"Let him in."
Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man walked into the brightly lit hall.
Around forty, his weathered face bore lingering exhaustion and melancholy.
He wore heavily worn chainmail, covered by a faded surcoat.
On the chest—an embroidered standing black bear.
An exiled knight.
The man entered the hall, gaze first falling on Daenerys.
When he saw that signature silver hair and purple eyes, those gray eyes flashed with complex emotion.
He'd already heard from Illyrio.
Daenerys and Viserys were taken by a mysterious young man—one who even had a dragon. He'd followed and investigated extensively to find this place.
He knelt on one knee.
"Jorah Mormont, at your service, my queen."
Daenerys instinctively glanced at Lynn. Seeing no objection, she said softly:
"Please rise, Ser Mormont."
Jorah Mormont stood, gaze now turning to Lynn beside Daenerys.
This young man—the mysterious figure with the three-headed dragon Illyrio mentioned?
He looks too young.
Jorah discreetly studied Lynn, trying to find qualities matching that mythical beast.
However, next second, his gaze completely froze.
He stared fixedly at the longsword at Lynn's waist.
The hilt was wrapped in black leather, but the pommel—a vicious wolf's head—was carved from pale weirwood.
Two red garnet eyes gleamed in candlelight.
Valyrian steel.
Longclaw.
BOOM—!
Jorah felt his brain go blank.
How is this possible?
This sword...
This sword belonging to House Mormont, passed down through generations—how could it be here?
On this stranger's waist?!
When he'd fled the North in disgrace for illegally selling slaves, bringing shame to his house, he'd left this sword on Bear Island, feeling unworthy to wear it.
Later, Father sent it to the Wall, hoping it would forever guard the North.
It should be at the Wall!
In Father's hands!
"This sword..."
Jorah extended trembling fingers, pointing at Longclaw at Lynn's waist.
"You... where did you get it?"
Lynn didn't immediately answer.
He just calmly watched this man, watched that complex expression mixing shock, shame, and pain.
"A gift."
Lynn finally spoke.
"From the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Jorah's body swayed violently, as if drained of all strength, staggering back a step.
Lord Commander... Father...
Father actually gave the family sword to an outsider?
Why?
A massive panic and bitterness of being abandoned, replaced, instantly drowned him.
"Who are you exactly?"
Jorah raised his head, those gray eyes bloodshot.
"Jorah Mormont, heir to Bear Island, only son of 'the Old Bear' Jeor Mormont."
Lynn didn't answer his question, instead exposing his identity in one breath.
"For a vain woman, you sold poachers to Tyroshi as slaves, breaking the law."
"Abandoned by your own father, hunted by Ned Stark, fleeing to Essos in disgrace... a fugitive."
Each of Lynn's sentences stabbed Jorah's deepest wounds.
Exposing those shameful years he'd deliberately forgotten, bloodily revealed under lamplight.
Jorah's face instantly turned deathly pale, lips moving, unable to utter a word.
He'd thought he was sent by Illyrio to guide and monitor these people.
But now he discovered—before this young man, he was like a clown stripped naked, with no secrets whatsoever.
Daenerys was also stunned.
She looked at Lynn in surprise, then at this devastated knight.
Judging by Jorah's reaction, these words seemed all true.
Jorah instinctively gripped his sword hilt—a warrior's instinctive reaction.
But he immediately released it bitterly.
Resist?
With what?
The opponent didn't even bother using that legendary dragon—those few sentences alone were enough to completely shatter his dignity and will.
He expected humiliation, or death.
But Lynn's next words completely stunned him.
"Your father often spoke of you to me."
Lynn's voice revealed no emotion.
"He said he misses the days on Bear Island."
"He thinks of you constantly."
This was a lie.
But for an exile tormented by guilt, this lie was sweeter than any honey.
Jorah's eyes instantly reddened.
"He hopes House Mormont's heir can take up Longclaw again, fight for the family's honor."
Lynn continued.
"Not like now—being a shady spy under a fat merchant, wagging your tail for an illusory pardon."
"Then serving a beggar king who'd sell his own sister."
Lynn's words completely tore away Jorah's last disguise.
Yes, he'd been working for King's Landing's "Spider" Varys, monitoring the Targaryen siblings' movements, trading for a chance to go home.
A filthy transaction.
"Westeros has no place for you anymore, Ser Jorah."
Lynn walked before him, tall figure completely enveloping him.
"But I can give you a new choice."
"Swear fealty to me."
"Not to the Targaryen princess, but to me."
Lynn's voice echoed in the spacious hall.
"Help me take this city, free all the slaves."
"Afterward, I'll petition the Warden of the North, the Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, to pardon your crimes."
"If they refuse, I'll also pardon all your offenses in my capacity as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"You can live in the Gift, or return honorably to Bear Island, inherit your father's title."
"Even..." Lynn's voice paused.
"Personally reclaim your family's Valyrian steel sword from me."
Jorah Mormont's brain roared.
Go home.
Pardon.
Reclaim Longclaw.
All things he didn't dare dream of!
He looked at this young man—not mad like Viserys, not reeking of coin like Illyrio.
Calm, powerful, possessing world-destroying power, yet willing to challenge a city-state for unknown slaves.
He had a quality Jorah had never seen—that of a true leader.
Perhaps... this is a king worth following.
Jorah Mormont looked at Lynn, then at that family sword at his waist symbolizing both honor and shame.
His last hesitation completely vanished in this moment.
Slowly, he knelt on one knee again.
This time, not from courtesy, but from heartfelt submission.
Metal knee guard met cold marble floor with a crisp sound.
"I, Jorah, Jorah of House Mormont, offer my sword, my life, and my broken honor to you."
His voice was hoarse, yet utterly solemn.
"From now on, I will be your most loyal blade, cutting through all thorns in your path."
"Jorah pledges his service to you."
Lynn looked at the man kneeling before him, face finally showing a slight smile.
A guide familiar with Essos, fluent in multiple languages, with rich combat experience—acquired.
"Good. Rise, Ser Jorah."
Lynn extended his hand, helping him up.
"You won't regret today's choice."
"Your father has retired as Lord Commander, gone to enjoy his retirement."
"I've arranged Night's Watch brothers to specifically protect his safety. You have no worries."
"If we move fast enough, returning to Westeros you might even accompany your father through his final years."
"Don't leave regrets after he's gone."
Lynn patted his shoulder.
Mormont men and women—all capable of fighting ten-to-one.
Not just their combat ability.
Barren land doesn't breed powerful warriors, but tempers unmatched will.
This was Lynn's fundamental reason for recruiting Jorah.
Jorah stood, feeling that invisible shackle on his shoulders completely shattered in this moment.
He felt much lighter.
"Now, I have a task for you."
Lynn turned, looking at that city crouching like a beast in the night.
"I want to buy all of Astapor's Unsullied."
Jorah froze, then understood Lynn's intent.
He wants to bloodlessly control all Unsullied this way.
But...
"My lord, the Unsullied's price... is astronomical."
Jorah reminded.
"Even Magister Illyrio might not produce that much money at once."
Lynn turned his head.
"Tomorrow, tell Astapor's Good Master, Kraznys mo Nakloz."
"Say I have sufficient funds to exchange for all his Unsullied."
"You make the connection first."
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