With Lynd's arrival, the Free Folk's will to fight collapsed entirely, making the process of securing their surrender remarkably easy.
When they learned that the war was over and that they could cross the Wall to live in the South, the Free Folk couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
Despite all their fierce posturing and constant cries about dying with the Night's Watch, even the most foolish among them could see that the Free Folk coalition had been driven to the brink with no hope of victory. Now that there was a way to survive, none of them were going to argue—especially since they weren't surrendering to the Night's Watch, but to Lynd Tarran, the Storm God. There was no shame in that.
After settling the terms, Lynd didn't bring Mance Rayder and the tribal chiefs to the Night's Watch camp. Instead, he sent Edd to notify Stannis, ordering him to bring the Night's Watch ranger captains over to complete the final surrender agreement.
Just the day before, they had been mortal enemies, and now Stannis was being asked to march the Night's Watch officers, unguarded, into the enemy's camp. To Stannis, the idea was pure madness. But he had no choice—it was Lynd's order. Even though he had absolute faith in Lynd's abilities, he couldn't help but feel uneasy.
Oddly enough, the Night's Watch ranger captains were much more relaxed about the whole thing. Without hesitation, they obeyed Lynd's orders, cleaned themselves up, and then, under Stannis's lead, made their way across the field to the Free Folk camp.
At the camp entrance, a tribal chief was already waiting for them. His eyes, complicated and unreadable, lingered on Stannis and the men behind him. Saying nothing, he led them toward the main tent. Along the way, Free Folk warriors stood silently on both sides of the path, their faces expressionless as they watched the Night's Watch approach. No insults, no taunts—just a heavy, invisible pressure that made more than one ranger instinctively rest a hand on the hilt of his sword.
Fortunately, no conflict erupted, and once they stepped into the main tent and caught sight of Lynd, everyone exhaled in relief.
...
The rest went surprisingly smoothly. The surrender treaty was signed. Mance Rayder and the tribal chiefs made a public declaration of their surrender and dispatched messengers to Hardhome to spread the news. Meanwhile, at Lynd's direction, Stannis sent envoys with his orders to Hardhome, who would then board ships to meet with the commander of the White Harbor fleet currently blockading the sea around Hardhome. The plan was to have ships transport some of the Free Folk to Skagos for temporary resettlement, speeding up the overall migration process.
With Mance Rayder and the others publicly acknowledging the surrender, the situation Beyond the Wall was effectively wrapped up. The logistics of resettling the Free Folk became a matter for Mance Rayder and Stannis to handle. Lynd chose not to intervene further.
Before everyone's eyes, Lynd took off into the sky and flew toward the Wall.
...
Flying at full speed, Lynd reached the Wall in less than half an hour. He had originally intended to try flying over it. But as he neared, the rune power woven into his body became unstable, as if something was interfering with it. No matter how high he flew, as long as the Wall was beneath him, the disruption remained—like an invisible wall, rooted in the Wall itself, stretching upward endlessly toward the sky.
Facing this unexpected barrier, Lynd had no choice but to descend and pass through the Wall the ordinary way.
"Where is Samwell Tarly?" As Lynd passed through the tunnel and arrived at Castle Black, he immediately asked the steward who had come to greet him.
"Your Grace, Lord Sam is currently with Maester Aemon," the steward explained hastily. "Two days ago, Maester Aemon fell while coming down the stairs. He was badly injured and has been unconscious ever since. He's now on the verge of death. All the senior brothers are keeping vigil by his side."
Upon hearing this, Lynd's expression darkened. Though he hadn't spent much time with Maester Aemon, he held deep respect for the Targaryen who had given up his birthright to remain loyal to the Night's Watch. Lynd had originally planned to invite Maester Aemon to live in the warmer southern lands once the threat of the White Walkers was dealt with. He had not expected things to turn out this way.
Gesturing for the steward to lead the way, Lynd asked, "I remember leaving Sam a few bottles of the God's Gift potion. Didn't he give any to Maester Aemon?"
The steward quickly replied, "He did, Your Grace. Maester Aemon took one bottle a day, but they've all been used up. While he was taking it, his condition stabilized somewhat. But once the potion ran out, his injuries quickly worsened."
Lynd thought to himself that Maester Aemon, after living more than a century, had a body so frail that even the miraculous God's Gift could only delay the inevitable. It couldn't truly heal him or extend his life—it could merely slow the decline.
Realizing this, Lynd knew that Maester Aemon's situation was grim.
...
Before long, they arrived outside Maester Aemon's chamber. The hallway was crowded with brothers of the Night's Watch—ordinary stewards, rangers, and officers alike—all standing with solemn, grief-stricken faces. It was clear that Maester Aemon's esteem among the Night's Watch was unmatched, surpassing even that of past Lords Commander. He had earned the heartfelt devotion of nearly everyone.
When those standing guard saw Lynd approach, they respectfully stepped aside and made a path for him into the room.
Inside, though the crowd was smaller, it still felt cramped. Samwell, Jon, and most of the castle officers who hadn't been dispatched Beyond the Wall were gathered around.
Maester Aemon lay on the bed, his eyes shut tight in deep unconsciousness. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he was muttering incoherently, his words too faint to make out.
Lynd signaled to the Night's Watchmen that there was no need for formalities, then approached the bed. Removing his helmet, he leaned close, bringing his ear to Maester Aemon's mouth to catch his faint words. After a moment of listening, he straightened up and instructed, "Sam and Jon stay. Everyone else, leave. Tell those waiting outside to return to their duties as well."
The others exchanged puzzled looks but said nothing, obeying Lynd's orders without hesitation. One by one, they quietly filed out of the room, and those outside were sent back to their posts.
When the last footsteps faded away, Lynd retrieved a special bottle of refined God's Gift. This potion was twice as concentrated as the usual kind, making its effects far stronger. Because of its potency, it was not suitable for ordinary use—only Lynd himself could safely consume it under normal circumstances. But now, with Maester Aemon at death's door, strong medicine was the only way to temporarily restore a sliver of vitality and grant him the chance to settle his final regrets.
Earlier, Lynd had caught a fragment of Maester Aemon's murmuring—"I'm sorry, Egg." It was clear he was speaking to his younger brother, Aegon V Targaryen. Yet Lynd knew Maester Aemon had nothing to apologize for. He had given up the throne for Aegon; he had done only good by him.
Lynd surmised that the apology was born of guilt—guilt over the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. With that in mind, Lynd decided he would tell Maester Aemon the truth, so he could find peace before the end.
...
After carefully administering the refined God's Gift, Maester Aemon's pale face quickly regained a touch of color. His breathing grew stronger, and slowly, his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze cleared, and for a moment, it was as though his sight returned. He looked at Lynd, Jon, and Sam standing by his bedside.
"Is Maester Aemon better?" Sam asked, his voice full of excitement.
"No," Lynd shook his head and said, "my potion only allowed Maester Aemon to regain some strength temporarily. Once the effect fades, his injuries will return, and there will be no chance of recovery. Maester Aemon, your time is short."
"It's all right. I should be going anyway. I've lived long enough. It's time for me to see my family," Maester Aemon said, smiling serenely. "Just now, I dreamed of Egg. He was still the little bald boy, and Ser Duncan the Tall stood behind him. They were waving to me." As he spoke, his expression turned sorrowful. "But I couldn't bring myself to face him. I could only look at him from afar and apologize. I failed to take care of his children. I..."
Lynd interrupted him and said, "No! Maester Aemon, you did take care of Aegon V's descendants. Because of your guidance, one of them grew up safely at the Wall, becoming not just a swordsman but a true warrior who knows how to think."
"Your Grace Lynd, what are you talking about?" Maester Aemon asked, full of confusion.
Lynd pushed the equally confused Jon Snow closer to the bed and said, "Jon Snow, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. If nothing had gone wrong, his true name should have been Aegon Targaryen."
The room instantly fell silent, everyone's expressions frozen in shock.
It took a long moment before Maester Aemon, the calmest among them, finally found his voice, trembling with emotion. "Your Grace, is this true?"
"It is," Lynd said firmly. "When Prince Rhaegar rode to the Trident to put down the rebellion, he sent the pregnant Lyanna Stark to the Tower of Joy, protected by Ser Arthur Dayne and others. There, Lyanna gave birth to a boy. After the battle at the Tower of Joy, Lord Eddard Stark took both Lyanna's body and the newborn child. To protect Rhaegar and Lyanna's son from King Robert's wrath, Eddard claimed the boy was his own bastard. Anyone who truly knew Lord Eddard would have sensed something strange, but he insisted the boy was his, so no one dared question it."
"Your Grace, do you have any proof?" Sam couldn't help but ask.
"Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch survived the Tower of Joy. He knows everything. If Jon Snow goes to him, he will confirm it," Lynd explained, then turned back to Maester Aemon, who still looked stunned. "There are still two Targaryens left—Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, who will soon become my second wife. So, Maester Aemon, you need not blame yourself for your brother Aegon V. House Targaryen has not perished."
"How can that be?" Before Maester Aemon could respond, Jon Snow blurted out, "My father is Eddard Stark. My mother..."
He trailed off, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything. He had never known who his mother was. Every time he had asked Lord Eddard, he received no answer. If his mother had been, as the rumors said, a fisherman's daughter or a prostitute, Eddard Stark would have simply told him.
Now that he thought about it, there was only one reason Eddard Stark would keep silent: the truth would endanger him. Eddard Stark would only have raised him if his mother was someone he dearly loved—and Lyanna Stark fit that perfectly.
Thinking this through, Jon couldn't help but ask again, "Your Grace, am I truly the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark?"
"You are," Lynd confirmed firmly.
Hearing this, Jon's tears suddenly flowed, though even he didn't know if they were tears of joy at discovering his true parentage or tears of guilt because his mother's grave had been so close all these years, and he had never once visited it.
"Come here, child. Let me feel you," Maester Aemon said, motioning for Sam to help him sit up and reaching out to Jon.
Jon hesitated, then stepped forward, sitting by the bed. He took Maester Aemon's hands and placed them against his face.
Maester Aemon gently touched Jon's brows, his cheekbones, and other features, a smile spreading across his face as he murmured, "Egg... Egg..."
Then, slowly, he closed his eyes, and his hands fell.
Sam hurried to steady Maester Aemon's body, placing a hand under his nose and then feeling for his pulse. His face grew sorrowful as he said, "Maester Aemon is gone."
Jon sat by the bed in a daze, as if his spirit had fled his body. He said nothing, not even shedding a tear.
Lynd spoke in a low voice, "Have the stewards prepare Maester Aemon's body. When I return to King's Landing, I'll bring him back to be buried in the royal crypts of House Targaryen."
Sam shook his head and said, "Your Grace, let Maester Aemon remain here, at the Wall. This was his home."
Lynd paused for a moment, then silently nodded in agreement.