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The Guardian Hall had been built in Lynn's name for meetings and official business, but in practice Mance ran the place. Lynn rarely showed up.
Today was no different. Mance sat at the head of the long rough-hewn table with Kassa, Tormund, Jarl, "Shieldbreaker" Sorren, "Wanderer" Howd, and the warrior witch Morna. They were arguing hotly about whether to split their forces when they climbed the Wall.
Tormund and Jarl wanted one single push—metal spikes and rope ladders were in short supply and could only outfit one team.
The others argued splitting up gave them better odds. If one group got spotted by a Night's Watch patrol, the whole plan wouldn't collapse. Wooden or bone spikes could replace the metal ones they ran out of.
Kassa stayed out of it. His job was taking Black Castle; how everyone else crossed the ice didn't concern him.
Lynn knew better than to stick his nose into things he didn't understand, so he let them shout, curse, and spit at each other. He walked straight to the big stone hearth, dropped into the most comfortable chair, and stretched his boots toward the flames. Weeping Blood flopped down at his feet and rested his spiky head on Lynn's knee.
Mance was rubbing his temples when he noticed Lynn—and the two captured rangers being dragged in. He barked at the room to shut up.
"Who are these two?" he asked. "Crows?"
"That's right. This bastard killed Orell," the Bone Lord snarled, jabbing a finger at Jon Snow. "And he's a damned wolf-skin."
"Then why bring him here? Just cut his throat."
Mance said it on purpose.
"He turned!" the Bone Lord started, but the red-haired spearwife cut him off.
"He brought down Halfhand Qhorin himself!"
The woman's hair was the color the Free Folk called "kissed by fire"—a sign of luck.
"With this pup?" Mance looked Jon up and down with open doubt.
The young ranger stood straight. "My name is Jon Snow, of Castle Black. I'm steward to Lord Commander Mormont… Your Grace."
He wasn't sure whether he should kneel in front of the "King-Beyond-the-Wall."
"Your Grace?" Mance glanced around the room, grinning. "Look at that—he thinks I'm a king."
Most of them laughed. The two crows didn't.
Mance sat in the center of the long table like the man in charge, which made sense. To Jon, he looked exactly like one.
"If you're looking for a king to kneel to," Mance said, tilting his chin toward the hearth, "try the one by the fire."
"He is the Son of the Stars, Dragon Tamer, Dragonborn, White Walker Slayer, White King, Master of Beasts, Bearer of Lightbringer, and Guardian of All Living Beings in Westeros—Lynn the Just Morningstar."
Mance had a gift for remembering titles. Probably came from singing everyone else's songs for years.
The bastard of Winterfell looked lost. He turned toward Lynn, clearly ready to drop to one knee—until the blood-red dragon on the floor lifted its head and stared at him.
A dragon. The symbol of conquerors. Small now, but it would grow.
Jon's mind raced. Ygritte hadn't lied. The wildlings really did have a dragon tamer—and he was also the Son of the Stars, the man who had killed a White Walker with the legendary Lightbringer…
Lynn stroked Weeping Blood's head and spoke to Mance. "If I were you, I'd get someone to look at Halfhand's wounds. He doesn't look like he's got long."
Mance's eyebrows shot up. He'd assumed the spearwife meant Jon had killed Qhorin. He stepped around the table and examined the man on the sled. It really was his old brother from the Watch.
Qhorin looked terrible. His left leg was torn open by teeth, two arrows were buried in his gut and chest, and a gaping slash across his throat had almost opened his windpipe.
"What happened?" Mance asked the Bone Lord.
"We chased them five days and five nights. Cut down two on the way—one tried to hold us off, the other made a run for the Fist of the First Men. Finally cornered these two in a narrow gorge."
"This bastard yelled he was surrendering. Halfhand tried to kill him anyway. They fought. The wolf nearly took Halfhand's leg off."
"The Son of the Stars wanted them alive!" the red-haired spearwife broke in again. "Halfhand was too dangerous to risk taking alive, so I put an arrow in him to save the other one."
Lynn suddenly remembered: she was the spearwife Jon had captured. Now the tables had turned.
The Bone Lord looked pissed. "Ygritte, stop interrupting. Mance asked the Bone Lord!"
But Ygritte wasn't backing down. "Free Folk say what they want."
Jon realized then that even the famous Bone Lord could lead them, but he could never truly rule over them.
"So the two of you together took down Halfhand?" Mance asked Ygritte.
She suddenly looked shy. "The cut on his neck was Snow's. If I hadn't shot Halfhand first and knocked him off balance, he'd have taken Snow's head."
Mance nodded. "So you actually saved Halfhand's life."
Ygritte blinked, stunned. She'd saved the legendary Qhorin Halfhand?
Mance turned back to the Bone Lord. "How many were there?"
"Five. Killed two on the trail. Caught this one and Halfhand. The last climbed into the mountains—too steep for horses. No horse, no supplies. He won't last long."
Mance's eyes locked on Jon again. "Only five of you? Anyone else you're hiding?"
Jon answered honestly. "Four plus Halfhand. But one Qhorin is worth twenty."
Mance burst out laughing. "Aye, that's what everyone says. One more question… why did a bunch of green brothers from Castle Black tag along with Shadow Tower rangers?"
Jon gave the story they'd rehearsed. "Lord Commander Mormont sent me to train under Halfhand, so I joined the ranging."
Kassa, still seated, frowned. "You're telling me the crows patrol all the way to the Windy Gorge?"
"Villages are being abandoned," Jon said plainly. "It looks like every Free Folk suddenly vanished."
"Yeah… vanished," Mance echoed. "And not just the Free Folk. Who told you we were here, Jon Snow?"
Tormund snorted. "Who do you think? That rat Craster. I told you, Mance—we should've cut that dog's head off years ago. Even animals wouldn't do what he does."
Mance shot him a glare. "Tormund, one day you'll learn to think before you open your mouth. Of course it was Craster. I was testing the boy."
Tormund spat. "Fine, I'll shut up." He grinned at Jon. "See, lad? That's why he's King-Beyond-the-Wall and I'm not. I drink more, fight better, sing louder, and I'm three times his size—but Mance is sneakier. Used to be a crow himself, ha! Tricky little bird."
Mance waved a hand. "I want to talk to the boy alone, Bone Lord. Everyone else—out. And take Halfhand to Mole's Mother. We finally caught one alive. Don't let him die on us."
The "everyone else" didn't include Lynn, so Lyanna stayed too.
"What, I have to leave?" Tormund protested.
"No, you stay," Mance said.
"Like hell. I'm not sticking around where I'm not wanted." Tormund stood up. "I'll just go."
Kassa, Tormund, Jarl, Sorren, Howd, and Morna filed out. The Bone Lord and his raiders didn't move.
"Something else?" Mance asked, surprised.
The Bone Lord actually looked embarrassed—a rare sight.
"Varamyr told me… the Son of the Stars said live rangers count double."
Raiders never asked for things; they took them. Asking for a reward was new, and the Bone Lord clearly hated doing it.
Mance had completely forgotten the new merit system—this was the first real prize since it started. He looked at Lynn.
Lynn was restringing the white-oak longbow. He paused, thought for a second, then spoke lazily.
"I heard you say one Halfhand is worth twenty men…"
"Mance doesn't disagree. So you can claim forty-four merit points."
The raiders froze.
They'd guessed Halfhand was valuable, but not that valuable.
Still cautious, they huddled and started counting on their fingers. After a long minute they still couldn't get it straight.
Before Halfhand bled out, Lynn spelled it out.
"Halfhand counts as twenty—double that for alive is forty. Live Jon Snow is another two. Plus the two you killed on the chase."
"Now get Halfhand to the healer. If he dies the price drops."
The raiders cheered, loudly praising "Lynn the Just" as they carried their prize out like it was made of gold.
Only Ygritte lingered. She didn't seem to care about the merit points.
"Snow captured me. Halfhand ordered him to kill me. I told him the Son of the Stars and Mance would take him in, so he let me go."
"Halfhand tried to kill him instead. Snow cut his throat. He's serious about joining us. I… I don't want the merit. Just let him live. He saved my life."
Ygritte was desperate to vouch for Jon.
"Mance, Snow isn't like the other crows!"
Mance didn't know what to say. The spearwife had gone full Free Folk.
Lynn stepped in. "Go collect your share from Val. I'll make sure he doesn't die today."
Val—Mance's wife's sister—handled merit tallies and payouts. She was beautiful, dangerous, and sharp.
"And tell the Bone Lord to make sure every raider who did the work gets their fair cut. If anyone's unhappy, send them to me."
Ygritte finally left, satisfied. On her way out she laid a sword with a carved wolf-head pommel on the long table.
Giving out the equivalent of forty-four heads didn't hurt Lynn at all. Raiders and irregular clan fighters couldn't earn land or fiefs—only one-time material rewards.
The disciplined Thenns were different. Every head earned them a permanent yearly stipend, even inheritable. That kept them fighting hard instead of breaking and running the first time things got ugly.
Other clans would see the Thenns living well with steady land and start volunteering to become proper soldiers. Classic incentive.
Mance clearly thought the reward was too generous—the Free Folk weren't exactly rich. So Lynn told him the old story about the king who paid a thousand gold dragons for the bones of a dead horse.
Mance listened. Before he could comment, Jon jumped in.
"Lord… Morningstar," he said, stumbling over the name and somehow thinking of the Gardener kings of the Reach.
"That story carries deep political wisdom. It seems like wasted coin, but it buys far greater fame and future rewards."
Jon knew a thousand-gold-dragon horse that could run a thousand leagues in a day was pure nonsense. But he was eager to prove himself and earn trust, so he piled on the flattery.
If his black brothers heard him now they'd call him a craven boot-licker and a wildling ass-kisser.
But that wasn't it.
I'm following orders, Jon told himself. Halfhand told me to beg for mercy—just like Ygritte begged me.