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Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
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Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
The Frost Giant knelt on one knee.
Its head, composed of countless ice crystals, bowed low, offering the most primal submission to Lynn on the watchtower.
How big is a fifteen-meter Frost Giant?
About the height of a four-story building.
It could probably push over a city wall.
The Gift was so close to the Wall, and Lynn had long considered the consequences of blowing the Horn of Winter. Yet, he felt no panic.
The Night King was created by the Children of the Forest to fight the First Men. His march south might still be executing this ancient command, his existence solely to extinguish the living.
But that theory was flawed.
Every action the Night King took had a strong purpose.
Whether it was taking Craster's sons without harming the giver, or deliberately letting survivors escape to spread fear and reveal his existence, or baiting dragons to kill one and use it to breach the Wall.
Even from what Lynn had learned when visiting Jeor Mormont—Jon, currently out scavenging for "blessings" for Lynn, would occasionally encounter White Walkers and wights.
But these dead things never actively attacked them.
Jon had practically walked right into a wight's face, yet the dead remained indifferent to the living man.
Coupled with the Night King's unexplained generosity towards him.
So, Lynn could boldly deduce that the Night King's motivations were far from simple.
Neither his march south nor his strange behaviors had a reasonable surface-level motive.
From the stories told by Old Nan at the Nightfort, the Night King was once the 13th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
He fell in love with a mysterious woman.
A woman "with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars," whose "skin was cold as ice."
The two "people" ruled for thirteen years until he was defeated and killed by an alliance of his own brother, the King in the North, and Joramun, the King-Beyond-the-Wall.
After his death, it was discovered that this Lord Commander had been making sacrifices to the Others.
Consequently, all records of him and his lover were destroyed.
Although there is disagreement on whether this woman was human, a wight, or a White Walker, one thing is certain: this Lord Commander became the Night King.
From this perspective, the Night King's goal might be revenge against humanity, avenging his lover.
However, this "Night King" was clearly not the current "Night King."
The Three-Eyed Raven, by repeatedly pulling victims back to the moment of the Night King's creation, sealed their souls into the Night King's body, occupying the vessel, and then drawing sustenance from the Weirwood to achieve a form of immortality.
Thus, whenever one "Night King" died, another was born in history, making the "Night King" impossible to exterminate.
This would explain why humans won so many times against the Night King yet could only build the Wall to exile him to the Lands of Always Winter rather than destroying him completely.
Because that old schemer, the Three-Eyed Raven, wanted to survive, the Night King would never truly be destroyed, only recreated each time his lifespan neared its end.
And the Night King possessed the eternal memory of Westeros. Therefore, the Night King had to kill the Three-Eyed Raven; doing so would be tantamount to killing himself.
The root purpose was to end his own cycle of fate that had repeated for thousands of years, to finally rest, and to return peace to the North.
So, the Night King represented countless victims, while the true culprit had always been that damned Three-Eyed Raven.
In the show, the Three-Eyed Raven once said, "The past is already written. The ink is dry."
This was meant to warn Bran, the victim, not to change the past.
But was it possible?
The Three-Eyed Raven said this precisely to remind Bran, to make the naive boy travel back to the past.
Bran believed the Night King was the enemy of all living things, so he felt he had to go back.
He wanted to see what happened at the Night King's creation, hoping to find a weakness or a way to kill him.
The consequence was diving headfirst into the Three-Eyed Raven's trap, ultimately becoming the Night King himself.
And so the cycle continued.
Who killed me? Did I kill someone? Or did I kill myself? That was the question.
Consider the assassination attempt on Bran while he was in a coma. The assassin used a dagger with a dragonbone hilt and a Valyrian steel blade.
And Valyrian steel can kill the Night King and White Walkers.
The culprit on the surface was Joffrey.
After hearing Robert say in his cups that "the boy would be better off dead than crippled," Joffrey, eager to prove his worth, sent someone to kill Bran.
So, to stop a depressed person from jumping off a building, you shoot them? That stops them from jumping?
What kind of logic was that?
Even as stupid as Joffrey was, he wouldn't do something so shockingly absurd!
But don't forget, if Lynn hadn't disrupted the Three-Eyed Raven's plan, making time and space unpredictable, Bran would still possess warging abilities!
Knowing he would be turned into the Night King by the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran likely used his warging ability to whisper repeatedly in the stupid Joffrey's ear:
"Solve your father's problems."
Joffrey, who idolized Robert, eventually got carried away.
Thus, Joffrey sent the assassin to kill young Bran, fulfilling Bran's plan: to strangle the future vessel of the Three-Eyed Raven in the cradle.
It was a bold attempt by Bran, but it failed.
Later, the Night King killed the Three-Eyed Raven, but the Raven showed no fear, acting indifferent.
That was because he had already occupied Bran's body. The old shell was useless to him; death meant nothing, for he still lived.
The Night King knew this too.
So, after killing the Three-Eyed Raven wearing Brynden Rivers' skin, he didn't stop. He went straight for Bran, attempting to kill him.
Just as he was about to kill Bran, the meddling Arya stabbed him to death.
The Night King planned so much, seeing victory in sight, only to fall at Arya's hands, failing once again...
So, Lynn made a bold speculation.
Although he started as an enemy by stealing the Night King's dragon egg, the Night King later elevated Lynn's knowledge of ice magic and gave him the Horn of Winter to summon Frost Giants. This was all an investment.
Because his enemy, from beginning to end, was the Three-Eyed Raven.
The Night King couldn't enter the magic cave!
He had to rely on Lynn, a human unrestricted by that magic, to personally kill the Three-Eyed Raven.
It is worth mentioning that if not for his lifespan nearing its end, the Three-Eyed Raven would have hidden in that cave forever. But as his life faded, his magic waned, forcing him to take risks.
He didn't want to face the terrifying Night King either.
The Night King, or rather the true Brynden Rivers (or whoever the original soul was), was Lynn's ally.
And the Three-Eyed Raven, the entity wearing Brynden Rivers' skin, was his true enemy!
Back to the point: since the beneficiary of the Wall's magic breaking would be the Night King, and the Night King was an ally, then let the Wall break.
And if blowing the horn granted a high-level combat unit, why not blow it?
Not just blow it, Lynn would blow it hard, boldly, blow it to death!
If the Night King wasn't as he speculated, Lynn accepted that too!
Worst case, he would take the wildlings, the North, and important people like Margaery to Essos to find Daenerys, leaving the mess of Westeros for someone else to clean up.
Lynn really didn't care.
Now, the world was deadly silent. All the wildlings were stunned by the Frost Giant.
The next second, the silence was shattered!
Lynn snapped back from his chaotic thoughts.
"God! It's a God!"
"The Old Gods have appeared!"
Someone shouted first.
Then, a fanatical cry like a tsunami erupted from the chests of tens of thousands of wildlings.
They weren't just cheering; they were slamming their foreheads into the cold snow in a near-frenzied display of worship.
Thousands of wildlings, from common warriors to tribal chiefs, prostrated themselves.
They offered their humblest and most fanatical kowtow to Lynn on the watchtower, the man who created miracles.
In this moment, Lynn was no longer just the King-Beyond-the-Wall who led them to survival.
He was a deity walking among men!
A true god capable of summoning ancient titans and mastering ice and death!
Arya stood beside Lynn.
Feeling the slight tremors of the fortress under the kowtowing of tens of thousands, watching the dark mass of people below, her heart pounded wildly.
She finally understood how Lynn had twisted these unruly wildlings into a single rope.
Force could make people submit, food could make them follow.
But only miracles could make them offer their souls.
In this sea of fanatical worship, only one person stood out.
Tormund Giantsbane.
He didn't kneel. He just stood there, dumbfounded.
His eyes were glued to the kneeling Frost Giant, drool running down his messy red beard unnoticed.
His bear-like body was trembling slightly.
Not from fear, but from an uncontrollable... excitement!
"Mother of mine..."
Tormund muttered, his voice sounding like he was about to cry.
"Tall, really tall... strong, really strong..."
He wiped the drool from his mouth, shoved through the crowd regardless of everything, rushed to the base of Dragon's Landing, looked up, and shouted at Lynn with all his might.
"Lynn! My King! My good brother!"
Hearing the voice, Lynn looked down and saw the red-bearded man acting like a maniac, confused.
"That... that big one!"
Tormund pointed at the Frost Giant, his face red, stuttering.
"Is... is she taken?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
She?
"Tormund, that's a combat golem formed of ice elements. It has no gender."
"Nonsense!"
Tormund was anxious, jumping up and down to refute.
"So tall! So majestic! That figure! Those shoulders! How could there be no gender!"
He looked obsessively at the Frost Giant's "body" made of ice, full of power, his eyes glazed.
"I, Tormund, wrestled giants since I was a boy!"
"That's how I got this strength!"
He slapped his hard chest, spit flying.
"I can tell at a glance! This is definitely a woman! The most exciting kind of giant!"
Lynn looked at his lovestruck face, completely speechless.
This guy's obsession with large women had penetrated his marrow; he was hopeless.
And wrestling?
Lies.
"Lynn!"
Tormund's eyes became incredibly sincere, even pleading.
"Just give her to me!"
"I, Tormund, have never asked you for anything in my life! I want her! Only her!"
"For her, I'd charge into battle, I'd stab a dragon in the arse if you asked!"
Lynn shook his head on the watchtower.
He knew Tormund's background.
This old boy was raised by a female giant, drank giant's milk, got good nutrition, and nursed until he was over 20, which was why he grew stronger than the average wildling.
But it wasn't as he bragged.
Wrestled giants?
Bullshit.
The truth was, when he was separated from his tribe as a child and about to freeze to death, a lactating female giant who had lost her cub picked him up and kept him as a pet.
She thought Tormund was "frail," so she nursed him for years.
It wasn't until Tormund was twenty and had... natural reactions... that she realized something was wrong.
As for wrestling...
Probably his struggles while being nursed were unilaterally beautified by him into heroic combat.
After all, "Conquered a giantess" sounded much more impressive than "Suckled like a pet pig by a giantess."
Lynn rubbed his forehead, deciding not to entangle with this guy whose brain was full of the word "BIG."
He cleared his throat, his voice once again spreading through the military town.
"All forces, listen!"
The fanatical wildlings immediately stopped kowtowing, looked up, and waited for Lynn's decree with the utmost reverence.
"I will select thirty thousand of the most elite tribal warriors from among you to march south with me!"
"To seize our food! To punish our enemies!"
"The rest will stay to guard the Gift, continue building our walls, and prepare for the coming Long Night!"
Lynn's voice was clear and powerful.
"Those who stay behind, do not be disappointed."
"I need you to continue collecting the things I asked for."
"I will use a special method to turn them into food that will never spoil!"
"I want every one of our people to never go hungry in the long night to come!"
"Your task is just as important as theirs."
The wildlings didn't understand what "canned food" was, but they understood "food that will never spoil."
In their view, this was another miracle!
Their God could not only summon giants but also make food eternal!
"ROAAAR!"
Even wilder cheers erupted again.
The wildlings waved their weapons, venting their excitement and fighting spirit in the most primitive way.
"Muster the army! Prepare weapons! Resupply!"
"Tomorrow morning, we march for Winterfell!"
Lynn's order brought an end to this fanatical gathering.
---
Night.
Dragon's Landing, Lynn's bedchamber.
It was starkly different from the grey stone fortitude of Winterfell.
Thick snow-bear fur carpets covered the floor, soft and silent underfoot.
In the massive fireplace, high-quality charcoal shipped from King's Landing burned without smoke, spreading warmth evenly to every corner of the room.
Exquisite tapestries from Essos hung on the walls, depicting the Doom of Valyria.
In one corner of the room, there was even a bathtub carved from a single block of obsidian.
Connected to it were simple pipes designed by the maester of Dragon's Landing.
Hot water could be drawn in at any time for Lynn and his ladies to bathe.
It is worth mentioning that since the castle was built, the Citadel had assigned two learned maesters specifically to serve Lord Lynn.
Upon learning that Lynn had quite a few women, they wisely replaced the small bed with a massive one—incredibly thoughtful.
Dragon's Landing didn't look like a fortress built in the North; it felt more like the luxurious chambers of a prince in King's Landing.
A little extravagant.
But it wasn't a big problem; Lynn didn't care.
Crossing into another world just to fight and kill, build a unified empire, and that's it?
Ideals were noble, but women were essential too.
Fighting wars all his life without enjoying it?
There should be a balance between work and rest, right?
Thinking of this, Lynn felt at ease.
Beside him, Arya was fast asleep.
Everything that happened today was too much of a shock for her.
From the hasty but grand wedding to the earth-shattering wildling army, the White Walker kneeling before Lynn, and finally the miraculous Frost Giant...
Her little brain was overloaded. The moment she touched the soft bed, she fell into a deep sleep.
Now, she was curled up in Lynn's arm like a docile kitten, a satisfied smile on her lips.
Lynn wasn't sleeping.
Leaning against the headboard, watching Arya's peaceful sleeping face in the firelight, his heart was tranquil.
Just then, the door was gently pushed open a crack.
A fiery red head poked in.
It was Ygritte.
She wore only a thin leather tunic, hugging her arms, looking like she was shivering from the cold.
"Lynn," Ygritte's voice carried a hint of imperceptible grievance.
"It's so cold outside. My room doesn't even have a decent fire."
Lynn looked at her without speaking.
Liar.
Dragon's Landing had a perfectly livable temperature.
That was because when choosing the site, they specifically built it over geothermal hot springs.
The seemingly ordinary stone walls were filled with crisscrossing stone pipes that continuously circulated hot water from the springs, so even without a fire, it wasn't too cold.
You could even sleep naked!
Seeing Lynn silent, Ygritte grew bolder.
She tiptoed in, closed the door behind her, and ran to the bedside in a few steps.
"It's so warm in here."
"Heh heh heh."
Ygritte rubbed her hands, her eyes glancing incessantly at the large, soft bed.
"Can I... stay here for a while? Just a while, I'll leave when I'm warm."
"Please..."
Lynn still didn't speak, just looked at her.
Ygritte bit her lip, steeled her heart, kicked off her boots, and climbed onto the bed on all fours.
The bed was huge; sleeping three or four people was more than enough.
But Ygritte didn't go to the other side. She squeezed directly between Lynn and Arya.
Arya, deep in sleep, frowned at being crowded, rolled to the side, and mumbled something dissatisfied.
Ygritte acted like she didn't notice, lying contentedly between the two, grabbing most of the bearskin quilt to cover herself, and letting out a comfortable sigh.
"It's better here with you," Ygritte whispered.
She turned on her side, resting her head on her arm, her bright eyes staring unblinkingly at Lynn in the dim firelight.
That look was exactly like a wild cat guarding its food.
Lynn finally sighed.
"Ygritte."
"Hmm?"
"Are you cold?"
"Cold," Ygritte said self-righteously.
"Then why aren't you wearing clothes?"
Ygritte paused, looked down at her naked body, then at Arya who had been pushed to the edge of the bed.
She suddenly grinned, revealing white teeth, her smile full of slyness and pride.
"Because I know you're warmer than fire."
With that, she deliberately rubbed against Lynn, throwing a leg carelessly over him, not shying away at all.
Lynn picked Ygritte up and moved her to the other side of the bed.
"Stop squeezing. You're going to push Arya off."
"And why is the spot where you were just lying so wet?"
"Did you wet the bed?!"
Ygritte felt her cheeks burn. She finally behaved, lying down honestly on Lynn's other side.
Lynn felt the two warm bodies beside him—one petite and docile, one fiery and bold.
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily again.
Seven Gods above.
I still have a war to fight.