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"What are you sighing about?"
Ygritte's voice dropped to a murmur, like a kitten's claws dragging lightly across his heart. All dissatisfaction, no apology.
"Afraid I'll drain you dry and you won't be able to lift your sword tomorrow?"
Lynn opened his eyes. In the faint glow of the fireplace, her eyes burned bright in the dark, astonishingly so.
"I'm afraid if you keep squirming, you'll push Arya off the bed." He tugged the quilt toward Arya's side, where she was sleeping soundly. "If she wakes up from a fall and finds you here, you're the one in trouble."
"Tch. Stingy."
Ygritte pouted, but she shifted toward her own side without argument, leaving a small gap between them.
The room settled into quiet. Just the occasional soft crack of charcoal in the fireplace, and Arya's slow, steady breathing.
It didn't last long.
Lynn felt Ygritte turn over beside him, facing him.
"Lynn."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think... people die in war?"
Coming from Ygritte, who feared nothing under the sky, the question caught him off guard.
He turned his head. The teasing was gone from her eyes. The wildness too. In their place was something he'd never seen on her before , confusion tangled up with fear.
"Of course they do," Lynn said. "There's no war without death."
"Oh."
She went quiet. She buried her face in the pillow, and her voice came out muffled.
"I wasn't afraid of dying before. Beyond the Wall, if you live to my age, you've already proven yourself. You go to sleep not knowing if you'll see the sun tomorrow. If you die, you die — rot in the snow, get eaten by something, return to the earth. That was fine."
"But now..."
A tremor crept into her voice, barely there.
"Now I'm a little scared."
"I'm scared that if I die, I'll never see you again."
Something bumped gently against Lynn's heart.
He knew what Ygritte was. A flame that never went out. Passionate, direct, no pretense about what she loved or hated. She'd pick up a bow and put an arrow through anyone who came for him without a second thought.
And yet here she was, showing him the softest part of herself. The most vulnerable.
Because she had someone she cared about, she had something to lose. Because she'd tasted warmth, the thought of permanent cold had started to frighten her.
Lynn reached out and took her hand.
Her palm was rough, thin calluses built up from years at the bow. But her skin was cold now.
"You won't die." His voice was quiet, but there was no room for doubt in it. "I won't let you die."
Ygritte lifted her head.
In the dark, her eyes looked red at the edges.
"What guarantee is that? Blades don't pick their targets on a battlefield. You can't stand over me every second."
"I can."
Lynn sat up, careful not to disturb Arya.
He looked at Ygritte, and his expression shifted , focused, and carrying something she couldn't quite read.
"Give me your hand."
She didn't understand, but she offered it anyway.
Lynn closed his fingers around her wrist. An icy, strange energy began flowing slowly from his palm into her.
"Mmm!"
Ygritte made a sharp sound. She instinctively tried to pull away. Lynn held on.
"Don't move. Trust me."
Something in his voice settled her. She gritted her teeth and held still, letting the ice magic move through her.
It didn't hurt. That was the first thing she noticed. The cold spread through her like countless tiny threads, winding gently around every organ, every bone, until it finally came to rest deep inside her chest and merged with her heartbeat.
The whole thing took maybe ten seconds.
When Lynn released her wrist, Ygritte didn't feel drained. She felt the opposite , like something new had taken root in her, a strength she hadn't had before.
"What... what was that?"
She was breathing hard, staring at her own hands.
"Insurance." Lynn smiled. "I've put a piece of my magic inside you. It'll stay dormant — you won't feel it, it won't affect you. But if you ever face something that would kill you..."
The corner of his mouth curved.
"It activates on its own. Covers your body in a layer of ice armor. Nothing gets through it."
"It won't save you a hundred times. Once or twice is enough. When it's used up, come find me and I'll refill it."
Ygritte stared at him. She couldn't find words.
She reached out and touched his cheek. It had gone a little pale.
This man. He always found the most unexpected ways to reach her.
Lynn smiled, then turned toward Arya's sleeping face.
He did it again , slower this time, more careful , and sent another thread of frost into Arya's body. The last thing he needed was for Arya to wake up mid-transfer and find Ygritte in the room.
Arya stirred slightly in her sleep. Her brow pinched. She rolled over and muttered something into the pillow.
"Lynn... bastard..."
"Not there."
"Dirty..."
Lynn stared at the ceiling.
What is she dreaming about?
He laughed quietly to himself and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.
Then he lay back down and exhaled.
He'd developed that technique just now, pulling it out of what his ice magic could do. The applications were turning out to be far broader than he'd expected. The cost wasn't nothing, though. He'd need to keep that in mind.
Still. His weaknesses had always been the people around him. Now, at least, he'd done something about that.
The room went quiet again.
But Ygritte's heart didn't.
She lay on her side, eyes fixed on him in the dark. She watched the tiredness in his profile. She watched the pallor in his lips , pallor he'd taken on for her sake.
Something rose from the very bottom of her chest. Unstoppable.
She wanted him.
Now. This moment. No waiting.
She wanted to answer everything he'd just given her in the only language she knew how to speak fluently.
Ygritte bit her lip. A glint of mischief crossed her eyes.
Then, smooth and silent as a snake, she slipped under the covers.
Lynn was lying still with his eyes closed, letting himself recover, when he felt movement beneath the quilt.
His whole body went rigid.
He opened his eyes and looked beside him.
Arya was still asleep. Breathing slow and even.
The quilt was piled up like a small hill.
"You—"
A hand shot out from under the covers and pressed over his mouth.
Ygritte's voice drifted up, muffled by the blanket, threaded through with suppressed laughter.
"Shh. Don't talk. Don't move."
"Your wife is sleeping."
"You don't want your dear wife to find out, do you?"
Lynn didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
The nerve of this woman. Arya was right there.
She actually dared to,
He didn't finish the thought. Before he could react, he lost the ability to think about anything at all.
Lynn sucked in a sharp breath. His body went taut.
He felt like a small boat caught in a storm, at the mercy of waves that were somehow both gentle and overwhelming at once.
He had to admit it: Ygritte's technique was more lethal than her archery. She knew her prey the way only the best hunters do , reading every reaction, precise and unhurried.
Gentle one moment.
Urgent the next.
Then wild.
Lynn clenched his jaw and gripped the bearskin blanket with both hands, forcing down the sound that kept trying to climb out of his throat.
God.
This was insane.
Arya sleeping on one side, Ygritte doing whatever she pleased under the covers on the other. The constant razor's edge of almost being caught, layered over the sensation itself , his mind went completely blank.
Then Arya moved.
"Mmm..."
A sleepy sound. She rolled over, and one leg swung out and landed across Lynn.
Right on top of the hill.
Lynn stopped breathing. Every muscle locked.
Under the covers, Ygritte went absolutely still.
The whole room froze. Including the world beneath the quilt.
Arya frowned. Her eyes cracked open, unfocused, barely there.
"Lynn... did you hear something..."
Her voice was thick with sleep.
"Hear what? You're dreaming."
Lynn's heart was hammering in his throat. He didn't move. He didn't even breathe.
"Lynn... why is your quilt... so high..."
She blinked, squinting at it.
"Your eyes are playing tricks. My leg's cramped — I've got it propped up. Go back to sleep." He kept his voice even, unhurried. "We're on the road tomorrow. Winterfell's not close. Rest up."
"Be good."
Sleep pulled her back under. Arya mumbled something and burrowed her head against his chest, and then she was gone again.
Lynn exhaled slowly.
He felt like someone had just dragged him out of a river. His back was soaked.
Under the covers, Ygritte seemed to exhale too.
And then Ygritte...
...
Some time later, the storm passed.
Ygritte emerged from under the covers like a cat that had gotten exactly what it came for , satisfied, face still carrying a trace of flush. She glanced at Arya, dead to the world, then at Lynn, flat on his back and staring at nothing. A victor's smile spread across her face.
"Lynn. That's a pretty weak showing, isn't it? Finished after just a few rounds?"
Lynn closed his fist slowly.
Fine. He just hadn't been at his best. That was all.
And Arya was right there. This wasn't the time to do anything about it.
Ygritte laughed softly. She didn't stick around. She slipped off the bed without a sound, got dressed, pushed the door open, and disappeared into the dark.
Lynn lay there. Two different scents, both of them intoxicating in completely different ways. And beneath that, the bone-deep exhaustion of a man who had been thoroughly emptied out.
A tired, helpless, satisfied smile crossed his face.
The battle hadn't even started yet, and Ygritte had already hollowed him out.
Consider it pre-battle stress relief.
...
The next morning, just before dawn.
A sharp horn call tore across the Gift.
Thirty thousand of the finest wildling warriors stood fully armed and ready, assembled in formation and waiting.
At the front of the army, the frost giant loomed fifteen meters tall, still as a monument, silent as a god of war , its presence alone a declaration of what this force was capable of.
Lynn sat astride Winter's back. Arya was behind him, arms wrapped tight around his waist.
He looked down at the black tide of steel and iron spread across the ground below. Then he looked east, where the sun was just beginning to claw its way above the horizon.
"Move out."
Winter answered with a roar that shook the sky, and launched into the air.
Below, thirty thousand soldiers began to march.
Far away, in the Lands of Always Winter, the Night King slowly raised his head.
He looked south, toward the Wall.
➤ Next: The Night King's Letter