Smoke billowed from a remote village on the snowy plains of the North.
Dozens of "bandits" riding bony warhorses whistled as they arrived.
Wearing tattered furs and strange paint on their faces, they howled like beasts.
Leading them was an agile red-haired woman.
She wore a set of finely crafted leather armor, her fiery red hair particularly striking in the wind and snow like a burning flame.
"Brothers!"
Ygritte raised her longbow high, her voice crisp and wild, drowning out everyone's howling.
"Those southern ninnies call us bandits!"
"Then today, we'll show them what the fuck real bandits look like!"
"Snatch all their food! Drink all their wine! Burn their broken houses!"
"ROAR——!"
The wildlings let out a more fervent cheer, then surged into every corner of the village.
Bang!
A burly wildling kicked open the door of a wooden house and rushed in.
The house was empty, only the fire in the fireplace still burning, and the meat soup stewing in the pot emitting a tempting aroma.
The wildling licked his lips, unceremoniously picked up the big pot, and gulped it down.
The scalding soup made him wince, yet he let out a satisfied howl.
In another tent, several wildlings were "fighting" over a sack of flour.
Pushing and cursing each other, they spilled white flour everywhere.
Everyone's face and body were covered in white powder, looking as ridiculous as clowns in Flea Bottom.
Ygritte sat on her horse, watching this farce she directed with interest.
She saw a wildling warrior carefully moving a barrel of ale onto a horse, but due to excessive movement, accidentally dropped the barrel on the ground.
Ale splashed everywhere. The wildling was so heartbroken he almost cried, lying on the ground to lick the liquid mixed with mud and snow.
She also saw several young wildlings lighting torches, posturing to burn a warehouse full of hay.
As a result, as soon as the torches approached, they were extinguished by a basin of snow from another wildling rushing out of the warehouse.
"Idiot! Lord Lynn said!"
"Acting only, no real burning of houses!"
"You're the fucking idiot!"
"If you don't go all the way with the act, how can you fool those southerners!"
The two wildlings immediately wrestled together.
More like wrestling in the snow than fighting.
The whole village was a mess.
Crying, cursing, smashing sounds, and the unbridled laughter of wildlings mixed together, spreading far and wide.
This play was realistic enough, and chaotic enough.
"Burn! Burn it all for me!"
Ygritte shouted with her clear and wild voice, but the arrow in her hand was not nocked.
With Ygritte's consent, the wildlings let out an excited response.
However, they didn't rush toward the villagers' houses, but ran straight to the abandoned granary at the village entrance, which had been empty for a long time and only had a few rotten timbers left.
Boom!
Torches were thrown in. The dry wood ignited instantly, flames soaring into the sky.
Black smoke looked particularly glaring under the pure Northern sky.
The farmers in the village screamed in terror, fleeing in all directions with their families.
A woman holding a child accidentally fell to the ground.
Seeing a wildling with a face full of flesh rushing over wielding an axe, she closed her eyes in fright.
However, the expected severe pain did not come.
The wildling just whistled past her, casually snatching a dry, hard bread she dropped on the ground.
He even tripped over a stone because he was running too fast, falling flat on his face, drawing ruthless ridicule from his companions.
"Snatch! Snatch everything edible!"
Ygritte ordered again.
A group of wildlings rushed into a farmer's yard, stuffing several fat hens into sacks clumsily.
The owner of that farm hid behind the window.
Looking at these "ferocious" bandits, there wasn't much fear on his face, but rather a trace of heartache.
These chickens were bought from him yesterday by someone claiming to be a steward of Winterfell for double the price.
It was clearly agreed to be for acting.
But seeing the chickens he raised being snatched away like this, he still felt a bit uncomfortable.
"Boss! Look what I got!"
A young wildling excitedly held up a clay jar, rushing to Ygritte to claim credit.
Ygritte glanced at it; the jar contained half a jar of honey.
"Not bad, extra food tonight."
Ygritte nodded with satisfaction.
This "looting" lasted less than half an hour.
"Boss! Time to retreat!"
A wildling responsible for lookout rode over.
"Winterfell's wolf cubs are almost here!"
"Got it!"
Ygritte blew the retreat horn again.
The long and wild horn sound echoed over the snowy plain.
Those wildlings still "burning, killing, and looting" immediately stopped their actions.
Yelling strangely, carrying their "loot," they mounted their horses nimbly.
"We'll be back!"
Ygritte left a classic bandit line to the empty village, then waved her hand.
"Retreat!"
The wildling cavalry came fast and left fast.
In the blink of an eye, they disappeared into the vast wind and snow, leaving only a "looted," messy village.
Not long after, a cavalry unit flying the Direwolf banner arrived at the village.
Leading them was Robb Stark.
Looking at the mess before him, his young face was written with "appropriate" anger.
"Damned bandits!"
Robb drew his longsword, pointing it at the grey Northern sky, his voice full of the majesty and anger of the Young Wolf.
"Pass my order! Wanted posters for this gang of bandits throughout the territory!"
"Also, send someone immediately to notify my mother!"
"Say a rebellion has appeared in the North, the scale far exceeding imagination!"
"Hmm... say there are a thousand bandits, ten villages slaughtered!"
"Please ask her to stay in Winterfell to stabilize the situation, she absolutely cannot leave at this time!"
---
Meanwhile, in the far North beyond the North.
Winter's massive body cut through the clouds, carrying a sharp whistle, flying toward the white colossal wall that looked like the end of the world.
The Wall.
Myrcella gripped the dragon saddle's handle tightly, Lynn's bearskin cloak isolating most of the chill for her.
But seeing that legendary magnificent structure again, she still felt a shudder from her soul.
A colossal wall beyond words.
It spanned between heaven and earth, like a dam forged of ice and snow by gods, dividing the world in two.
Sunlight reflecting off the ice wall was blinding.
Before it.
Any castle, any high tower, seemed as insignificant as gravel.
Myrcella could even see the ant-like black dots at the top of the Wall, the sentries of the Night's Watch.
She couldn't imagine what kind of enemy required such a miraculous structure to defend against.
She couldn't imagine even more, those Night's Watchmen who dedicated their lives here, facing this endless white wasteland every day, how lonely and despairing their hearts must be.
Winter didn't stop on the Wall.
Instead, it crossed the ice wall, flying toward the oldest and most dilapidated castle at the foot of the Wall.
Castle Black.
When Winter's three jagged heads appeared over the castle, the entire Castle Black exploded.
Those Night's Watchmen who had just finished patrol and were preparing to drink a bowl of hot soup to warm up all rushed out.
They looked up, staring blankly at the creature existing only in legends slowly descending, faces written with shock and awe.
"It's a dragon!"
"It's Winter! It's Lord Commander Lynn's dragon!"
In the crowd, a fat man in black was panting as he squeezed to the front.
It was Samwell Tarly.
When he saw Lynn leaping off the dragon's back, a ecstatic light burst instantly on his face, which usually carried a trace of timidity.
"Lynn!"
Sam shouted excitedly.
Lynn smiled at him, then helped the still-shaky Myrcella off the dragon's back.
"Where's Jon?"
"Jon led the rangers to collect the blessed items. He's been gone for a month. According to the plan, Jon should be back tonight."
Sam answered.
"I heard from Tormund and the others that Lord Mormont couldn't get used to living elsewhere, so he returned to the Wall?" Lynn asked.
"Yes... he is!"
Sam nodded quickly.
"Lord Mormont... his health hasn't been good lately. He spends most of his time resting in his room."
Lynn nodded.
He said no more, walking straight toward the simple Lord Commander's Tower.
Myrcella hesitated, then followed.
The room in the Lord Commander's Tower was very simple.
Aside from a brazier, table, chairs, and a bed, there were almost no extra decorations.
The air was filled with the smell of mixed herbs and dusty old books.
An old man with white hair and beard, wrapped in thick furs, sat before the brazier, staring blankly at the dancing flames.
His face was covered in deep wrinkles.
Those eyes, once sharp as a hawk's, were now somewhat cloudy, as if covered by a lingering twilight.
It was the 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont, the "Old Bear."
Ever since Lynn led the wildlings south and single-handedly took up the banner against the White Walkers, this Lord Commander had left the position to his successor, Lynn.
Since that day, he seemed to have been drained of all spirit.
He handed command completely to Lynn, beginning a "retirement" life like a true old man.
The mission of the Night's Watch seemed to have continued in another way in his generation.
But there was always a knot in his heart.
A knot that kept him awake at night, a lifelong regret.
"Lord Mormont."
Lynn's voice woke the Old Bear from his contemplation.
The old man slowly raised his head.
Seeing Lynn, a light flashed in his cloudy eyes.
"Lynn, it's you. When did you get back?"
His voice was somewhat old, carrying the warmth of an elder seeing a junior.
"I heard you couldn't get used to living elsewhere and returned to Castle Black, so I came specially to see you this time."
Lynn pulled up a chair and sat opposite the Old Bear.
"By the way, I brought you something."
Lynn took a small leather pouch from his tunic and handed it over.
The Old Bear opened it.
Inside were a few pieces of venison, sprinkled with some southern spices.
"You always manage to get these good things."
The Old Bear smiled, picking up a piece and chewing slowly.
Myrcella stood quietly at the door, not entering to disturb.
She looked at the old and young in the room, at the natural and familiar atmosphere between them, a strange feeling arising in her heart.
Lynn before her was different from any version she knew.
He wasn't the schemer stirring winds and clouds in King's Landing, nor the king overlooking all beings from a dragon's back.
At this moment, he was more like an ordinary young man visiting his grandfather.
"I came back from Essos this time, went to King's Landing first, then stopped by Winterfell."
Lynn spoke calmly.
"Those Stark children, especially little Bran, are they all well?"
The Old Bear asked.
"All very well."
Lynn nodded.
"Arya has returned to Winterfell. Sansa stayed in King's Landing; she is now the realm's Master of Coin."
"Master of Coin?"
The Old Bear paused, then shook his head with a bitter smile.
"You always manage to do things unexpected by everyone."
"I met someone in Essos."
Lynn changed the subject.
"A knight from Bear Island."
The Old Bear's chewing stopped abruptly.
His hand covered in liver spots trembled slightly.
"He is very brave. He is now one of my most capable commanders under my command in Essos."
Lynn's voice was unhurried, as if telling a story unrelated to them.
"He was exiled for selling poachers, wandering the continent of Essos for many years."
"He was a mercenary, did many things involuntarily."
"But in his bones, he is still a true Northman, a true knight!"
The Old Bear slowly put down the venison in his hand.
His breathing became somewhat rapid.
Those cloudy eyes stared fixedly at Lynn, lips moving.
"He is living well now, has his own honor, and has won everyone's respect."
Looking at the Old Bear, Lynn finally said the name.
"Jorah Mormont."
"He serves me now."
Buzz——!
The Old Bear's mind went blank instantly.
Jorah...
His only son...
The name that made him proud, made him ashamed, made him worry all his life.
He thought he would never hear any news about Jorah again in this life.
He thought his son had long died in a foreign land, or completely degenerated into a mercenary without honor.
But now...
"Is... is he well?"
The Old Bear's voice carried a violent tremor.
"Rest assured, he is very well."
Lynn nodded.
"He said he misses you very much."
"He also asked me to bring you a message."
Looking into the Old Bear's eyes, Lynn said word by word.
"He said, he never forgot the words of Bear Island."
"Here We Stand."
With a crash.
The Old Bear's long-dry tear ducts could no longer be suppressed.
Two lines of hot old tears slid silently down his ravine-like wrinkles.
He had fought for the North all his life.
Since Jorah's accident, he gave up family glory, gave up the lord's title, dedicating his all to this cold Wall.
His only regret was his disappointing son.
The son who went astray because of a woman's vanity.
This was the eternal pain in his heart.
And the shackle he couldn't take off all his life.
And now, the news Lynn brought was like a key, instantly unlocking the lock dusted over in his heart for more than ten years.
So Jorah never forgot the words of Bear Island...
Here We Stand...
The Old Bear smiled.
Smiling and smiling, the tears flowed even fiercer.
Like a child, he wiped the tears on his face messily with the back of his rough hand.
All guilt, all worry, all regret.
In this moment, all vanished with those hot tears.
"Rest assured, Lord Mormont. When the matters in Astapor are over, Jorah will be back soon..."
Standing at the door, Myrcella saw everything clearly.
She looked at the old man weeping in the firelight, at the solemn-faced Lynn.
Her heart felt as if it had been gently bumped by something.
She suddenly understood.
Lynn, always grabbing power, always playing with people's hearts.
Everything he did seemed to have deeper reasons.
And today, traveling thousands of miles to this corner forgotten by the world, was just to untie an old man's knot of many years.
This man was lustful, scheming.
But he was also affectionate and righteous.
He was like the Northern winter, biting cold, yet able to nurture new life in the deepest despair.
Myrcella looked at Lynn's back. In those green eyes, usually carrying a trace of melancholy, a light indescribable and unclear appeared.
Lynn waited for Jon until nightfall but didn't see him return.
Probably delayed by something.
His time was tight, and he didn't intend to stay here longer. He had to rush back to King's Landing; a pile of things was waiting for him there.
Lynn took Myrcella and mounted Winter again, soaring from Castle Black.
Myrcella finally couldn't help asking.
"Why did you do that?"
"What?"
Lynn looked back at her.
"Lord Mormont... and your friends... you did so much for them."
Myrcella looked into Lynn's eyes.
"Why?"
Lynn smiled, not answering directly.
Lord Mormont had been kind to him, and Jorah was his capable subordinate. Reasonably and emotionally, he should visit Jeor Mormont. Besides, the Gift was close to Castle Black, not delaying matters.
Lynn's gaze crossed the sea of clouds below, looking toward the distant south.
"The Long Night is coming."
"I need every subordinate who can pick up a sword to stand by my side with no burdens in their hearts."
"The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
Lynn's voice was somewhat blurred in the howling wind, yet clearly transmitted into Myrcella's ears.
"Alright, my princess, hold on tight."
"The play in King's Landing should be starting too."