Chapter 60 - Chapter 60: Mormont's Hopes

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Lynn studied the human-skin map in his quarters.

The material was unusual—not parchment, not paper, but tanned human skin stretched thin. Lines were crude, amateurish. But that blood-red eye symbol was rendered with startling clarity—as if imbued with mysterious power, drawing the gaze like a magnet.

What is this place?

Lynn's finger traced the symbol. A holy site of the Old Gods? Ruins left by the Children of the Forest? Either possibility held lethal allure.

Mormont's sending me to find this—it's a test. A gamble. Win, and the Watch gains strength to fight the White Walkers. Lose, and the expedition vanishes forever beyond the Wall.

Lynn loved this gamble. Clearly, I'm not alone. Mormont does too.

No fear stirred in him—only fierce excitement. He rolled the map carefully, tucking it against his body. Then he lifted the Valyrian steel dagger.

Cold dragonbone hilt fit his palm perfectly. He drew it slowly. The blade's rippling water-pattern shimmered with mysterious luster in the dim room.

A perfect killing tool. Light, sharp, lethal to White Walkers. But too short. On a real battlefield, against enemies wielding polearms, a dagger's limitations are crippling. I need a true primary weapon. A longsword—also forged of Valyrian steel.

Longclaw's shadow surfaced in Lynn's mind. I know that blade's here at Castle Black. In Mormont's hands. And I know—last night, I paved every path to claim it. Now, I just wait.

Knock, knock. Steady raps on the door.

"Come in." Lynn sheathed the dagger, looking up.

The door opened. Jeor Mormont entered carrying a long wooden chest. Lynn's heart jumped. Here it is.

His face remained impassive. He rose from the bed, bowing slightly. "Lord Commander."

Mormont set the chest on the room's only table. THUD. Years of stillness made it heavy. Dust puffed up.

Mormont said nothing, just watched Lynn. Those sharp eyes held complex emotions Lynn had never seen before—admiration, gratitude, reliance, and something like... a father's hopes for his son.

The atmosphere grew heavy.

"Lynn." Finally, Mormont broke the silence. "I know my decision last night put you at great risk." He meant not burning the corpses immediately—bringing them into the castle.

"You're Lord Commander. Your decisions need no explanation to me." Lynn's voice was calm.

"No." Mormont shook his head. "A good leader doesn't just give orders. He admits mistakes." He drew a deep breath, as if expelling all the stale air in his chest. "If I'd fully followed your advice last night, perhaps none of that would've happened. I... nearly got myself killed."

"But you ultimately made the right precautions, didn't you?" Lynn met his gaze. "You separated the corpses, kept everyone armed. That minimized casualties."

A bitter smile touched Mormont's face. "Don't comfort me, boy. I know—I was shackled by damned rules and tradition. And you showed me how worthless those traditions are against true darkness."

Mormont turned aside. His hand stroked the dusty chest gently. "I thought long last night." His voice echoed in the quiet room, carrying a relieved lightness. "I wondered—why did I don the black? Why come to this godsforsaken place?"

He didn't look at Lynn. His gaze seemed to pierce the thick stone walls, reaching south toward that home he could never return to.

"Bear Island. That's my home. Small, not wealthy, but its people are brave and loyal. Mormont women are warriors, same as the men. They'd die defending their homeland."

Lynn listened silently. This old man needs someone to hear him.

"I had a son once. Jorah." Mormont's voice grew hoarse. "My son. Bear Island's rightful heir. I had high hopes—thought he'd carry House Mormont's glory forward. I passed this sword to him."

His hand struck the chest heavily. "Our family's ancestral Valyrian steel blade—Longclaw. I thought he'd wield it like I did, like all our ancestors, defending the North, defending our home. But he disappointed me."

Mormont's fist clenched on the chest. "For a woman—one who loved only gold and vanity—he betrayed everything. He sold slaves, broke the realm's harshest laws. When the judgment reached Bear Island, he fled like a coward. Across the Narrow Sea. Left the shame to me. To all House Mormont!"

His body trembled slightly. Those aged eyes filled with pain and fury.

And Bear Island—with my departure, only Maege Mormont and Lyanna Mormont hold the line. Two women. They say Mormont women match any man, but I know how hard that is... Perhaps I should never have come here...

Mormont's thoughts circled back. He drew a deep breath, steadying himself. "Later, he left this sword behind. Said nothing. But I knew—he'd given up. Given up Bear Island, the Mormont name, his place as my son."

Mormont unlatched the chest. Creak. The lid lifted slowly.

An ancient, magnificent longsword lay on dark crimson velvet. At the pommel—that silver-carved bear's head—gleamed coldly in the dim light.

"Since then, it's been locked here. I don't deserve it. A father who couldn't raise his son right, a coward who fled to the Wall because of his son's shame—what right do I have to wear this blade of honor? It should belong to a true warrior!"

Mormont turned. His sharp eyes locked onto Lynn, burning like hearth flames.

"Lynn. Last night, you saved my life. Today, you showed the entire Night's Watch the way forward. You're brave, fearless, calm, with the resolve to fight darkness. You're a hundred times—a thousand times—better than my worthless son!"

Mormont's voice rang with decisive conviction. "This sword shouldn't gather dust here!"

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