Once the immediate business was settled, Lynn's life slipped back into its familiar rhythm.
He sometimes wanted a proper sparring partner to test his sword work, but everyone was too busy. Even "Star Shield" Nymo, who usually played bodyguard, had been pulled into training.
Then one day, while walking through the Red Hall clan's camp, he ran into Jon Snow under loose guard.
Jon had ditched the black cloak. His new one was stitched from unwashed sheepskin, worn fleece-side in like every other wildling. It blocked the wind and kept a man warm at night.
Ygritte—once part of the Bone Lord's raiders—had become his constant shadow. She carried a hornbow across her back, a short-handled axe at her hip, and Jon's Longclaw cradled in her arms.
No surprise there. Raider bands were never fixed; people came and went. Besides, anyone with eyes could see Ygritte wanted Jon Snow.
The second watcher was Tormund's eldest son, Doregg. The boy stood a foot taller than his father and was every bit as broad, carrying a huge, rusty iron axe.
Both of them gave Lynn a respectful nod.
Since Tormund had taken charge of Jon, Lynn hadn't paid the boy much attention. Seeing him standing around with nothing to do, Lynn realized the Stark bastard would make an excellent sparring partner.
He'd avoided real bouts until now because he understood one simple truth: gods don't bleed. A bad showing in public could crack the image the Free Folk had built around him. This wasn't ego or vanity—it was practical. In the tense days before the big push, he might need to play the living legend at a moment's notice. The halo had to stay intact.
Mance knew the truth and could actually give him a real fight, but the King-Beyond-the-Wall was swamped with a thousand details. These days their relationship felt more like king and hardworking Hand than anything else.
Jon, raised in Winterfell, had received proper sword training. Unlike the wildlings' wild swings, he at least understood the difference between drill and battle. He'd also beaten Halfhand Qhorin—granted, with Ghost and Ygritte helping, but the boy clearly knew how to use a blade.
"Lord Morningstar," Jon said, dropping to one knee the moment he saw him.
Ygritte kicked him in the back. "Get up. Free Folk don't kneel."
Jon stood, embarrassed.
"I'm not a lord, and I'm definitely not a king," Lynn said simply. "Grab your sword. We'll spar. A lot of Free Folk don't believe you actually beat Halfhand."
Before Jon could answer, Ygritte shoved Longclaw into his hands. Lynn waved Weeping Blood back, then drew Dark Sister.
He wasn't about to ask for practice blades. Wildlings didn't have them, and word of it would spread fast.
Both men were unarmored. Lynn warned, "Go easy at first, like you would in training."
Jon peeled off his gloves, drew the sword, and flexed his right hand a few times. The palm and fingers were covered in old burn scars; he kept opening and closing them to stretch the tight skin.
"The last recorded duel between two Valyrian steel blades was at the Battle of the Redgrass Field," Lynn told the small crowd while loosening his wrist. "Daemon Blackfyre with Blackfyre against Ser Gwayne Corbray and Lady Forlorn. Then, after Daemon fell, Bittersteel took up Blackfyre and fought Lord Bloodraven, who wielded Dark Sister."
He took a couple of practice steps. "That was almost a hundred years ago. So what you're about to see is rare."
He opened with a standard training stance and attacked. Jon answered with the same form. Their blades rang three times, then they broke apart, each measuring the other's speed and power.
Jon was roughly the same height and build as Lynn, just as quick, and noticeably stronger. His technique, however, was nowhere near as refined—Lynn had decades of Bloodraven's muscle memory on his side.
Because both men were holding back, Jon's strength advantage was blunted. A few exchanges later Lynn beat Longclaw aside and set the point of Dark Sister against the boy's throat.
It was only practice, but it still gave Lynn a clear sense of how good Bloodraven had been.
"Again," Lynn said. "No holding back. I can take it."
He winked. But he caught a flicker of struggle and raw killing intent in Jon's eyes.
Lynn understood at once and stopped pulling punches. He unleashed seven or eight tenths of Bloodraven's sword skill, hammering Jon again and again until he finally slapped the flat of Dark Sister across the back of Jon's sword hand and sent Longclaw flying.
Jon clutched his swelling hand, breathing hard, face blank with confusion.
Back when he left Craster's Keep with the Old Bear, Mormont had made the mission clear: find Mance Rayder and end him. The Old Bear believed the wildling army would collapse without its king. When Halfhand gave him the new orders, Jon had quietly decided to assassinate Mance instead. It would be dishonorable, it would probably cost his life, but at least he could keep his oath and spare himself the chore of spying on whatever the wildlings were digging for in the Milkwater.
He couldn't even beat Halfhand cleanly. In their fight the wolf and Ygritte had helped, and Qhorin had deliberately left him an opening so Jon could cut his throat.
"He's the best of this lot," Halfhand had said, "and in some ways the worst."
That was how Qhorin described Mance. His skill was beyond question. So when Jon reclaimed Longclaw in the Guardian Hall he hadn't dared move.
Then the Son of the Stars appeared—someone who could unite the wildlings even more completely than Mance—and he had a living dragon.
Ygritte spent every day singing the Son of the Stars' praises, looking like she'd marry the man on the spot if he asked.
A bolder, crazier plan took root in Jon's mind.
Kill the Son of the Stars and his dragon—while the dragon was still small.
To Jon, Daenerys Stormborn and her three dragons across the Narrow Sea were just distant legends. This dragon was real, and it stood with the wildlings. What could be worse?
Faced with the perfect chance, the killing urge flared. Then he remembered Lynn had promised Ygritte he wouldn't be harmed, and doubt flooded back in.
Caught between those two impulses, he was beaten again and again. By the time he finally steeled himself, he was already outclassed.
Guilt, unease, confusion, and crushing defeat washed over him in waves.
Ygritte picked up his sword and checked his hand for broken bones. Lynn murmured a few quiet words to Doregg, then turned and walked away.