BOOM—!
Winter's massive body landed in the courtyard's center. The shockwave sent snow swirling skyward.
Every wildling in the courtyard—
Whether unruly tribal chiefs or fearless Tormund—all retreated several steps.
Feeling too conspicuous, they actually dropped to the ground, trying to minimize their presence.
"That... what kind of monster... a dragon?"
One wildling chief asked in terror from the snow.
"Can... can you eat it?"
Tormund was the only one still barely standing.
He gripped his bone axe with white knuckles, veins bulging on his forehead, throat working frantically.
He'd asked a question no one expected.
This scene made the battle-ready Night's Watch nearby twitch.
They finally understood why Lynn said wildlings were actually simple.
That thought process—definitely abnormal.
Winter ignored those insignificant ants.
Its three enormous heads, six molten-gold vertical pupils, all focused on Lynn.
Then it let out a low roar full of affection, carefully approaching on massive legs.
One head nuzzled Lynn's chest.
One head tried to swallow his head whole.
The third head noticed Ygritte beside Lynn, face pale with terror.
It curiously stretched its neck, sniffing gently with its nostrils.
Ygritte froze completely. Even forgot to breathe.
Smelling something familiar on Ygritte, it finally relaxed its guard.
"Alright, settle down."
Lynn patted the largest middle head, soothing it with a few Valyrian phrases.
Winter immediately became docile as three giant dogs pleasing their master, obediently lying down.
This miraculous scene completely convinced the wildlings.
The man who one-punched Tormund, who conjured frost armor from nothing—also keeps a legendary dragon as a pet?
Is this humanly possible?
"Lynn!"
Tormund threw down his bone axe, rushing over in several strides. His big face showed fanatical worship.
He pointed at the dragon, eyes frighteningly bright.
"So... can I borrow this big guy for a couple days?"
"I'll just circle the Frostfangs, stomp flat all the tribes that don't submit to you!"
Lynn: "..."
This idiot really isn't afraid of death.
Castle Black's mess hall had never been this lively.
A place usually holding only a few hundred Night's Watch for meals was now packed tight.
Black-clad crows and wildlings in various beast furs sat on opposite sides.
They didn't curse loudly or draw weapons. Just silently gnawed black bread and drank stew from bowls.
While secretly sizing each other up with incredibly complex gazes.
The awkwardness was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Ptui! What is this stuff?!"
Tormund spat out black bread hard as stone, face full of disgust.
"This is for people to eat?"
"The fodder we feed our mammoths is softer than this!"
His booming voice was especially loud in the silent hall.
Several nearby wildling chiefs chimed in.
"Right! And this soup—bland as snow water!"
"I want roasted meat! The biggest chunks!"
A hot-tempered Night's Watch officer slammed the table and stood.
"You should be grateful for any food! You savages—still picky!"
"Who are you calling savage?!"
"You're the fucking savage!"
Tormund also stood, eyes wide as bells.
A brawl was about to erupt.
"Sit down."
A calm voice came from the head table.
The entire hall went instantly silent.
Everyone instinctively looked at the young man sitting beside Lord Commander Mormont.
Lynn set down his utensils, surveying everyone.
"I know you can't stand each other."
"But for the next few days, you'd all better behave."
He looked at the wildling chiefs.
"Starting tomorrow, your people will cross the Wall and head to the Gift."
"I don't care what your rules were beyond the Wall. South of it, you follow southern rules."
"I'll allocate land, provide seeds and tools."
"Anyone who dares raid and pillage on Northern soil—I'll hang him on Winterfell's walls, then take Winter and erase his entire tribe from the map."
He turned to the disgruntled Night's Watch.
"Same for you."
"Since we've chosen alliance, they're no longer enemies but Northern subjects—our allies against the Long Night."
"Anyone who deliberately provokes them, treats them as enemies—I'll show you what true cruelty means."
Lynn's words made everyone shiver.
Ygritte sat beside Lynn, grey eyes shining.
Like a newlywed wife, she kept refilling his cup and serving him food.
Her attentiveness made Tormund stare in bewilderment.
When did this fire-kissed girl become so docile?
She wasn't like this in the tribe!
She'd shoot arrows at people over nothing.
Like a completely different person.
The study. Dim lamplight.
Only three people.
Lynn. Lord Commander Mormont. And First Ranger Benjen Stark.
"I'm old, Lynn."
The Old Bear looked at the cold moon outside, voice carrying the weariness of laying down a burden.
"I've served the Night's Watch my entire life. I've witnessed its inadequacy. Seen too much death."
He turned, those cloudy eyes reflecting Lynn's young, steady face.
"Before, I thought the Night's Watch duty was keeping wildlings beyond the Wall."
"Now I know."
"This war was never something we could handle from the start."
Benjen Stark stood aside in silence.
But the gravity on his face said everything.
"Times have changed."
Mormont spoke slowly.
"The Night's Watch needs a new leader."
"Someone who can see the future. Unite all the living. Lead us to victory in this war."
He walked to the desk, picked up the symbol of the Lord Commander's office.
A chain forged from obsidian and silver.
Solemnly placed it before Lynn.
"From today, you are the Nine Hundred and Ninety-Eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Lynn had expected Mormont to delegate authority—but not this directly, this suddenly.
"Lord Commander, this isn't proper."
"Night's Watch elections require everyone to vote."
Lynn frowned.
"Proper?"
Mormont smiled.
"Don't underestimate yourself."
"Now—your word is the rule here!"
"Voting is just formality."
"Lynn," Benjen also spoke.
His voice was utterly serious.
"The Lord Commander is right."
"Only you can control those wildlings."
"This burden—no one else can carry it."
Lynn fell silent.
He looked at the cold chain on the table, feeling that heavy responsibility.
He truly couldn't refuse.
This wasn't just a title. It was a completely new identity.
"Will you be the fire that holds back the cold, the light at break of day, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realm?"
Lynn looked at this old man who'd dedicated his life to the Wall. Finally nodded slowly.
"I will."
Mormont showed a relieved smile.
He picked up the chain and personally placed it on Lynn.
The cold metal touched skin, but Lynn felt his blood burning.
"My duty is complete."
Mormont exhaled deeply. His entire being seemed lighter.
"I want to go to Oldtown. See the Hightower. Smell the mead. Spend my final days in warm sunlight."
The old man looked at Lynn with expectation.
"Don't let the Long Night swallow our last light."
The next day.
When dawn's first light touched the Wall—
Lynn stood alone atop the seven-hundred-foot ice wall in the black Lord Commander's cloak.
Bitter wind whipped his cloak, snapping loudly.
Below, countless free folk—guided by Night's Watch—passed through that deep tunnel, stepping onto the Gift's soil.
They cheered. Embraced. Kissed this land their ancestors had dreamed of for generations.
Joyful tears melted the snow beneath their feet.
In the distance, the Haunted Forest remained deathly silent.
Lynn gripped Longclaw at his waist, gaze becoming utterly resolute.
He spoke to Jon beside him.
"My first order as Lord Commander."
"I'll pay from my own pocket. Gather craftsmen across the North. Build stone houses for the wildlings with everything we've got!"
"And in the Gift—I'm building a city!"
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