Endless white.
The sky was grayish white, the earth was snow white, and the continuous forest was covered in thick white.
The cold wind was like a knife, carrying icy snowflakes that stung the face terribly.
Lynn and his group of five were like insignificant black specks on this pale canvas.
They trudged north, their steps sinking and rising.
Jon Snow tightened his black cloak and placed his hand on his sword hilt, scanning his surroundings vigilantly.
The other three Rangers were equally silent.
They had patrolled beyond the Wall for years and were long accustomed to this suffocating silence.
Ygritte, walking in the middle of the group, was, on the contrary, the most relaxed of them all.
She moved with light steps, like a wildcat strolling through her own territory.
A curious light sparkled in her gray eyes, mostly focused on Lynn's back.
This Southerner was very strange.
He clearly possessed that giant dragon capable of incinerating heaven and earth, yet he chose to measure this cold and boring land on foot, just like them.
What exactly did he want to do?
Was he truly mad?
...After a day's journey, dusk quickly fell.
Night in the North came early and abruptly, and the temperature plummeted, freezing one Ranger's snot into an icicle.
They found a small cave under a leeward cliff.
It could barely accommodate a few people.
The Rangers skillfully built a bonfire.
The orange-red flames dispelled some of the chill and became the only light source in the darkness.
Everyone sat around the fire, gnawing on hard black bread and drinking strong liquor, no one speaking.
"Hey, Southerner."
Ygritte poked the flames with a branch, breaking the silence first.
"What's your name?"
"Lynn. Didn't you hear Lord Commander Mormont call me?"
Lynn wiped longclaw in his hand without looking up.
"I did, I just wanted to ask again. What's it to you?"
"Lynn..."
Seeing Lynn didn't respond, Ygritte repeated the name.
"Your Southern names are so strange."
She tossed aside her half-eaten black bread, clearly not used to it.
She looked at Lynn, her bright eyes, illuminated by the firelight, like two burning stars.
Ygritte finally couldn't help but speak.
Her voice trembled slightly in the cold wind that poured into the cave.
"Why do you kneel to kings?"
This sudden question made one of the nearby Rangers frown.
Lynn glanced at her, not answering directly, but instead asked: "You Free Folk, do you not kneel to anyone?"
"Of course!"
Ygritte lifted her chin.
Her face held an innate pride.
"We are Free Folk, we only trust our own bows and arrows, and we will never bow to anyone!"
"Then what do you kneel to?"
Lynn's follow-up question made her pause.
"Nothing!"
"Wrong." Lynn shook his head.
"You kneel to the cold, you kneel to hunger, you kneel to death."
"When Winter comes, food runs out, and the Others approach, what other meaning can your so-called freedom give you, besides making you die faster?"
Ygritte opened her mouth, but found she couldn't refute him.
Her proud freedom became worthless in this man's mouth.
"We...we have Mance!"
"He will lead us to a warm home!"
Ygritte said defiantly.
"So, you still kneel."
Lynn's tone was calm.
"It's just that you don't kneel to a king, but to survival."
"Kneeling has never been the goal, only a means to obtain resources for survival."
"You kneel to Mance, in exchange for the hope of living."
"We kneel to the king, in exchange for order and peace."
"Essentially, there is no difference between us."
Ygritte was unable to argue, so she changed the subject.
"Then why are you helping us?"
"You are a crow, a high and mighty Northerner, you have a blood feud with us Free Folk."
"Because we have a common enemy." Lynn's answer was concise.
"Is that all?" Ygritte scoffed.
"Don't you Southerners do things for land, gold, and women?"
"Don't tell me you're a hero who wants to save the world, I don't believe it."
"You don't have to believe it." Lynn finally looked up at her.
"But when those monsters break through the Wall, your people you care about, and my people I care about, will all die, without exception."
"I don't want to see that happen, that's all."
His gaze was very calm.
So calm that it didn't seem like he was talking about a major event concerning the world's survival, but merely stating a fact.
Ygritte felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze.
She shifted her gaze guiltily and snorted.
"Easy for you to say."
"Someone like you must have many women in the South, right?"
"Are they all like the queen in King's Landing, with skin as white as milk and hair as bright as gold?"
Jon and the other Rangers' expressions became a bit strange.
They hadn't expected this wildling girl to ask such a question.
"They are beautiful." Lynn didn't deny it.
"But they are also boring."
"Boring?" Ygritte sounded like she had heard the biggest joke.
"Having pretty dresses to wear, big castles to live in, and just having to dress up nicely every day, waiting for a man like you to 'poke' them—that's boring?"
Her words were crude and direct, making Jon next to her can't help but frown.
"You wouldn't understand."
Lynn shook his head, not wanting to dwell on the issue.
"I don't understand."
Ygritte, however, was persistent. She sat up straight.
The firelight outlined her agile and wild curves.
"Our Free Folk women are born learning to draw a bow and arrow, learning to hunt in the snow."
"We feed ourselves, we choose the men we like, and we sleep with them whenever we want to."
"We are free."
She looked at Lynn, a hint of challenge in her eyes.
"Your Southern women are nothing but canaries in cages, waiting to be favored by men only at night."
"No matter how beautiful, they are just pathetic little pets."
A brief silence fell in the cave.
Lynn looked at the spiky red-haired girl in front of him and suddenly smiled.
She seemed to be right.
"Sleep."
Lynn ignored her, spread the thick bearskin coat Robb had given him against the rock wall behind him, and leaned back, closing his eyes.
The night grew deeper, and the bonfire gradually weakened.
The cold wind outside the cave howled like ghosts and wolves.
The temperature inside the cave dropped to a terrifying degree, making even the strong Rangers shiver.
Lynn suddenly felt a warm body next to him.
He opened his eyes and saw Ygritte had somehow moved closer, pressing tightly against him.
She had taken off her heavy fur and placed it on the ground beneath them.
Then, without ceremony, she pulled Lynn's bearskin coat over both of them.
"What are you looking at?"
Ygritte felt Lynn's gaze, her voice muffled in the darkness.
"If we sleep separately again, we'll both turn into popsicles tomorrow!"
Her actions were as natural as drinking water or eating food.
To her, this seemed to be just a basic survival skill, devoid of any other emotion.
In the darkness, Lynn could smell her unique scent, a mixture of pine, bonfire, and faint sweat.
He could feel the astonishing heat radiating from her body, like a small furnace.
"You Southerners are so troublesome."
Ygritte mumbled, snuggling closer into Lynn's arms.
She wrapped her arms around Lynn's waist, seemingly finding a comfortable position, and soon her breathing became even.
Lynn looked at the face so close to him.
Her fiery red hair was scattered on the bearskin, and those eyes and brows, always stubborn and defiant, relaxed in sleep, revealing a hint of peace.
Lynn reached out, and as if possessed, gently tucked a rebellious strand of red hair behind her ear... The next day.
When the first gray-white light of dawn shone into the cave, the group set off again.
Ygritte acted as if nothing had happened, leading the way at the front of the group.
Only occasionally did the look in her eyes when she glanced back at Lynn become a little different.
After crossing two snow-covered mountains and passing through an eerie forest known as the "Weeping Woods."
A solitary hill appeared at the end of the horizon.
The Fist of the First Men.
It was a circular stone mountain, like a clenched fist, rising from the plain and pointing towards the sky.
The mountaintop was rugged, barren, and exuded an ancient desolation.
"This is it."
Ygritte pointed to the peak.
"In our tribe's legends, this is where the First Men and the Children of the Forest signed their pact. It's an ominous place, and we never go near it."
Lynn looked up, squinting at the mountaintop.
He could feel a faint, ancient, and cold aura emanating from the peak.
The horn of winter should be there.
"We're going up."
Lynn took the lead, heading up the mountain.
The higher they went, the more intense the cold aura became.
The air seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe.
Jon and the three Rangers had already drawn their dragonglass-embedded weapons, their expressions extremely tense.
When they finally stepped onto the flat stone platform at the summit, everyone stopped.
In the center of the summit, stood a person.
Or rather, a "thing."
He was tall, wearing black armor seemingly carved from ice, covered in mysterious and ancient patterns.
His skin was as pale as snow, and his long white hair danced in the cold wind.
Most striking was the pair of ferocious, goat-horn-like crowns made of ice crystals on his head.
He didn't turn around, just stood there silently, as if he had been waiting for a thousand years.
But everyone knew he was watching them.
A terrifying pressure, enough to freeze the soul, emanated from him, paralyzing everyone present.
The color instantly drained from Ygritte's face.
Her longbow fell to the ground, and she collapsed as if her bones had been removed.
The three Rangers wanted to raise their weapons, but found their arms as heavy as lead, lacking even the courage to lift them!
The Night King!
How could he be here?
Lynn's heart sank.
His hand was already on the hilt of longclaw, his gaze fixed on that back.
He had even given up the most convenient method of riding a dragon to avoid alarming the other party.
It seemed the Night King had been waiting for him here all along.
Just then, the figure slowly turned around.
The Night King's eyes, burning with a ghostly blue flame, passed through everyone and landed precisely on Lynn.
There was no expression on his face.
He simply raised his hand, gesturing for Lynn to come closer.
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