Days passed.
Winterfell was like a beehive that had been poked, completely boiling over.
The King's party had already reached the White Knife!
This news made everyone in the Castle quicken their steps.
The blacksmith's forge burned day and night, and the clanging hammers almost drowned out the sounds of training in the Courtyard.
In the kitchen, the fat cook Gage yelled orders.
He was directing his helpers to move barrels of ale into the cellar.
The aroma of roasted meat mixed with the scent of freshly baked bread, drifting far into the cold air.
Lynn sat on the low wall leading to the Godswood.
He no longer needed to be guarded by guardsmen.
That bloody battle, and the prophecy that had already come true, had earned him this limited freedom.
Lynn was a Night's Watchman, but Eddard, seeing Lynn's usefulness, temporarily kept him in Winterfell.
Lynn would eventually be sent back to the Wall.
Lynn's wounds had already scabbed over under Maester Luwin's care.
The new skin at the edges of the wound itched slightly, bringing a tangible sense of life returning.
Lynn just watched quietly.
He watched Robb and Theon, under the guidance of Ser Rodrik Cassel, engage in sparring that was more rigorous than ever before.
Wooden swords clashed, dull and powerful.
He watched Sansa Stark, accompanied by her mother Catelyn, selecting fabrics for the banquet.
Sansa's face held the longing of a young girl for the splendor of the South.
He watched Jon Snow.
He was still in that secluded corner, alone, swinging his practice sword over and over again.
Sweat soaked the black hair on his forehead, but he paid it no mind.
It was as if he was channeling all his energy into these silent slashes.
Everyone was busy.
Busy preparing for a grand glory.
Only Lynn knew they were busy preparing for a storm that would sweep across the Seven Kingdoms.
Light footsteps approached from behind.
Lynn didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
These past few days, Arya had been clinging to him.
"They're all so stupid."
Arya's voice held a hint of disdain.
She imitated Lynn, climbing onto the low wall and sitting beside him.
Her legs dangled, swinging back and forth against the wall.
"Sansa only thinks about her prince, and Theon only wants to show off his strength to the King."
"Mother wants me to learn embroidery. She says those ladies from the South will be watching me."
Arya mimicked Lady Catelyn's tone, her voice high-pitched and somewhat comical.
But there was no trace of a smile on Arya's face.
"I don't want them to watch me embroider."
"I don't want to embroider."
Lynn turned his head and looked at her.
The little girl's face was filled with a stubbornness that belied her age.
"Then you should practice your sword," Lynn said.
Lynn had a good impression of this Arya.
"Ser Rodrik won't teach me. He says swords are for boys."
Arya's voice dropped, full of grievance.
"Father said that after winter ends, Bran and Rickon will start learning too."
"But not me."
Lynn said nothing, merely pulling a thin twig from his cloak.
With his finger, he drew a crooked figure on the dusty wall.
"Let me tell you a story."
Lynn's voice was soft.
"In a distant land to the East, even further than Essos, there was a girl."
"Her country was invaded by enemies, and her father was old and frail, unable to go to war."
"So, she cut her long hair, put on her father's armor, and took his place in the army."
...
Arya's eyes grew brighter as she listened.
She stopped swinging her legs, listening intently.
Only when Lynn finished did she eagerly ask,
"Didn't anyone find out she was a girl?"
"They did."
Lynn smiled.
"But by then, she had already achieved great military feats through her wisdom and bravery."
"She became a hero admired by all the soldiers."
"Finally, she defeated the enemy and saved her country."
Lynn used the twig to draw a crown on the head of the little figure.
"What was her name?"
Arya pressed, her eyes sparkling like stars.
"Mulan."
Lynn softly spoke the name.
"Mulan..."
Arya chewed on the unfamiliar pronunciation.
This story was unlike the knight legends Ser Rodrik told.
Nor was it like the boring ancient myths about the Children of the Forest from the old wet nurse.
This story had no Magic, no dragons.
Only a girl and her sword.
Yet it stirred her heart more than any other story.
"Do you know many more stories like that?"
Arya looked up at Lynn.
Her grey eyes reflected Lynn's calm face.
"Many."
"Joan of Arc, Nightingale, Mu Guiying, Fu Hao... they were all top-notch heroes."
"Then will you tell them all to me from now on, please?"
"Alright."
Lynn nodded.
The clamor in the Courtyard seemed to fade away from them.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds, falling on them both, bringing a touch of warmth.
Arya was silent for a long time.
She looked at Lynn.
She looked at his always calm eyes, and at his faded black cloak.
He was different from everyone else in Winterfell.
Her father loved her, but wanted her to be a lady.
Her mother loved her, but wanted her to be elegant like Sansa.
Her brothers loved her, but saw her as a little sister who needed protection.
Only Lynn.
Only he would treat her as a warrior who could wield a sword.
Only he would tell her the story of Mulan.
He understood her.
"Lynn."
Arya's voice suddenly became very serious.
Lynn turned to look at her.
"When I grow up, I want to marry you."
There was no hint of a joke on the little girl's face.
The smile on Lynn's face slowly froze.
Did one story really manage to win over this little girl?
Actually, it wasn't Arya's lack of restraint, but rather that the story of Mulan had truly resonated with her.
After all, it was a classic story from another civilization; how could she resist it?
Lynn looked at Arya.
Arya was too young.
But he could wait for her to grow up.
He currently desperately needed a foundation, and marrying into House Stark would be the best option for now.
It was just a little difficult.
After all, Arya came from House Stark, which had ruled the entire North for thousands of years.
She was the bloodline of the Duke of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and the most favored little princess.
He was a newcomer, with no background or influence, an unknown nobody, a Night's Watch deserter, a prisoner who had only managed to secure temporary peace through a prophecy.
Marry him?
It didn't seem like a good match at all.
However, Lynn was not afraid.
For a Transmigrator, crossing class boundaries was not a difficult feat at all.
"Alright."
Lynn reached out and, as usual, ruffled Arya's slightly messy hair.
A smile reappeared on Lynn's face.
"But you're still young. Let's talk about it when you're older."