The battlefield's lingering heat had yet to fade. The enormous crater scorched into the earth by dragonfire resembled an ugly wound that would never heal, its vitrified edges actually reflecting the setting sun.
Lynn stopped at its edge.
Behind him, the soldiers silently cleared the battlefield.
Davos Seaworth followed Lynn, the former Onion Knight's face still pale.
He looked at the crater, then at Lynn's calm profile. His throat bobbed, but in the end, he could not find any words.
Awe, mingled with a trace of relief.
He was relieved that he had made the right choice.
"Gather Loras Tyrell's body."
Lynn's voice broke the silence.
Several soldiers immediately stepped forward, carefully lifting the body that Lightbringer had pierced.
The Knight of Flowers' once incomparably handsome face was now frozen in pain.
"Find somewhere cool and keep him packed in ice," Lynn added. "Don't let him rot."
The order puzzled Davos.
He was already dead. Why go to such lengths to preserve his body?
Was it a final gesture of respect for a knight?
But Lord Lynn did not seem like a man bound by such hollow notions of honor.
Lynn offered no further explanation.
He headed toward Harrenhal's black silhouette.
Some bait needed time to ripen before it could lure a truly big fish.
Winterfell.
Flames crackled in the warm fireplace, driving away the North's early winter chill.
Margaery Tyrell sat by the window, holding a book about the North's customs and scenery, but her thoughts had long since wandered elsewhere.
During her time learning to handle affairs under Lord Ned, she had grown accustomed to life here.
There were none of King's Landing's schemes and intrigues, none of Highgarden's elaborate formalities.
The North's air was crisp and pure, drawing her irresistibly into its embrace.
She had even