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The drag marks in the snow were unnaturally clear. As if bodies had been hauled away by force, vanishing into the forest's icy shadows.
"What happened here?" Torren dismounted, frowning at the tracks.
"Cleaning the battlefield? Doesn't look like it. If wildlings did this, they wouldn't leave the horses. Horse meat's valuable." Another guard analyzed. "And they'd take the weapons and armor."
Swords and broken mail littered the ground. Not wildlings.
Lynn stared at the drag marks. He remembered the books. A missing patrol. Never returned. Led by Ser Waymar Royce. They encountered White Walkers. Total annihilation.
Is this that battlefield?
He didn't dare finish the thought.
"My Lord, what do we do? Track them?" Torren asked.
"No." Lynn shook his head. "This is beyond us now. Return to Castle Black immediately. Full speed. Don't stop."
His tone brooked no argument. Torren obeyed, though confused.
The column raced south toward the Wall. An invisible weight pressed on everyone. They didn't know what happened, but Lynn's grim face told them enough.
When Castle Black's familiar black silhouette appeared on the horizon, everyone exhaled in relief. Home. Safe.
But as they approached, something felt wrong.
A crowd clustered at the gate—not training, not working. Just gathered, pointing, murmuring.
Lynn reined in. At the crowd's center: two shapes wrapped in black Night's Watch cloaks, laid on crude sleds.
Several rangers stood nearby, dust-covered, faces haunted. They spoke urgently to Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon.
Jon Snow and Arya stood among the crowd. Jon's face was shocked, uneasy. His direwolf Ghost paced restlessly at his feet, growling low, baring fangs at the sleds.
Arya's Nymeria did the same—pressed against her leg, hackles raised, golden eyes full of hostility.
Those corpses...
Lynn dismounted and pushed through. He recognized the rangers immediately.
Othor. Jafer Flowers. Members of the patrol Benjen sent out.
They'd returned. Like this.
"What happened?" Lynn approached Mormont, voice low.
The Old Bear's face was grim. "They're dead. Our men found them buried in snow. Frozen solid. But... no visible wounds."
No wounds. White Walkers kill without leaving marks. They drain heat, drain life with their cold touch.
"Their eyes..." Mormont paused, searching for words. "...are blue. Like sapphires."
Of course.
Lynn pulled back a cloak.
"Lord Commander," a ranger said. "We searched everywhere. No sign of Ser Waymar. Not alive, not dead."
Mormont's face darkened. He stared at the corpses in long silence.
"Bring them inside." His voice was weary. "Aemon, examine them. Find the cause of death."
Aemon nodded. Two brothers stepped forward to drag the sleds into the castle.
"Wait!"
Lynn's voice cut through.
All eyes turned to him. Mormont's sharp gaze held confusion. "Lynn? What's wrong?"
Lynn met every stare, inhaling deeply. They'll think I'm mad. But I have to say it.
"Lord Commander." His voice was steady, forceful. "Don't bring them inside."
"Why not?" Mormont's brow furrowed.
"Burn them." Lynn spoke each word clearly. "Here. Now. Immediately."
The courtyard fell silent.
Everyone stared at Lynn like he'd lost his mind.
Burn our brothers' bodies? That's the greatest desecration of the dead in Night's Watch tradition! Only wildlings do that!
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