"Son of the Stars" really knew how to light a fire. One sentence and most of the Thenns were breathing faster, eyes bright.
Lynn noticed a couple of them even reached back to scratch an itch.
Kassa gave him a nod. Lynn stood.
"South of the Wall everything changes. The land there is good for farming. If the Free Folk don't learn to live off the crops it grows, they won't survive. Like it or not, a lot of them are going to end up working the fields."
Before the muttering could grow, he kept going.
"But you Thenns are born warriors, not farmers with hoes. You used to be stuck in your valleys with nowhere to grow. That ends now. Your courage will buy your families honors and riches they've never dreamed of."
"In the name of the Guardian of All Living Beings in Westeros, I promise this: in every battle against those who stand against us, every ordinary soldier who takes an enemy head will receive the tax revenue from five three-person households—every single year. When the father dies, the son inherits it forever."
"Five heads earns you captain of a ten-man squad, with the same status as a landed knight in the south. Ten heads or more makes you a centurion. I will grant you land and a fief—equivalent to a noble title."
This was the best way Lynn could think of to motivate soldiers. Crude, but it would work.
He had run the numbers roughly using what Kuna had told him about Northern population and land. The figures were outdated and would need adjusting later.
To make sure the Thenns understood, he drew a simple tree diagram with twigs and stones instead of writing.
The Thenns obeyed their Magnar without question, but they had no real class system. They lived and fought by family. Lynn needed to plant hierarchy in their heads, and a military merit system was the perfect tool.
The rewards would partly come from the Free Folk willing to farm. And there would always be stubborn lords who refused to pay the Guardian's Tax. When fighting broke out, the Thenns and any other wildlings who wanted to fight would have to prove the system worked.
Win, and the lords' lands, wealth, and smallfolk would be theirs. Lose… well, there wouldn't be much left to say.
The Thenns looked a little confused at first. Lynn picked up the bronze ingot Sigorn had given him as thanks for avenging Styr.
"Simple version: for every real fighting man's head an ordinary soldier takes—not some peasant pretending—he earns wealth equal to about ten of these ingots. Every single year. His children and grandchildren get it too."
The tent exploded with excitement. Land, smallfolk, manors, and stone castles had felt too distant. Bronze they understood. Suddenly it was real.
One ingot could buy more than ten prime hides or hundreds of pounds of dressed meat beyond the Wall. Ten ingots meant a man could feed four or five people without lifting a finger.
Lynn had kept the math conservative. Once you added grain, fruit, livestock, and everything else, southern land produced far more than the Thenns imagined.
In that heated atmosphere he explained the group rules: officers—captains, centurions—were judged on their whole unit's kills. Poor performance meant punishment or demotion.
Casualties came off the top. If a ten-man squad lost two men, they needed at least three enemy heads before any merit counted.
Verification would be strict. After every battle the taken heads would be displayed publicly for three days. Officers would inspect them while soldiers watched each other and could report cheating. Only then would rewards be paid.
The discussion ran long. Lynn didn't dictate everything. He listened and made changes.
They added higher-value deeds he had overlooked: first man over the wall in a siege, killing an enemy commander, capturing enemy banners. Those would bring richer rewards and be judged case by case.
Lynn thought, Isn't this basically the old "first to scale the wall, behead the general, seize the flag" system?
He had already warned them that once the Free Folk reached better land, class differences would appear whether they wanted them or not. It was already happening.
The best idea actually came from the Thenns themselves.
Since they usually fought in family units, they suggested mixing warriors from different families into squads. Captains could not lead their own relatives. The same rule would apply higher up. This would stop families from cheating by passing heads around.
Lynn loved it. This was exactly the safeguard good leaders needed. He made a mental note to turn it into iron law.
The Thenns also thought ten heads to become a centurion was too easy. With only about twelve hundred Thenn warriors total, that would mean at most twelve such officers.
They suggested raising the bar: ten heads would only make you leader of thirty men. Full centurion would require even greater achievements.
Lynn was amused. This was the first time he had seen people negotiate to make promotion harder. They also clearly underestimated southern armies, acting like taking Northern heads would be as easy as picking melons in a field.
"This system won't just apply to the Thenns," he explained. "Every Free Folk warrior who obeys orders can earn ranks too. There will be enough positions for everyone."
The Thenns were still reluctant to fight alongside other clans and especially didn't want to command them. Their tribal prejudice ran deep.
Still, it wasn't a bad thing. It would help keep future costs down. Lynn added the note.
He hadn't yet mentioned pensions for the wounded or payments to the families of the dead. The truth was the Guardian of All Living Beings was still broke. He could only write checks with his mouth for now. There was a limit to how many empty promises he could make without looking ridiculous.
Once he actually had resources, he would make good on them later.