Setting a little trap

A horn sounded in the distance, low and long, tearing through Winterfell's afternoon stillness.

The Hunting Party had returned.

Hooves thundered across the drawbridge, heavy and uneven.

There were no triumphant cheers, only an oppressive silence that hung over everyone who returned.

The excitement King Robert had shown when he left was nowhere to be seen.

He dismounted, tossed his reins to a servant, and headed toward the Main Keep without a word.

Ned Stark followed close behind.

His expression was darker than the leaden clouds of a northern winter.

Lynn stood in the shadow of a column, watching it all.

The herbs had largely healed his injuries.

But his face was still pale, providing him with the perfect disguise.

A loyal warrior who had just suffered grave wounds while saving someone.

Ned paused as he passed him.

"Lynn, come to my study shortly."

Lynn gave a slight nod and watched Ned stride away.

A short while later, Lynn pushed open the study's heavy oak door.

No lamps had been lit, and the room was dim.

The fire in the fireplace burned low, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Ned Stark was not seated in his lord's chair.

He simply stood at the window, his back to the door, gazing at the gray sky outside.

His tall figure carried a mountain's weight and weariness.

"My lord."

Lynn spoke, breaking the silence.

Ned slowly turned.

He still carried the chill of the outdoors, and a few dark bloodstains marked the leather armor he had worn on the hunt.

Now, those gray eyes of House Stark were bloodshot.

Pain, anger, and a trace of bewilderment.

He looked at Lynn with gratitude in those gray eyes.

"Catelyn told me."

Ned's voice was hoarse, heavy with weariness he could not suppress.

"You saved Bran."

"Bran is still alive."

Ned's voice was low.

"But he hasn't woken."

Lynn met the Warden of the North's gaze.

"My lord, have you ever wondered?"

Lynn's voice was soft.

"Why did Bran fall from the tower?"

Ned's breath caught for a moment.

"He likes climbing."

"It was an accident."

He said the words, but he could not even convince himself.

"An accident?"

Lynn questioned him.

"A child who loves climbing lost his footing on a tower that wasn't even particularly difficult to climb?"

"My lord, this was no accident."

"This was attempted murder!"

The words "attempted murder" instantly froze the air in the room.

Ned clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Who?"

Lynn did not name anyone. Instead, he guided Ned toward the answer.

"Bran must have seen something on the tower that he wasn't supposed to see."

"Something... worth silencing him over."

"And there are outsiders staying in your castle now, my lord."

Ned abruptly straightened and began pacing back and forth.

Jaime Lannister's handsome, arrogant face.

Queen Cersei's beautiful yet icy eyes.

Every clue pointed to the Lannisters.

"Why would they do this?"

Ned's voice was filled with pain and incomprehension.

"There's no point pursuing their reasons now, my lord."

Although Lynn knew who wanted to sow chaos and provoke a conflict between the two houses, he had no intention of clearing the Lannisters.

Lynn interrupted Ned's thoughts.

"The most important thing is this."

"Bran is still alive."

"If someone pushed him, then the culprit will never let him have a chance to wake up."

Ned stopped pacing.

He spun around and fixed his eyes on Lynn.

A chill shot up his spine to the crown of his head.

"They... will try again?"

"They certainly will."

Lynn's answer was unequivocal.

"Right here in Winterfell."

"Right under your nose!"

Ned's face went deathly pale.

He could not imagine such a vicious plot lurking within his own castle.

His son lay in bed like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

Ned's fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"He's only a ten-year-old boy."

Lynn simply stood quietly, letting Ned's emotions simmer in the enclosed room.

"Lannister."

Ned forced the name through gritted teeth.

"Lysa's letter, your prophecy, Bran's fall..."

"All of it points to them."

Ned approached Lynn, staring hard at him with eyes burning with anger.

"Tell me, Lynn."

"What did you see when you saved Bran?"

"Did you see anyone else who looked suspicious?"

Lynn shook his head.

"I was beneath the tower. All I heard was a scream, my lord."

"When I got there, I saw Bran falling through the air."

The answer left Ned slumping back into his chair.

The crackling firewood in the fireplace sounded especially harsh.

"What should I do now?"

"Increase the guard? Surround Bran's room?"

Lynn shook his head.

"That would only alert them."

"The culprit is among us. They know everything that happens in Winterfell."

"We can't just defend ourselves."

A cold gleam flashed in Lynn's eyes.

"We need to set a trap."

"A trap that will make them walk straight into our hands."

Night.

Dark as ink.

Winterfell sank into a deathly silence.

Suddenly.

A piercing scream tore through the night.

"Fire!"

"The Library is on fire!"

The silent castle erupted into activity.

Countless torches flared to life, and hurried footsteps and shouts echoed through the courtyard.

Robb Stark was the first to rush out of his room, his face filled with urgency.

"Quick! Put out the fire!"

Lynn's eyes snapped open.

Here they come!

He looked into the distance.

Far away.

Flames surged toward the sky.

Their glow stained half the night sky scarlet.

The Library.

The last place in the castle that should have caught fire.

It held centuries of the North's records and history.

The blaze was enough to draw everyone's attention away.

Including that of most of the guards.

Robb and Jon would certainly lead men to fight the fire.

That was their responsibility.

And this gave the assassin the perfect opportunity.

Theon Greyjoy and the other young attendants were right behind Robb, rushing toward the tower glowing with orange-red flames.

Amid the chaos, no one noticed.

Outside the room where Bran lay recovering, several figures stood motionless in the deepest shadows.

Lynn was among them.

Sword in hand, he leaned against the cold stone wall, listening for every sound around him.

He could hear the distant clamor of people fighting the fire.

He could also hear Lady Catelyn's murmurs as she soothed the direwolf Summer inside the room.

And he could hear an exceedingly faint footstep approaching, almost indistinguishable from the wind.

Here they come.

A dark figure hugged the wall, slipping silently beneath the window of Bran's room.

He pried the window open with practiced ease and nimbly climbed inside.

Inside the room.

Catelyn sat beside Bran's bed.

Her eyes were sunken, and several days and nights without sleep had left her haggard.

The direwolf Summer lay at the foot of the bed, an uneasy growl rumbling in his throat.

Catelyn stroked his head soothingly.

"It's all right, Summer."

"It's only a fire. Robb will take care of it."

Just then.

Summer sprang to his feet, every hair on his body bristling.

He bared his sharp fangs toward the doorway and let out a threatening snarl.

A man stood there.

He wore unremarkable clothes of coarse cloth, and he was small and thin, his face sickly pale.

He held a dagger in his hand.

The dagger was exquisitely ornate, its hilt made of dragonbone, its blade shimmering with strange ripples.

Valyrian steel!