"Lord Protector?" Lynd, seated in the mourning hall, let out a soft chuckle when he heard Varys announce the new royal decree.
"That little fellow didn't ask me to come and pay my respects?"
Varys smiled. "His Grace was so shaken by your presence, he couldn't think straight. The meeting ended in a rush."
Lynd took the decree, glanced over it, then tossed it aside as casually as if it were scrap paper. With a hint of curiosity, he asked, "Who told Cersei to break off the marriage alliance with Highgarden? Has she lost her mind? Turning Highgarden into an enemy now? Does she think she doesn't have enough of those already?"
Varys didn't respond. He simply looked at Lynd in silence.
"Me?" Lynd quickly caught on to what Varys was implying, his face full of surprise. "You think it was me?"
In a low voice, Varys said, "Do you remember mentioning that witch's prophecy to Queen Cersei?"
Lynd paused, then suddenly realized, "She thinks Margaery Tyrell is the woman from the prophecy?"
"I don't know the specifics of what you told her," Varys said with a nod. "I only know that last night, Queen Cersei kept repeating words like 'prophecy' and 'woman' in her chambers."
Lynd let out a bitter laugh. He hadn't expected that a casual remark would stir up Cersei's deepest fears.
"I'm going to the dungeon tonight to see Eddard Stark," Lynd said, his voice low.
Varys hesitated. "Are you planning to rescue Lord Eddard?"
Lynd shook his head. "I just want to see him one last time. Hear his final words." Then, as if remembering something, he added, "How are Lord Eddard's daughters?"
Varys answered solemnly, "Lady Sansa is currently in the Red Keep. She's Cersei's most important hostage. As for Lady Arya, she went missing the day everything happened—no one knows where she went. But one of my little birds claimed to have seen a girl about Arya's age from the countryside in Flea Bottom. Do you want me to send someone to look for her?"
"No. She has her own destiny." Lynd shook his head, remembering the scene Willas had described, of the Many-Faced God appearing in Winterfell.
...
In the dungeon, Eddard Stark, the former Regent of the Realm and Warden of the North, lay on a pile of foul-smelling straw reeking of urine. There were no windows around—no way to tell what time it was. No torches lit the cell, making it impossible to see anything. He was like a man blind.
But in this pitch-black silence, where nothing could be seen or heard, his senses were heightened several times over. He could hear the drip of water falling outside the cell, the faint sound of insects crawling across the straw, and the weak thudding of his own heartbeat.
With that heightened perception came intensified pain. The agony radiating from his injured leg was like nothing he'd ever experienced. Even though he'd always considered himself strong, unafraid of pain, this was unbearable—so much so that he couldn't stop himself from groaning.
Sweat from the pain, combined with severe dehydration, had left him in a weakened, dazed state. His mind wandered. He felt as though he were back at the Eyrie, where he'd spent his youth—back to those carefree days with Robert.
Just as Eddard began slipping into unconsciousness, heavy footsteps echoed from outside the cell. Then came the flickering glow of firelight through the bars, growing steadily brighter.
Moments later, two blurry figures appeared at the cell door. He heard the sound of a key turning, then the door creaked open.
Someone stepped inside, helped him sit up from the filthy ground, and brought a flask to his lips. He could smell the alcohol.
His dry throat tightened, and in a hoarse, rasping voice, he asked, "Are you here to poison me? Like you did to Robert and Jon?"
"Forgive me, Lord Eddard, but I'm afraid I can't fulfill that wish," came Varys's voice. "Neither the king nor the Hand was poisoned by me."
Eddard, to his surprise, found that voice—one he had always found repulsive—oddly comforting now.
Varys lifted the flask and slowly poured the liquid into Eddard's mouth. At first, Eddard resisted, but as the cold wine soothed his parched throat, the relief was overwhelming. He began to drink eagerly, draining the entire flask. Gradually, he came back to himself, emerging from the haze, and looked past Varys at the other person standing behind him.
"Lord Lynd?" Eddard exclaimed as he finally recognized the man.
"I'll wait outside," Varys said, rising to his feet and stepping out of the cell.
Eddard pushed himself up and leaned against the wall, gathering what little strength he had. With a weary smile, he said, "I never thought we'd meet like this. I must look pitiful." Then, more formally, he addressed Lynd, "Lord Lynd, my life means little, but the kingdom's rightful succession must not be defiled. I hope you can act on behalf of King Robert..."
"Hold on, Lord Eddard, just a moment," Lynd interrupted, crouching down to meet Eddard's gaze. "There are a few things I need to ask you first."
"Please," Eddard replied, his tone grave.
Lynd's expression turned serious. "In King Robert's will, who was named as the heir to the throne?"
Eddard hesitated. "Joffrey," he said. Then quickly added, "But that's only because Robert didn't know Joffrey was the bastard born of the Kingslayer and Queen Cersei's incest. He's not a Baratheon by blood."
"And what makes you so sure Joffrey isn't Robert's son?" Lynd asked.
"Because of his eyes and hair," Eddard replied. "I've looked into all the Baratheon children born from unions with other houses—they all, without exception, had black hair and blue eyes."
"So you're judging a man's bloodline based solely on hair and eye color." Lynd stared at him. "Bloodlines are far more complex than you imagine. Appearances alone are not enough. Only through the blood itself can a true lineage be confirmed."
"That's impossible. I can't be wrong," Eddard said, a flicker of doubt passing across his face before he reaffirmed his conviction.
Lynd pressed on. "Even if you're right—why didn't you tell King Robert?"
Eddard replied, "I couldn't. Knowing Robert's temper, he would've killed those children. But they're innocent. They don't deserve to pay for their parents' sins."
Lynd shook his head. "If that's how you felt, then why not tell Robert the truth before he died? If he'd known, he could've changed his will. And with his dying breath, I doubt he'd have harmed those children. So why stay silent?"
Eddard's face clouded with sorrow. "I didn't want Robert to die with that burden."
"How amusing, Lord Eddard. Truly amusing," Lynd said, watching him closely with a faint smile. "All your intentions were noble, even kind. But when you look at what actually happened, it seems your current situation is entirely your own doing."
Eddard glared at him, anger flashing in his eyes, ready to demand why he was being mocked.
"You don't have to look at me like that. I'm only speaking the truth," Lynd said, rising to his feet and towering over him. "You deceived a friend. You kept from him something of great importance, letting him die with regret. You violated a king's final will—a friend's last wish—and took it upon yourself to alter the named heir. You desecrated the laws of the realm, appointing a successor according to your own judgment. And you still believe you did nothing wrong, that you were entirely right?"
Eddard sat there, motionless, as if his soul had been stripped away.
Lynd looked at Eddard with a hint of pity and asked, "Lord Eddard, when you made those choices, did you ever think about the consequences they might bring?"
"I…" Eddard was at a complete loss, staring blankly at Lynd, unable to respond.
"Then let me tell you what I see coming," Lynd said, his voice carrying a strange weight. "Your eldest son will be beheaded because of you. Your wife will have her throat slit. Your eldest daughter will suffer humiliation because of you. Your second daughter will be forced to flee, wandering endlessly. Your second son will be sent beyond the Wall and, in time, lose himself—becoming nothing more than a vessel for something else. And your youngest son—his fate is unknown. Perhaps by now he's already become a wildling's meal. Because of you, the people of the Seven Kingdoms will die in droves. Nine out of ten homes will be left empty. The Wall will lose its support when it's needed most—when the White Walkers come from the North. Do you still think it was all worth it?"
Eddard sat stunned, unable to speak for a long time. Just as Lynd turned to leave, Eddard suddenly called out, "Is this a prophecy? Is this your prophecy… Chosen One?"
Lynd stopped and glanced back at him. "It's not a prophecy," he said. "It's what's about to happen."
Eddard struggled to his feet, trying to reach out and grasp Lynd's cloak, pleading, "Please, Lord Lynd—save my daughter. I beg you, save my daughter."
Lynd looked at Eddard Stark, so broken and desperate, and let out a quiet sigh. He nodded.
"You have two daughters. I can only save one. Choose."
There was no doubt that Lynd had given Lord Eddard a cruel and impossible choice. Eddard fell into a long silence, then, with deep guilt in his voice, finally said, "Please… save my eldest daughter, Sansa. She's too gentle. She can't survive on her own."
"Very well. I'll save your daughter, Sansa," Lynd said with a nod, then turned and walked out of the cell. Varys, who had been waiting just outside, closed the door behind him.
Varys picked up the torch and led the way forward.
"Where is Sansa now?" Lynd asked, his voice low.
"She should be locked in a room in the Tower of the Hand," Varys replied.
"Once I'm out of here, you can leave," Lynd instructed.
"Yes, my lord."
The two walked along a corridor, passing through a row of cells. As they moved past one of them, Lynd suddenly stopped and peered inside.
"Jaqen?" he asked.
Varys also came to a stop.
From the shadows at the back of the cell, Jaqen stepped forward. He looked at Lynd and said, "A man should not be here."
"What are you doing here?" Lynd asked, though he already knew what Jaqen would become.
"Waiting for someone," Jaqen replied.
"Tyrion? Or Arya?" Lynd guessed.
Jaqen paused and turned to look at Lynd. "A man knows of the master's revelation?"
"Take care of her," Lynd said simply, ignoring the question.
Jaqen smiled. "Rest assured. A man will watch over her well."
Lynd didn't linger. He signaled for Varys to continue. After passing through a series of secret passageways, they emerged into a small courtyard just outside the Red Keep—not far from its main gate.
Lynd made his way toward the entrance and soon arrived at the gate. The younger Gold Cloaks on duty didn't recognize him. They looked confused and prepared to stop him. But an older veteran among them suddenly recognized Lynd. He quickly grabbed his companion and stepped forward cautiously.
"Lord Lynd… you've come to the castle so late—"
"I'm here to take Sansa Stark," Lynd said bluntly. "Do you want me to kill my way in, or will you open the gate?"
The old Gold Cloak made his decision immediately. "Of course we can't stop you, my lord. But… to avoid being blamed afterward, we'd be grateful if you'd knock us out."
"Do it yourselves. I'm not lifting a hand," Lynd said, shaking his head, then gestured for them to open the gate and stepped inside.
The dozen or so Gold Cloaks on guard exchanged glances. Without a word, each of them lay down where they stood, finding comfortable positions and pretending to be unconscious.
Lynd knew the Red Keep well. He headed straight for the Tower of the Hand. Along the way, he encountered several servants and patrolling Gold Cloaks. Once he was recognized, no one dared to stop him. The Gold Cloaks bowed respectfully and only ran off to inform the Queen Mother and the king after he had passed.
Before long, Lynd reached the room where Sansa was being held. Two Kingsguard stood watch outside the door. Their expressions changed immediately when they saw him.
"I'm here to take Sansa," Lynd said, eyes on them. "Are you going to try to stop me?"
The two looked at each other, then turned around and faced the wall.
Lynd stepped to the door, unlatched it, and pushed it open.
Inside, Sansa was lying on the bed, another girl beside her. Both of them were startled awake by the sound of the door and sat up, eyes wide in fear as they stared at Lynd.
"Lady Sansa," Lynd said in a firm voice, "your father asked me to get you out of here. Come with me. Now."
Sansa recognized him. Joy lit up her face as she stood and stepped toward him.
"My lord, please take me with you too," the other girl pleaded.
Sansa added quickly, "This is Jeyne Poole, my friend and handmaid. Please, my lord—take her with us."
Lynd nodded. "We're all going together."