From Winterfell to the Wall—for common merchant caravans, that's weeks of hard riding. A month, if the snows come early.
For Winter, it's three beats of her wings.
When that sky-blotting shadow swept over the Last Hearth—the North's final line of defense before the Wall—the Umber men stationed there thought the eternal winter had come early.
They were wrong.
It was something worse.
BWOOOOM—! BWOOOOM—! BWOOOOM—!
Three long, desperate blasts tore through the ancient silence above the Wall.
In the training yard at Castle Black, the recruits froze mid-swing. Blood drained from their faces.
Three blasts.
White Walkers.
"EVERYONE! TO THE WALL!"
"ARCHERS! POSITIONS!"
Castle Black exploded into chaos. Black-cloaked brothers poured from every corner, stampeding toward the great winch that would haul them seven hundred feet up that ice cliff.
But when they reached the top and looked north into the Haunted Forest—
Nothing.
No glowing blue eyes. No army of the dead shambling through the trees.
Just silence.
"What the hell? Did someone blow it wrong?" a green ranger muttered.
"Impossible!" An old veteran's face was stone. "Horn-men don't make mistakes like that."
Then a sharp-eyed sentry pointed south. His voice cracked with disbelief.
"Look... SOUTH!"
Every head turned.
A black dot on the southern horizon. Growing. Fast.
What is that?
As it closed the distance, its monstrous silhouette became clear.
The entire Wall fell silent.
It was a dragon.
A dragon bigger than the Wall itself.
Three heads.
Scales the color of glacial ice.
"Seven... fucking... gods..." A brother's bow clattered to the ice. His knees buckled. He collapsed.
This wasn't in the stories. This wasn't in the world they knew.
Jeor Mormont stepped out of the Lord Commander's Tower, Benjen Stark at his heels. Both men looked up.
Mormont's weathered face went slack.
"Is that... Winter?"
His pet raven—usually fearless—dove straight into his collar and refused to come out.
THOOM.
Winter didn't care about the "crows" on the Wall. She folded her wings and dropped into the castle courtyard like a meteor. The impact shook the entire fortress. Snow exploded outward in a wave.
Her three heads swiveled, curious. Unfamiliar place. But something about it felt... right.
The left head caught the scent of roasted meat from the kitchens. It stretched its neck, jaws opening—
THWACK.
The center head slammed into it. A rumbling growl. Behave.
The left head sulked.
Lynn dropped from Winter's back, Myrcella in his arms.
"Lynn!"
Benjen was the first to move. He pulled Lynn into a crushing hug, then stepped back to gawk at the dragon now dominating the courtyard.
"You... really know how to make an entrance."
Jeor Mormont approached more slowly. His eyes moved from Lynn to Winter—who was now nuzzling Lynn like an oversized puppy—and back again.
He'd seen a lot in his years. Thought he'd seen everything.
This? This was new.
"Good to have you back." Mormont's gaze shifted to the girl Lynn was holding. His brow furrowed. "And this is...?"
"Princess Myrcella." Lynn's tone was flat. "The King sent her north. Cultural exchange."
Mormont's pupils contracted slightly.
King's Landing politics. Colder than the winds beyond the Wall.
He didn't ask. Just nodded and ordered someone to take the princess to guest quarters.
Winter, meanwhile, was still fascinated by her new surroundings. The left head kept eyeing the kitchens. The right head studied the great winch. Only the center head stayed locked on Lynn—loyal bodyguard.
Castle Black's cells were dark, damp, and reeked of piss.
Lynn followed Mormont and Benjen down into the bowels of the fortress.
"The wildlings are in here," Mormont said.
They passed rows of iron cages. Most of the prisoners huddled in corners, glaring with hatred and fear.
But one cell was different.
A red-haired woman leaned against the bars, arms crossed. Her face was smudged with dirt, but her grey eyes burned like northern stars—bright, defiant.
Her hair was the only color in this grey, frozen hell.
Ygritte.
She saw Lynn. Her lip curled.
Another soft southern boy.
She spat on the ground.
"What're you staring at, crow? Never seen a free woman before?"
"Bet your knees are sore from all that kneeling to kings."
Her voice was rough. Wild.
Lynn's eyes lit up.
Benjen started to snap at her, but Lynn raised a hand.
"It's fine, Uncle Benjen."
"I've got this."
Lynn stepped closer to the cage, studying her like she was a fascinating puzzle.
"I hear you put arrows in several of my uncle's men."
"They deserved it." Ygritte met his gaze without flinching. "Shouldn't have trespassed."
"Your archery's impressive."
Ygritte blinked. Then her chin lifted, pride flickering across her face.
"Kissed by fire. Born to shoot."
Lynn smiled.
He turned. Looked back toward the courtyard, where Winter's center head was poking through a window, watching him.
Winter saw Lynn facing off with some woman.
Her throat rumbled. A low, threatening growl.
Just that sound—not even a roar—made the air in the dungeon freeze solid.
The other wildlings whimpered. Some tried to bury themselves in the straw.
Ygritte's face went white.
She followed Lynn's gaze.
When she saw that massive dragon head—bigger than her entire body—staring at her through the window, her proud grey eyes filled with raw terror.
What the fuck is that thing?
"Now," Lynn said quietly, "can we talk?"
Ygritte's lips moved. No sound came out.
Pride means nothing when you're staring at a dragon.
"I need to meet your leader." Lynn's voice was calm. Direct. "The King-Beyond-the-Wall. Mance Rayder."
Mormont and Benjen both stiffened.
Mance Rayder. Once the Night's Watch's best ranger. Now the wildlings' united king. A man who made the entire North nervous.
"Why?" Mormont's voice was sharp. "He's an oathbreaker!"
"To make a deal."
Lynn's eyes returned to Ygritte.
"Winter is coming. The Long Night is waking up."
"The real enemy is out there. We don't have time for this tribal bullshit anymore."
He stepped closer to the bars.
"I need you to take me to him."
"Tell him I can give all the free folk a way to survive."
"A way to stop starving. Stop freezing. Stop running from the White Walkers."
Ygritte's mind went blank.
This man—this man with a dragon—he knows about the Others?
He wants to negotiate with Mance?
Impossible.
"Why would he trust you?" Her voice came out weaker than she wanted.
Lynn didn't answer with words.
He raised his hand. The iron lock on her cage clicked open.
"Because I can do this."
He looked at her. No threat in his eyes. Just certainty.
"So choose, girl kissed by fire."
"Stay in this cage and wait to die?"
"Or take me to your king and gamble on a future where your people don't have to freeze to death in the dark?"
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