He had not noticed an eye made entirely of darkness quietly watching him.
It was Lynn's eye.
Even far away in the Main Keep's hall, one of his eyes remained embedded in Theon's shadow.
If Theon had made the slightest suspicious move just now, if he had shown even a trace of malice toward those two girls...
Then Theon's own shadow would have been the perfect assassin.
Meanwhile, outside Winterfell, on the road leading to the Kingsroad.
Several travel-worn figures were slowly approaching the great gray city.
Leading them was Jon Snow.
He wore the black clothes of the Night's Watch, washed and faded, and stood taller and straighter than when he had left. Wind and weather had etched their marks into his perpetually melancholy face.
Beside him rode his uncle, Benjen Stark.
The First Ranger's gaze was still as keen as a hawk's, though a little frost had appeared at his temples.
Bringing up the rear was a round figure, Samwell Tarly.
He huddled tightly inside his heavy Bearskin Cloak, thoroughly rattled by the jolting ride, his plump face full of exhaustion and unease.
"Is that... Winterfell?"
Sam looked at the distant castle, especially magnificent beneath the setting sun, with a hint of timidity in his voice.
"It's home," Jon said softly.
He spoke those words very quietly, but a tangle of emotions stirred inside him.
Home? Was this still his home?
After Lord Commander Jeor Mormont witnessed a third of the magnificent ice wall melt overnight, followed by large numbers of White Walkers crossing the Wall every day, the Old Bear made a decision that shocked the entire North.
He announced that the Wall had lost its purpose.
The White Walkers had been brought to heel, and the Wildlings had moved south into the Gift.
The Night's