Jon Snow sat in the stables, his eyes fixed on the horse pacing before him. If not for Grenn, Pyp, and Sam keeping watch, he might've already jumped into the saddle and ridden south to join Robb's army—to avenge his father.
Samwell Tarly looked at him and pleaded, "Jon, don't do anything foolish. If you leave Castle Black, you'll be branded a deserter. South of the Wall, you'll be hunted. Even if you make it to your brother's camp, he'll have no choice but to send you back. And then the Lord Commander will have to execute you in front of everyone. You won't be your father's pride—you'll be his disgrace."
Pyp shoved a piece of stolen pastry into his mouth and mumbled through the crumbs, "I don't know anything about what Sam's saying. I just know the Lord Commander told me to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't do anything stupid."
But their words couldn't reach Jon. His mind was filled only with the news of his father's death. Everything else faded into noise.
"Shit, the drillmaster's here," Grenn cursed under his breath from the doorway.
Sam and Pyp shot to their feet, tense and alert.
The half-open stable doors were suddenly kicked open from outside. Grenn dodged, but the door still clipped his shoulder, and he let out a grunt of pain.
Alliser Thorne stormed in, face dark as a storm cloud. His eyes swept the room, settling on Jon with a sneer.
"Well, well," he said coldly, "everyone else is doing their duties, and here you lot are, slacking off in the stables..."
Sam quickly interjected, "Ser Alliser, we're not slacking off. The Lord Commander ordered us to stay here and keep an eye on Jon."
Alliser gave Jon a scornful glance. "Oh, caring for dear Jon? What's wrong with our young lord? Broken arm? Twisted ankle? Isn't he the Lord Commander's steward? Not a ranger, not even supposed to be in combat. Did he get injured carrying papers? Maybe a scroll fell on him, poor thing. What a tragedy, Lord Jon."
Jon shot to his feet, glaring at Alliser. His hand gripped the hilt of his half-sword at his waist.
"What, going to draw on me?" Alliser stepped right up to him, staring him down. "You and that sword are the same—both bastards. Your father, Eddard Stark, was a bastard too. A hypocrite in noble garb. Pretending to be righteous, but he did plenty of dirty deeds behind the scenes. Tried to steal the throne from his friend's son, failed, and got his head lopped off for treason. Best thing that could've happened to him. Do you know how happy I was when I heard? Bastard."
Jon's fury boiled over. He drew his sword and lunged, slashing at Alliser.
But Alliser had been ready. He dodged back and unsheathed his knight's sword.
Sam leapt between them. Pyp and Grenn grabbed Jon from either side, holding him back as he strained to reach Alliser.
"Attacking the Master-at-Arms, are we?" Alliser grinned smugly. "That'll earn you a noose, steward."
Before he could go on, Sam stepped forward.
"Ser Alliser, maybe you should be worried about your own situation first."
Alliser frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Sam pointed to Jon's half-sword. "That sword Jon carries—it's not just any sword. It was gifted to him by Lord Lynd Tarran of Summerhall, Prince of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones, the Chosen of the Gods. It's his personal weapon. And just now, you insulted it. Repeatedly. You called it a bastard."
He paused, letting that sink in, then continued.
"Jon looks up to Lord Lynd. He's modeled his swordsmanship after him. Your insult to Lord Lynd is what pushed Jon over the edge. Think about this—if the Lord Commander and the other officers find out what you just said, do you think they'll side with you? Or will they tie you up and send you to Summerhall to answer to Lord Lynd himself?"
Alliser's face turned ashen.
He knew all too well what Lynd meant to the Night's Watch. Even he admired the man. If the Lord Commander heard what had just happened—especially how he had mocked a weapon given by Lynd himself—he might very well do exactly what Sam suggested: have him bound and shipped off to Summerhall to grovel for forgiveness.
Alliser retorted, "That half-sword? He's just been claiming it came from Lord Lynd. Who can say if he's telling the truth? He's a bastard—why would Lord Lynd give him his personal sword?"
Sam responded seriously, "When Lady Dacey Mormont visited Castle Black not long ago, she confirmed the sword did belong to Lord Lynd. You must've still been at Eastwatch then, so you didn't hear it. Or do you not believe Lady Dacey?"
To the Night's Watch, if Lynd was a distant figure of reverence, then Dacey Mormont was their provider. The fact they'd eaten well and were properly equipped in recent years was largely thanks to her. The trade with Bear Island had brought in supplies far beyond what they could once barter for with scraps of fur.
Everyone knew Lynd was behind these trades, but it was Dacey Mormont who handled the practical arrangements. And no one dared cross her. If Bear Island stopped supplying them, the Watch would face starvation and chaos. Even Lord Commander Jeor Mormont held an unspoken fear of Dacey.
So when Sam said she had verified the sword's origin, Alliser didn't argue. He just scowled and turned on his heel, leaving the stables in silence.
Once he was gone, everyone exhaled with relief. Pyp and Grenn released Jon's arms, and Jon quietly sheathed the half-sword.
Then Grenn frowned and asked, "Wait... I don't remember Lady Dacey saying anything about Jon's sword being Lord Lynd's. Did she really?"
Sam and Pyp both rolled their eyes and said in unison, "Aurochs."
Sam then turned to Jon, who was still simmering with anger, and said, "Jon, do you realize how dangerous that was? If you'd actually hurt Alliser—even if he insulted you and the sword—you'd still be punished. Brothers fighting each other is a serious offense in the Watch."
"He's not my brother," Jon muttered darkly.
Sam sighed, unsure how to reach him.
...
While Sam and the others were still trying to figure out how to keep Jon from doing something rash, a sudden uproar erupted outside the castle. Shouts of alarm rang out—panicked voices, as if under attack. Then came a tremendous roar—but oddly, the sound came from above.
They exchanged glances, grabbed their weapons, and rushed outside. There, they saw the men of the Watch all staring skyward, so they looked up too.
"A dragon! It's a dragon!" Sam cried out in awe, eyes wide with wonder as he spotted the massive creature circling above.
Old Bear Jeor Mormont emerged from his chambers. The moment he saw the dragon, his face turned grim with shock—then recognition. He barked to the gathered men, "Settle down! Calm yourselves! That's not the enemy. That's Prince Lynd's dragon! Stand tall, all of you. Don't disgrace the Night's Watch!"
Maester Aemon had also come out, though blind. He lifted his head, trying to sense the scene above as his aide quietly described the dragon's appearance to him.
Lynd didn't have Neltharion land in Castle Black's courtyard. Instead, he directed the dragon to descend outside the walls.
Once they landed, Lynd dismounted and soothed the lava dragon, which was visibly uneasy from being so close to the Wall's ancient magic. Only then did he stride toward Castle Black's gate.
By that point, the gate had been thrown open. Waiting there were Old Bear, Maester Aemon, the senior officers of Castle Black, and commanders and lieutenants from other forts along the Wall.
Seeing Lynd approach in the armor of a Banished Knight, they all bowed respectfully under Jeor Mormont's lead.
Lynd gave a small nod to the crowd, then spoke directly, "There's no need for all these formalities. I came because I received the message you sent about the wildling tribes gathering beyond the Wall and preparing to attack. But the letter was too vague, so I need to understand the situation myself."
Hearing this, the Old Bear immediately felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He hadn't slept well for days worrying over the wildling threat. Now that Lynd was here, it was as if a portion of that burden had been lifted. He suggested, "This isn't the place to talk. Let's go to the council chamber."
Lynd nodded in agreement.
With that, they headed into Castle Black, surrounded by officers and watchmen. Maester Aemon, however, didn't go with them. Instead, guided by his aide, he walked slowly toward Neltharion. He stopped only when he was close enough to smell the sulfurous scent of the lava dragon. The other curious brothers of the Watch kept their distance, watching the massive creature from afar in awe.
...
As they made their way toward the council chamber, a voice suddenly called out, "Lord Lynd! Lord Lynd!"
Lynd turned toward the sound and saw a young man in Night's Watch black waving at him. Several other black brothers stood beside him.
He didn't immediately recognize the man, but his gaze landed on the half-sword at the young man's side—then on the stout figure next to him—and he quickly realized who it was.
He stopped and walked toward them. "It's been a while, Jon Snow."
"Lord Lynd!" Jon said excitedly, clearly moved that Lynd still remembered him. He bowed quickly, and the others followed his example.
Lynd drew the half-sword from its sheath, inspected it briefly, and nodded. "You've taken good care of it. I chose the right person." He slid the blade back into the scabbard, then looked at Jon with a serious expression. "I've already returned Lord Eddard's body to Winterfell."
"Thank you for your mercy," Jon murmured, stunned. His eyes reddened, and he quickly lowered his head to hide the tears.
"Mercy?" Lynd shook his head. "You misunderstand. I am not merciful. I could have saved Lord Eddard, but I didn't. Because in some ways, he did betray King Robert. He broke a law that could not be forgiven. Even if his intentions were noble, he shouldn't have acted the way he did. He made a choice, and his death was the consequence of that choice."
"You mean... my father really was a traitor?" Jon's voice trembled as he looked up, eyes wet but steady.
"That depends on who you ask," Lynd replied. "To me, he was not a traitor, nor a usurper. He was a man who tried to do the right thing in the wrong way—and failed."
Then Lynd's tone hardened. "Tell me, Jon. Were you planning to leave the Wall to avenge Lord Eddard?"
Jon didn't respond, just lowered his gaze again, avoiding Lynd's eyes.
"If I were you," Lynd said quietly but firmly, "I would throw everything aside without hesitation. I'd ride to King's Landing and take my revenge. No law of the Night's Watch would stop me."
Jon looked up, shocked. So did everyone else. The Old Bear and the commanders nearby had expected Lynd to dissuade Jon—not encourage him. No one had seen that coming.
But before anyone could say a word, Lynd continued, "Unfortunately, you are not me. You don't have the power to defy the laws of this world. I do—I can break them and bend them to my will. But you? You would be crushed by them."
He pointed to the men around them. "These brothers of the Watch are not your real obstacle. You are. You lack the strength, the status, the command. You are the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark. You have no means to defy the rules. So tell me, Jon Snow—do you now understand who it is that keeps you from going to King's Landing for vengeance?"
Jon stood frozen, stunned, mind blank.
Lynd placed a hand on his shoulder. "Climb. Rise. When you become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, when all its men respect you and would follow you into battle—then you'll be in a position to avenge Lord Eddard."
With those words, Lynd turned away and continued toward the council chamber with the Old Bear and the others. Once all the officers had entered, the heavy doors were closed behind them.