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"It... it really is a Direwolf."
The whisper rippled through the soldiers, carrying a weight of disbelief.
A Direwolf. The living sigil of House Stark. A beast of legend that hadn't breathed southern air in two hundred years.
And yet, here it was. Dead in the snow. Just as the deserter had predicted.
Theon Greyjoy broke the stunned silence with a sharp whistle. He vaulted off his horse, his boots crunching in the blood-stained snow.
"Massive thing," he sneered, kicking the stiff carcass. "It's a freak of nature."
"It's not a freak."
Jon Snow's voice was quiet but firm. He knelt beside the beast. "She's a mother. Look."
He pulled back the matted, frozen fur near her belly.
There, huddling against the cooling corpse of their mother, were five small, whimpering shapes. Blind, helpless, and shivering.
Bran's eyes widened. He scrambled off his pony, almost tripping in his haste.
"Father! Look!"
He scooped one up. The pup was no bigger than a kitten, its fur pitch black, its nose wet and searching for warmth.
"Put them out of their misery," Theon said, his hand drifting to his dagger. "They won't survive without the mother."
Eddard Stark looked down, his face a mask of conflict.
"Born in death..." He murmured, the omen weighing heavy on his heart. "Theon is right. It would be a mercy."
"No!" Bran cried, clutching the pup to his chest.
"Father, please," Robb stepped forward, his voice desperate.
"A Direwolf dead in the snow..."
A voice, calm and chilling, cut through the emotional scene like a blade.
Everyone froze. They turned to the back of the column.
Lynn stood there. His face was ghostly pale from the cold, and iron shackles weighed down his wrists. But his back was straight, and his eyes burned with an unnatural intensity.
Ned Stark turned slowly, his grey eyes locking onto the prisoner.
"You have something to say, deserter?"
Lynn didn't flinch. He walked forward, the chains rattling with every step, until he faced the Warden of the North.
"My Lord," Lynn said, his voice carrying over the wind. "The wolf is your sigil. She died with a stag's antler in her throat."
"But look closer."
Lynn nodded toward the carcass.
"Look at her flank. Those tears in the flesh."
"Those aren't from a stag. And they aren't from a wolf."
"Those are claw marks. Mountain Lion claws."
Silence slammed down on the group.
Theon's smirk vanished. "You're mad. There are no mountain lions in the North! They only live in the Westerlands!"
The Westerlands. The home of House Lannister.
The Lion.
The implication hung in the air, toxic and heavy.
A Wolf (Stark). Killed by a Stag (Baratheon). Torn by a Lion (Lannister).
It wasn't just a dead animal anymore. It was a prophecy written in blood.
Ned Stark's face hardened into stone. He understood. He understood perfectly.
"There are six pups," Lynn continued, ignoring Theon.
"Four males. Two females."
"They correspond exactly to your children, Lord Stark."
"Five!" Theon snapped, pointing at the ground. "Can you not count, peasant? There are only fiveā"
"Six."
Lynn interrupted him, his voice dropping an octave. "Just as Lord Stark has six children. Or have you forgotten the blood of Winterfell?"
He looked at Jon Snow.
The wind howled, whipping snow into their faces.
"What are you trying to say?" Ned asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Winter is Coming," Lynn said.
The Stark words. Spoken by a stranger in chains.
"This isn't a gift, My Lord. It is a warning from the Old Gods."
"The things beyond the Wall have woken. The long summer is ending."
"These pups... they are guardians. Do not kill them. They are meant for your children."
Lynn lowered his head, stepping back into the role of the submissive prisoner. He had planted the seed. Any more, and he would be executed for witchcraft.
Ned Stark stared at the dead wolf. Then at the lion's claw marks. Then at the stag's antler.
He looked at Bran, whose eyes were filled with tears.
Finally, the Lord of Winterfell sighed, a sound of bone-deep weariness.
"Unchain him."
The guards hesitated, then unlocked Lynn's shackles.
"You will train them yourselves," Ned told his children, his voice stern but resigned. "You will feed them. And if they die, you will bury them. You will not ask the servants to do it for you."
Relief and joy exploded on the boys' faces.
"There is another one!"
Jon Snow's voice rang out from the edge of the clearing.
He reached into a snowdrift and pulled out a small, white shape. An albino. With eyes as red as the weirwood trees.
"The runt of the litter," Theon scoffed. "Driven away by the others."
"That one belongs to you, Jon," Robb said, smiling.
Ned looked at the white wolf in Jon's arms.
Six.
Just as the deserter said.
Ned looked back at Lynn. The suspicion in his eyes hadn't vanishedāit had deepened. But now, it was mixed with fear.
Fear of what else this man knew.
Back at Winterfell, there was no gallows for Lynn.
Instead, he was thrown into a cell at the base of the Broken Tower.
It was small. It had a hard bed, a rough table, and a narrow slit for a window. But Winterfell was built over hot springs. The walls radiated a faint, consistent warmth.
Compared to the frozen hell beyond the Wall, this was a five-star hotel.
A guard shoved a tray through the slot. Black bread, roasted meat, and a bowl of steaming broth.
Lynn devoured it like a starving wolf. As the hot soup hit his stomach, his shivering finally stopped.
He walked to the polished bronze mirror in the corner.
The face staring back was his own. Handsome, sharp-featured, not the ugly mug of the original deserter.
System perks, he thought. A seamless integration. I am Lynn now.
He looked out the window. The castle courtyard was bustling. Servants, soldiers, nobles. The heart of the North was beating steadily.
But Lynn knew the truth. The King was coming. The Lions were coming. The storm was already here.
He had saved his head today. But for how long?
He sat on the bed and summoned the interface.
[Slaughter System]
Host: Lynn
EXP: 0 / 100
The number glared at him. Zero.
To survive the Game of Thrones, he needed power. To get power, he needed EXP. To get EXP, he needed to kill.
He looked around his warm, comfortable cell.
"I'm safe," Lynn whispered to the empty room. "But I'm trapped."
"And a trapped man can't hunt."
His fingers drummed rhythmically on the stone table.
He needed to find a way to kill. And he needed to do it before the King arrived.
Lynn's eyes narrowed, his gaze drifting toward the dark corners of the cell.
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