South of the Wall, that vast land forgotten by Westerosi had never been this lively.
A hundred thousand free folk—like sediment swept by floodwaters—poured into this land silent for a thousand years.
They dragged families, herded skeletal cattle and sheep, pulled all their belongings on crude sleds.
Hastily erected crooked hide tents scattered across every inch of land.
Countless campfires sent smoke curling skyward.
Fights and curses erupted constantly.
Over a sheltered campsite, two tribes' warriors drew blades.
Over a lost snow sheep, ragged children brawled.
Chaos. Disorder.
These hundred thousand hungry mouths—like a crushing mountain—pressed down on Castle Black's already strained granaries.
The Gift was a wasteland. Even Northmen wouldn't set foot there. This news wouldn't reach King's Landing quickly.
Never mind that he held Myrcella—he'd already told Sansa through greensight, having her inform Ned.
On the other side, he'd told Robb to manage his bannermen.
Let them think first.
The North and Lynn were tied together. They'd inevitably be implicated. Then the entire North would be forced to stand with him.
That meant over 150,000 troops waiting for enemies.
In the War of Five Kings, Tywin only fielded 60,000. Any side would have to think carefully.
And a wight was already en route to King's Landing. If Robert remained stubborn, war would begin directly.
He could now transform corpses into wights, even transform White Walkers, even summon ice giants. War would only make him stronger.
The Gold Cloaks would stand ready. King's Landing's wildfire wasn't only others' to control—Lynn could too!
If it came to war with the Seven Kingdoms, don't blame him for becoming the next Night King.
To claim kingship, this was the inevitable process.
If he couldn't bear this risk, he might as well swear loyalty to the king and be his dog.
As a transmigrator, he had that confidence.
Even if he failed, he'd find opportunity to rise again in Essos.
What's there to fear?
"Lynn, this can't continue."
In the Lord Commander's study, Jon Snow's face showed deep worry.
"Our stores will last half a month at most."
"And they have no discipline. Today alone saw a dozen bloody conflicts."
"Though mostly internal fighting. They're still obedient—haven't attacked original residents yet."
Lynn stood before a massive sand table, holding wooden pieces representing different tribes, planning something.
Hearing Jon, he didn't look up.
"Panic is temporary, Jon."
"They're like drowning men adrift too long at sea."
"Just reaching land, naturally they'll frantically scramble from uncertainty about the future."
"Once the first stone houses are built, once the first grain is distributed, they'll settle down."
Lynn placed a piece carved with a giant's head at the Gift's northern edge, near the Wall's base.
"Tormund's tribe—best fighters, most obedient. Station them here as the first line."
"Thenns—most savage, least manageable. Assign them furthest south, away from the Wall."
"..."
Lynn's fingers moved constantly across the sand table, arranging wildling tribes with perfect clarity.
He wasn't just planning temporary camps, but new villages—even a city's embryonic form.
Jon watched Lynn's profile, deep in strategy. His anxiety miraculously calmed.
He suddenly realized—Lynn wasn't thinking about solving immediate troubles.
He was playing a grand game for the entire North's future.
"Those craftsmen you mentioned..."
"I've had Myrcella send ravens to White Harbor in the Lannister name."
Lynn set down his piece, looking at Jon.
"House Manderly is the North's wealthiest bannermen, also the best shipwrights and craftsmen."
"Tell them I'll pay premium prices for their stone and labor."
"Money isn't a problem. I have plenty."
Jon nodded.
Just then, the door was knocked.
"Come in."
Mance Rayder entered.
He'd changed from years-worn leather armor into clean black robes.
Looked more like a bard than the king commanding a hundred thousand.
His gaze swept the massive sand table. Those wise eyes flashed complex emotions.
"Jon, step out for a moment."
Mance said.
"I have words for Lord Commander Lynn alone."
Jon nodded knowingly, exiting and closing the door.
In the study—only Lynn and Mance remained.
"You've done well."
Mance approached the sand table, viewing those tribes Lynn had organized so perfectly.
"Better than I did."
"I spent years barely binding these unruly tribes together, yet they remained like scattered sand."
"You—one day."
Mance's tone carried genuine admiration, even relief.
"I relied on fists and a dragon." Lynn was calm.
"No." Mance shook his head.
"You relied on this."
He pointed at Lynn's head.
"Free folk aren't stupid. They just solve problems the most direct way."
"They follow the strong, but more—they follow leaders who bring hope."
"Tormund, that oaf—he might not understand what's drawn on this table."
"But he knows—following you, he and his people get stone houses. His tribe's women won't give birth in ice and snow."
"That's more persuasive than any blade."
Mance circled the sand table, finally stopping before Lynn.
He looked deeply into Lynn's eyes.
"I was once Night's Watch. I swore oaths—to be the shield that guards the realm."
"But I watched wildlings starve beyond the Wall, hunted by those monsters, while I could only stand on this cold wall, doing nothing."
"So I fled. Became a deserter."
"I thought—if I could just bring them across the Wall, I could save them."
"Now I know. I was wrong."
Mance's voice became utterly solemn.
He slowly knelt on one knee, lowering that head never bowed to anyone.
"I, Mance Rayder, former Night's Watch ranger, former leader of the free folk."
"Will surrender the King-Beyond-the-Wall's authority to you, Lord Commander Lynn."
"Henceforth, you are the free folk's only king."
Lynn looked at the man kneeling before him.
This kneel represented crushing responsibility falling on his shoulders.
"Rise, Mance."
Lynn extended his hand, helping him up.
"Free folk don't kneel."
Mance stood, eyes reddening.
He smiled—utterly relieved.
"You're right."
"But this title isn't honor—it's shackles."
"Now these shackles are yours to bear."
"Come, new King-Beyond-the-Wall."
Mance gestured.
"Your subjects await."
At the Wall's base. The Gift's edge.
On a temporary platform built from massive stones, bonfires blazed.
Tens of thousands of free folk emerged from tents, gathering below the platform.
They whispered, watching the figures above with curiosity, awe, suspicion.
Lynn. Mance Rayder. Tormund and other tribal chiefs.
"QUIET!"
Tormund's booming voice instantly crushed all noise.
He walked to the platform's edge, surveying the dark mass below.
"I know what you're thinking!"
"You're thinking—why should we listen to a southerner!"
"You're thinking—did we go from wolves to dogs!"
"I'll tell you!"
Tormund pointed at Lynn standing center, voice full of fervor.
"This southerner—he one-punched me across the yard!"
"This southerner—alone, he beat down all our tribal chiefs!"
"He has magic! He can forge ice swords harder than our sharpest axes!"
The crowd erupted in gasps.
Tormund didn't stop. He continued roaring:
"He has a dragon! Three heads!"
"He could've burned us all to ash! But he didn't!"
"He gave us land! Food! He's building us stone houses!"
"Fuck—I never thought I'd live in a stone house!"
Tormund's words—crude but direct—instantly ignited fire in every free folk heart.
Stone houses!
Warm hearths!
No more hunger!
Isn't this what they'd dreamed of for generations?
Then Mance Rayder stepped forward.
He looked at those excited, fanatical faces below.
"I once sang for you—of freedom and courage."
"I once led you south, seeking survival and hope."
"But today, I pledge loyalty to another king."
Mance's voice echoed in the cold wind.
"We free folk have no kings."
"We only follow the strong who help us survive!"
"Now—he's here!"
Mance spun, pointing at Lynn!
"He is our new king!"
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!"
Brief silence.
Then—
"ROAR—!"
Tormund first raised his arms, bellowing like a beast!
Then tens of thousands of free folk below raised their weapons!
Bone spears, stone axes, rusted swords...
They struck their chests and shields with all their strength, roaring like mountains collapsing, seas raging!
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!"
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!!"
The sound surged skyward, as if shaking snow from the Wall itself.
They acclaimed their new king in the most primitive, most sincere way.
Lynn stood atop the platform, overlooking that fanatical sea below.
He didn't speak.
Just slowly drew Longclaw from his waist, raising the blade high.
Silent proclamation—better than a thousand words.
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