Winterfell had changed.
The air was no longer filled with only cold and quiet. Instead, there was a clamor mixed with excitement, tension, and anticipation.
The King was coming.
This news spread like wind, blowing through every corner of the Castle.
In the kitchen, the aroma of baking bread lingered twenty-four hours a day. The blacksmith's forge glowed bright all night, its hammering never ceasing. Guardsmen needed to polish every piece of armor. Maidservants hurried through the corridors, carrying piles of clean linen, their footsteps light and quick.
Lady Catelyn Stark was at the center of this storm. She was like a tireless queen bee, orchestrating the entire Castle's operations with precise and strict commands.
"The best batch of ale from the cellar!"
"Change all the guest room sheets to new ones, and scent them with lavender!"
"Tell the stable boys to thoroughly clean all the horses for the King's retinue! Not a single stray hair!"
Her voice echoed clearly and powerfully in the Courtyard, arranging everything in perfect order. She was an efficient woman. Yet, deep within those blue eyes, characteristic of House Tully, lay an unshakeable worry.
Eddard Stark, however, was completely detached. He did not appear in the Courtyard, nor did he inquire about any preparations. He simply stayed alone in his study or went to the Godswood. He repeatedly polished Ice, his Valyrian steel greatsword. It was as if only this act could bring his heart a moment of peace.
Lynn sat on the steps leading to the armory, sensing this undercurrent.
Since the prophecy was confirmed, he was no longer a prisoner. On the contrary, Catelyn and Eddard treated him with courtesy. Lynn now had a warm room. His three meals a day were no longer black bread and cold water, but freshly baked soft bread and hot meat soup. He even possessed his own longsword. All of this, he had exchanged with that bloody struggle and mysterious prophecy.
Lynn's gaze swept over the bustling Courtyard, landing on Theon Greyjoy, who was practicing archery in the distance. The Iron Islands ward's face was filled with excitement at the prospect of meeting the King. Though called a ward, he was in fact a hostage after the rebellion. But the Starks did not treat him differently. Eddard regarded him as his own son, teaching him etiquette, imparting skills, and instilling the loyal ideals of the wolf family.
Theon's archery stance grew more graceful. Every arrow hit the bullseye, drawing cheers from the stable boys around him. Theon enjoyed being the center of attention. He was unlike the Stark children, who could feel the weight hidden beneath the glory. For Theon, the ward, this was just a grand feast.
Lynn withdrew his gaze. He knew that beneath this superficial harmony, cracks already existed.
Just then, a figure entered the Courtyard. It was Jon Snow, the one who knew nothing. He wore simple leather armor, carrying a blunted practice sword, and silently walked towards a training dummy in the corner. He did not join Robb and Theon. He always chose a less conspicuous spot, out of habit.
At that moment, Lady Catelyn happened to walk out of the main keep, preparing to inspect the stables. Her gaze and Jon's briefly met in the air.
It was only for an instant. Catelyn's previously somewhat gentle expression instantly froze. All warmth vanished from her blue eyes, leaving only icy disgust. She did not say a word. She merely turned slightly and quickened her pace, as if even looking at Snow for too long would defile her eyes.
Jon's body stiffened. The sword he had just raised also halted mid-air. The expression on his face was as if a winter wind had blown across it, all his brilliance fading. He silently lowered his arm, bowed his head, his black hair obscuring his eyes.
Lynn took all of this in. Catelyn's hatred was so naked, so undisguised. In Westeros, bastards were a noble family's public shame. Their surname would uniformly be Snow. Bastards in Storm's End were called Storm, in the North Snow, in the South Sand... The names varied by region, but locals would immediately know. Jon's existence was a constant reminder to Catelyn of her husband's past infidelity.
Men going to war sometimes needed to vent their desires and leave behind bastards; Catelyn understood this. But it would have been fine if he had been raised elsewhere. Instead, Eddard raised him right under her nose. And whenever she asked about Jon's mother, Eddard would get angry with her. She unleashed all her anger on Jon.
Although she did not abuse Jon, it could be said that Jon Snow grew up under Catelyn's disdainful gaze.
The clamor in the Courtyard seemed irrelevant to Jon at this moment. He stood there alone, his figure appearing exceptionally lonely.
Lynn watched it all. For the character Jon Snow, Lynn held more admiration. The Jon in the show certainly had his flaws; he betrayed Ygritte, and to prevent Daenerys from becoming the next Mad King, he stabbed Daenerys at Tyrion's prompting, effectively betraying his own leader... But Jon was straightforward, loyal, a character with both good and bad traits.
Lynn would also not forget the scene where Jon, for Eddard's youngest son Rickon, drew his sword alone against a thousand soldiers in the Battle of the Bastards. Fear is an animal instinct; courage is humanity's anthem. Not everyone can bravely draw their sword.
But sometimes, being too righteous is not a good thing. However, Jon was still young now, and Lynn had plenty of time to make him less "rigidly righteous." Lynn also had the idea of winning Jon over.
That evening.
Lynn was in his room, carefully sharpening his longsword with a whetstone. The blade reflected his calm face. Maester Luwin's ointment was very effective; the pain from his wound had significantly lessened.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Come in."
The door was pushed open a crack, and a head peeked inside. It was Jon Snow.
"I... am I disturbing you?" Jon's voice was hesitant.
"No." Lynn put down the whetstone and pointed to the only chair in the room.
Jon walked in, closing the door behind him. He did not sit, but stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped together somewhat awkwardly.
"You are a man of the Night's Watch." Jon finally spoke, his gaze falling on the longsword in Lynn's hand.
"Yes." Lynn replied.
"Then... what is it like at the Wall?" Jon's eyes held a hint of youthful curiosity and longing.
"Very cold." Lynn's answer was simple and direct. "Colder than Winterfell. The wind is like a knife, cutting to the bone."
"What kind of men are in the Night's Watch?" This was what Jon truly wanted to ask.
"All kinds of men." Lynn leaned back in his chair, looking at him. "Thieves, robbers, gamblers in debt, knights who lost their lands, and... men like me. Of course, there are some noble sons who go for honor." Lynn added, "But very few."
Jon fell silent. Lynn's words were completely different from what he had imagined. In his imagination, the Wall was a place full of honor. There, one's birth no longer mattered. Everyone was a brother in Black (clothes), jointly defending against threats from beyond the Wall.
"At the Wall, does a person's birth truly not matter?" Jon's voice was low, with a trace of uncertainty. "Can a bastard... also gain respect?"
Lynn looked at him. He looked at this future Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He looked at the confusion and vulnerability on his face, unsuited for his age.
"At the Wall, people only care about your skill with a sword, and whether you dare to stand at the front when the Wildlings charge." Lynn's voice was calm. "Whether your name is Snow or Stark, no one cares. They only care if you are reliable."
Jon's eyes slowly lit up. It was a light like finding a home.
"But." Lynn's tone shifted. "It is not a hero's resting place, Jon. Once you put on the Black (clothes), you must give up family, lands, never marry, and have no children. Your entire life will be dedicated to that cold wall. Until you die."
Silence fell in the room. Only the wind outside the window whistled. The light in Jon's eyes dimmed again, little by little. He wanted to escape Winterfell, to escape Lady Catelyn's cold gaze. But he had never thought the price would be so heavy.
"I understand." After a long time, Jon whispered. "Thank you, Lynn."
He turned, preparing to leave.
"Jon." Lynn called out to him. "Your father loves you very much."
Jon's footsteps paused.
"It's just that sometimes, love cannot solve all problems." Lynn looked at him, enunciating each word. "What kind of person you become, in the end, is still your own choice."
Jon did not turn back. He just stood at the doorway, his figure stretched long in the dim light. Then, he pushed the door open and walked out.