Hide the dragon?
No need to hide it from these Night's Watchmen.
Even if I wanted to—I couldn't.
The only variable is Tyrion.
The last layer of fur fell away.
An ice-blue egg—surface covered in intricate dragon-scale patterns, like a sculpture carved from ice and starlight—rested in Lynn's palm.
It appeared before everyone's eyes.
The courtyard plunged into eerie silence.
The wind stopped.
The snow seemed to stop.
Every eye locked onto the egg in Lynn's hand.
Mouths hung open. Throats made no sound.
Breath itself seemed frozen by the bone-deep cold.
What is that?
That perfect oval. Those dragon-scale patterns covering the surface.
That ancient, magical presence—palpable even from dozens of paces away...
"A... dragon egg?"
A Night's Watchman whispered the words like a man in a dream.
BOOM.
Those two words—like a spark dropped into boiling oil—ignited the entire courtyard!
"Gods! It's a dragon egg!"
"Am I seeing this right? Is that really a dragon egg?"
"Old Gods above! Lord Lynn found a dragon egg!"
"A miracle! This is a miracle!"
Exclamations. Murmurs. Gasps. Rising and falling like a tidal wave, nearly lifting the roof off Castle Black.
Every Night's Watchman surged forward like madmen, desperate to see.
They wanted to witness this great magical creature with their own eyes!
Torren and his Northern guards reacted instantly, forming a solid wall to hold back the frenzied crowd.
Tyrion, stuck at the back, hopped on his toes in frustration.
He craned his neck but saw only a sea of black backs.
"Damn it, can't you Northern giants leave me a gap?"
Suddenly, he felt himself lifted. Strong arms hoisted him up.
Jon Snow.
"Need a better view, Lord Lannister?"
Jon's face held a mischievous grin.
"Careful, Lord Snow."
Tyrion's mouth ran sharp, but his mismatched eyes locked onto the egg in Lynn's hand.
"If you drop me, my father will buy this broken Wall and tear it down inch by inch."
But the moment he saw the egg clearly—all his quips died in his throat.
It really is a dragon egg.
Tyrion felt his blood flow backward.
A dragon.
Not the cold skulls hanging in the Red Keep. Not yellowed words in history books.
But a living... possibility.
Father's gold mines. Lannister armies...
What are they before true dragonfire?
The game—from today—its rules will be rewritten.
He wanted to send a raven to his father immediately. But then he remembered Lynn's words.
His wife...
He decided—until Lynn reveals the truth, I won't tell the Lannisters.
Besides, it's just an egg. Even if it hatches, it needs time to grow.
"Fake! This has to be fake!"
Alliser Thorne's shriek cut through the fervent atmosphere.
The sneer on his face had frozen, replaced by twisted madness.
He pointed at Lynn, roaring hysterically:
"Dragons have been extinct for centuries! How could there be a dragon egg?! He's a fraud! You're all being fooled! That's just a carved rock!"
He clung to this last straw, trying to salvage his pathetic authority with volume.
But this time—no one listened.
Every gaze turned to a trembling figure.
Maester Aemon.
The century-old scholar of vast learning. Bearer of Targaryen blood.
Supported by two brothers, he walked step by step toward Lynn.
The crowd parted for him automatically.
His blind eyes "looked" toward the egg in Lynn's hand.
He extended his wrinkled, branch-like hands, voice trembling despite a lifetime of composure:
"May I... touch it?"
Lynn nodded. Realizing Aemon couldn't see, he added, "Yes," and carefully handed over the egg.
Aemon's rough fingertips moved with reverence and tenderness across the ice-blue shell.
The perfect curve. The intricate scale patterns. And that... faint but real warmth pulsing like life itself.
His fingertips felt it.
Beneath the icy stillness—a warm, fragile, yet incredibly resilient heartbeat!
HUM...
As if sensing the shared bloodline, the ice-blue egg emitted a faint hum!
A visible pale-blue aura flashed across the shell!
"Ah!"
Aemon's body shuddered violently, as if struck by lightning.
Two streams of cloudy tears—unstoppable—rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.
He released the egg. His strength drained. He collapsed backward.
Thankfully, the guards caught him.
"It's real..."
"It's real..."
"It's alive! This little one is alive!"
Aemon looked skyward, voice filled with indescribable emotion and sorrow.
"The prince that was promised... the one who ends the Long Night..."
He muttered incoherently, blind eyes blazing with near-manic light.
"Could it be... Lynn?"
Aemon fell into deep thought, as if pondering something profound.
Aemon's reaction was irrefutable proof!
The courtyard fell silent again.
Everyone looked at Lynn like he was a god.
Alliser Thorne's face had lost all color.
He stared at Lynn. At the egg. At the manic Maester Aemon.
The world spun.
It's over.
Everything's over.
Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, stood frozen.
His mind—blank.
A dragon egg.
Lynn actually brought back a living dragon egg!
He remembered Lynn's words before departure in his study.
"That place holds the key to fighting the White Walkers!"
So this is the key?
Dragonfire against ice?
Life against death?
The Old Bear's body trembled with excitement.
He looked at Lynn, eyes—long occupied by worry and exhaustion—blazing with unprecedented light!
Hope!
As the Wall crumbles and the Long Night descends—he saw the only thread of hope!
And the one who brought it—this young man!
I don't have the ability to end the Long Night.
The future belongs to him.
Mormont took a deep breath, forcing down his surging emotions.
He strode to Lynn.
Said nothing.
Then—before everyone—he bowed deeply to Lynn. A formal salute, hand to chest.
A Lord Commander, bowing to his subordinate!
Unprecedented in the Night's Watch's thousand-year history!
"Lord Commander! What are you doing?!"
Lynn rushed forward, trying to help him up.
But Mormont stubbornly held the bow.
"Lynn."
Mormont's voice—choked with emotion.
"From today, you are no longer my subordinate."
He slowly straightened, sharp, wise eyes filled with unprecedented solemnity and trust.
"You are the Night's Watch's future."
"The North's—and the Seven Kingdoms'—only hope against the Long Night!"
"I, Jeor Mormont, swear before the Old Gods and the New!"
"As long as I draw breath, the Night's Watch's resources, manpower—all are yours to command!"
"Your will is my will!"
"Your orders are Castle Black's highest law!"
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