GOT: I Plunder Skills — Chapter 394 - Ned Steps Down
Daenerys wore a smile that didn't fit her face. She felt like a fool.
A fool who had crossed an ocean from distant Essos, rushed all the way to Westeros, burning with purpose and ready to claim what was hers.
She had practiced her smile the entire voyage. Prepared countless speeches. Imagined every possible confrontation with that "one and only" rival who stood between her and the man she,
She had never imagined this.
One rival?
No. One, two, three... she'd already lost count.
The women before her were varied in figure and form, each remarkable in her own way. Some carried the elegant bearing of Northern nobility. Others were wild-eyed and untamed. One had the dark, mysterious allure of a Red God priestess.
And then there was that one. The legendary golden-haired queen who had brought kingdoms to ruin.
Cersei Lannister.
Any one of these women was enough to make a man lose his mind. All of them together, looking at her with that mix of scrutiny and curiosity and quiet amusement,
Like she was a small animal that had wandered into the wrong den.
Wasn't this supposed to be... just an alliance?
This looked less like an alliance and more like he'd gathered every remarkable woman in all of Westeros.
Her body trembled slightly. Mist gathered in those violet eyes, grief and fury winding together until she couldn't tell them apart.
Lynn felt her go rigid beside him. His stomach dropped.
This is worse than I thought.
"Ahem."
He cleared his throat, trying to crack open the silence before it solidified completely.
But before he could say a word—
Daenerys drew a slow breath.
She released his sleeve. Stood up straight.
The grief and fury drained from her face in an instant, replaced by something immaculate: the dignity and bearing of a queen, assembled from nothing, worn like armor. She turned to face Myrcella and Arya at the front and gave them a smile so perfectly composed it could have been sculpted.
Not a trace of warmth in it.
The hairs on the back of Lynn's neck stood up.
He knew Daenerys. He knew her better than was probably good for him.
She was usually gentle. Accommodating, even. And the calmer she looked right now, the hotter the volcano burning beneath.
Sure enough.
A voice like ice water breathed against his ear, low enough that only he could hear it.
"Lynn."
She was still smiling. Her tone was honey-soft.
"We'll have a good talk tonight."
Lynn's scalp went cold.
---
On the far side of the room, Tyrion Lannister was tucked behind the crowd, watching the whole spectacle with the focused attention of a man witnessing history.
He shook his head slowly, his admiration for Lynn climbing to heights he hadn't known were possible.
Getting women with this many conflicting personalities, including some who genuinely despised each other, to occupy the same room without bloodshed? That wasn't something a mortal man could pull off.
He was just looking for a quiet corner to drink and observe from a safer distance when his gaze caught on something and stopped dead.
A figure he knew.
Cersei.
His sister.
The wine flagon hit the floor with a clang.
He rubbed his eyes hard, genuinely questioning whether the cheap wine in Slaver's Bay had finally caught up with him.
What in the seven hells was Cersei doing here?
And she looked... wrong. Not bad. Just wrong.
No elaborate queen's gowns. No layers of silk and gold. She was wearing plain Northern clothes, simple and unadorned.
And her face had changed. That sharp, cutting superiority he'd known his entire life was gone. In its place was a stillness he'd never seen on her before. Calm. Even tired.
Cersei saw him at the same moment.
Something complicated moved through her green eyes.
There had been a time when she'd wanted him dead. Not just dead , erased. The dwarf brother whose birth had cost their mother her life. She had carried that hatred the way other people carried breathing.
But that was before King's Landing humiliated her. Before her power crumbled to ash. Before Lynn had pulled her out of the wreckage of everything she'd built.
The hatred was still there, somewhere. But it had lost its weight. Standing in this cold, grey castle, she found herself looking at the brother she'd despised for a lifetime and thinking, with no small amount of discomfort, that he might be one of the only people here who counted as family.
"You—"
"You—"
They both started at once. Both stopped.
Tyrion bent down, picked up his flagon, and walked over.
"What are you doing here?" He studied her face. "I assumed you'd rather die in King's Landing than set foot in this frozen corner of the world."
Cersei looked at him. The corner of her mouth moved , not quite a smile.
"I assumed you'd die in some whore's bed."
The familiar venom. The familiar cadence.
Tyrion exhaled, and realized he was relieved.
Good. Still her.
"There's nothing left for me in King's Landing."
Cersei's gaze drifted past him, settling on the man at the center of the room, ringed by women. Her expression was unreadable.
"He brought me here."
Tyrion followed her look and nodded slowly.
Who else could have dragged Cersei Lannister to Winterfell? Only that particular monster.
"It seems we've both ended up on the same ship."
He tucked the flagon away.
Cersei said nothing. She stared at something far away, whatever it was visible only to her.
Two siblings who had spent a lifetime hating each other, standing side by side for the first time, in something that almost resembled peace.
---
That night, Winterfell's great hall blazed with torchlight.
Every person of consequence in the castle had gathered. They tore into meat and drained their cups, casting looks at the man in the seat of honor that mixed fascination with something closer to awe.
The stories of Lynn's deeds in Essos had swept through Winterfell like a storm. Tyrion had made sure of that.
Summoning blizzards. Commanding armies of the dead. Taking nearly a hundred thousand captives.
The tales were stranger than anything any wandering singer had ever conjured.
Lynn sat at the head of the table. On his left, Daenerys wore her perfect smile, the one that never touched her eyes. On his right, Myrcella and Sansa sat with the composed grace of women who knew exactly how to hold a room. The other women flanked him on both sides , a sight that had reduced most of the North's rougher men to slack-jawed silence.
After the third round of drinks, Ned Stark rose.
The hall went quiet.
Everyone turned. The Warden of the North. The Lord of Winterfell.
Ned's face carried a tiredness that sat strangely on a man of his bearing. He swept his gaze across the assembled faces, and when he spoke, his voice was level and clear.
"Winter is coming."
The words fell into complete silence.
"This winter may be longer and colder than any we have lived through. The night ahead is dark, and full of dangers we cannot face divided." He paused. "We need a stronger hand to lead us through it."
His gaze moved to Lynn and stayed there.
There was no uncertainty in his eyes. Only trust, and the quiet weight of a decision that had already been made.
He had wanted to do this for a long time.
"I, Eddard Stark, hereby declare."
He let the words land before he continued.
"From this day forward, the title of King in the North no longer belongs to House Stark."
The hall held its breath. Around the room, every jaw had gone slack.
Catelyn, seated beside him, showed no surprise. Ned had already told her. She had already made her peace with it.
Ned gave no acknowledgment to the shock rippling through the room. He turned and nodded to a servant waiting at the edge of the hall.
The servant stepped forward carrying a long wooden case.
Ned opened it himself.
Inside, resting on dark cloth, lay a massive greatsword. Ancient. Enormous. Utterly unmistakable.
Valyrian steel.
Ice.
The symbol of House Stark. The blade that had passed through generations of his blood.
"Lynn."
Ned lifted the sword with both hands and walked to stand before him. He held it out with the gravity of a man offering something that could not be taken back.
"This sword carries the will of the North."
"From this day forward — you are the King in the North."
"I, and all the North, will follow you into whatever darkness comes."
Lynn stood.
He looked at this man who had spent his entire life doing what was right, and he saw the weight of it in his eyes. Not relief. Not ambition. Just trust, given fully, with both hands.
He reached out and took the sword.
The blade was cold.
Lynn raised Ice above his head.
For one breath, the hall was absolutely silent.
Then they rose. Every man and woman in that room, rising together. Cups and weapons lifted high. And then the noise hit , a roar that shook the rafters, that crashed off the stone walls and rolled through the corridors of Winterfell like thunder.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!!"
The sound could have taken the roof off.
---
When the feast finally ended, Ned retreated to write letters , one for every major lord in the North, commanding their return to Winterfell to bend the knee. It was the last thing he could do for Lynn, and he would do it properly.
Lynn walked back to his chambers alone, the weight of the day settling into his bones with every step.
He already knew the night wasn't over.
He pushed open the door.
No candles. Only moonlight, pouring through the window in pale silver ribbons, softening every edge, making the room feel like something half-dreamed.
Daenerys was sitting on the edge of the bed.
She had changed out of her formal gown. A thin silk nightdress now, the moonlight catching the curve of her silhouette and letting go. She heard the door and looked up slowly.
The composure was gone. The queen's mask, worn so flawlessly all evening, had been set aside with her gown.
What remained in those violet eyes was something that ached to look at.
"So," she said quietly. "You finally came back."
➤ Next: The Good Student Who Wants a Reward