Arya's wrist was slender.
Lynn could feel her pulse hammering beneath thin skin. She struggled twice. Halfheartedly. Less resistance, more like embarrassed protest.
"Let go!"
Arya hissed, face still flushed. Her grey eyes refused to meet his. Just stared at their joined hands.
"No."
Lynn's answer was blunt. He pulled her forward, ignoring curious stares, straight toward the Tower of the Hand.
"You... still strong as ever." Arya gave up struggling. Muttered under her breath. But her feet followed anyway.
"You got weaker, Arya." Lynn didn't look back. Teasing. "Wearing dresses all day. Playing with lace. Where's your Needle? Feed it to the fish in Blackwater Bay?"
"I did not!" Arya bristled like a stepped-on cat. "I practice every day!"
Desperate to prove herself.
"Really?" Lynn's tone dripped skepticism. "Better check. Make sure you didn't turn Syrio's water dance into some girl's circle dance."
At Syrio Forel's name, Arya's eyes lit. Her voice turned solemn. "What he taught me—I'll never forget. Ever."
They bickered all the way through noisy streets. Soon reached the Tower of the Hand.
The tall tower loomed over King's Landing's squat buildings, overlooking this filthy, desire-soaked city.
Stark guards at the entrance saw Arya. Bowed immediately. When their eyes landed on Lynn, they froze. Then their faces mixed awe and excitement.
"Lord Lynn!"
They recognized him. The legend from the North. The King-Beyond-the-Wall who shook the Seven Kingdoms.
Lynn nodded. Asked a few brief questions. Then pulled Arya inside.
All along the way, every servant and guard stopped. Stared with curiosity or awe. King's Landing buzzed with Lynn's stories. In the embellished versions, he was leading wildlings to conquer the Seven Kingdoms.
Top floor study of the Tower of the Hand.
The door stood open.
Ned Stark stood before a massive map of Westeros, brow furrowed.
Just over a month—but he looked drained. Thinner. Older. Deeper crow's feet. Grey streaking his temples now.
King's Landing was a millstone, grinding down the Warden of the North's will.
"Father." Arya called softly.
Ned turned slowly.
When he saw Lynn, his grey eyes surged with emotion. His mouth opened. Closed. Finally he strode forward. Pulled Lynn into a solid embrace.
Hard. Northern-direct.
"Good lad... you're finally back." Ned's voice was thick with exhaustion.
He released Lynn. Gripped his shoulders. Looked him over head to toe.
"You look stronger." Ned exhaled. But his expression stayed grim.
He glanced at Arya. Then at the two silent Unsullied behind Lynn. One carried a black-cloth-wrapped wooden box.
"Arya, leave us." Ned's tone brooked no argument.
"No!" Arya shot back immediately.
She moved to Lynn's side instinctively. Like a wolf guarding food. Eyeing her father warily.
"Whatever you're saying, I'm hearing it!"
Ned's brow furrowed. About to snap.
"Let her stay, my lord." Lynn spoke. "Some things—she'll learn eventually. She's not a little girl anymore."
Ned fell silent. Finally sighed. Nodded.
He dismissed the servants. Shut the heavy oak door.
"Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?" Ned's first words crackled with tension.
He pointed at the map. At the vast lands north of the Wall.
"King-Beyond-the-Wall! You let hundreds of thousands of wildlings into the Gift! Over eighty thousand fighting men alone! Do you know what that means?"
"Lannister, Tyrell, Baratheon... The Small Council wants to raise an army. Put your head on King's Landing's walls!"
"It was me!" Ned's voice rose sharply. His grey eyes bloodshot, helpless. "I vouched for you! Staked House Stark's honor! That's the only reason this got buried!"
Lynn listened quietly. Didn't argue.
He could imagine: this honorable northern lord, surrounded by wolves in King's Landing's power pit, had endured enormous pressure to protect him.
This debt wasn't small.
"And Robert." Ned's tone grew heavier. Almost fearful. "You must be careful of him, Lynn. He's not the Robert I once knew. The throne and wine have rotted his mind. He's mercurial now. Paranoid. Sometimes even I can't reach him."
"He fears you, Lynn. Your army. Your title. He doesn't say it, but I know—he dreams of killing you."
Arya's face went white. She clutched Lynn's sleeve. Palms sweating.
She realized: Lynn's return wasn't a homecoming. It was walking into a slaughterhouse.
"I understand, my lord." Lynn's expression stayed calm.
As if the king Ned described—capable of destroying him utterly—was just a minor character.
Ned looked at his unruffled face. Frustrated. Angry. But Lynn was already in the city. Word had surely reached Robert. Running now was impossible.
Ned took a deep breath. Said the last thing. He hadn't wanted to. But as a father, he had to.
"And your betrothal to Arya." Ned's gaze fell on his stubborn daughter. His eyes turned complex. Pained.
"I promised Arya. At the Hand's tourney. Lynn, I know you're a good boy. You're older than Robb, but still young. I've treated you like I treat Robb. We share no blood, but I've always seen you as a foster son."
"But first—I'm a father. Arya's father."
Ned's voice carried unshakable resolve.
"If you can't safely pass the king's judgment... I won't give you Arya. I can't let her face a future destined for destruction."
BOOM.
Ned's words detonated in Arya's mind.
"Father!" Arya screamed. Stared at Ned in disbelief. "How can you say that! How can you—"
She couldn't finish. Tears burst forth.
She couldn't believe it. Her father—who loved her most—would say something so heartless when Lynn needed support most.
This was abandonment. What else could it be?
Lynn didn't speak. Just patted Arya's back gently. Signaling calm.
He knew: Ned wasn't wrong. This was a father protecting his daughter. Human nature. Beyond reproach.
If Lynn had a daughter someday, he wouldn't want her marrying someone like himself either.
But sometimes, actions spoke louder than words.
"My lord." Lynn finally spoke. Voice calm. Confident. "Don't worry. I'm not here to fight King Robert. I'm here to present a gift."
Lynn personally lifted the black cloth from the wooden box.
A head—preserved with lime and spices, features still recognizable—appeared before Ned and Arya.
That handsome, twisted face was frozen in death's terror and unwillingness.
Viserys Targaryen.
"This is..." Ned stared at the head.
"The Targaryen remnant. I've dealt with him for His Grace." Lynn's tone was casual. Like discussing something trivial.
"I believe King Robert will appreciate this gift."
Ned looked at the head. Then at Lynn. His mind roared.
He hadn't expected Lynn to actually kill Viserys. He'd done it.
This gift carried weight. Enough to dispel most of Robert's suspicions.
But not enough. As long as Lynn remained King-Beyond-the-Wall, he'd always be a sword hanging over Robert's head.
"As for the rest..." Lynn smiled. Mysteriously. "I'm also a merchant, my lord. I've brought something. Something that'll drive the entire Seven Kingdoms mad."
"When His Grace and all the nobles can't live without my trade, do you think they'll care who I am?"
Ned froze. Completely confused.
Before he could ask—
The door was pounded from outside.
"Lord Stark!" Jory Cassel's urgent voice. "The king's herald is here! His Grace summons Lord Lynn to the Iron Throne! Immediately!"
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