The three-eyed raven's appearance made the room's atmosphere instantly eerie.
Two eyes black as ink. One blood-red as fire.
It simply stood on the windowsill, head cocked.
Staring at Lynn without blinking.
That gaze—not like a beast's.
More like a being of higher intelligence.
Examining him through this bird's shell.
Maester Aemon's body trembled slightly.
Though he couldn't see, he clearly felt that familiar presence.
"Brynden... is that you?"
Aemon's voice carried uncertainty and reminiscence.
Brynden Rivers. Called "Bloodraven." A Targaryen bastard. Former Hand of the King. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
A legendary figure. A greenseer. A skinchanger.
And Maester Aemon's uncle.
When Aemon came north to join the Night's Watch, Brynden was among them.
He'd been sent to the Wall for violating guest right.
After one expedition beyond the Wall, Brynden never returned.
His weapons: the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister. A First Men heirloom. A weirwood longbow.
Lynn's heart contracted sharply.
He knows exactly who this raven is.
The Three-Eyed Raven.
Every Brandon in this place is cursed with strangeness.
Brandon. Brynden. Like American and British pronunciations.
The embodiment of that ancient will future Brandon Stark would inherit.
Why is he here?
Did he sense the dragon egg's existence?
Or has he been watching me—this anomaly that doesn't belong to this world—from the start?
Question after question exploded in Lynn's mind.
He recalled those annoying raven cries he'd heard at Winterfell.
Perhaps Brynden Rivers has been watching me all along.
Like standing naked before an omniscient prophet. Every deed exposed.
This feeling—terrible.
"CAW—"
The three-eyed raven cried again.
This time, its voice wasn't harsh—instead carrying a strange rhythm.
As if speaking some ancient language.
Maester Aemon listened intently.
His wrinkled face gradually showed understanding.
"I see."
Aemon nodded slowly, turning toward Lynn.
His blind eyes gleamed with unprecedented light.
"Lynn, this is destiny's arrangement."
"Even the Old Gods urge us forward."
Lynn's brow furrowed tightly.
He looked at the eerie raven on the windowsill, then at Aemon's "divinely inspired" expression, irritation rising.
"Maester Aemon, that's just a bird!"
Lynn tried to break this eerie atmosphere.
"A... rather strange-looking bird!"
"No. I can hear him speaking to me."
Aemon shook his head, tone utterly certain.
"Brynden is a messenger. Eyes. A witness to past and future."
"He approves my course."
"He tells me this dragon is key to ending the Long Night."
"He even told me the dragon's name."
Aemon's voice became dreamlike.
"The song of ice and fire—it will play it."
"Its name is 'Winter.'"
Winter?
Shock waves crashed through Lynn's mind.
This damned old raven even picked the dragon's name in advance?
This is absurd!
This isn't simple prophecy—this is a written script!
And I, along with this dragon egg, are just props in the script?
A powerful sense of being manipulated filled Lynn with fury.
"Lord Commander!"
Lynn whirled toward the silent Jeor Mormont.
"Will you truly watch Maester Aemon go to his death?"
"He's the Night's Watch's maester! Your wisest advisor!"
Lynn tried to place his last hope in Mormont.
But Mormont only looked at him silently, those sharp eyes filled with exhaustion and helplessness.
"Lynn."
After a long pause, Mormont finally spoke.
"I command the Night's Watch."
"I know better than anyone what we face."
"A thousand Night's Watchmen against an endless army of the dead."
"This is a... war we cannot win."
Mormont's voice carried deep powerlessness.
"Pleas for aid. Warnings. Useless."
"The southern lords think we're madmen."
"They can't see the coming darkness. They're drowning in their ridiculous game of thrones."
Mormont walked to the window, gazing at the Wall—like a white dragon under moonlight.
"This Wall has defended Westeros for eight thousand years."
"But it... can't hold much longer."
"We need a miracle, Lynn."
The Wall has magic to repel evil. And that magic's power fades with time.
A flash of insight struck Lynn's mind. He'd grasped something!
Silverwing refused to fly over the Wall. Dragon Mom brought three dragons as a gift—and the Night King gained an ice dragon, using ice flame to destroy the Wall.
Allowing countless wights to march south.
If so— Lynn's gaze shot to the dragon egg.
Is this egg the Night King's trump card for destroying the Wall?
As Lynn pondered—
Mormont turned. His gaze fell on the ice-blue dragon egg.
"And now, a miracle stands before us."
He looked at Lynn, eyes full of pleading.
"I cannot stop Maester Aemon."
"Because I have no right to stop a hero willing to sacrifice himself to save the world."
"And selfishly... I crave this miracle."
"I'm tired, Lynn."
"I don't want to watch my brothers die meaninglessly under those monsters' claws."
"If a dragon's birth requires a hundred-year-old man's life in exchange..."
"Then I'll bear that sin."
Mormont's words—like a heavy hammer—struck Lynn's heart.
He had nothing left to say.
Everyone's gone mad.
For an ethereal hope, they'll pay any price.
Lynn looked at resolute Aemon, then at tragic Mormont.
"Fine."
Lynn took a deep breath.
"Since you've all decided."
"What do you need me to do?"
Maester Aemon's face finally showed a gratified smile.
"I need a place hot enough."
"A place where flames burn most fiercely."
Lynn's gaze involuntarily turned toward the castle's depths.
The smithy.
Where the forge burns day and night.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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