an arm around Ned's shoulders.
The force of it made Ned stumble.
Ned Stark had changed into leather armor that allowed him to move freely, a somewhat resigned look on his face.
He had little enthusiasm for this.
But he could not refuse the king when he was in such high spirits.
His gaze swept over the crowd and soon found the figure standing in the shadow of a pillar.
Lynn.
He wore a black cloak, a longsword at his waist, and stood as still as a stone.
Ned walked over.
After their private conversation the night before, his view of this young man had changed completely.
Their relationship was no longer simply that of protector and prisoner.
It had become a subtle trust, tinged with reliance.
"Lynn."
Ned's voice was steady.
"Come with us."
"A day on horseback is better than being cooped up in the castle."
"Besides, I'll feel more at ease with you there."
That last sentence was his true reason.
Lynn raised his head.
He looked into Ned's sincere gray eyes and noticed King Robert watching him curiously from a short distance away.
Lynn shook his head.
"Thank you for your kindness, my lord."
"But the wounds I suffered fighting those bandits still ache."
He pointed to his ribs and his arm.
"I'm afraid a long ride would be too much for me."
"I'd like to stay in the castle and do some exercises to help my recovery."
The excuse was reasonable, and it showed a warrior's sense of duty.
The invitation in Ned's eyes gave way to understanding.
He nodded.
"Very well."
"Take care of yourself."
Ned gave Lynn's shoulder a firm pat, then turned to join the king's party.
The horns sounded again.
The great hunting party poured out through Winterfell's gates.
The hoofbeats and barking gradually faded into the distance.
In an instant, the courtyard fell quiet.
Once the clamor had receded, an empty silence settled over the entire castle.
As the last rider vanished from sight, the calm expression on Lynn's face slowly faded as well.
He did not return to his room.
Instead, sword in hand, he crossed the deserted courtyard toward the forgotten tower.
The First Keep.
Wind passed through the broken battlements with a mournful moan.
Lynn chose an open patch sheltered from the wind.
It offered a clear view and was secluded enough to attract no attention.
Lynn drew his longsword.
Under the gray-white morning light, its edge traced cold arcs through the air.
Thrust.
Parry.
Dodge.
He seemed wholly absorbed, as though he were merely a warrior diligently practicing his swordsmanship.
But his ears caught every sound around him, and his eyes kept the ancient tower quietly in view.
He was waiting.
Waiting for a boy, and for a sister and brother.
Waiting for a chance that could change the fate of the entire North, perhaps even the Seven Kingdoms.
Time slipped by amid the monotonous swish of his sword.
Until a small figure in a gray tunic entered his field of vision.
Lynn put away his sword.
Bran Stark.
The boy ran through the empty castle like an energetic wolf pup.
His father and older brothers had gone hunting outside the castle, leaving him behind.
With nothing else to do, climbing had become his only amusement.
Bran's gaze was soon drawn to Winterfell's oldest building.
The First Keep.
The First Keep he had climbed countless times.
Yet eager excitement still lit the boy's face.
Lynn was already keeping track of Bran's every move.
Bran began preparing to climb, while his direwolf, Summer, sat on the ground with his head tilted toward him, whining uneasily.
Here they came.
Almost at the same moment.
Another tall, golden-haired figure slipped silently out from the direction of the main keep.
Jaime Lannister.
He was not wearing his dazzling golden armor, only an unassuming hunting outfit.
His steps were light and wary, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.
Only after making sure no one was there did he slip into the shadows of the First Keep.
Immediately afterward.
Queen Cersei appeared as well.
She hid her brilliant golden hair beneath a hood and hurried after Jaime.
One after the other, their figures vanished through the tower's pitch-black doorway.
A faint smile touched Lynn's lips.
Everything was exactly as he remembered.
Bran had already begun climbing.
Like an agile monkey, he worked his way up the weathered stone wall, using both hands and feet to find cracks that would support him.
Lynn kept his breathing very quiet.
The sword in his hand had stopped moving as well.
He began moving toward the foot of the tower, seemingly by chance.
Every step had been precisely calculated.
He had to be somewhere he could "just happen" to pass by.
The instant the boy fell, he had to react in the most "instinctive" way possible.
Not too early.
And not too late.
The wind carried a faint, stifled panting from a window high in the tower, a sound that did not belong to a child.
Lynn raised his head.
He saw that the small figure had already climbed well above the tower's midpoint.
The top floor of the First Keep had lain sealed in dust for years.
A window high above was broken.
Cold wind poured in, stirring the dust on the floor.
Sunlight pierced the narrow arrow slits, cutting distinct shafts through the air and illuminating the drifting dust.
This was the most secluded corner of all Winterfell.
Cersei Lannister leaned against the cold stone wall.
She had carelessly slipped off her sumptuous silk gown.
Her long golden hair spilled like a waterfall across the dusty wall.
Jaime Lannister had also removed his cumbersome cloak and wore only a white shirt.
The same golden hair, the same green eyes.
"We shouldn't be here."
Cersei's voice held a trace of breathlessness, and a trace of excitement.
"It's too dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
Jaime raised his head, wearing his usual smile of utter indifference to everything in the world.
"Robert and his herd of northern swine are probably chasing a doe's backside right now."
"Who's going to care about us?"
Jaime reached out and gently traced his fingertips over Cersei's faintly trembling skin.
The gesture was filled with possessiveness and affection.
"I've waited a month."
"All that traveling left me no chance."
Jaime's voice grew husky.
He pulled Cersei close and bent down, breathing in the scent of her hair.
"A whole month."
"I'm going mad."
Cersei let out a soft, stifled cry.
The icy stone wall stood in sharp contrast to their heated bodies.
Dust danced wildly in the shafts of light.
Faint, muffled sounds rose intermittently within the forgotten tower.
Meanwhile, outside the tower.
A slight figure was climbing the ancient wall, using both hands and feet.
It was Bran Stark.
He loved climbing.
He loved the feeling of having all Winterfell beneath his feet.
Today, the king and his father were both away, and Ser Rodrik would not come to scold him either.
This was the perfect opportunity.
He would climb the First Keep that no one else dared to climb.
The wind swept over his cheeks, bringing a biting chill that only heightened his excitement.
Familiar stones, secure handholds.
Like an agile monkey, he moved swiftly up the sheer wall.
Higher and higher.
The people in the courtyard had become tiny black dots.
Then Bran heard a sound.
It came from the window at the top of the tower.
It was not the wind.
The sound was strange, as though someone were crying.
Curiosity drove him to climb faster.
He pulled himself onto the windowsill.
Then Bran saw it.
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