When Lynn arrived, he'd been searched. Only clothes and a Northern standard-issue sword. No silver stags at all.
The search officer knew this.
No money. Never left. So where did these silver stags come from?
Stolen from wildlings?
But what use would wildlings have for silver stags?
Everything became clear.
The silver came from the assassin.
Bowen Marsh's forehead instantly beaded with cold sweat.
His beady eyes darted around, not daring to meet anyone's gaze.
As Castle Black's chief steward, he controlled the castle's purse.
Every supply purchase. Every copper spent. Recorded in his thick ledger.
Of course he remembered.
Not long ago, Alliser Thorne had withdrawn a small bag of silver from him—claiming he needed to "repair weapons and purchase special Southern whetstones."
At the time, he hadn't thought much of it.
Sure, Thorne was sharp-tongued and unpopular.
But he was master-at-arms. A knight. Such a small request—no reason to refuse.
But now...
Looking at those coins on the ground. Recalling Pyp and Grenn's accusations.
And the supplies Thorne never actually purchased.
Bowen Marsh's heart sank to the bottom.
He'd been dragged into enormous trouble.
"Master Marsh?"
Lynn's voice pulled him from chaotic thoughts.
"Have you remembered?"
Bowen Marsh's face flushed red, then white.
He glanced at Lord Commander Mormont's iron-blue face. Then at Lynn's cold eyes.
Finally, his gaze fell on Alliser Thorne's twisted face.
He had to choose.
Cover for Thorne—doomed to fall—and offend the castle's two most powerful men?
Or... tell the truth?
No thought needed.
"I... I remember."
Bowen Marsh wiped his forehead, voice dry.
"On the very day... Lord Lynn, you were attacked."
"Ser Thorne did withdraw twenty silver stags from me."
"The reason was... purchasing whetstones."
That sentence—the final straw—completely broke Alliser Thorne.
"You... you fat pig! You dare betray me!"
Thorne let out a desperate roar.
He lunged toward Bowen Marsh's fat face.
But Torren and Jason's swords blocked him again.
"Thorne!"
Lord Commander Mormont's voice—cold as ice.
"What else do you have to say?"
"No... it wasn't me! It's them! They're conspiring to frame me!"
Thorne's last struggle.
But his voice sounded so pale. So powerless.
"Frame you?"
Lynn laughed coldly.
"Ser Thorne, do you think everyone's as stupid as you?"
"You incited infighting. Tried to stir conflict. That's fact."
"You hired an assassin. Tried to eliminate me. Also fact."
"You even prepared to blame wildlings. Tried to cover the sky with your hand. Still fact!"
Each of Lynn's words shattered Thorne's pathetic conspiracy.
"I ask you."
Lynn's gaze locked onto Thorne.
"Why did you do this?"
"Because I once defied you?"
"Because I made you lose face?"
"Or..."
Lynn's voice dropped suddenly.
"...you're not one of us at all?"
That sentence stunned everyone.
Not one of us?
What does that mean?
Even Lord Commander Mormont looked confused.
Only Alliser Thorne—the instant he heard those words—his pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Pure fear flooded his face!
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
Thorne's voice turned shrill.
Lynn smiled.
He turned, bowing slightly to Lord Commander Mormont.
"Lord Commander, allow me to ask Ser Thorne a few questions."
Mormont looked into Lynn's deep eyes. Nodded.
"Ask. I'll see justice done."
Lynn turned back to Thorne.
"Ser Thorne, I've heard."
"Before you took the black, you were a loyal supporter of House Targaryen. Correct?"
Thorne's face turned hideously ugly.
His most unwanted past.
In Robert's Rebellion, he'd backed the losing side.
After the war, to survive, he'd been forced to take the black and come to this godforsaken place.
To him—utter humiliation.
Night's Watch rules: those who come here have no status, no honor—but that doesn't include knighthood!
The Night's Watch recognizes knighthood!
That's why he always emphasized being a knight.
"So what?"
Thorne ground his teeth.
"What does the past have to do with now?"
"Everything!"
Lynn's voice grew colder.
"I've heard you've always harbored resentment toward King Robert Baratheon and his friend Lord Eddard Stark."
"You're lying!"
"Am I?"
Lynn shook his head.
"Many know you often curse them with the vilest language in private. Don't they?"
Low murmurs rose from the surrounding brothers.
True. Thorne's foul mouth was famous at Castle Black.
He often got drunk and ranted—calling Robert a usurping butcher, Ned a treacherous hypocrite.
People were used to it. No one took his drunken words seriously.
But now—Lynn bringing it up publicly—completely different meaning.
"I ask you again."
Lynn's gaze sharpened further.
"Since the wights appeared, your behavior's been abnormal."
"Do you think the White Walkers and wights—a disaster for the Night's Watch—"
"But for you... an opportunity?"
"An opportunity... for Targaryen restoration?"
"If the Wall falls. If the Seven Kingdoms descend into chaos. If the White Walker army marches south..."
"Then those Targaryen remnants hiding across the Narrow Sea—wouldn't they have a chance to return and retake the Iron Throne?"
"And you, Ser Alliser Thorne—as the Targaryens' most loyal dog—wouldn't you become a founding hero?"
Lynn's words—like thunder on flat ground—exploded in everyone's minds!
Everyone stared at Lynn like he was insane.
That's... that's too much of a leap, right?
Connecting White Walker invasion with Targaryen restoration?
Absurd!
Even Lord Commander Mormont thought Lynn's theory was... far-fetched.
But Alliser Thorne's reaction—dropped everyone's jaws.
He didn't refute.
He didn't roar.
He just stood there, trembling violently.
Looking at Lynn with more terror than if he'd seen a wight.
How... how does he know?
How does he know my deepest secret?
Could he... could he really see through hearts?
Or...
A more terrifying thought surfaced.
Is he truly an emissary of the Old Gods?
An all-knowing, all-powerful divine messenger?
Of course, Lynn didn't know if Thorne actually thought this. He simply knew Thorne's past and deduced in the direction most damaging to him.
Lynn needed to pin a label on Thorne. Even if false, it gave him reason to eliminate this viper.
But unexpectedly—his guess might actually be right?
Lucky shot.
THUD.
Alliser Thorne—proud knight, Castle Black's master-at-arms—
His legs buckled. He collapsed to his knees.
His psychological defenses—completely shattered before Lynn's soul-piercing words.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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