Ygritte's breath stopped.
Jeor Mormont and Benjen Stark stood frozen, stunned by what Lynn had just said.
They'd suspected he was planning something like this. But hearing him say it out loud—
Negotiate with wildlings?
Give the free folk a way in?
A thousand years of bloodshed. A thousand years of killing each other on sight.
Hatred doesn't just evaporate.
If Benjen hadn't begged Mormont to spare Ygritte's life, she'd already be skinned and hanging from the Wall.
"Lynn." Mormont's voice was careful. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
His pet raven sensed its master's unease. It squawked nervously on his shoulder.
"I do, Lord Commander."
Lynn's gaze shifted from Ygritte to Mormont's weathered, disbelieving face.
"Our real enemy isn't starving people trying to survive."
"It's the things that turn corpses into puppets. The things that forge swords from ice."
"The Long Night is coming. We can't afford to fight each other anymore."
The Night King had been quiet lately. No attacks on the Watch. But Lynn knew better than to trust that peace.
Alliances were temporary. Betrayal was eternal.
So starting now, Lynn would change the strategy.
The wildlings were massing a hundred thousand warriors. Lynn needed to cross the Narrow Sea soon. Better to bring them under his banner than leave a thousand brothers to get overrun.
King's Landing was a threat. If Ned failed, Robb's eighty thousand northmen plus a hundred thousand wildlings could face down any southern army.
And Lynn didn't need the Watch grinding through wildlings for experience anymore. Across the sea, the Dothraki were waiting to be conquered.
The wildlings had to stay.
Mormont nodded slowly. As Lord Commander, he knew better than anyone what was happening beyond the Wall.
Benjen's brow furrowed. He wanted to argue but didn't know where to start.
Finally, he asked the key question.
"How do you explain this to the King?"
"Why would Mance Rayder trust you?"
"He used to be one of us. He knows the blood between our people."
"It's kill or be killed."
Lynn's plan was bold. Insane, even.
Lynn smiled.
"The King's got his own problems. He won't have time to care about this."
"Besides, the Watch was founded to fight the dead. Not wildlings. That's just tradition."
"And Robert's loyal to the North. An extra hundred thousand obedient warriors? He'd celebrate, not complain."
"Even if he does object, I'll handle it."
"As for Mance—"
Lynn pointed toward the courtyard, where Winter's massive head was poking through a window, curious.
"I've got this."
Winter felt her master's call. The center head lowered, rumbling deep in her throat. Her golden eyes gleamed with confusion.
Even that casual display of draconic power made the air in the dungeon freeze.
Yeah.
What's more persuasive than a living dragon?
If Mance doesn't kneel, dragonfire will melt his pride.
One way or another, the wildlings would submit.
"Fine." Mormont's gaze lingered on Ygritte in her cage. "Take her to the Lord Commander's Tower."
"Feed her. Give her water. Clean clothes."
News of Lynn's plan to negotiate with Mance Rayder spread through Castle Black like wildfire.
In the mess hall, the atmosphere was suffocating.
The usual crude jokes and raucous laughter were gone. Men ate their black bread and stew in silence, eyes full of shock, confusion, and betrayal.
"Negotiate with wildlings? Has Lynn lost his mind?"
"They've killed how many of our brothers? And now we're supposed to sit at a table with them?"
"I respect Lynn. But this? This is madness."
Whispers rippled through the hall, building into a dark undercurrent.
Inside the Lord Commander's Tower, the mood was equally tense.
First Ranger. First Steward. First Builder.
Every senior officer at Castle Black was gathered here, eyes locked on Lynn as he sat by the fire, casually cleaning his sword.
"I object!"
A tall, lean man shot to his feet.
A traditionalist.
"Wildlings are wildlings!"
"Thieves. Raiders. Murderers!"
"Our duty is to keep them out. Not invite them in for supper!"
His words drew nods from most of the room. These were men who'd survived wildling raids. Hatred ran bone-deep.
Lynn shook his head.
Thieves. Raiders. Murderers.
How many men in this room were any better?
They were all just trying to survive.
Then—
BWOOOOM.
A single horn blast from outside.
One blast. Rangers returning.
Heavy footsteps approached. The door swung open.
A young man in a black cloak stepped inside, face weathered by wind and frost.
Jon Snow.
The boyish softness was gone. In its place was the hard resolve of a northern man.
When he saw Lynn, his grey eyes lit up.
"Lynn!"
He crossed the room in three strides and pulled Lynn into a crushing hug.
"You're finally back."
"How was King's Landing? Is Father alright?"
Jon's arrival eased the tension slightly.
Lynn clapped him on the shoulder and gestured for him to wait. Business first.
"Jon." Mormont's voice was grave. "What's the situation out there?"
Jon pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from inside his cloak and set it on the table.
A map.
"We found this near Craster's Keep."
Jon's voice carried a hint of fear.
"Mance is gathering every wildling he can find."
"I think he's planning to attack the Wall."
The room went silent.
Lynn stood and walked to the table, picking up the map.
"How many?"
"Countless." Jon's answer made everyone's blood run cold.
"Craster says from the Frostfangs to the Shivering Sea, every wildling tribe has rallied to Mance's banner."
"They're running." Lynn cut to the truth.
"Running from them."
"I propose we vote." Mormont seized the moment. "On whether Lynn should negotiate with Mance Rayder."
He saw Lynn as his successor. Right or wrong, he'd stand with him.
"All in favor of Lynn's plan, raise your hand."
A pause.
Benjen Stark raised his hand first. As First Ranger, he knew better than anyone how dire things were beyond the Wall.
A few others followed hesitantly—rangers who'd seen the dead things with their own eyes.
The traditionalists crossed their arms. Unmoved.
Most of the stewards and builders stayed silent. They lived inside Castle Black. Their hatred of wildlings outweighed their fear of the unknown.
Then Ygritte was brought in.
She wore clean black leathers now, her red hair tied back. Her grey eyes swept the room—curious, wary.
She'd heard their debate.
She hadn't expected the "crows" to be facing the same enemy.
"Fourteen in favor. Thirty-six against."
Mormont announced the result.
The opposition had won by a landslide.
Lynn wasn't surprised.
Why did most reformers in history end up dead?
He knew exactly why. He hadn't expected this to be easy.
Lynn walked to the center of the hall. His gaze swept over every man present.
"I know what you're thinking."
"You hate wildlings. They killed your brothers. Raided your villages."
"But have you ever asked why?"
"Because they want to live!"
"North of the Wall, there are no warm hearths. No endless supplies of black bread."
"Just freezing wind. Empty bellies."
"And monsters crawling out of the snow."
"They come south not to conquer. But to survive."
"And we stand here, killing them wave after wave, thinking we're defending the realm. Protecting our honor."
"But the real enemy is gathering an army in the Lands of Always Winter."
"They don't tire. They don't fear. You can't kill them. You can't stop them."
"When that army of the dead breaks through the Wall, do you really think a thousand of us can hold them back?"
Lynn's words were daggers, stabbing into every man's heart.
The contempt and anger on their faces slowly gave way to dread.
"I'm not asking for your permission."
Lynn's tone went cold.
"I'm giving you a chance to survive."
"A chance for the entire realm to survive."
He turned toward the door.
Winter's massive head pushed through, golden eyes staring down at the assembled brothers.
"I could fly over the Wall right now. Burn every wildling camp to ash."
"Or I could fly over and tell Mance Rayder I'll give him and his people a warm home."
"As long as they pick up their weapons and stand with us against our common enemy."
"The choice is yours."
"Keep clinging to your petty hatred and wait here to die."
"Or set it aside, stand with the wildlings, and fight for a future—for yourselves and for all of Westeros."
Silence.
Lynn's reputation at Castle Black was already high. Every word sank in.
Ygritte stared at him.
His back was already imposing.
Now it looked like a mountain.
He said he'd give her people a warm home.
He said the dead were the common enemy.
This southern boy... he...
Her heart pounded traitorously in her chest.
"Vote again!"
Mormont's voice shattered the silence.
This time—
Benjen raised his hand.
The rangers followed without hesitation.
Then a few builders. A few stewards.
More and more hands rose.
But many still hesitated. Silent opposition.
Finally, Mormont's gaze fell on one last man.
The young man who'd been silent the entire time.
Jon Snow.
Every eye turned to him.
The vote was tied. Twenty-five to twenty-five.
"Jon."
Mormont's voice was weary.
"What's your choice?"
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