Open the gates.
That question was the core of all conflict.
Hatred had flowed in the blood of both sides of the Wall for thousands of years. One duel couldn't dissolve it.
At least these wildlings didn't believe it could.
Lynn didn't answer immediately.
His gaze swept over every wildling in the tent.
On those faces—awed, suspicious, expectant—he saw the most primitive desire.
They all want to survive.
Beyond the Wall—they didn't want to stay here another moment.
"Don't worry. In the Night's Watch, besides the Lord Commander, my word carries the most weight."
"You don't need to worry about that at all."
Gasps filled the tent.
Even Mance Rayder froze.
The Night's Watch—the Seven Kingdoms' most ancient organization. They obeyed only their Lord Commander and the realm's laws.
How could someone who wasn't Lord Commander command them?
"From today, north and south of the Wall—I'm in charge."
Lynn surveyed everyone, those dark eyes showing no hint of jest.
"You want land. Food. Warm hearths. You want your women and children to stop dying from hunger and cold."
"I can give you all of it."
"South of the Wall lies a vast territory called the Gift. It will become your new home."
"You can graze there, farm, build your own villages."
"Live there like all Northmen."
Lynn's words set every wildling chief's heart ablaze.
The Gift!
Though southerners considered it a barren wasteland—
That legendary fertile land was the dream these wildlings had yearned for generations to reach!
"In exchange—"
Lynn's tone turned cold.
"You take up arms. Become the North's first line of defense. Guard the Wall alongside the Night's Watch."
"You won't kneel to any king or King in the North. But you will swear to me. Swear to all the living."
"Your enemies are no longer the Night's Watch."
"But those monsters crawling from the Land of Always Winter!"
"Anyone who refuses to follow the rules, who continues raiding and pillaging in the North—I'll personally twist off his head."
"My dragon will burn his tribe—tents, livestock, women, children—all to ash."
Naked threat.
But accompanied by the hope they'd dreamed of.
"I... I agree!"
Tormund broke the silence first.
His big face flushed with excitement.
"Better than dealing with those dead things!"
"I've wanted to see the south for ages!"
"Never seen a southern woman in my life—are they as strong as ours?"
His words eased the tent's tension considerably.
"We'll follow you!"
"Right! Just let us go to the Gift!"
"Mance, agree already—can't stay here another day."
More and more wildling chiefs stood, eyes burning with fanatical fire.
Mance Rayder watched this nearly uncontrolled scene. Watched the young man who'd single-handedly twisted the will of a hundred thousand free folk.
He knew—the old era of the free folk was over.
The return journey to Castle Black looked impossibly bizarre.
At the front—Lynn riding a mammoth.
Behind him, Jon Snow and three dazed rangers.
Behind them—Mance Rayder, Tormund, Ygritte, and twenty-some arrogant wildling tribal chiefs.
Black-clad crows on one side. Their mortal enemies of a thousand years on the other.
Now, like a ragtag militia, silently walking across the vast snowfield.
"Hey, Snow boy!"
Tormund's booming voice was especially jarring in the silent snow.
He hooked Jon's shoulder, offering a skin full of strong liquor.
"Have some?"
"This is brewed from giant's milk—strong as hell!"
Jon's body stiffened.
Smelling that pungent alcohol, he instinctively wanted to refuse.
"Drink! Are you a man or not?"
Tormund glared.
"I'm telling you, that Lynn kid's no fun at all. But you—you look honest."
Jon glanced at Lynn walking ahead, then at Tormund's face that said "you're insulting me if you don't drink."
Finally bit the bullet and took the skin, sipping.
The burning liquid scorched his throat instantly, making him cough repeatedly.
"HAHAHA! Useless southerner!"
Tormund laughed triumphantly.
He snatched back the skin and guzzled half of it.
On the other side, Ygritte stuck to Lynn like a shadow.
"You're really letting us go to the Gift?"
She lowered her voice, grey eyes gleaming strangely.
"Yes."
Lynn kept his eyes forward.
"Then... where will you live?"
"Castle Black? Winterfell? King's Landing?"
"Don't know."
"Then..." Ygritte bit her lip.
"Can I come find you?"
Lynn stopped, turned to look at her.
Flame-red hair especially vivid against white snow.
That face—usually stubborn—now showed careful hope.
Lynn simply raised his hand, tucking a wind-blown strand of red hair behind her ear.
"First help your people rebuild their home."
"When I return from Essos, I'll come find you."
Ygritte's cheeks instantly turned red as ripe apples.
When Castle Black's massive silhouette—like the world's end—appeared on the horizon again, the procession stopped.
Two long, urgent horn blasts shattered the Wall's peace.
Wildlings approaching.
The massive steel tunnel gate was tightly shut.
Atop the walls, countless black figures moved. Arrows nocked. Cold gleam of steel.
"Looks like your brothers don't welcome us much."
Tormund spat, shouldering a massive bone axe.
Other wildling chiefs gripped weapons. Atmosphere turned explosive again.
Lynn ignored them. Just walked forward alone.
He raised his head toward that seven-hundred-foot ice wall and shouted:
"Lord Commander Mormont! Open the gate!"
Finally—
With tooth-grinding winch sounds, the ice-sealed iron gate slowly rose.
At the tunnel's end—Castle Black's empty courtyard.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont stood at the front.
Behind him—Benjen Stark and hundreds of Night's Watch with drawn swords, battle-ready.
Two groups, dozens of meters apart, facing off.
Tension thick in the air.
Thousands of years of hatred ready to explode any moment.
"What is this?!"
A radical Night's Watch officer pointed at Mance Rayder behind Lynn, roaring:
"You brought this Night's Watch deserter into Castle Black?!"
"Fuck you, crow! He's not your damn deserter!"
Tormund exploded immediately, swinging his bone axe forward. "I've wanted to twist your head off for a chamber pot!"
"SILENCE!"
"SHUT UP!"
Two roars rang out simultaneously.
One from Mance Rayder. The other from Lynn.
Lynn slowly walked to the center between both groups.
He didn't release that terrifying frost power again. Just stood there quietly.
But everyone felt Lynn suppressing rage.
He stared directly at the troublemaking watchman.
"From today, the war between Night's Watch and free folk is over."
Lynn's gaze swept from Mormont's face to Mance's.
"You have one common enemy."
"The Night King."
He raised his hand, pointing north toward the endless Haunted Forest.
"You can keep killing each other here. Use your blood and corpses to add fresh recruits to his coming army of the dead."
"Or—lay down your hatred. Take up arms. Stand together. Fight to the death for all the living."
Lynn lowered his hand, surveying everyone.
"I'm giving you a choice."
"But not much time."
"And if anyone else starts trouble—don't blame me for being merciless!"
The entire courtyard went silent as death.
Lord Commander Mormont's weathered face showed conflicting emotions.
He looked at Lynn, then at those fierce-eyed wildlings. Finally, he nodded heavily.
"Castle Black will forge a pact with the free folk."
He turned to his brothers—some still unwilling and angry.
"As the Nine Hundred and Ninety-Seventh Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, I order you."
"Lower your weapons."
On Mance's side, the same.
The atmosphere eased considerably.
Fragile peace was temporarily achieved.
Both sides' leaders decided to discuss details in the Lord Commander's Tower.
Just as the crowd prepared to move toward the tower, a clear female voice broke the oppressive atmosphere.
"Lord Lynn!"
Myrcella lifted her skirts, running from the tower.
When she saw those beast-skin-clad, fierce-faced wildlings in the courtyard, her emerald eyes instantly filled with terror.
She stopped, face pale.
"ROAR—"
A low dragon's roar came from above the courtyard.
A shadow that blotted out the sun covered all of Castle Black.
Winter's massive form spiraled down.
Its three enormous heads, six molten-gold vertical pupils, stared fixedly at the "strangers" below.
The terrifying dragon-might of an apex predator descended!
Every wildling in the courtyard—
Including fearless Tormund—
In that moment, felt their legs go weak.
Fear from the soul's depths!
They could be unafraid of Night's Watch swords.
But before a living dragon, their pitiful courage was instantly crushed to dust!
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