On the snowy plains of the North, a remote village was engulfed in thick smoke.
Dozens of 'bandits' riding scrawny warhorses galloped in.
They wore tattered furs, their faces painted with strange colors, and they let out bestial howls.
Leading them was an agile redhead.
She wore a finely crafted leather armor, and her fiery red hair, like a burning flame, was exceptionally striking in the wind and snow.
"Brothers!"
Ygritte raised her longbow high, her voice clear and wild, drowning out everyone else's howls.
"Those sissies in the South say we're robbers!"
"Then today, we'll show them what a real fucking robber is!"
"Steal all their food! Drink all their wine! Burn all their broken houses!"
"Roar—!"
The wildlings let out an even more fervent cheer, then surged into every corner of the village.
"Bang!"
A burly wildling kicked open the door of a wooden house and rushed in.
The house was empty, only the fire in the fireplace was still burning, and the stew in the pot emitted an enticing aroma.
The wildling licked his lips, unceremoniously picked up the large pot, and tilted his head back to drink.
The scalding hot broth made him grimace, but it also made him let out a satisfied howl.
In another tent, several wildlings were 'fighting' over a bag of flour.
They pushed and shoved each other, cursing, scattering white flour everywhere.
Everyone's face and body were covered in white powder, looking as comical as clowns in Flea Bottom.
Ygritte sat on her horse, watching with interest the farce she had personally directed.
She saw a wildling warrior carefully carrying a barrel of ale onto his horse, but due to too much movement, he accidentally dropped the wooden barrel on the ground.
The wine splashed, and the wildling was so heartbroken he almost cried, lying on the ground to lick the wine mixed with mud and snow.
She also saw several young wildlings light torches, pretending to burn down a warehouse full of hay.
As soon as the torch approached, it was extinguished by another wildling who rushed out of the warehouse with a basin of snow.
"Idiot! Lord Lynn said!"
"Only pretend, don't really burn houses!"
"You're the fucking idiot!"
"How can we trick those southerners if we don't put on a full act!"
The two wildlings immediately wrestled with each other.
It was less a fight and more a wrestling match in the snow.
The entire village was in chaos.
Cries, curses, sounds of smashing things, and the wildlings' unrestrained laughter mixed together, echoing far away.
This play was realistic enough and chaotic enough.
"Burn! Burn them all, you bitches!"
Ygritte shouted in her clear and wild voice, but the arrow in her hand was not nocked to the bowstring.
With Ygritte's permission, the wildlings let out an excited cheer.
However, they did not rush towards the villagers' houses, but instead headed straight for the abandoned granary at the village entrance, which had long been disused and only had a few rotten timbers left.
"Boom!"
Torches were thrown in, and the dry wood instantly ignited, flames soaring into the sky.
Black smoke was particularly glaring against the pure sky of the North.
The farmers in the village let out terrified screams, fleeing in all directions with their families.
A woman holding a child accidentally fell to the ground.
Seeing a wildling with a scarred face rushing towards her, brandishing an axe, she closed her eyes in fear.
However, the expected sharp pain did not come.
The wildling merely rushed past her, casually snatching a dry, hard bread she had dropped on the ground.
He even tripped on a stone underfoot because he was running too fast, falling flat on his face, which drew a round of merciless laughter from his companions.
"Rob! Take everything edible!"
Ygritte ordered again.
A group of wildlings rushed into a farmer's yard, stuffing several plump hens into sacks with many hands.
The farmer, the owner of the house, hid behind the window.
He looked at these 'fierce' bandits, but his face showed little fear, instead, a hint of heartache.
These chickens had just been bought from him yesterday by someone claiming to be a steward from Winterfell, for double the price.
It was clearly agreed that they were for a play.
But watching his own chickens being stolen like this, he still felt a little uneasy.
"Boss! Look what I got!"
A young wildling excitedly held up an earthenware pot, rushing to Ygritte to claim credit.
Ygritte glanced at it; the pot contained half a pot of honey.
"Not bad, extra meal tonight."
Ygritte nodded in satisfaction.
This 'raid' lasted less than half an hour.
"Chief! We should retreat!"
A wildling on lookout rode over.
"The wolf pups from Winterfell will be here soon!"
"Understood!"
Ygritte blew the retreat horn again.
The long and wild horn call echoed over the snowy plains.
The wildlings who were still 'burning, killing, and looting' immediately stopped what they were doing.
They all let out strange cries, carrying their'spoils,' and nimbly mounted their horses.
"We'll be back!"
Ygritte shouted a classic bandit line at the empty village, then waved her hand.
"Retreat!"
The wildling cavalry came and went quickly.
In a blink of an eye, they disappeared into the vast wind and snow, leaving behind a 'looted' village in disarray.
Not long after, a cavalry unit bearing the Direwolf banner arrived at the village.
Leading them was Robb Stark.
He looked at the mess before him, his young face filled with 'just the right amount' of anger.
"Damn bandits!"
Robb drew his longsword, pointing it at the gray sky of the North, his voice filled with the authority and fury of the North's young lord.
"My command! A full-scale hunt for these bandits!"
"Also, immediately send someone to inform my mother!"
"Tell her there's a rebellion in the North, far larger than imagined!"
"Hmm... say there are a thousand bandits, ten villages slaughtered!"
"Please tell her to definitely stay in Winterfell, stabilize the situation, and absolutely not leave at this time!"
...Meanwhile, far to the north of the North.
The massive body of Winter, the Winter Dragon, cut through the clouds, with a sharp whistle, flying towards that white colossal wall, like the end of the world.
The Wall.
Myrcella clutched the dragon saddle's handrail tightly, Lynn's bearskin cloak on her body shielding her from most of the cold.
But when she saw the legendary magnificent structure again, she still felt a shudder from her soul.
An indescribably colossal wall.
It spanned between heaven and earth, as if it were a dam forged by gods with ice and snow, dividing the entire world in two.
Sunlight reflected off the ice wall, casting a dazzling glare.
In front of it.
Any castle, any tower, seemed as tiny as a grain of sand.
Myrcella could even see the tiny black dots, like ants, at the top of The Wall, which were the Nights Watch sentinels.
She couldn't imagine what kind of enemy required such a miraculous structure to defend against.
She also couldn't imagine the loneliness and despair in the hearts of those Night's Watchmen who dedicated their lives here, facing this endless white wilderness every day.
Winter did not stop on The Wall.
Instead, it flew over the ice wall, towards the oldest and most dilapidated castle located at the foot of The Wall.
Castle Black.
When Winter's three formidable heads appeared above the castle, the entire Castle Black erupted.
The Night's Watchmen who had just finished patrol and were about to drink a bowl of hot soup to warm themselves all rushed out.
They looked up, staring blankly as the creature that only existed in legends slowly descended, their faces filled with shock and awe.
"It's a dragon!"
"It's Winter! It's Lord Commander Lynn's dragon!"
In the crowd, a fat man in black was panting as he pushed his way to the front.
It was Samwell Tarly.
When he saw Lynn leaping off the dragon's back, his always somewhat timid face instantly burst into a radiant glow of ecstasy.
"Lynn!"
Sam excitedly shouted.
Lynn smiled at him, then helped Myrcella, whose legs were still a bit wobbly, off the dragon's back.
"Where's Jon?"
"Jon led the Rangers to collect items from the Gift. He's been out for a month, and according to the agreement, Jon is expected to return tonight."
Sam replied.
"I heard Tormund and the others say that Lord Mormont couldn't get used to other places, so he returned to The Wall?" Lynn asked.
"He... he is!"
Sam nodded quickly.
"Lord Mormont, he... he hasn't been feeling well lately and has been resting in his room most of the time."
Lynn nodded.
He said nothing more and walked straight towards the crude command tower.
Myrcella hesitated for a moment, then followed him.
The room in the command tower was very simple.
Apart from a brazier, a table and chairs, and a bed, there was almost no superfluous decoration.
The air was filled with a mixture of herbs and the scent of old, dusty books.
An old man with white hair and beard, wrapped in thick bearskins, sat before the brazier, staring blankly at the flickering flames.
His face was covered in deep wrinkles.
His eyes, once as sharp as an eagle's, were now somewhat cloudy, as if veiled by an unshakeable twilight.
It was Jeor Mormont, the 997th Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, the "Old Bear."
Ever since Lynn led the wildlings south and single-handedly raised the banner against the Others, the Lord Commander had left his position to his successor, Lynn.
From that day on, he seemed to have been drained of all his spirit.
He completely handed over command to Lynn, and like a truly old man, began his "retirement" life.
The mission of the Nights Watch seemed to have been continued in his generation in a different way.
But in his heart, there was always a knot.
A knot that kept him awake at night and caused him lifelong regret.
"Lord Mormont."
Lynn's voice roused the Old Bear from his contemplation.
The old man slowly raised his head.
When he saw Lynn, a flicker of light appeared in his cloudy eyes.
"Lynn, it's you. When did you return?"
His voice was somewhat aged, with a gentle tone of an elder seeing a junior.
"I heard you couldn't get used to other places and returned to Castle Black, so I made a special trip to see you this time."
Lynn pulled over a chair and sat opposite the Old Bear.
"And, by the way, I brought you something."
Lynn took out a small leather pouch from his bosom and handed it over.
The Old Bear opened it and looked inside.
Inside were a few pieces of venison, sprinkled with some southern spices.
"You always manage to get these good things."
The Old Bear smiled, picked up a piece, and slowly chewed it.
Myrcella stood quietly at the doorway, not entering to disturb them.
She watched the old man and the young man in the room, observing the natural and familiar atmosphere between them, and a strange feeling arose in her heart.
The Lynn before her was different from any version she knew.
He was not the schemer who stirred up trouble in King's Landing, nor was he the king who overlooked all beings from a dragon's back.
At this moment, he was more like an ordinary young man visiting his grandfather.
"This time, I returned from Essos, first went to King's Landing, and then stopped by Winterfell."
Lynn spoke calmly.
"How are the Stark children, especially little Bran?"
The Old Bear asked.
"All well."
Lynn nodded.
"Arya has returned to Winterfell, and Sansa has stayed in King's Landing; she is now the master of coin of the kingdom."
"master of coin?"
The Old Bear was stunned for a moment, then shook his head with a bitter smile.
"You always manage to do things that surprise everyone."
"I met someone in Essos."
Lynn changed the subject.
"A knight from Bear Island."
The Old Bear's chewing motion suddenly stopped.
His hand, covered in age spots, trembled slightly.
"He is very brave, and is now one of my most capable commanders under me in Essos."
Lynn's voice was unhurried, as if telling a story unrelated to them.
"He was once exiled for selling slaves and wandered the continent of Essos for many years."
"He was a sellsword and did many things against his will."
"But at his core, he is still a true Northman, a true knight!"
The Old Bear slowly put down the venison in his hand.
His breathing became somewhat rapid.
His cloudy eyes stared intently at Lynn, his lips moving.
"He is doing very well now, has his own honor, and has earned everyone's respect."
Lynn looked at the Old Bear and finally spoke the name.
"Jorah Mormont."
"He now serves me."
Buzz—!
The Old Bear's mind instantly went blank.
Jorah... his only son... the name that made him proud, shamed him, and worried him his entire life.
He thought he would never hear any news of Jorah again in this life.
He thought his son had long since died in a foreign land, or had completely become a sellsword without honor.
But now... "Is he... is he well?"
The Old Bear's voice trembled violently.
"Don't worry, he's very well."
Lynn nodded.
"He said he misses you very much."
"He also asked me to convey a message to you."
Lynn looked into the Old Bear's eyes and said, word for word.
"He said he never forgot the motto of Bear Island."
"Here We Stand."
With a sudden rush.
The Old Bear's already dry tear ducts could no longer be restrained.
Two streams of hot, old tears silently rolled down his deeply furrowed wrinkles.
His entire life, he had fought for the North.
Ever since Jorah's incident, he had given up his family's honor, abandoned his lord's title, and dedicated everything he had to this cold Wall.
His only regret was his disappointing son.
The son who, because of a woman's vanity, ultimately went astray.
This was a perpetual pain in his heart.
And a burden he could never shed in his lifetime.
But now, the news Lynn brought was like a key, instantly unlocking the lock in his heart that had been sealed for over a decade.
It turned out Jorah had never forgotten the motto of Bear Island... Here We Stand... The Old Bear smiled.
As he smiled, his tears flowed even more fiercely.
Like a child, he roughly wiped the tears from his face with the back of his coarse hand.
All the guilt, all the worries, all the regrets.
At this moment, they all vanished with those hot tears.
"Don't worry, Lord Mormont, once the Astapor matter is resolved, Jorah will be able to return immediately..."
Myrcella, standing at the doorway, saw everything clearly.
She watched the old man, his face streaked with tears in the firelight, and the solemn-faced Lynn.
Her heart felt as if it had been gently nudged by something.
She suddenly understood.
Lynn, he was always seizing power, and always manipulating people's hearts.
Everything he did seemed to have deeper reasons.
And his journey today, across vast distances to this forgotten corner of the world, was merely to resolve an old man's long-standing heartache.
This man was lustful and cunning.
But he was also, at the same time, affectionate and loyal.
He was like the Winter of the North, biting and bitter, yet capable of nurturing new life in the deepest despair.
Myrcella looked at Lynn's back, and in her green eyes, which always carried a hint of melancholy, a light that was difficult to describe flickered.
Lynn waited for Jon, but he didn't return by night.
He was probably delayed by something.
His time was tight, and he didn't plan to stay here long; he still needed to rush back to King's Landing, where a pile of things awaited him.
Lynn, with Myrcella, once again mounted Winter and soared into the sky from Castle Black.
Myrcella finally couldn't help but ask.
"Why are you doing this?"
"What?"
Lynn turned to look at her.
"Lord Mormont... and your friends... you did so much for them."
Myrcella looked into Lynn's eyes.
"Why?"
Lynn smiled, not answering directly.
Lord Mormont had been kind to him, and Jorah was his capable subordinate; both for sentiment and reason, he had to visit Jeor Mormont, and anyway, the Gift were close to Castle Black, so it wouldn't delay things.
Lynn's gaze swept over the sea of clouds beneath him, looking towards the distant South.
"Long Night is coming."
"I need every subordinate who can wield a sword to stand by my side, unburdened."
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
Lynn's voice was somewhat muffled in the howling wind, yet it clearly reached Myrcella's ears.
"Alright, my princess, you better hold on tight."
"The show in King's Landing should be starting soon."
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