Lynn unrolled the heavy parchment, his eyes scanning the chaotic, arrogant scrawl.
A dark, amused smirk played across his lips.
Hand of the King.
That little psychopath Joffrey actually had the nerve to offer it.
"My Lord, are you actually going?"
Myranda's voice was tight with anxiety.
To any Northerner, King's Landing was a death trap.
Everyone knew exactly how Lord Ned Stark had been sent packing back to the North in utter disgrace.
And now, that same mad King was inviting her master straight into the viper's nest to take the exact same job.
"I'm going. Why the hell wouldn't I?"
Lynn casually tossed the parchment onto the heavy oak table.
"Joffrey just cleared my biggest obstacle off the board, and now he's handing me the most powerful seat in the kingdom on a silver platter."
"I'd be a fool to turn down an opening like that."
Myranda's frown deepened, cutting sharp lines into her face.
"But it's too dangerous down there."
"Dangerous?"
Lynn let out a low laugh.
He strolled over to the window, looking out over the massive, tireless army of the dead working outside the walls.
"At this point, I'm the danger."
Myranda stared at his profile, looking into those bottomless, calculating eyes, and the knot of anxiety in her chest slowly began to untangle.
He was right.
He was the undisputed, uncrowned King of the North.
He was the Grim Reaper, holding the leash to hundreds of thousands of walking corpses.
He was the Conqueror who commanded a fire-breathing dragon.
If anyone should be sweating bullets, it was the people sitting pretty in King's Landing.
...
Winterfell. The Great Hall.
The fire in the massive hearth roared, bathing the cavernous room in a warm, flickering light.
But the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife.
For the first time, all of Lynn's women were gathered in one room.
Arya wore a fitted hunting tunic, her sword, Needle, strapped to her hip. She looked sharp and ready for a fight, but her eyes betrayed a nervous energy.
Ygritte was practically glued to Lynn's side. Her wild, feral eyes darted around the room, sizing up the "competition" with unapologetic, territorial possessiveness.
Myranda stood exactly where she always did—right behind Lynn, like a lethal, loyal shadow. But her knuckles were white as she gripped her bow a little tighter than usual.
And then there was Myrcella. The former Baratheon princess sat quietly off to the side.
She wore a pale blue silk gown, her spun-gold hair pinned up flawlessly. She was the picture of regal, untouchable elegance.
Ned and Catelyn sat at the high table, taking in the bizarre standoff with incredibly complicated expressions.
They didn't feel like they were sitting in on a family meeting. It felt more like they had front-row seats to a powder keg right before it blew.
The kid had a seriously massive appetite.
"I pulled you all together because I have an announcement."
Lynn's voice completely shattered the heavy silence.
Every pair of eyes in the room instantly locked onto him.
"King Joffrey just invited me to King's Landing to serve as his Hand."
"I'm taking the job."
"What?!"
Arya was the first one out of her chair.
"Are you crazy? You know exactly what kind of place King's Landing is! There's nothing down there but—"
She bit off the rest of her sentence, forcing herself to swallow the words.
She realized she was losing her cool.
The air in the Great Hall suddenly felt a lot heavier.
"I know exactly what it is."
Lynn met Arya's gaze, his eyes completely deadpan.
"That's exactly why I'm going."
Arya chewed on her lower lip. She desperately wanted to argue, but she was completely out of ammunition.
She knew the man well enough by now. Once Lynn made a call, he had his reasons, and absolutely nobody was going to talk him out of it.
"Then I'm coming with you!" Ygritte snapped, locking her arms around Lynn's bicep.
"You go, I go."
"No."
Lynn shook his head and firmly pried her hands off his arm.
"Every single one of you is staying here in Winterfell."
Ygritte's eyes instantly flared red.
"Why the hell not?! Are you embarrassed of me? Think the wildling girl is gonna ruin your reputation down South?"
"Don't be stupid."
Lynn looked at the women gathered around him, his tone dropping into something dead serious.
"While I'm gone, Lord Stark is going to be running the North."
"And all of you are going to stay right here, shadow him, and learn exactly how to govern."
Ygritte froze.
The rest of the women looked just as stunned.
Learn to govern the kingdom?
What the hell did that mean?
Was he grooming them to rule as his Queens?
The realization hit Arya like a truck, and a deep flush crept up her neck. She shot a quick, sideways glance at Lynn before hurriedly staring at the floor.
Myranda's breathing hitched. She stared at the back of Lynn's head, an absolute inferno of ambition lighting up her eyes.
"I understand, My Lord."
Myranda was the first to step up.
"I'll stay in Winterfell and guard everything that belongs to you."
"I... I'll stay too," Arya mumbled, her voice surprisingly small.
She was still terrified for him, but Lynn's words had just dropped a massive sense of duty squarely on her shoulders.
Ygritte looked around at the other girls, then back at Lynn. She looked utterly pissed off, but she finally gave a stiff nod.
"Fine. Just... get your ass back here quick."
Lynn smirked, his gaze finally shifting over to the quiet girl in the corner.
"Myrcella."
Myrcella stood up gracefully and offered him a flawless curtsy.
"Your mother, Cersei, is still in King's Landing."
Lynn's voice softened just a fraction as he looked at her.
"If you want to see her, I can take you with me."
The second the offer left his mouth, the entire room turned to stare at the princess.
Catelyn looked especially tense.
Ever since Myrcella had been parked in Winterfell, Catelyn hadn't figured out what the hell to do with her.
The girl's sheer existence was a political minefield.
She was tied to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, and the Iron Throne itself.
Myrcella lifted her chin. Her emerald-green eyes were completely clear and unwavering.
She didn't hesitate for a single second.
"Thank you for your mercy, My Lord."
"But I won't be going with you."
The answer caught the entire room completely off guard.
"Why not?" Lynn asked.
"Because of something my mother taught me."
Myrcella's voice was soft, but it carried perfectly across the hall.
"She told me that once I married, my entire life belonged to my husband."
"I'm not a Baratheon princess anymore. And I'm not a daughter of House Lannister."
"I am your woman."
"I have no right, and no desire, to tangle myself back up in the politics of lions and stags."
"Besides..."
A faint, hopeful light broke through her flawless royal mask.
"You want us to learn how to govern a kingdom."
"I want to stay here and become the kind of woman you actually need."
"Someone who can carry the weight for you, instead of just dragging you down."
With that, she bowed deeply to Lynn one more time.
Dead silence fell over the Great Hall.
Ned and Catelyn traded a stunned look.
They couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that such a ruthless, politically calculated answer had just come out of the mouth of this "innocent" teenage girl.
She was a hell of a lot smarter, and far more lethal, than any of them had realized.
Lynn stared at Myrcella.
He took in the absolute sincerity and raw determination plastered across her face.
He closed the distance between them, reached out, and gently tucked a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear.
"You did beautifully, Myrcella."
Her face instantly burned scarlet. She looked up at him, her eyes heavy with a profound, unspoken promise.
Lynn didn't say another word to her.
He turned around and gave Ned and Catelyn a firm nod.
"I'm leaving the North in your hands."
"You don't need to worry about a thing," Ned said, rising to his feet with solemn respect.
"Winterfell will always be your home."
...
The next morning.
An ear-splitting dragon's roar shattered the freezing dawn over Winterfell.
A colossal shadow swallowed the entire keep.
Lynn sat tall in the saddle on Winter's back, his heavy black cloak violently whipping in the freezing wind.
Down in the courtyard, Arya, Ygritte, Myranda, and Myrcella stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the snow.
They tilted their heads back, watching him go.
ROAR—!
Winter bellowed again, its massive wings snapping down with explosive force.
The sheer backdraft kicked up a localized blizzard, sending blinding white snow tearing across the yard.
The dragon hauled its master into the sky, banking hard and tearing straight toward the southern horizon.