The appearance of the Three-Eyed Raven instantly made the atmosphere in the room eerie.
Two eyes as black as ink, one as red as fire.
It stood quietly on the windowsill, tilting its head.
Staring at Lynn without blinking.
Its gaze wasn't like that of a beast.
It was more like a being with higher intelligence.
As if it was scrutinizing him through the body of this bird.
Maester Aemon's body trembled slightly.
Though he couldn't see, he could clearly feel that familiar aura.
"Brynden... is that you?"
Aemon's voice carried a hint of uncertainty, a trace of reminiscence.
Brynden Rivers, known as "Bloodraven," a Targaryen bastard, former Hand of the King, and Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
A legendary figure, a greenseer, a warg.
He was also Maester Aemon's uncle.
When Aemon went north to join the Night's Watch, Brynden was among them.
He was sent to the Night's Watch for violating guest right.
But after an exploration beyond The Wall, Brynden never returned.
His weapons were the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister, a First Men heirloom, and a weirwood longbow.
Lynn's heart suddenly constricted.
Of course, he knew who this raven was.
The Three-Eyed Raven.
Everyone named Brandon here was peculiar.
Brandon, Brynden, sounded more like American and British pronunciations.
The embodiment of the ancient will that the future Brandon Stark would inherit.
How could he be here?
Did he also sense the existence of the dragon egg?
Or had he been observing him, this variable not belonging to this world, from the very beginning?
One question after another exploded in Lynn's mind.
He also thought of the annoying raven calls he had heard earlier in Winterfell.
Perhaps this Brynden Rivers had always been watching him.
He felt as if he stood naked before an omniscient prophet, with nothing he had done hidden.
This feeling was terrible.
"Caw—"
The Three-Eyed Raven cawed again.
This time, its voice was no longer hoarse and grating, but carried a strange rhythm.
As if speaking some ancient language.
Maester Aemon listened intently.
A look of understanding gradually appeared on his wrinkled face.
"I understand."
Maester Aemon slowly nodded, then turned to Lynn.
A never-before-seen light flickered in his blind eyes.
"Lynn, this is the arrangement of fate."
"Even the Old Gods are urging us."
Lynn's brows furrowed tightly.
He looked at the eerie raven on the windowsill, then at Maester Aemon's "divine revelation" expression, feeling a surge of irritation.
Fate again! Divine revelation again!
Damn it, couldn't the people of this world rely on themselves?
"Maester Aemon, that's just a bird!"
Lynn tried to break the strange atmosphere.
"Just... a rather strange bird!"
"No, I can hear him speaking to me."
Maester Aemon shook his head, his tone utterly certain.
"Brynden is a messenger, an eye, a witness to the past and future."
"He agreed with my approach."
"He told me that this dragon is the key to ending the Long Night."
"He even told me the dragon's name."
Maester Aemon's voice became dreamlike.
"The song of ice and fire will be played by it."
"Its name is 'Winter'."
Winter?
Lynn's heart was in turmoil.
This damned old raven had even named the dragon in advance?
This was too ridiculous!
This was no longer a simple prophecy; it was clearly a pre-written script!
And he, along with this dragon egg, was just a prop in the script?
A strong sense of being manipulated made Lynn feel incredibly angry.
"Lord Commander!"
Lynn suddenly turned to the silent Jeor Mormont.
"Are you really going to stand by and watch Maester Aemon go to his death?"
"He is the Maester of the Night's Watch! He is your wisest advisor!"
Lynn tried to place his last hope on Mormont.
However, Mormont merely looked at him in silence, his sharp eyes filled with weariness and helplessness.
"Lynn."
After a long pause, Mormont slowly spoke.
"I command the Night's Watch."
"I know better than anyone what we are facing now."
"A thousand Night's Watchmen against an endless army of the dead."
"This is a war... with no chance of winning."
Mormont's voice carried a deep sense of powerlessness.
"Calls for aid, warnings, are useless."
"Those lords in the South, they only see us as a bunch of madmen."
"They cannot see the coming darkness; they are only immersed in their ridiculous game of thrones."
Mormont walked to the window, looking out at The Wall, which resembled a white giant dragon in the moonlight.
"This Wall has guarded Westeros for eight thousand years."
"But it is about to collapse."
"We need a miracle, Lynn."
The Wall had magic to ward off evil, but the power of that magic was fading with time.
A sudden thought flashed in Lynn's mind; he seemed to have grasped something!
Silverwing refused to fly over The Wall, and Daenerys Targaryen brought her three dragons to their doom, resulting in the Night King gaining an ice dragon and using ice fire to destroy The Wall.
This allowed countless wights to march south.
If that was the case, Lynn suddenly looked at the dragon egg.
Was this dragon egg the Night King's trump card to destroy The Wall?
As Lynn pondered, Mormont turned around, his gaze falling on the ice-blue dragon egg.
"And now, the miracle is before our eyes."
He looked at Lynn, his eyes filled with pleading.
"I cannot stop Maester Aemon."
"Because I have no right to stop a hero willing to sacrifice himself to save the world."
"And I selfishly... long for this miracle to happen."
"I'm tired, Lynn."
"I don't want to see my brothers die meaningless deaths under the claws of those monsters."
"If the birth of a dragon requires the life of a centenarian in exchange."
"Then I am willing to bear this sin."
Mormont's words struck Lynn's heart like a heavy hammer.
He had nothing more to say.
Everyone had gone mad.
For a vague hope, they were willing to give everything.
Lynn looked at Aemon's resolute face, then at Mormont's tragic expression.
"Alright."
Lynn took a deep breath.
"Since you have all decided."
"What do you need me to do?"
A look of relief finally appeared on Maester Aemon's face..
"I need a place hot enough."
"A place where the flames can burn the brightest."
Lynn's gaze involuntarily turned towards the depths of the castle.
The smithy.
Its forge burned day and night.
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