Mance looked like something had finally clicked. He spoke slowly.
"So you're giving yourself a righteous reason to march south. A clean conscience."
Lynn smiled.
"You could put it that way. Sometimes a man needs a belief strong enough to carry him. I'm making mine."
"But there's one thing you're missing—the people. If the smallfolk in the south learn the truth—that the real threat is the Others beyond the Wall while their lords are busy hacking each other to pieces over an iron chair—what do you think they'll do?"
"If anyone doubts it, we'll just drag a few wights down there and let them see for themselves."
Mance seemed to accept the idea.
"Legend says the Wall has magic. The Others can't cross it."
"Then we'll drag the disbelievers up here and let them watch with their own eyes," Lynn said flatly.
"But the Free Folk won't accept being leashed," Mance said, laying out the biggest problem.
"That's my one demand," Lynn replied, calm and steady. "You've made your requests. Now here are mine."
"If you want me to lead the Free Folk and keep them alive, three things have to happen."
"First, keep searching for Joramun's Horn. Not to threaten the south or the Night's Watch, but to make sure the Others never get their hands on it."
"Second, pick out the men willing to follow orders. Tell them they don't have to kneel to anyone. They fight for themselves and their families. I'll give them armor and weapons. I'll give their families food, land, and houses."
"Third, find the worst raiders—the ones who will never obey rules—and give them two choices: swear to hold the Wall forever and never leave, like the black brothers, or die outside it and become the Others' meat. I don't mind killing them twice."
Mance's face twisted with conflicting emotions.
"I swore I'd lead them away from the Others."
Lynn met his eyes.
"At least you'll have a wall between them."
He softened his tone a little.
"You know what happens if you turn them loose in the south. Even if they finally settle, their lives will never be peaceful. If you really want your people to live, you have to make the hard choice."
"After we take the Wall, I'll lead them against the castles, just like you planned. We'll seize one or two and force the lords to hand over their hoarded grain."
"If the North still can't feed everyone, fine. Once they bend the knee, we keep marching south, hitting richer lords on better land and collecting the tax."
Mance hesitated.
"That plan will probably cost us Alfyn Crowkiller, the Bone Lord, and the Weeper. Harma Dogshead might refuse orders too."
Lynn shrugged.
"Good. The Wall needs men."
Mance stayed quiet a long time. Finally he let out a heavy sigh.
"All right. From now on, they're your people."
Just like that, the conversation that would shape the future of the Free Folk and the entire North was over. Both men looked lighter.
Mance had just dropped a thousand-pound weight off his back and bought some real safety for his wife and child. Lynn had quietly solved one of the biggest holes in his own plan—the problem of keeping the wildlings in line.
"All three things you asked for will take time," Mance said, standing.
"We'll keep hunting for the horn, but I wouldn't bet my life on finding it. Tormund's boys will fight for you anytime. Harma can be talked around. The rest of the clans… I'll have to go speak to them myself."
Lynn stood too. He gripped Mance's hand.
"Only you can make that happen. If everything goes smoothly afterward, maybe you'll earn yourself a castle—one where you can wear whatever color cloak you damn well please."
"Granted in the name of the Guardian of All Living Beings in Westeros?" Mance asked with a grin.
"No," Lynn said, grinning back. "Given as a gift."
Mance walked Lynn all the way back to the Thenn camp, the two of them talking loudly and cheerfully the whole way. Every wildling who saw it started whispering.
It was all part of the plan. Later Mance would spread the stories that slowly turned Lynn into legend. How he did it was his business.
That night Lynn sent Lyanna back to her mother's tent, heated water, scrubbed himself clean, and washed his clothes.
When he finally finished and stood naked by the brazier turning his damp clothes, a thunderous cheer exploded outside the tent—thousands of voices shouting the name of their new Magnar.
Lynn let out a long breath. Kassa hadn't let him down. Another piece of the puzzle had just locked into place.
Even if someone else had become Magnar, the plan with Mance would still work. But Kassa was one of his own. If Mance's side hit trouble, the Thenns were Lynn's ace in the hole.
He didn't step outside to celebrate with them. His clothes were still damp and uncomfortable, and he didn't want to steal any of Kassa's moment. The man had sworn a blood oath to follow the Son of the Stars forever in exchange for Lynn standing with them. Showing up right then would force Kassa to make a big show of loyalty, and that would chip away at the new Magnar's hard-won respect.
This was Kassa's time. Lynn had enough sense to stay out of the way.
The next morning he learned the details: Kassa had crawled out of the earth himself. Styr's son Sigorn had been dug up half-dead and revived with potions. The third candidate hadn't made it.
Then came three straight days of wild celebration. The Thenns emptied their stores—beef, mutton, pork, venison, everything—throwing the biggest feast they could manage.
Mance grumbled about the waste but still sent over several precious casks of mead as a gift.
Lynn stayed inside his tent the whole time. He spent those three days deep in Bloodraven's memories, drilling sword forms and archery until his muscles burned.
In this world strength ruled. He didn't have time to waste.
On the walk back the day before, Mance had dropped a quiet hint: he'd noticed the way Lynn drew his sword and the total lack of calluses on his hands. The other wildlings were still dazzled by the dragon and the White Walker story, but that wouldn't last forever.
The Free Folk only followed strength.
Right now Lynn had three things working for him: his mysterious origin, the feat of killing an Other, and the undeniable fact that he was a dragon tamer. The dragon was real—anyone with eyes could see it. The "Son of the Stars" title had the Thenns' backing, but it was still just a story. Wildlings loved exaggerating their own nicknames—Tormund Giantsbane, Tormund Thunderfist, Tormund Husband-to-Bears—so they'd believe it only halfway.
The White Walker kill was different. Thenn witnesses swearing oaths wasn't enough. Sooner or later Lynn would have to prove it with his own blade.