Endless white.
The sky was grey-white. The earth was snow-white. The forest wore thick white robes.
Wind like knives. Ice-cold snow scraped their faces raw.
Lynn's group of five were tiny black dots on a pale canvas.
They trudged north, each step sinking deep into the snow.
Jon Snow pulled his black cloak tighter, hand on his sword hilt, eyes scanning the trees.
The three rangers stayed silent. They'd patrolled beyond the Wall for years. This suffocating quiet was familiar.
Ygritte, walking in the middle, was the most relaxed.
She moved like a wildcat in her own woods—light, easy.
Her grey eyes gleamed with curiosity. Most of the time, they were fixed on Lynn's back.
This southern boy is strange.
He had a dragon that could burn the world. But he chose to walk this frozen, miserable land like the rest of them.
What's he trying to do?
Is he insane?
After a full day's march, darkness fell fast.
Northern nights came early and hard. The temperature plummeted. One ranger's snot froze into icicles.
They found a small cave sheltered from the wind. Barely big enough for all of them.
The rangers built a fire. Orange flames pushed back the cold and became the only light in the darkness.
They sat around the fire, chewing hard black bread, drinking strong liquor. No one spoke.
"Hey, southerner."
Ygritte poked the fire with a stick, breaking the silence.
"What's your name?"
"Lynn. Didn't you hear Mormont say it?"
Lynn didn't look up from cleaning Longclaw.
"I heard. I just wanted to ask again. You got a problem with that?"
"Lynn..."
When he didn't respond, she repeated his name.
"You southerners have weird names."
She tossed aside her half-eaten black bread. Clearly couldn't stand the stuff.
She stared at him. Her bright eyes reflected the firelight like burning stars.
Finally, she couldn't hold it in.
Her voice trembled slightly in the wind howling into the cave.
"Why do you kneel to kings?"
The question caught one of the rangers off guard. He frowned.
Lynn glanced at her but didn't answer directly. Instead, he asked, "You free folk don't kneel to anyone?"
"Of course not!"
Ygritte's chin lifted.
Pride radiated from her.
"We're free. We trust our bows and arrows. We don't bow to anyone!"
"Then what do you kneel to?"
The question made her freeze.
"Nothing!"
"Wrong." Lynn shook his head.
"You kneel to the cold. To hunger. To death."
"When winter comes, when food runs out, when the White Walkers close in—what does your freedom give you except a faster death?"
Ygritte opened her mouth. Found she had no answer.
Her precious freedom sounded worthless coming from him.
"We... we have Mance!"
"He'll lead us to a warm home!"
"So you do kneel."
Lynn's tone was calm.
"You just don't kneel to a king. You kneel to survival."
"Kneeling was never the goal. It's just a means to get what you need to live."
"You kneel to Mance for hope. We kneel to kings for order and peace."
"We're not so different."
Ygritte couldn't argue. She changed the subject.
"Then why help us?"
"You're a crow. A high-and-mighty northerner. You've got blood feuds with the free folk."
"Because we have a common enemy." Lynn's answer was simple.
"That's it?" Ygritte scoffed. "Don't you southerners do everything for land, gold, and women?"
"Don't tell me you're some hero trying to save the world. I don't buy it."
"You don't have to."
Lynn finally looked up at her.
"But when those things break through the Wall, everyone you care about—everyone I care about—they'll all die. No exceptions."
"I don't want to see that happen. That's all."
His eyes were calm.
Too calm for someone talking about the end of the world. Like he was just stating a fact.
Ygritte felt uncomfortable under his gaze.
She looked away. Huffed.
"Easy to say."
"A man like you probably has plenty of women in the south, right?"
"Are they all like the Queen in King's Landing? Skin like milk, hair like gold?"
Jon and the other rangers exchanged awkward glances. They hadn't expected this wildling girl to ask that.
"They're beautiful," Lynn admitted.
"But they're boring."
"Boring?" Ygritte laughed like she'd heard the funniest joke. "They get pretty dresses, big castles, spend all day looking gorgeous waiting for men like you to fuck them—and that's boring?"
Her words were crude and direct. Even Jon frowned.
"You wouldn't understand."
Lynn shook his head, unwilling to continue.
"I don't understand."
But Ygritte pressed on. She sat up straighter.
Firelight traced the wild, athletic curves of her body.
"Free folk women learn to shoot bows from birth. We hunt in the snow."
"We feed ourselves. We choose the men we like. Sleep with them when we want."
"We're free."
She looked at him, eyes challenging.
"Your southern women are canaries in cages, waiting for men to pet them at night."
"No matter how pretty, they're just sad little pets."
Silence filled the cave.
Lynn looked at this red-haired girl bristling with defiance. He smiled.
Maybe she's not wrong.
"Sleep."
Lynn ignored her. He spread the thick bearskin cloak Robb had given him against the stone wall and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Night deepened. The fire dimmed.
Outside, the wind howled like ghosts.
The temperature inside the cave dropped to something terrible. Even the strong rangers shivered.
Lynn suddenly felt a warm body press against him.
He opened his eyes. Ygritte had moved closer, pressed tight against his side.
She'd taken off her heavy furs and laid them on the ground beneath them.
Then she yanked his bearskin over both of them without asking.
"What're you staring at?"
Ygritte felt his gaze. Her voice was muffled in the darkness.
"If we sleep apart, we'll both be icicles by morning!"
Her movements were natural as breathing.
To her, this was just basic survival. Nothing more.
In the dark, Lynn could smell her—pine, campfire smoke, faint sweat.
He felt the surprising heat radiating from her body. Like a little furnace.
"You southerners are so complicated."
Ygritte muttered, burrowing deeper into his arms.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, found a comfortable position, and soon her breathing evened out.
Lynn looked at her face, so close to his.
Red hair spilled across the bearskin. The stubborn, defiant lines of her face softened in sleep. Almost peaceful.
Lynn reached out, almost without thinking, and tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.
The next day.
When the first grey-white light crept into the cave, they set out again.
Ygritte acted like nothing had happened, leading the way.
But when she glanced back at Lynn, something in her eyes had changed.
After crossing two snowy peaks and passing through a twisted forest called the Weeping Woods—
A lone hill appeared on the horizon.
The Fist of the First Men.
A circular stone mountain rose from the plains like a clenched fist punching toward the sky.
The summit was jagged, barren, ancient.
"That's it."
Ygritte pointed.
"Our legends say this is where the First Men made their pact with the Children of the Forest. It's cursed. We never go near it."
Lynn looked up, eyes narrowed.
He felt it. An ancient, cold presence drifting down from the peak.
The Horn of Winter. It had to be up there.
"We're going up."
Lynn led the way.
The higher they climbed, the stronger that icy presence became.
The air thickened. Breathing became difficult.
Jon and the three rangers drew their dragonglass weapons. Tension radiated from them.
When they finally reached the flat stone platform at the summit—
Everyone stopped.
At the center of the peak stood a figure.
Or a thing.
Tall. Clad in black armor that looked carved from ice, covered in ancient, mysterious patterns.
His skin was snow-pale. Long white hair whipped in the wind.
Most striking were the jagged ice-crystal horns crowning his head like a twisted goat's.
He didn't turn around. Just stood there, as if he'd been waiting for a thousand years.
But they all knew.
He was watching them.
A soul-freezing terror radiated from him. No one could move.
Ygritte's face went white. Her bow clattered to the ground. She collapsed like her bones had turned to water.
The three rangers tried to raise their weapons. Their arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. They couldn't even find the courage to lift them.
The Night King.
Why is he here?
Lynn's heart sank.
His hand was already on Longclaw's hilt, eyes locked on that back.
He'd avoided riding Winter specifically to avoid alerting this thing.
But the Night King had been waiting for him all along.
Then—
The figure turned slowly.
The Night King's eyes—burning with cold blue flame—cut through everyone and locked onto Lynn.
His face showed no expression.
He simply raised one hand.
Beckoning Lynn forward.
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