The fire snapped and spat in the hearth, throwing orange light across the council chamber of Castle Black. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont sat at the head of the table, heavy‑browed and stony‑faced.
"So let me hear this clearly," Mormont rumbled. "You're proposing to go beyond the Wall—alone?"
"Yes, my lord." Lynn's voice carried sharp conviction. "Because that's exactly where the tide is turning."
Mormont's eyes narrowed. "You know what lies beyond that ice, boy? The Free Folk are gathering by the thousands. Wights roam the forests. Even the wildlings are saying the dead walk."
"That's why I have to go," Lynn said. His tone was calm, confident. "Tell me, Lord Commander—how many brothers of the Watch remain fit for combat? A thousand? Maybe eight hundred? And after we count the wounded and the green boys still swinging their swords backward—how many can truly fight?"
Silence. The bear of the Watch scowled but didn't answer.
Lynn spread his hands. "Meanwhile, wildlings number in the tens of thousands. Mance Rayder can bring them together under one banner. If we unite them instead of slaughtering them, imagine what kind of army that would be."
Alliser Thorne, seated near the corner with his arm still bandaged, barked a bitter laugh. "An army of thieves and savages? You'd make allies of animals who burn villages and steal children for sport?"
His voice oozed venom. The bruises Lynn had left on his face hadn't faded yet.
Lynn ignored him, speaking directly to Mormont. "I'll remind you, my lord—if the Free Folk stay our enemies, we fight two wars instead of one. The living against the dead, yes—but also the living against themselves. Would you rather face two hungry wolves, or face one with a hound at your side?"
Thorne slammed his good hand on the table. "So your plan is to invite them south—to hand them our women and our food? You're a fool! A traitor, more like. Lord Eddard should've taken your head when he had the chance!"
The words were cut short by the sound of the chair scraping.
Lynn was already on his feet. His hand shot out, faster than thought, and clamped around Thorne's throat.
In a flash, the entire hall froze.
"Listen carefully," Lynn said quietly, his grip tightening. "You open your mouth again while I'm speaking, and I swear I'll crush your windpipe right here. Understand?"
Thorne's face turned purple, white froth gathering at the corner of his lips.
"Enough, boy." Benjen Stark stepped between them, forcing Lynn back and prising his fingers loose. "If you kill him, you'll only have to train the next idiot yourself."
Lynn released him, stepping back without apology. Thorne coughed and gasped, hatred flaring in his eyes.
"Tell me, Ser Thorne," Lynn said coldly, "Repeat your oath. What did you swear when you took the black?"
Thorne glared but obeyed. His voice rasped out the words: "I swear to guard the realms of men, to stand the watch, to defend—"
"Defend what?" Lynn interrupted, leaning forward.
Thorne hesitated. "Defend the realms of men… from what lies beyond the Wall."
"Exactly." Lynn's eyes gleamed. "Are the wildlings the greatest threat now—or the dead that rise behind them? You think honor and old traditions will stop wights from tearing down your Wall? When those corpses march south, every man they kill will rise to join them. Then tell me, Ser Thorne—will your pride defend the realms of men?"
No reply came. The old hall was silent save for the hiss of burning logs.
Lynn turned back toward the high seat. "Mormont, you know as well as I do—Mance Rayder is gathering his people not because he wants war, but because he's running from something worse. These people live where the dead now walk. They know what they've seen. If we fight them, we waste the only allies who understand what's coming."
The words hung heavy.
At last, the blind maester shifted in his chair by the fire. "And what would you propose, young man?" Aemon Targaryen's ancient voice sounded like parchment against flame.
Lynn bowed slightly. "Parley. We give them a choice—not as raiders, but as brothers. Let them stand beside us, fight beside us. Teach them what they don't know, and learn from what they do. We'll gain guides, scouts, hunters… warriors who know the North better than any of us."
Alliser Thorne's patience finally broke. "Absurd!" he spat, red-faced. "You'd dishonor centuries of our vows! You insult—"
The next sound was the sharp smack of skin against skin.
Thorne staggered back, clutching his cheek where Lynn's hand had struck.
"Shut up, clown," Lynn said flatly. "When an ice corpse comes for your throat, honor won't save you. Only steel and wit will."
---
Jeor Mormont rose slowly, his shadow cutting the firelight. Even in old age, he looked like a mountain that refused to bow.
He gazed at the snow churning beyond the narrow window. "Benjen. Your thoughts?"
Benjen frowned. "I don't know if peace with Mance is possible—but the boy isn't wrong. The Watch can barely hold the Wall as it is. If the wildlings become wights before we do, the North is lost either way."
"He's still a deserter turned murderer!" Thorne croaked hoarsely.
"But Mance Rayder was once one of us," Benjen said quietly. "When the Watch failed his people, he chose his own. From where he stood, he did what any of us might."
The old commander exhaled slowly through his nose. "So be it."
His heavy hand pressed down on the table. "Lynn Auger, understand one thing—you're not being sent to make peace. You're being sent to speak. Find out what Mance Rayder wants. And learn what the dead are truly doing in those woods."
Lynn straightened. "With respect, my lord, I have no guarantee of success."
"For the living, there never is," Mormont replied. "Go north. And come back alive."
That night, Jon Snow found him in his quarters, packing.
"Are you really going through with this?" Jon asked quietly.
Lynn finished tightening the strap on his pack, then turned. "Someone has to. You haven't seen the dead walk, Jon. I have. If we don't act first, they'll come for all of us—wildling and lord alike."
Outside, snow drifted past the torches, white on white.
At dawn, the gates of Castle Black groaned open.
Jon stood in the courtyard, shouting over the roaring wind, "Come back alive, you stubborn fool!"
Lynn smiled and raised a hand in silent promise.
He could have taken twenty men with him from Winterfell—but this had to be done alone.
Out there, beyond the world of walls and names, waited the truth the living refused to see.
---
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