The tent's interior was far larger than it appeared outside.
Heavy animal hides blocked out the wind and snow.
A massive fire pit blazed at the center, driving away all cold.
The air reeked of a pungent mix—charred meat, sour ale, and primitive, sweaty musk.
The ground was covered in thick furs from unknown beasts.
A dozen wildlings in varied dress—clearly tribal chiefs—sat around the fire pit, laughing loudly. The atmosphere was boisterous and crude.
One impossibly burly man with a fire-red beard clutched an enormous horn cup, pouring its contents down his throat.
Tormund.
At the head position sat an even taller man in crude armor made of bone and black iron. His presence commanded respect.
He looked like the undisputed king of these wildlings.
But Lynn's gaze didn't linger on him.
He looked toward a corner where a man played a lute.
That man wore plain black leather armor. Unremarkable features. Completely inconspicuous.
Head down, fingers plucking strings.
The melody carried southern melancholy, completely out of place here.
The music stopped.
All eyes fell on Lynn, Jon, and Ygritte as they entered.
The noisy tent went instantly silent.
A dozen gazes, full of scrutiny and hostility.
"Ygritte!"
The red-bearded giant Tormund stood up.
His eyes swept over Lynn and Jon. He grinned, showing yellow teeth.
"You actually brought crows back, girl?"
"I thought the big crow caught you to make little crows!"
His words drew roaring laughter.
Ygritte's face flushed red. She gripped her bow tightly.
"Tormund! Show some respect! They're my guests!"
"Guests?"
Tormund laughed louder.
He pointed at Lynn and Jon.
"Since when are we friends with crows?"
"They're not fit to be our guests—only our targets!"
"Shut up, Tormund."
A calm voice spoke.
Not the imposing "king" at the head. But the lute player in the corner.
He set down his instrument and stood, walking to the fire pit.
Not tall. Not particularly burly.
But when he stepped forward, every wildling's gaze naturally converged on him.
He was the true king of these wildlings.
Mance Rayder.
"I heard from captured Night's Watch that you have quite a reputation at Castle Black."
Mance studied Lynn, eyes bright with penetrating wisdom.
"Speak. What brings you here?"
Lynn was concise.
"Cooperation."
Mance froze. Clearly they hadn't expected that word.
"Yet you walked through the Haunted Forest to see me—a deserter."
"That proves your sincerity."
"But sincerity won't make my hundred thousand people lower their weapons."
Lynn got straight to the point.
"We both know the real enemy isn't each other."
"Winter is coming. The dead are stirring. We don't have time for infighting."
"Well said!" Tormund slapped his thigh.
"So you crows should open the gates and let us through!"
"Tormund!" Mance snapped.
He looked at Lynn and shook his head.
"You see? That's the problem."
"We want to survive. You want to keep us beyond the Wall."
"This contradiction has existed for thousands years."
"He's different!"
Ygritte suddenly shouted.
All eyes turned to her.
"He's not an ordinary crow!"
Ygritte's chest heaved. She looked into Mance's eyes, speaking deliberately.
"I heard Night's Watch say he can see the future!"
"He knows those things' weaknesses!"
"The Old Gods... yes... even the Old Gods guide him!"
She didn't dare mention the Night King or Three-Eyed Raven. Could only express it vaguely.
"Most importantly—"
Ygritte's voice carried fanaticism she didn't recognize in herself.
"He has a dragon!"
"A dragon that breathes fire, breathes ice, can knock down buildings!"
"He could have flown here on that dragon and burned us all to ash!"
"But he didn't!"
"He chose to walk here on foot, like us!"
"I trust him! He's a good man!"
"Good man?"
Tormund sounded like he'd heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Ygritte, did that pretty boy fuck you stupid?"
"A crow being a good man?"
"I thought you were the smartest free folk."
"Turns out you're dumber than me."
Jon Snow's face darkened. His hand gripped his sword hilt.
"I said—he's different!"
Ygritte was nearly crying in frustration.
"Enough. I'll handle this."
Lynn pressed Ygritte's shoulder, pulling her behind him.
He looked at Mance calmly.
"I'm not here to beg."
"I'm here to offer you a choice."
"A choice to survive."
"I can make the North accept you."
"Ned Stark and I have a good relationship. This is Jon Snow—Ned's bastard. He can confirm what I'm saying is true."
"I promise here—I can give you land, food, so your women and children won't suffer hunger and cold."
"You won't have to endlessly fight the Night's Watch."
"You only need to do one thing."
"Be willing to take up arms and fight alongside us. Fight for the living."
"Ha!"
Tormund sneered.
"Sounds prettier than Mance's singing!"
"You want us to lower our weapons, walk into your cage, then wait to be slaughtered like sheep?"
"We free folk will never kneel to southerners!"
"Including your shit king!"
"Never kneel!"
The wildling chiefs roared in unison.
The sound nearly lifted the tent.
"Who said anything about kneeling?"
Lynn's voice cut through the shouting.
"I said we fight together. As allies."
"Not one side enslaving the other!"
"Of course, you can refuse."
Lynn's gaze swept over everyone present.
"You can take your people and assault that seven-hundred-foot ice wall."
"Fill the hatred between us with your people's corpses."
"Then what?"
"Even if you break through the Wall—what will you get?"
"An empty North?"
"Or the Seven Kingdoms' people turned into the army of the dead by White Walkers?"
"By then, you'll face endless wights. And the Night King."
Lynn's words gradually replaced anger with gravity.
Mance's expression changed.
He'd thought those things were mindless monsters.
A king?
A more powerful dead thing?
The one who takes babies?
This Night's Watchman knew far more than he'd imagined.
"You're right."
Mance finally spoke, looking deeply at Lynn.
"I believe you."
"I've seen those dead things myself."
"I believe you truly want to cooperate."
"But—"
He changed tack.
"My people won't trust you."
"They only believe what they see."
"They won't trust a crow's promise, even if you really ride a dragon."
"Unless—"
Mance glanced at the surrounding tribal chiefs.
"You prove you're one of us."
"How do I prove that?" Lynn asked.
"Simple."
Before Mance could answer, Tormund jumped in.
His huge face wore a provocative grin.
"Northern rules!"
"We free folk don't trust pretty words."
"We trust fists!"
He slammed his horn cup on the ground, pointing at Lynn's nose.
"A fight!"
"You! And me!"
"Right here!"
"If you survive my hands, I'll be the first to call you ally!"
"If you lose—"
Tormund grinned, showing yellow teeth.
"I'll keep your pretty head as my new drinking cup!"
The tent's atmosphere plunged to freezing.
Jon Snow's heart leaped to his throat.
Tormund. Giantsbane.
This guy's ferocity was legendary throughout the lands beyond the Wall!
Many Night's Watch brothers had died by his hands!
Jon knew Lynn was skilled with a sword.
But bare-handed against Tormund? The odds looked grim!
Just when everyone expected Lynn to refuse this unreasonable demand—
Lynn smiled.
"Just survive?"
"You're underestimating me."
Lynn removed his heavy bearskin cloak and tossed it to Ygritte.
He rolled his wrists, walking toward Tormund.
Cold fire ignited in those dark eyes.
"What if I win?"
"If you beat me?"
Tormund slapped his chest. It made dull thuds.
"If you beat me, from now on, I'm yours to command!"
"You say east, I go east. If I go back on my word, I'm your bitch!"
"Good."
Lynn liked straightforward people.
He strode up to Tormund.
"Come on. Let me see how hard Giantsbane's fists really are."
Tormund took a fighting stance.
The instant the words fell, Lynn's eyes turned sharp!
He didn't retreat. Stepped forward explosively. Punched Tormund's chest!
Though his unarmed combat skill was only proficient, massive strength made up for any lack of technique!
Tormund didn't even react!
He only felt indescribable force slam into his chest!
BOOM—!
A devastatingly dull impact!
Tormund's body was actually knocked off his feet, flying backward!
His massive frame knocked over two tribal chiefs before crashing into a tent support beam.
The entire tent shook violently.
"Cough... fuck... someone help me up..."
Tormund's weak voice came.
Total silence.
Every wildling stared in shock, minds blank.
No one even helped Tormund lying on the ground.
Tormund...
One-shotted?
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