Taking measurements meant removing the "armor." Since the day he crossed over, Lynn had never taken the lifesaving spacesuit all the way off.
Following his instructions, Lyanna helped him peel it off. The moment it was gone he felt like he could breathe again.
He was left in nothing but the thin quick-dry base layer. The fire in the tent kept the air warm, so he wasn't worried about catching a chill.
He automatically lifted an arm and sniffed. Thanks to the freezing weather and the fact that Asians don't carry much body odor, it wasn't as bad as he feared.
The baby dragon had been curled under a blanket at the head of the bed. The rustle of the suit woke it. It wriggled out, squeaking and trying to climb Lynn. He snatched it before those razor claws could reach him.
No way. One thin layer of fabric between him and those claws? He'd be shredded.
Lyanna was drawn to the dragon's blood-red color. Instead of being afraid she reached out to touch it. Kid raised beyond the Wall, Lynn thought.
In this frozen wasteland everything was black and white. A splash of vivid red was impossible to ignore.
The dragon hissed a warning and arched its back at her fingers.
"Does it have a name?" the girl asked, laughing even after the rejection. She looked up at him with big, innocent eyes. "My lord?"
"You don't have to call me 'my lord.' Out here among the free folk, just use my name."
Lynn thought for a second. He realized he had completely forgotten to name the dragon.
He remembered the famous red dragons from Targaryen history. There was Meraxes, the Red Queen, ridden by Princess Rhaenys—the "Queen Who Never Was." And Caraxes, the Bloodwyrm, the long, terrifying red dragon ridden by Prince Daemon Targaryen in the Dance of the Dragons.
His own dragon looked more like Caraxes.
He almost lazily named it Bloodraven out of respect for the old man, but that felt wrong. He tossed the question to Lyanna instead.
"It doesn't have a name yet. What do you think would fit?"
The girl looked startled that someone as important as the Son of the Stars would ask her opinion on naming a legendary monster.
She thought for a moment, then offered her idea.
"Its color is like the red comet in the sky. The free folk call that comet the blood tears the gods weep—'Weeping Blood Star.'"
It matched the "Son of the Stars" title perfectly. A little ominous, sure, but dragons were always symbols of blood, fire, and disaster.
"Then we'll call him Weeping Blood," Lynn decided.
He pulled half a raw sheep leg off the rack and lured the dragon onto the open ground.
After days of rest the little one had perked up, grown a bit, and could now breathe steady jets of flame to roast its own food.
Weeping Blood shot a small burst of white fire, then pounced on the leg and tore into the charred meat. Lyanna clapped with delight, hardly believing she had just named a dragon from the old stories.
Lynn motioned for her to take his measurements. She stuck her tongue out playfully and hopped over.
His easy manner gave her courage. While she ran the cord over his body she asked boldly, "Son of the Stars, Lynn… will you give me a child?"
Lynn almost lost his straight face. He kept his voice even. "You're still too young. We'll talk about that when you're older—if you still want to then."
"I do want to. And I'm not that young."
She was right. In this world fifteen was old enough to marry. And he'd be lying if he said he felt nothing looking at the lively, pretty girl in front of him.
Lyanna pouted. "Mother says you're going to unite all the lands south of the Wall. She told me I have to get you into my bed."
Jesus, kid, you can't just say that out loud. What a naïve little fool.
Kuna, though—she'd been stolen north decades ago, but the old stories of Aegon the Conqueror still lived in her head. She believed a dragon made a man unstoppable.
"Will our child be a bastard?" she chattered on like a little bird. "Mother says bastards have no status and everyone bullies them."
Bastards really did get the short end, except for a few like Daemon Blackfyre, Bloodraven, and Coldhands. Lynn kept that to himself.
"South of the Wall that's usually true," he said. "But if I have a child, things will be different."
Lyanna lit up at the thought of a child that didn't even exist yet.
Suddenly Nymo ducked into the tent.
"Son of the Stars, Mance sent someone to—"
He stopped mid-sentence, staring at Lyanna. "You… you're 'Lady' Lyanna?"
Dressed and cleaned up, she looked nothing like her usual self—much prettier. Nymo barely recognized her.
Lyanna put away the cord, lifted her chin proudly, and announced, "From now on you call me the Son of the Stars' Lyanna!"
Nymo took a startled step back. "You stole the Son of the Stars?!"
Then he caught himself, shot Lynn a nervous glance, and stammered, "I mean… the Son of the Stars stole you?"
Among the free folk, a man being "stolen" by a woman was humiliating. He quickly flipped the wording so he wouldn't offend Lynn.
Lynn almost laughed. "Lyanna is my handmaiden," he said, keeping his face stern. "She's under my protection from now on."
Nymo might not have known exactly what a handmaiden was, but he understood the protection part. He dropped the who-stole-whom debate and finished his message.
Mance had sent for Lynn to come to the big tent. Apparently he wanted advice on organizing and running the camp. Word of "Lynn the Just" had spread from the clans that had traveled with them, and it had caught Mance's attention.
"If it were up to me we'd ignore him," the hot-blooded young man declared. "Once the new Magnar rises from the earth we'll march on the Wall ourselves. Except for the giants, the other clans are as soft as goats and elk. They've got horns to poke with, but in the end the ice wolves and shadowcats always eat them."
Nymo's outburst gave Lynn pause. So there really was a faction among the Thenns that didn't like taking orders from Mance. Kuna's grand plan wasn't completely fantasy after all.
"He invited me politely," Lynn said, standing. "It would be rude to refuse."
He turned to Lyanna. "Help me back into the armor. I'm going to see him."