"Let him in."
A moment later, a tall, broad-shouldered man walked into the brightly lit hall.
He was around forty, with a weathered face that showed an unshakeable weariness and melancholy.
He wore a heavily worn chainmail, covered by a faded surcoat.
On his chest, a standing black bear was embroidered.
An exiled knight.
The man entered the hall, his gaze first falling upon Daenerys.
When he saw her distinctive silver hair and violet eyes, a complex emotion flickered in his grey eyes.
He had already heard from Illyrio.
Daenerys and Viserys had been taken away by a mysterious young man, who even possessed dragons. He had followed their trail and made numerous inquiries to find them here.
He knelt on one knee.
"Jorah Mormont, I pay my respects to you, my Queen."
Daenerys instinctively glanced at Lynn. Seeing that he didn't object, she then said softly,
"Please rise, Ser Mormont."
Jorah Mormont stood up, his gaze finally turning to Lynn, who was beside Daenerys.
This young man, was he the mysterious person with the three-headed dragon mentioned in Illyrio's letter?
He looked too young.
Jorah subtly scrutinized Lynn, trying to find some quality in him that matched the mythical beast.
However, the next second, his gaze completely froze.
He stared intently at the longsword at Lynn's waist.
The hilt was wrapped in black leather, but the ferocious wolf's head at the pommel was carved from pale weirwood tree.
Two red garnet eyes gleamed eerily in the candlelight.
A Valyria steel sword.
longclaw.
Boom—!
Jorah felt his mind go blank.
How could this be?
This sword... this ancestral sword belonging to House Mormont, passed down through generations, how could it appear here?
At the waist of this stranger?!
Years ago, when he fled the North in disgrace for illegally selling poachers into slavery, he left this sword on Bear Island, feeling unworthy to wield it.
Later, his father sent it to The Wall, hoping it would forever protect the North.
It should be on The Wall!
In his father's hands!
"This sword..."
Jorah extended a slightly trembling finger, pointing at longclaw at Lynn's waist.
"Where... where did you get it?"
Lynn did not answer immediately.
He simply looked calmly at the man before him, at the complex expression on his face, a mix of shock, shame, and pain.
"A gift."
Lynn finally spoke.
"From the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Jorah's body swayed violently, as if all his strength had been drained, and he stumbled back a step.
Lord Commander... Father... Father actually gave the ancestral sword to an outsider?
Why?
A huge panic and bitterness of being abandoned and replaced instantly overwhelmed him.
"Who exactly are you?"
Jorah looked up, his grey eyes bloodshot.
"Jorah Mormont, heir to Bear Island, the only son of 'Old Bear' Jeor Mormont."
Lynn didn't answer his question, but instead revealed his identity in one sentence.
"For a vain woman, you didn't hesitate to sell poachers to the Tyroshi as slaves, breaking the law."
"A fugitive, abandoned by his own father, hunted by Ned Stark, and who fled in haste to Essos."
Every word from Lynn harshly pierced Jorah Mormont's deepest wounds.
His deliberately forgotten disgraces from those years were brutally exposed under the lamplight.
Jorah's face instantly turned pale, his lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word.
He had thought he was sent by Illyrio to guide and monitor these people.
But now he realized that in front of this young man, he was like a clown stripped naked, with no secrets to hide.
Daenerys was also stunned.
She looked at Lynn in surprise, then at the dispirited knight before her.
Judging by Jorah's reaction, these words seemed to be true.
Jorah instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist; it was a warrior's natural reaction.
But he then bitterly released his hand.
Resist?
With what to resist?
The other party didn't even bother to use the legendary dragon; those few words alone were enough to completely shatter his dignity and will.
He thought he would face humiliation, or death.
But Lynn's next words completely stunned him.
"Your father often spoke of you to me."
No emotion could be discerned in Lynn's voice.
"He said he missed his days on Bear Island very much."
"He misses you every moment."
This was a lie.
But for an exile tormented by guilt for years, this lie was sweeter than any honey.
Jorah's eyes instantly reddened.
"He hopes that the heir of House Mormont can once again wield longclaw and fight for the family's honor."
Lynn continued.
"And not, as you are now, serving as a clandestine spy under a fat merchant, wagging your tail for a vague pardon."
"Then going to pledge allegiance to a beggar king who even wants to sell his own sister."
Lynn's words completely tore apart Jorah's last pretense.
Yes, he had been working for Varys, the "Spider" of King's Landing, monitoring the movements of the Targaryen siblings in exchange for a chance to return home.
It was a dirty deal.
"Westeros no longer has a place for you, Ser Jorah."
Lynn walked up to him, his tall figure completely overshadowing him.
"But I can offer you a new choice."
"Swear allegiance to me."
"Not to the Targaryen princess, but to me."
Lynn's voice echoed in the empty hall.
"Help me take this city and free all the slaves."
"After it's done, I will ask the Warden of the North, the protector of all Seven Kingdoms, to pardon your crimes."
"If they don't agree, I will also pardon all your crimes in the name of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and the King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"You can live in the Gifted Lands, or you can return to Bear Island with dignity and inherit your father's title."
"And even..." Lynn's voice paused.
"Take back your family's Valyria steel sword from me with your own hands."
Jorah Mormont's mind was roaring.
Home.
Pardon.
Taking back longclaw.
These were all things he didn't even dare to dream of!
He looked at the young man before him. He was not as mad as Viserys, nor as money-grubbing as Illyrio.
He was calm, powerful, possessed a strength capable of destroying the world, yet was willing to challenge a city-state for slaves he didn't even know.
He had a quality Jorah had never seen before, belonging to a true leader.
Perhaps... this was the king worth following.
Jorah Mormont looked at Lynn, then at the ancestral sword at his waist, which symbolized both family honor and shame.
His last hesitation vanished completely at this moment.
He slowly, once again, knelt on one knee.
This time, it was not out of courtesy, but from genuine submission.
The metal kneepad collided with the cold marble floor, emitting a crisp sound.
"I, Jorah, Jorah of House Mormont, pledge my sword, my life, and my shattered honor to you."
His voice was rough, yet incredibly solemn.
"From now on, I will be your most loyal sword, cutting through all thorns in your path."
"Jorah is willing to serve you."
Lynn looked at the man kneeling before him, a faint smile finally appearing on his face.
A guide who was familiar with the customs of Essos, fluent in multiple languages, and rich in combat experience, had been acquired.
"Very good, rise, Ser Jorah."
Lynn reached out and helped him up.
"You will not regret your choice today."
"Your father has stepped down as Lord Commander and gone to enjoy his retirement."
"I have arranged for some Night's Watch brothers to specifically protect his safety, so you have no worries and can rest assured."
"If we move fast enough and return to Westeros, you might even be able to accompany your father through the last period of his life."
"Don't have regrets after he's gone."
Lynn patted his shoulder.
The Mormonts, men and women alike, were formidable fighters, capable of taking on ten opponents at once.
This wasn't about their combat prowess.
Barren lands don't breed powerful warriors, but they can forge an indomitable will.
This was also the fundamental reason Lynn took Jorah under his wing.
Jorah stood up, feeling as if the invisible shackles on his shoulders had been completely shattered at that moment.
He felt much lighter.
"Now, I have a task for you."
Lynn turned around, looking at the city outside the window, which lay dormant like a monster in the night.
"I want to buy all the Unsullied in Astapor."
Jorah paused, then understood Lynn's intention.
He wanted to use this method to take control of all the Unsullied without shedding blood.
But... "My Lord, the price of the Unsullied... is astronomical."
Jorah reminded him.
"Even Magister Illyrio might not be able to raise that much money at once."
Lynn turned his head.
"Tomorrow, go tell the Good Masters of Astapor, Kraznys mo Nakloz."
"Tell him I have enough money to buy all his Unsullied."
"You go make contact with him first."
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