Celebration fires lit the Wall's night sky bright as day.
Free folk celebrated their new king's birth—and their suffering's end—in the most primitive way.
Tormund clutched a massive ale barrel, competing with several Thenn chiefs.
His big face flushed red, periodically erupting in thunderous laughter.
More wildlings circled bonfires, dancing crude, powerful war dances, singing ancient songs—desolate yet joyful.
Lynn didn't join their revelry.
He stood alone on the Lord Commander's tower balcony, overlooking that boiling sea below.
Cold wind whipped the black cloak symbolizing his command, yet he felt no chill.
An unprecedented satisfaction filled him.
This is what power tastes like.
"Not joining them for a drink?"
Jon Snow appeared beside him, carrying faint alcohol scent.
"They need a king, not a drinking buddy."
Lynn's gaze remained below.
Jon fell silent. Joy gradually replaced by worry.
"Lynn, our food won't last."
Jon's voice dropped low.
"Castle Black's stores, plus what's from Mole's Town—enough to feed a hundred thousand for half a month at most."
"And those stone houses you mentioned—White Harbor's Manderlys sent ravens back. They'll provide craftsmen and stone, but the price..."
Jon's face showed pain.
"Nearly drains the entire North's annual taxes."
"Money and food aren't problems."
Lynn's tone was calm.
He turned, entering the study, gesturing for Jon to close the door.
Under dim candlelight, Lynn sat and closed his eyes.
Jon watched confused, not knowing what he was doing.
Lynn's mental power spread like a tide in that moment.
Through cold stone walls, across vast snowfields, over swamps, past the Twins...
His consciousness extended south at unprecedented speed.
The entire Westerosi continent became a vast, boundless starry sky.
Every living being—a star emitting faint light.
Some bright. Some dim.
He saw Robb in Winterfell, practicing troop formations at a sand table, brow furrowed.
He saw Lysa Tully in the Eyrie, neurotically nursing her grown son.
Lynn didn't linger.
He passed through everyone's dreams.
Finally, his consciousness reached that city full of desire and conspiracy.
King's Landing.
In that ocean of souls, he searched for a familiar brightness.
Found it.
Sansa Stark sat by her window, looking at ledgers, young face showing worry beyond her years.
Since Lynn left King's Landing, her business there had suffered.
Most importantly—Lynn hadn't written in so long.
That scoundrel—did some wildling woman seduce him in the North?
She was lost in wild thoughts when an idea surfaced unbidden from her heart's depths.
The gold dragons I've earned recently—keeping them here is too unsafe.
If King's Landing's powers turn on House Stark someday, this money definitely won't be safe.
Better...
Better take all these gold dragons to the Iron Bank in Braavos, exchange them for the most secure promissory notes!
The Iron Bank's reputation was impeccable. Their notes were valid worldwide.
And supposedly the Iron Bank was currently funding Northern development. Depositing money there would indirectly support Lynn.
Yes!
That's it!
The more Sansa thought, the more this idea seemed genius!
She even felt a little proud for thinking of something so thorough.
She immediately rose, gathering things, preparing to visit the Iron Bank's King's Landing branch first thing tomorrow.
Meanwhile, Lynn also saw Arya.
Since he'd left, Arya had grown much quieter, blankly propping her small head with her hand, lost in thought.
In the distant North—
Lynn slowly opened his eyes.
The Three-Eyed Raven's method really worked.
"Feel, don't control."
Forceful commands only triggered the soul's instinctive resistance.
But silently planting an idea, making them think it was their own brilliant notion—that was a skinchanger's highest realm.
Gentle as spring rain.
"What is it?"
Jon saw Lynn's expression, asking curiously.
"Nothing. Our money's already on its way."
Lynn stood, patting Jon's shoulder.
"Also, gathering blessed items—I'm still leaving that to you. Keep collecting, one of each."
"Jon, I'm entrusting these matters to you."
"I trust you. Don't disappoint me."
"Starting tomorrow, push the Gift's construction with everything we have."
"Within a year, I want all free folk living in stone houses."
"At the Wall's base—build a brand new city!"
Jon listened stunned. The money problem solved just like that?
Before he could react, Lynn had already left the study.
Night deepened. Celebrating free folk gradually quieted.
Ygritte didn't return to her tribe's tent. Like a small cat, she silently slipped into the Lord Commander's tower.
She easily found Lynn's room.
Pushing the door open, she saw Lynn packing.
He folded the black Lord Commander's cloak neatly, set it aside, changed into light leather armor.
"You're leaving?"
Ygritte's heart sank.
"Yes. Business in Essos." Lynn didn't turn.
"Take me!"
Ygritte almost blurted it out.
Lynn stopped, turned around.
He looked at this red-haired girl—those grey eyes usually so stubborn, now full of anxiety and pleading.
"You can't come."
"Why?" Ygritte's eyes reddened.
"Am I too much trouble?"
"No."
Lynn approached, raising his hand to smooth her wind-blown red hair.
"You're staying because there's something more important to do."
"What?"
Lynn glanced at the adjacent room.
"Take care of Princess Myrcella."
"Huh?"
Ygritte froze, thinking she'd misheard.
Make her—a wildling—care for a golden-haired southern princess?
That delicate little girl who'd fall over in a breeze?
"You're not joking?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lynn's expression was serious.
"She's the king's daughter. House Lannister's precious jewel. Her presence here guarantees peace between the North and King's Landing."
"I need someone I absolutely trust to watch her. Protect her."
Ygritte's heart betrayed her, pounding wildly.
Someone I absolutely trust...
He... trusts me?
"But... I don't know anything."
Ygritte lacked confidence.
"I can barely read. Only know how to write my own name."
"You can write your own name? Among wildlings that makes you exceptional. That proves your talent is high. But none of that matters."
Lynn smiled.
"I'll leave you a large sum of money."
"Go to White Harbor, or Oldtown. Hire her the best etiquette teachers, the best maesters."
"Have her learn music, dance, history, Seven Kingdoms noble etiquette."
"In short—cultivate her into Westeros's most elegant, most noble lady."
Ygritte was completely bewildered.
Her brain felt insufficient.
Make her—a free folk who can't even use a fork—supervise a princess learning noble etiquette?
More absurd than fighting a giant alone!
"This... this... I..."
Ygritte stammered, unable to form words.
Lynn looked at her adorably dazed expression, couldn't help laughing.
He extended his hand, pulling her into his embrace, whispering in her ear:
"I believe in you, fire-kissed girl."
Warm breath on her ear—Ygritte felt her body instantly soften.
She buried her head in Lynn's broad chest, feeling that utterly reassuring scent and heartbeat, nodding vigorously.
"I... I'll listen to you."
Lynn gently patted her back, then released her.
"Wait for me."
Lynn gazed into her eyes, solemnly making a promise.
"When I return from Essos, I'll come find you."
Next morning.
When dawn's first light pierced the clouds, gilding the endless ice wall—
Winter's massive, sky-blocking body shot skyward from Castle Black's courtyard.
It let out a heaven-shaking dragon's roar, carrying its master eastward—toward that broader, unknown continent—flying away.
On the balcony, Ygritte wore an obviously ill-fitting black cloak, blankly watching that dot disappearing into the horizon.
Only when Winter's form completely vanished did she slowly withdraw her gaze.
She took a deep breath. Those grey eyes ignited with unprecedented fire.
She turned, pushing open the adjacent door.
Princess Myrcella sat at her vanity, brushing her beautiful golden hair.
"Starting today, your etiquette lessons are my responsibility."
Ygritte crossed her arms, leaning on the doorframe, speaking in a stiff tone.
"I'll hire you the best teachers."
"If you don't learn well..."
Ygritte paused, thinking for ages before coming up with what she considered a very threatening threat.
"I'll shoot your butt with arrows!"
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