Lynn's body stiffened.
The person in his arms breathed steadily. Seemed to have fallen deeply asleep.
But that nasal, dream-murmured sentence—like the finest feather—lightly scratched Lynn's most sensitive nerves.
"Can you... possess my body again? I want it..."
The words were slurred. Tinged with coquettishness, longing, yet unconscious dependence.
Lynn looked down at the wildcat curled in his arms.
Firelight outlined her soft profile. That fiery red hair scattered across the pillow. Like burning flames.
In sleep, she'd shed her thorns. Gone was the daytime swagger and arrogance. Only a normal girl's softness and fragility remained.
She's jealous of Myrcella. She's envious.
The realization made Lynn caught between amusement and exasperation. Yet stirred inexplicable tenderness.
Ygritte was like a wolf accustomed to hunting alone on the tundra. Suddenly brought into a human village one day.
She didn't understand the rules here. Couldn't stand the hypocritical pleasantries. The only thing she could recognize and rely on: the first person who fed her meat.
Lynn was that person.
So she'd clumsily mimic Southern etiquette. Try to fit into this world she completely didn't understand.
And would bristle at Lynn's casual gesture toward another. Assert her claim in the most primal, direct way.
She didn't understand political marriage. Didn't understand allies.
In her black-and-white world: sleeping together meant forever. Was the happiest thing.
That sleep-talk exposed her deepest, most secret desire.
She missed that feeling. That sensation of Lynn completely taking over her body. While her soul remained intimately connected to his. Moving together.
A trust and fusion transcending physical desire.
Lynn sighed softly. He closed his eyes.
His consciousness—like a silent drop of ink—slowly sank into Ygritte's chaotic yet wild sea of mind.
No obstacles. No resistance.
That sea brimmed with ice and snow's chill, pine needle bitterness, and adrenaline-fueled ecstasy after successful hunts.
Countless fragmented images flashed through Lynn's consciousness:
She chased a snow hare across frozen rivers. Tore into half-cooked venison with her teeth. Sang loudly with her tribe around fires...
These were Ygritte's memories. A Free Folk spearwife's memories. Wild, free, full of vitality.
But beneath this wild surface, Lynn sensed deep loneliness. A despair of being abandoned by the entire world.
The Memory.
The scene shifted abruptly.
Lynn found himself in an endless snowfield. Blizzards blanketed everything. White curtains obscured all. Only wind's roar remained between heaven and earth.
A tiny figure trudged through knee-deep snow.
A girl who looked only seven or eight. Wore ragged furs. Fiery red hair whipped in wind like a dying flame.
Young Ygritte.
She trembled all over. Face pale. Lips purple. She walked while looking back. Blue eyes filled with fear and confusion.
"Papa... Mama..."
She whimpered like a kitten. Voice quickly swallowed by gale.
She'd gotten separated from her tribe.
On this white wasteland that could devour everything, she was like a grain of sand about to be crushed.
Cold. Hunger. Fear... Slowly drowning her.
This was her deepest nightmare.
That strong, proud, fearless spearwife—her soul's depths always hid this little girl lost in a blizzard, crying.
Lynn's consciousness didn't take physical form. He became a warm light. Silently enveloped that trembling tiny figure.
The crying little Ygritte shuddered violently. She felt a warm current slowly pour from above into her body. Dispelled the bone-deep cold.
She looked up blankly. Saw nothing. Only endless wind and snow.
But she wasn't as afraid anymore.
That warmth wrapped around her. Like father's thick bearskin coat. Like mother's warm embrace.
She stopped crying. Just followed instinct. Walked toward where the warmth was strongest. One stumbling step after another.
After walking who knows how long, the blizzard miraculously stopped.
Ahead on the snowfield: a cave appeared. A bonfire burned at the entrance. Orange-red firelight looked especially warm in the white world.
Little Ygritte's eyes lit up. She scrambled toward that cave.
Inside, a tall, burly man sat by the fire. Carefully sharpening a bone spear with a whetstone. He had the same fiery red hair as Ygritte. Just mixed with some frost-gray.
Beside him, a woman sewed a small leather garment with bone needle and sinew. Her face bore wind and frost's marks. But her eyes watching the fire brimmed with tenderness.
"Papa! Mama!"
Little Ygritte cried out joyfully. Threw herself into their arms like a swallow returning to nest.
The man and woman turned simultaneously. They looked at their little daughter rushing into their embrace. Faces showed loving smiles.
The man extended his rough hand. Ruffled her hair. The woman held her tightly. Warmed her frozen body with her own heat.
No words. But that joy of recovery. That blood-bond affection was more real than any words.
Little Ygritte buried her face in her mother's embrace. She greedily inhaled that scent mixed with bonfire and pine oil. Felt her father's palm's warmth. Her suspended heart finally settled.
She was safe. She was home.
Lynn's consciousness floated quietly nearby. Watched this warm scene.
He knew: this was just a dream. Ygritte's deepest desire, materialized by his power.
Her parents might have died long ago. In some cold winter night. Or in conflict with other tribes. Or... under the White Walkers' blades when they came south.
But now, in this dream Lynn wove for her, they were at least alive.
The Fading.
The parents' figures in the cave began turning transparent. Like reflections in water, rippled by breeze.
Little Ygritte seemed to sense something. She looked up sharply. Blue eyes filled with panic.
"Papa! Mama! Don't go!"
She reached out. Tried to grab them. Only grasped emptiness.
Her parents' figures—along with the warm bonfire—dissolved into specks of light. Vanished into air.
The cave became dark and cold again.
Massive loss and fear seized little Ygritte's heart again. She opened her mouth. Wanted to cry loudly.
But that warm light enveloped her again. Warmer than before. Heavier. More reassuring.
Little Ygritte froze. She slowly turned. Looked at that light.
She couldn't see what was inside. But she felt a pair of eyes gently watching her.
She suddenly understood.
From beginning to end, what accompanied her, gave her warmth, guided her direction—wasn't her parents' phantom. But this light.
She extended her small hand. Tentatively touched the light.
The instant fingertip met radiance—
BOOM!
An indescribable sensation—like electric current—instantly spread through her limbs, straight to her soul's depths.
A connection beyond words. Like two drifting streams finally merging into one river.
She felt she was no longer alone. Her soul pressed tightly against the light's soul.
She could feel his strength, his calm, his unfathomable depth. He could feel her loneliness, her fear, her forced bravery.
In this moment, no secrets remained between them.
Little Ygritte smiled. She wasn't afraid anymore.
Papa and Mama were gone. But she'd found a new... family member. A stronger one who could protect her forever.
She opened her arms. Threw herself into that light's embrace without hesitation.
The Awakening.
In the tent, Lynn slowly opened his eyes. He looked down at his arms.
Ygritte still slept. But a crystalline tear hung at her eye's corner. Her lips curved slightly upward. With a satisfied, reassured arc.
Lynn reached out. Gently wiped away that tear with his fingertip.
From tonight, his relationship with this wildling girl had changed.
No longer King-Beyond-the-Wall and his subject. No longer primal attraction between man and woman.
A soul-bond.
He'd entered her dream. Glimpsed her softest core. Become her new spiritual anchor.
This responsibility was heavy.
Ygritte's eyelashes fluttered lightly. She slowly opened her eyes.
Those blue eyes—usually clear as Northern skies yet tinged with wildness—now resembled melted ice lakes. Shimmering, bottomless.
She looked at Lynn. Said nothing.
Didn't ask "What did you do to me?" Didn't loudly assert her claim as usual.
Ygritte just watched quietly. As if carving Lynn's image into her bones and blood.
After a long while, Ygritte burrowed deeper into Lynn's embrace. Pressed her cheek against his chest. Voice carried just-woken hoarseness yet was utterly clear:
"Don't leave."
Two words. Simple. Yet heavier than any oath.
Lynn's heart felt gently struck by something. He tightened his arms. Held this girl who'd completely entrusted herself to him even closer.
"I won't."
Lynn answered softly.
Ygritte closed her eyes contentedly. Breathing steadied again.
But Lynn had no sleepiness. He stared at the tent ceiling. Felt the warm, soft body in his arms and that unreserved dependence.
He knew: he'd just done something very dangerous.
He'd used his power to rebuild a home for a lost girl.
But wasn't he also a stranger walking alone on this foreign continent of Westeros?
[END CHAPTER 206]
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