South of The Wall, the vast land forgotten by the people of Westeros, had never been as lively as it was today.
One hundred thousand Free Folk, like silt washed down by a flood, poured into this land that had been silent for a thousand years.
They brought their families, herded their skinny cattle and sheep, and dragged all their belongings on simple sleds.
The newly erected, crooked animal hide tents were scattered across every inch of this land.
Countless bonfires sent up wisps of smoke.
Fights and curses often broke out.
To scramble a sheltered campsite, warriors from two Wildling Tribes drew their blades.
To snatch a lost snow sheep, a group of ragged children fought in a brawl.
Chaos, disorder.
These one hundred thousand hungry mouths were like a heavy mountain, pressing down on Castle Black's already strained granary.
The news that the Gifted Lands were barren and even Northmen were unwilling to set foot there would not reach King's Landing anytime soon.
Not to mention that he had Myrcella in his hands, he had already told Sansa about this through Greensight and asked Sansa to relay it to Ned.
On the other side, he told Robb to manage his vassals well.
Let them think for themselves first.
The North and Lynn were in the same boat; they would inevitably be implicated. By then, the entire North would be forced to stand with him.
That would be over 150,000 troops waiting to face the enemy.
During the War of the Five Kings, Tywin only fielded 60,000 troops; any side would have to consider it carefully.
Furthermore, a wight was already on its way to King's Landing. If Robert remained stubborn, then war would commence immediately.
He now had the ability to turn corpses into wights, and even Others, and could even summon Frost Giants. War would only make him stronger and stronger.
The Gold Cloaks would also be on standby at all times. The wildfire in King's Landing was not something only others could control; he, Lynn, could too!
If it really came to war with the Seven Kingdoms, then they shouldn't blame him for becoming the next Night King Cersei.
To become King, this would be an inevitable process.
If he didn't dare to bear this risk, then he should just pledge allegiance to the King and be his dog.
As a transmigrator, he still had that much confidence.
Even if he failed, he would find an opportunity to rise again in Essos.
What was there to fear?
"Lynn, this can't go on."
In the Lord Commander's Tower study, Jon Snow's face was filled with worry.
"Our food supplies will only last for half a month at most."
"And they have no discipline whatsoever. There have already been over a dozen bloody conflicts today."
"However, most of them are internal disputes; for now, they are still obedient and haven't attacked the native inhabitants."
Lynn stood before a huge sand table, holding several wooden chess pieces representing different Wildling Tribes, planning something.
He didn't even lift his head when he heard Jon's words.
"Panic is temporary, Jon."
"They are like a group of drowning people who have been adrift at sea for too long."
"Having just set foot on land, they will naturally madly scramble due to uncertainty about the future."
"Once the first batch of stone houses is built, and the first batch of food is distributed, they will settle down."
Lynn placed a chess piece engraved with a giant's head at the northernmost end of the Gifted Lands, near the foot of The Wall.
"Tormund's Wildling Tribe is the best at fighting and the most obedient. Let them be stationed here as the first line of defense."
"The Thenns are the most savage and the most unruly. Arrange them to the southernmost part, far from The Wall."
"..."
Lynn's fingers moved constantly on the sand table, meticulously arranging each Wildling Tribe.
He was planning not just temporary camps, but entirely new villages, and even the prototype of a city.
Jon looked at Lynn's resourceful profile, and the anxiety in his heart miraculously subsided a lot.
He suddenly realized that Lynn was no longer thinking about how to solve the immediate problem.
Instead, he was playing a grand game for the future of the entire North.
"Those craftsmen you mentioned..."
"I have already had Myrcella send ravens to White Harbor in the name of Lannister."
Lynn put down the chess pieces in his hand and looked at Jon.
"House Manderly is the wealthiest vassal in the North, and also the best shipbuilders and craftsmen."
"Tell them that I will buy their stone and labor at a high price."
"Money is not an issue; I have plenty of it."
Jon nodded.
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
"Come in."
It was Mance Rayder who walked in.
He had changed out of his battle-worn leather armor and put on a clean black robe.
He looked more like a minstrel than the King-Beyond-the-Wall who commanded a hundred thousand troops.
His gaze swept across the huge sand table, and a complex emotion flashed in his wise eyes.
"Jon, please step out for a moment."
Mance said.
"I have some things I'd like to discuss with Lord Commander Lynn alone."
Jon nodded, tactfully retreated, and closed the door behind him.
In the study, only Lynn and Mance remained.
"You've done very well."
Mance walked to the sand table, looking at the well-ordered distribution of Wildling Tribes that Lynn had planned.
"Better than I ever did."
"It took me so many years to barely unite these unruly Wildling Tribes, but they still remained like scattered sand."
"And you, you did it in just one day."
Mance's tone carried a heartfelt emotion, even a hint of relief.
"I relied on my fists and dragons," Lynn said calmly.
"No," Mance shook his head.
"You relied on this."
He pointed to Lynn's head.
"The Free Folk aren't stupid; they just habitually solve problems in the most direct way."
"They follow the strong, but even more so, they follow leaders who can bring them hope."
"Tormund, that oaf, he might not understand what you've drawn on this sand table."
"But he knows that by following you, he and his people will be able to live in stone houses, and the women in his Wildling Tribe won't have to give birth in the freezing snow."
"This is more convincing than any sword."
Mance walked around the sand table once, then stopped in front of Lynn.
He looked deeply into Lynn's eyes.
"I was once a Night's Watch Ranger. I swore an oath to be the shield that guards the realms of men."
"But I watched the Wildlings starve outside The Wall, hunted by those monsters, and I could only stand on this cold wall, unable to do anything."
"So I fled; I became a traitor."
"I thought that if I could just lead them across The Wall, I could save them."
"Now I know I was wrong."
Mance's voice became incredibly solemn.
He slowly knelt on one knee, lowering his head, which had never bowed to anyone before.
"I, Mance Rayder, former Night's Watch Ranger, former leader of the Free Folk."
"I wish to yield the authority of the King-Beyond-the-Wall to you, Lord Commander Lynn."
"From this day forward, you are the Free Folk's only King."
He looked at the man kneeling on one knee before him.
This kneeling represented a heavy responsibility falling upon his shoulders.
"Rise, Mance."
Lynn reached out and helped him up.
"The Free Folk never kneel."
Mance stood up, his eyes a little red.
He smiled, a smile of immense relief.
"You're right."
"But this title is not an honor; it's a shackle."
"Now, this shackle must be borne by you."
"Go on, new King-Beyond-the-Wall."
Mance made a gesturing motion.
"Your people are still waiting for you."
...At the foot of The Wall, on the edge of the Gifted Lands.
On a temporary high platform built from countless boulders, a roaring bonfire burned.
Tens of thousands of Free Folk emerged from their tents and gathered below the platform.
They whispered among themselves, looking at the figures on the platform with curiosity, awe, and suspicion.
Lynn, Mance Rayder, and Tormund, along with other Wildling Tribe leaders.
"Quiet!"
Tormund's loud voice instantly quelled all the noise.
He walked to the edge of the platform, surveying the dense crowd below.
"I know what you're all thinking!"
"You're thinking, why should we listen to a Southerner!"
"You're thinking, have we turned from wolves into dogs!"
"I'm telling you!"
Tormund pointed at Lynn, who stood in the center, his voice filled with fervor.
"It was this Southerner who punched me and sent me flying!"
"It was this Southerner who, by himself, knocked down all our Wildling Tribe leaders!"
"He has magic! He can create ice swords harder than our sharpest axes!"
A gasp erupted from the crowd.
Tormund didn't stop; he continued to roar:
"He also has a dragon! Three dragons!"
"He could have burned all of us to ashes! But he didn't!"
"He gave us land! He gave us food! He's even going to build us stone houses!"
"Damn it, I've lived this long and never thought I'd one day live in a stone house!"
Tormund's words were crude and direct, but they instantly ignited the flames in the hearts of all the Free Folk.
Stone houses!
Warm hearths!
The promise of never going hungry again!
Wasn't this the dream they had been pursuing for generations?
At this moment, Mance Rayder stepped forward.
He looked at the excited and fervent faces below.
"I once sang for you, sang of freedom and bravery."
"I once led you south, seeking survival and hope."
"But today, I will pledge my loyalty to another King."
Mance's voice echoed in the cold wind.
"We, the Free Folk, have no King."
"We only follow the strong who can lead us to survive!"
"Now, he has come!"
Mance suddenly turned and pointed at Lynn!
"He is our new King!"
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!"
After a brief silence.
"Roar—!"
Tormund was the first to raise his arms and let out a beast-like roar!
Immediately after, tens of thousands of Free Folk below the platform all raised their weapons!
Bone spears, stone axes, rusty longswords... They used all their strength to beat their chests and shields, letting out roars like a mountain collapse and a tsunami!
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!"
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!!"
The sound waves soared into the sky, as if to shake off the ice and snow from The Wall.
They acclaimed their new King in the most primal and sincere way.
Lynn stood on the high platform, overlooking the fervent sea of people below.
He did not speak.
He simply slowly drew longclaw from his waist and pointed the sword tip high.
A silent declaration, more powerful than a thousand words.
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