On the road back to Winterfell, Eddard Stark slowed the pace of the party.
Perhaps he wanted his children's laughter to cut through the tension that still lingered in him—or perhaps he simply needed time to think.
They camped beneath the tall pines, the gray sky pressing low. When the castle finally came into view days later, a raven was already waiting.
It carried a letter sealed with black wax and the image of a bear.
It was from Lord Commander Jeor Mormont of the Night's Watch.
The letter opened with an apology for Ser Alliser Thorne's "overzealous judgment." But what followed made Eddard's blood run cold.
The scene beyond the Wall was an open grave—bodies scattered, weapons frozen mid-swing. Animals had refused to touch the corpses, even after many days. Among the dead were rangers gone missing months ago, their wounds fresh.
The message was clear. The dead had walked.
Lynn Auger had told the truth.
Inside Winterfell's north tower, a lone fire crackled. Lynn sat beside it, hands outstretched over the flames. He could already hear boots approaching through the corridors.
Then Lord Eddard Stark entered, his expression unreadable.
"You," Ned said quietly, "are not what you seem. Tell me the truth, Lynn Auger—what do you really know about the White Walkers?"
For a moment, Lynn saw genuine fear behind the man's composure—a kind of fear only a northerner would understand.
"I told you," Lynn replied evenly. "I'm just a wanderer. The Old Gods show me what they will, but not everything. All I know is this—your Wall won't hold forever, and your men aren't enough to stop what's coming."
Ned said nothing. He thought of the letter, of the corpses the ravens had described, of the prophecy.
"The direwolf," Ned murmured. "The bloodied antler… six cubs born from death. What you said would happen—has happened. I can no longer treat you as a prisoner."
He stepped closer. The Valyrian steel of Ice hung at his side, cold and heavy, glimmering faintly in the torchlight.
"I will not pry into your past," he said. "Whether you are a mystic, a madman, or something more than human—it doesn't matter now. The North faces a threat older than any House or crown."
He paused, then squared his shoulders.
"So here is my offer, and your only choice. I will pardon every accusation against you. You will have food, shelter, and freedom under my protection. In return, you will stay in Winterfell and lend me your knowledge—the kind that can help us fight this darkness. You will advise me when war comes."
He locked eyes with Lynn. "But remember this: our trust is fragile. Betray it—and I will see to your punishment myself."
His hand rested lightly on Ice's hilt.
"Well?"
Lynn gave a small, steady nod. "I understand, Lord Stark. Trust must be earned. Consider this my first step."
Ned's face softened. "So be it." He turned to Jory Cassel.
"Unbind him. From this moment, Lynn Auger will stay in Winterfell under my house's protection—as my appointed counselor in matters beyond the Wall."
Days later, Winterfell was alive with noise again.
Servants bustled through the halls. The children's laughter echoed off the stone.
Only Lord Stark was missing from the banquet that night.
In the godswood, beneath the pale, silent weirwood, Eddard sat beside the heart tree, cleaning the great sword Ice. The red sap looked almost like blood glistening under its carved face.
Whenever trouble weighed on him, he came here.
Usually, a few minutes beneath the tree stilled his mind. Tonight, two hours had passed, and his heart was still restless.
A soft voice broke the quiet.
"Ned?"
He turned slightly. "Catelyn? Are the children asleep?"
She approached, laying her cloak beside him and sitting close. "Not asleep—arguing, more like. They're still fighting over what to name their wolves! Arya and Sansa are hopelessly stubborn, and even little Rickon wants a say."
Ned managed a faint smile. "He's not afraid of them?"
"A little," Catelyn admitted, smiling gently. "He's only three, after all."
"He won't stay three forever," Ned said. His voice darkened. "He must learn to face fear. Winter is coming, Catelyn. Sooner than we think."
She touched his arm. "Our ancestors faced the same terror once before. They drove it back with fire and blood. We can do so again."
Ned looked at her, eyes weary. "That was in another age. Men and the Children of the Forest fought together then. Now the South feasts and squabbles while the Wall falls into ruin. If I send word to King Robert, he'll think I'm begging for gold again."
Catelyn hesitated. Then she said softly, "What about the one called Lynn? The rangers said it was he who killed the creature beyond the Wall. Perhaps you should speak with him. The children seem to like him—well… most of them. Theon seems less amused."
At that, Ned finally smiled.
In the castle kitchen, warmth and laughter filled the air.
Lynn stood at the hearth, ladle in hand, surrounded by hungry little wolves.
He'd cooked meals in rougher places—but none so crowded.
"Is there anything you can't do?" Robb said around a mouthful of stew. "If you weren't carrying a sword, I'd think you were our new cook."
Lynn grinned faintly. "Cooking is just another kind of battle—except people survive to thank you afterward."
It had started simple—a pot of vegetable stew—but when Bran and Arya got curious, it became a feast. Before long, everyone was eating, laughing, and making a mess of their bread.
When the door swung open, even Eddard Stark had to pause.
He hadn't heard that sound—his children's carefree laughter—in weeks.
"Looks like you've eaten well," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Father!" Bran called. "Look! Ser Lynn made breakfast for dinner!"
Lynn bowed slightly. "Something to restore everyone's strength, my lord."
Eddard stepped into the room. "It seems my 'advisor' has other useful talents."
Catelyn entered behind him, shaking her head and smiling.
Soon enough, even the Lord and Lady of Winterfell joined the table.
By the night's end, the great pot was empty, the fire burned low, and—for one rare evening—Winterfell felt warm again.