Winter's massive wings cast an enormous shadow over Winterfell. Like storm clouds descending.
Sentries on the walls rang alarm bells immediately. The urgent clanging shattered the North's peaceful morning. Tinged with panic.
"It's a dragon!"
"Don't panic—three heads! It's Winter!"
Panic quickly gave way to awestruck commotion. Everyone in Winterfell recognized it.
This strange three-headed dragon—raised by Robb Stark himself. Anyone who'd lived in Winterfell long knew.
But... when did it get THIS big?!
Winter landed in Winterfell's broad courtyard. Folded wings kicked up a gale that sent accumulated snow swirling skyward. Its massive body nearly filled the entire yard.
Ice-blue and silver scales shimmered dreamlike in morning light.
Before the dragon fully settled, a small figure leapt impatiently from its back.
"Robb! Bran!"
Arya's voice rang crisp as icicles. Bursting with irrepressible joy.
The courtyard gates burst open. A tall, sturdy young figure rushed out. Thick auburn curls. Blue eyes filled with anxiety and concern.
Robb Stark.
"Arya!"
When Robb recognized the figure sprinting toward him, he froze. Brother and sister embraced tightly.
Close behind, Lady Catelyn hurried out. When she saw her youngest daughter—safe in Robb's arms—this strong Lady of Winterfell's eyes instantly reddened.
"My little Arya..."
Catelyn rushed forward. Pulled both children into her embrace. Tears fell silently.
Bran rode his pony. With Maester Luwin's help, he reached the courtyard too. He watched the dragon descend from heaven. Watched his lively sister. His melancholy eyes bloomed with light unseen in ages.
Even little Rickon peeked from behind his mother's skirts. Studied this sister curiously.
Lynn dismounted from the dragon's back. Didn't interrupt this tender reunion.
"Lynn!"
Robb released Arya. Strode to Lynn. Gave him a powerful hug.
"Thank you, my brother."
Robb clapped Lynn's shoulder hard. He looked at the dragon—many times larger than memory. Blue eyes held undisguised shock.
"We're family. No need for formalities."
Lynn smiled back.
Lady Catelyn dried her tears. Walked to Lynn. Curtsied flawlessly.
"Lord Lynn, House Stark thanks you for caring for Arya."
Her voice carried genuine gratitude. She knew: this young man was far more than he appeared.
He'd emerged unscathed from King's Landing's dragon pit. Even stirred its winds. That capability was enough to make anyone's heart race.
Lynn left the Starks' warm moment to them. Didn't intrude. He had more important matters. He needed to see two people first.
Winterfell's Guest Hall.
Led by a servant, Lynn walked through familiar corridors. Before entering, he heard an aged, exasperated voice inside.
"Miss Ygritte, please remember: noble ladies do not make sounds when drinking soup. You should use the side of the spoon. Gently... Yes, like that... No, not the ENTIRE spoon in your mouth!"
Lynn's lips curved into a smile. He pushed the door open.
Inside, Maester Luwin was sweating profusely. Teaching an impatient red-haired girl.
Ygritte.
And Maester Luwin was trying to teach a wildling noble etiquette. Madness.
She wore an obviously ill-fitting blue gown. The fabric too soft for her. Made her uncomfortable all over. Her fiery red hair was clumsily pinned up. Exposed her smooth neck. But felt like a collar.
She was wrestling with a bowl of mushroom soup. Clumsily mimicking Luwin's movements. Result: either spilling soup on her dress or making the spoon clatter loudly.
When she saw Lynn at the door, her wild eyes blazed. She instinctively started to stand. Then remembered her "lady status." Forced herself back down.
Ygritte tried to mimic the etiquette she'd learned in Winterfell. Attempted a curtsy for Lynn. Result: too forceful. Skirt tangled her feet. She nearly fell. Almost ripped the dress off.
"Lord... Lynn, you're back."
She squeezed the words through clenched teeth. Face flushed crimson with embarrassment.
Maester Luwin shook his head helplessly. Face full of resignation.
"Thank you for your efforts, Maester Luwin."
Lynn nodded to him.
"I'll take it from here."
Luwin fled like he'd been pardoned. Escaped this headache-inducing place.
"The Free Folk's pride. The fearless spearwife..."
Lynn walked to Ygritte. Circled her. Looked her up and down. Clicked his tongue in wonder.
"Now defeated by a dress and a bowl of soup."
"What do YOU know?!"
Ygritte exploded in embarrassment. She yanked off the ridiculous hairpin. Let her fiery red hair cascade down.
"These Southern rules are colder and harder than Wall ice!"
She complained. Reached to tear off the itchy dress right in front of Lynn.
Lynn quickly grabbed her hand.
"Easy." His voice carried soothing amusement. "Soon you'll get to be yourself again."
"Really?"
Ygritte's eyes lit up.
"When have I lied to you?"
Ygritte finally smiled. She looked at Lynn. Blue eyes held undisguised dependence and longing.
The Glass Garden.
After calming the wildcat eager to escape her cage, Lynn headed to Winterfell's glass garden.
Warm as spring inside. Incongruous with the North's bleakness.
Myrcella Baratheon sat quietly on a bench. Held a book. She wore a golden gown. Sunlight through glass bathed her golden hair. Enveloped her in soft radiance. Like an exquisite painting.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up. Seeing Lynn, her usually melancholic green eyes rippled slightly.
"Lord Lynn."
Myrcella stood. Curtsied perfectly. Graceful, impeccable movements.
"Your Highness."
Lynn returned the courtesy.
"King's Landing... is it well?"
Myrcella asked softly. Voice tinged with barely perceptible tension.
Though in Winterfell, King's Landing's news reached her through various channels. She knew Petyr Baelish died. Horribly. She knew her father King Robert grew increasingly... mad.
"Not well."
Lynn's answer was simple and direct.
"So we should return."
Myrcella's body trembled slightly.
Return? To the suffocating Red Keep? To that mad father and domineering mother?
She looked into Lynn's calm black eyes.
"Is it for... our wedding?"
"Yes."
Lynn nodded.
"This wedding is what King's Landing needs most now."
A grand royal wedding could temporarily divert everyone's attention. Mask the churning undercurrents. Most critically: it could stop Robert from causing chaos. Temporarily stabilize the raging beast.
Myrcella fell silent. She knew: from birth, her fate was never hers to control. She was a piece. Used for marriage alliances. To consolidate power.
"I understand."
Myrcella nodded slowly. Her face recovered its princess dignity and calm. Even wore a serene smile.
"I'm ready to depart anytime."
She was smarter—and stronger—than Lynn expected. Or perhaps: marrying Lynn was better than marrying anyone else. She could accept it.
The Lord's Study.
Lynn left Ygritte and Myrcella. Headed to Winterfell's ducal study.
Catelyn was waiting. Seeing Lynn enter, Lady Catelyn personally poured him wine. Hearth flames cast her perpetually worried face in flickering light.
"Arya told me everything."
Lady Catelyn spoke first.
"Everything that happened in King's Landing."
Her voice was calm. But Lynn felt suppressed fury beneath.
"His Grace truly... publicly dismembered Petyr?"
"Yes."
"And forced Ned to kneel in that pool of blood?"
"Yes."
"Now he wants me to come to King's Landing? Kneel before him? To prove House Stark's innocence?"
"Yes."
SLAM!
Catelyn smashed her wine cup on the table. Liquid splashed.
"He's MAD!"
This Tully daughter, Stark matriarch, could no longer maintain her ladylike composure. Blue eyes burned with consuming fury.
"He humiliated my husband! My family! He trampled Stark and Tully honor underfoot! I will NOT go to King's Landing! I will NOT kneel to that madman!"
Lynn watched Catelyn calmly.
"That's precisely why I'm here."
Catelyn's breath caught. She looked at Lynn. Fury gradually replaced by reason.
"Lynn, what's your plan?"
"The king's command cannot be openly defied. That's treason."
Lynn's voice was unhurried.
"So you need a reason you cannot leave the North. A reason even the king cannot dispute."
Catelyn's eyes narrowed.
"Such as?"
"Such as a small rebellion."
Lynn didn't keep her in suspense.
"Unruly bandits raiding your lands. Burning. Looting. As acting Lady of Winterfell, you must remain in the North. Stabilize the situation."
Catelyn's heart pounded.
Rebellion! Fake a rebellion to defy the king's command! Too bold! Too insane! One step from treason!
But... she looked at the dancing hearth flames. Thought of her isolated husband in King's Landing. That mad king.
No choice.
"Family, Duty, Honor."
Catelyn whispered House Tully's words.
Tully women put family first. She wasn't like Ned—honor above all!
Catelyn raised her head. All hesitation and struggle vanished from her blue eyes.
"Who will play these bandits?"
"I have friends. They'd be happy to help."
Lynn smiled.
"Of course, it'll cost some gold dragons. Payment for their 'performance' and necessary property damage."
Catelyn understood instantly.
Wildlings from beyond the Wall.
"I understand."
Catelyn stood.
"Winterfell's treasury is open to you."
Catelyn had made her choice. For family. For her husband. She didn't mind staining her hands with conspiracy.
Next Morning.
Winter's dragon cry echoed over Winterfell again.
Lynn brought Myrcella—now in practical riding clothes—and Ygritte.
He'd visit the Gift first. Arrange the "rebellion" details. Then return to King's Landing with Myrcella.
As for Ygritte: she and Myrcella were now best friends. Insisted Lynn bring her too.
Lynn had no idea how a gentle soul and wild spirit became friends. Didn't matter.
He'd promised Ygritte before leaving for Essos he'd return for her. Gladly agreed to her request.
Arya rushed over. Gave Lynn a huge hug.
"You'll come back, right?"
She looked up. Gray eyes full of reluctance.
"Of course."
Lynn ruffled her hair.
"Wait for me. Trust me. Won't be long."
Arya's eyes blazed instantly.
The dragon soared. Carried Lynn and the two women northward.
Winterfell's Walls.
Lady Catelyn Stark stood against the wind. Watched the black dot vanish into the horizon. Her perpetually worried face now held only resolve.
Family above all else!
She was no longer just a praying mother.
[END CHAPTER 203]
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