The din of the feast was shut out by heavy stone walls.
Below the First Keep, there was only the sound of the wind.
It whistled through the battlements, sweeping up dead leaves and snow from the ground.
Lynn stood in the silent shadows.
In the cold moonlight, the longsword in his hand reflected ripples of chilling light.
He was not practicing grand, sweeping forms—only the most basic thrusts, parries, and dodges.
Each movement he repeated hundreds of times.
The aching in his muscles refined his mastery over this body just a bit more.
Sweat dripped from Lynn’s temples, quickly dried by the icy night wind, stripping the last trace of warmth from his skin.
A set of footsteps approached from the distance.
They were light, carrying a hint of hesitation.
Lynn paused, but his grip on the sword did not relax in the slightest.
He turned around.
Jon Snow stood a short distance away, holding a blunted practice sword of his own.
He was not dressed in feast finery, wearing only plain black leather armor.
His handsome face—which bore little resemblance to the Starks—carried a melancholy that seemed entirely out of place with the feast.
“I thought I was the only one here,” Jon said quietly.
Lynn sheathed his sword.
“So did I.” Jon walked over and stopped beside Lynn.
He stared at the tower blazing with light in the night, remaining silent for a long moment.
“They’re all inside,” Jon said.
His tone was flat, devoid of obvious emotion.
“Cheering, drinking, celebrating the king’s arrival.
And I’m stuck standing out here.” Lynn said nothing.
He knew Lady Catelyn would not allow Jon at the high table.
On such a grand occasion, the presence of a bastard was the ultimate insult to her.
Jon gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“Sometimes I really just want to leave this place.” He raised his blunted sword and slashed at a nearby training dummy.
“Go somewhere where nobody knows me.
Go somewhere where my surname isn’t Snow anymore.” His eyes fell upon Lynn, carrying a searching look.
“Tell me…
is the Wall really my only destiny?” Before Lynn could answer, another voice spoke up from the shadows behind them.
“The Wall is no one’s destiny, child.” The voice was steady, bearing the distinct rasp of the North.
Lynn’s pupils contracted.
A mounted figure emerged from the darkness.
He wore worn black leathers; lean in frame, his face was sharply lined by wind and frost.
His eyes were sharp as an eagle’s.
He was Benjen Stark.
Lord Eddard’s brother, First Ranger of the Night’s Watch.
“Uncle Benjen!” The melancholy on Jon’s face vanished instantly, replaced by the delight of seeing family.
He respected Benjen just as he did his father, Ned.
Benjen nodded to Jon in greeting.
Yet his gaze went right past Jon, falling straight onto Lynn.
The look was scrutinizing, but without hostility.
“So you’re the crow that flew back,” Benjen said calmly, as if stating a simple fact.
“When I returned to the Wall, the Watch was saying you were a deserter.” Lynn did not offer an excuse.
He merely met Benjen’s gaze in silence.
Benjen’s gaze drifted from Lynn’s face to his hand on the hilt, and finally down to the packed snow beneath his feet, where countless footprints lay left behind by endless repetition of drills.
The corner of Benjen’s mouth curled slightly.
“Deserters don’t practice their swordplay like this.
And I heard about the bandits.
You did well.” Benjen stepped forward, bringing a rush of cold air with him—the chill that came from years on the Wall, frost seeped deep into the marrow.
“I’ve seen you fight wildlings with my own eyes.
I know you’re no coward.
Besides, on my return from this ranging, I saw proof of the White Walkers myself.” Benjen reached a conclusion.
“I’ll make things clear to my brother.
The Night’s Watch needs warriors like you, not a corpse dangling from a gallows.” Lynn’s heart gave a sudden thump.
A wave of warmth spread from his chest out through his limbs.
A promise from the First Ranger.
That carried more weight than any defense he could offer.
It meant the blade hanging over his head labeled “deserter” was finally lifted.
“Thank you, my lord.” Lynn bowed slightly, a hint of relief in his voice that he had not even realized was there.
“Haven’t seen you in two months, and you’ve learned some manners.” Benjen waved a hand, dismissing the formality.
His eyes returned to Jon.
“You’ve grown.” A smile touched Benjen’s face.
“I rode all night just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the Lannisters’ tedious feast alone.
You know how my brother Ned is.
Every time he attends one of these dull feasts, he looks like a bear trapped in a cage.” “Aren’t you going inside for the feast?” Jon asked with a bitter smile.
“Lady Stark believes having a bastard sit at the same table as royalty would be an insult to the king.” Benjen nodded in understanding.
Nobody understood Jon Snow’s situation better than he did.
He cared deeply about Jon.
“Well, there are no such annoying rules on the Wall.
A bastard can take a seat anytime.” Jon stood tall and straight.
He looked at his uncle, his gray eyes blazing with a light like never before.
“Then take me with you when you leave!
If you speak to my father, he’ll agree!
I want to join the Night’s Watch.
On the Wall, your birth doesn’t matter.
I have no surname—only brothers.” Benjen’s expression did not change.
He merely watched his nephew, taking in the flushed face of the excited boy.
“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Benjen said.
“We have no family.
Once you take the black, you can never marry, never father children.
Do you think this is some heroic game?
What we face are wildlings, perpetual winter, and things far worse than death.” Unlike when he had asked Lynn before, Jon’s eyes held an unprecedented resolve this time.
“I don’t care.
I’m ready to swear the oath to the Night’s Watch.” Lynn understood that Lady Catelyn’s actions today had deeply wounded Jon.
“You’re still a boy.” Benjen’s tone softened slightly.
“When you realize what all of this really entails, you’ll likely regret it.
Stay in Winterfell, Jon.
When you’re older, when you truly understand what you’d be giving up, then come speak to me.” With that, Benjen stopped looking at him.
He patted Lynn’s shoulder.
“Lad, I’m heading inside.
Remember to come find me in a bit.” Then Benjen turned and stepped back into the deep darkness.
In the courtyard, only Jon and Lynn remained, along with the endless howling of the wind.
Jon stood frozen in place.
A long time passed.
Only then did he lift his head to look at Lynn, his voice raspy.
“Uncle Benjen is right, isn’t he?
Am I…
being too naive?” Lynn looked at him.
Looking at this future Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, seeing the vulnerability on his face that belied his age, Lynn did not comfort him.
He simply said in a calm voice: “It’s your path to choose, Jon.
No one can walk it for you.”