The farce in the courtyard ended with Maester Archibald muttering to himself, his faith all but shattered.
The repercussions, however, went far beyond anything anyone had expected.
The next day, the boy Lynn had saved with Needle became the talk of Winterfell.
Countless people flocked to his doorstep just to see the rescued child for themselves.
And Lynn was elevated to the status of a god.
In the simple worldview of the North's common folk, who but a god could make the dead walk and save someone on the brink of death?
Before long, rumors that Lynn, the King in the North, was an incarnation of the Old Gods spread like wildfire.
Even Ned Stark, after seeing for himself how the boy's wound had healed, could only stare at Lynn as though he were a monster, speechless for a long while.
Lynn merely smiled at it all.
After several busy days, Lynn finally had a rare moment of leisure.
He strolled alone through Winterfell's corridors, enjoying the rare peace that followed the blizzard.
Sunlight streamed through the tall stone windows, casting dappled light and shadow across the floor.
A few figures beneath a nearby covered walkway caught his attention.
Margaery Tyrell sat on a stone bench, engrossed in a book she held in her hands.
Behind her stood a figure so extraordinarily tall that she resembled an iron tower, utterly motionless.
Brienne.
She wore dull gray chainmail and a longsword at her waist. Her face, which could hardly be called beautiful, was ever watchful and intent.
Her gaze swept every corner around her, overlooking not the slightest hint of danger.
Lynn stopped.
Only then did he remember that he seemed to have neglected this loyal woman warrior all along.
From Highgarden to King's Landing.
It was Brienne who had escorted