In Maester Luwin's room, the scent of herbs and old parchment mingled, filling Lynn's nostrils.
Lynn lay bare-chested on the hard wooden bed.
He could clearly feel the cool sensation of the salve being applied to his wound, pushing back the burning pain of torn flesh.
"Your body has a good foundation."
Maester Luwin's voice was flat, betraying no emotion.
"The injury is less severe than I expected."
He skillfully re-bandaged Lynn with clean linen, his movements as practiced as if he were handling a fine piece of parchment.
"Who taught you your swordsmanship?"
The maester asked, seemingly casually.
"Alliser Thorne, an instructor from the Night's Watch."
Lynn's face was buried in the pillow, his voice a little muffled.
"He only teaches how to stab a sword into someone's body fastest, nothing else."
This answer made Maester Luwin's hands pause.
His gray eyes swept over the crisscrossing old scars on Lynn's body.
Those were not injuries one would sustain while fleeing.
They were badges of honor earned through countless life-or-death struggles against Wildlings on The Wall.
A cowardly deserter would not bear such marks.
"Rest well."
Maester Luwin asked no more questions, packed his medicine box, and turned to leave.
"My Lord (Duke) ordered that you can stay here until your wounds heal."
The door closed softly, not locked.
Lynn knew this was a signal from Eddard Stark.
He was no longer a prisoner.
Instead, he was a special subject to be observed.
Lynn let out a long breath. There was nothing to think about now.
He just needed to recover from his injuries.
Then, wait.
Wait for the Raven from King's Landing to stamp the final seal on all his 'prophecies'.
The next day, Lynn was allowed to move freely within the Castle, always followed by two guards who kept a discreet distance.
It was less protection and more surveillance.
He didn't go to the Courtyard, where Robb and Theon were practicing sword fighting, the clanging sounds irritating him somewhat.
He simply found a quiet corner, leaned against the cold stone wall, and basked in the North's sparse sunlight.
He closed his eyes, replaying the fight with the bandits from the previous night over and over in his mind.
Every angle of his sword swing, every timing of his dodge, every tactile sensation of blood splattering.
These experiences, bought with his life, were the foundation of his survival.
A soft, deliberately light patter of footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
Lynn opened his eyes.
A small figure stood before him, blocking the precious sunlight.
It was Arya Stark.
The Lord of Winterfell's youngest daughter.
She stood with her hands behind her back, wearing a dusty boy's tunic, her hair messy like a bird's nest, and mud splattered on her face. Yet, her gray Stark eyes shone astonishingly bright.
She looked completely different from her portrayal in the show. Even though she was small, the spirit in her eyes gave her an untamed beauty.
"They say you're a good fighter."
Arya's voice was clear and crisp, with the directness characteristic of Northerners.
Lynn said nothing, just watched her.
Arya took another step forward, her small fists clenched tightly.
"The Night's Watch's swordsmanship is completely different from what Ser Rodrik Cassel teaches."
"Ser Rodrik Cassel says swordsmanship should be elegant, like dancing."
She pouted, clearly disagreeing.
"But your sword isn't like that."
"Your sword is fast, very direct."
She seemed to be searching for a word to describe it.
Lynn's lips curled into an uncontrollable smile.
This little girl was a born she-wolf.
"You want to learn?"
Arya's eyes instantly lit up, like two flames igniting in the dark.
She nodded vigorously, her expression incredibly serious.
"Teach me."
The little girl's voice held a hint of barely perceptible pleading.
"Please."
Lynn looked at her, at her eyes full of longing.
An opportunity to forge a deeper connection with House Stark had presented itself.
And, it was Eddard Stark's most beloved youngest daughter.
"Alright, I can teach you."
Lynn slowly stood up, stretching his still somewhat stiff shoulders.
"However, it's a trade."
"You have to teach me something too."
Arya paused, clearly not expecting such a request.
She tilted her head, thinking, "But I don't know anything."
"You do."
Lynn smiled.
"For example, what secret passages are there in the Castle that others don't know about?"
"Which kitchen steward secretly hides ale?"
"How can I sneak into the Godswood without being discovered?"
Arya's mouth slowly formed an 'O' shape.
She hadn't expected that these 'mischiefs' she usually got up to could also be used as tuition.
"I agree!"
She didn't hesitate, immediately agreeing.
"It's a deal."
"But not now, wait until my injuries heal."
"And, no one can ever know about this."
"Come on!"
Arya extended a dirty little fist.
Lynn paused.
He then extended his own fist, lightly bumping it against her small one.
A simple pact had been made.
Just then, an urgent peal of bells rang out over the Castle.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
The sound from the Maester's Tower was heavy and distant.
A Raven had arrived.
The smile instantly vanished from Lynn's face.
He looked up at the towering gray structure.
What was coming, had finally arrived.
Arya also heard the bells. She glanced at the tower in confusion, but quickly turned her attention back to Lynn.
"It's settled! I'll come find you tonight!"
Arya said, then skipped away like a happy fawn.
Lynn didn't move.
He simply stood still, sensing the changes unfolding within the Castle.
The guards' footsteps grew hurried, and the servants' whispers became much softer.
An invisible tension rapidly permeated the air.
The calm before the storm.
...
In the main keep's study.
Flames roared in the fireplace, crackling loudly.
But the atmosphere in the room was colder than the snow outside.
Eddard Stark stood by the window, looking at the gray sky outside.
In his hand, he held a small piece of parchment.
The edge of the paper still bore traces of the Raven's wax seal.
Catelyn Tully, his wife, stood behind him.
Her face was filled with undisguised worry and sorrow.
"Jon... he's dead."
Catelyn's voice trembled slightly.
Her sister, Lysa Arryn, was now a widow.
The relationship between the two families was somewhat complicated.
Lysa Arryn was old Arryn's wife in his later years, and Lysa was Catelyn's sister, while Eddard was Arryn's foster son.
Eddard didn't turn around.
He remained silent, like a stone statue.
"The letter says it was a sudden illness, a fever."
Catelyn continued, wringing her sleeves tightly.
"But the other letter Lysa secretly sent says..."
Catelyn paused, seemingly afraid to utter that terrible word.
"...it was murder."
"House Lannister did it."
The study fell into a deathly silence.
Only the firewood in the fireplace emitted its final mournful crackle.
Eddard slowly turned around.
His face was devoid of expression, but turbulent waves surged in his gray eyes.
Lynn's words echoed wildly in his mind, like a curse.
"The Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn."
"He's dead."
"He will be murdered."
Word for word.
The prophecy had become reality.
"King Robert... is on his way North."
Catelyn's voice was filled with unease.
"He's coming to Winterfell."
"He wants you to go South, to replace Jon, and become the new Hand of the King."
Eddard closed his eyes.
"And this is the beginning of all tragedy."
Lynn's words rang in his ears.
This sent a chill to Eddard's bones.
The coldness rose from his feet, instantly spreading throughout his limbs.
It was colder than the North's most biting wind.
++++++++++++++++++++
This is a fan translation. My original fanfic is: Marvel: Rise of the Shinobi God. My fanfic follows a slower pace at the beginning and will focus heavily on developing the abilities and forces of the mc, interactions, and other characters etc. I want to write something more believable and realistic despite it being fanfiction. I consider my writing weak and still in development, so please be patient with me if you want to give it a chance. Thank you.