The drag marks cut deep into the snow, stark and undeniable.
It looked as though men had been hauled away by force, vanishing into the frozen shadows of the forest.
"What happened here?"
Torren dismounted, furrowing his brow as he examined the trails left on the ground.
"Cleaning up the battlefield? It doesn't look like it."
"If it were wildlings, they wouldn't have left these warhorses behind."
"Horse meat is a prize in these parts," another guard remarked, analyzing the scene. "And they would have stripped every scrap of steel and armor."
The abandoned swords and tattered mail on the ground proved that theory wrong.
Lynn's gaze lingered on the drag marks.
He recalled the events from the original chronicles. A lost patrol, never to return. The patrol led by Ser Waymar Royce.
They had encountered the Others.
And they had been slaughtered to a man.
Could this battlefield be...
Lynn didn't dare follow that thought to its end.
"My Lord, what should we do? Should we track them?" Torren asked.
"No," Lynn shook his head firmly.
"This is beyond us right now."
"We return to Castle Black immediately. At full speed."
"Do not delay for a single heartbeat!"
Lynn's tone brooked no argument.
Though Torren was confused, he issued the orders instantly.
The column wasted no time, thundering south toward the Wall as fast as their horses could carry them.
An invisible weight pressed down on everyone's chest. Though they didn't know exactly what had happened, the grim look on Lynn's face told them the situation was dire.
---
When the familiar black silhouette of Castle Black finally broke the horizon, a collective sigh of relief swept through the men.
The feeling of coming home had never been so reassuring.
However, as they neared the castle gates, they realized the atmosphere was wrong.
A small crowd had gathered at the gate.
They weren't drilling or working as usual; instead, they were huddled together, pointing at something and whispering urgently.
Lynn reined in his horse.
In the center of the crowd, he saw two shapes wrapped in black Night's Watch cloaks, laid out on crude sleds.
Several rangers, covered in the dust and grime of the road, looked shaken to their cores. They were speaking to Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon, who had hurried over upon hearing the news.
Jon Snow and Arya were also in the crowd.
Shock and unease were written plainly on Jon's face.
His direwolf, Ghost, paced anxiously at his feet. A deep, rumbling growl vibrated in the wolf's throat as he bared his sharp fangs at the shapes on the sleds.
Arya's direwolf, Nymeria, was reacting the same way. She pressed tight against Arya's leg, her fur standing on end, her golden eyes filled with wariness and hostility.
Those two bodies...
Lynn dismounted, pushed his way through the crowd, and approached.
He recognized the two rangers immediately.
One was Othor.
The other was Jafer Flowers.
They were members of the patrol Benjen Stark had sent out before his own departure.
Now, they had returned.
But not in the way anyone had hoped.
"What happened?" Lynn asked in a low voice as he reached Lord Commander Mormont's side.
The Old Bear's face was terrifyingly grim.
"They're dead."
"Our men found them."
"Buried in the snow."
"Their bodies are frozen solid, but... there are no obvious wounds."
No wounds?
The Others often killed without leaving a mark. Their touch alone could drain all the heat, all the life from a man's body.
"Their eyes..."
Mormont paused, searching for the right words.
"...they are blue."
"Like sapphires."
Just as I thought.
Lynn pulled back the cloak covering one of the bodies.
"Lord Commander," one of the rangers addressed Mormont. "We searched the entire area. There was no sign of Ser Waymar."
"No sign of the living, and no sign of a corpse."
Lord Commander Mormont's face was clouded with shadow. He looked at the two bodies and remained silent for a long time.
"Bring them inside," the Old Bear finally said, his voice heavy with an exhaustion that couldn't be shaken off.
"Maester Aemon, examine them."
"See if you can determine the cause of death."
Maester Aemon nodded.
Two brothers of the Watch stepped forward, preparing to drag the sleds into the castle.
"Wait!"
A voice cut sharply through the air.
It was Lynn.
Instantly, everyone's eyes focused on him.
Lord Commander Mormont turned his head, his sharp eyes filled with confusion as he looked at Lynn.
"Lynn? Is something wrong?"
Meeting everyone's gaze, Lynn took a deep breath.
He knew that what he was about to say might be taken as the ravings of a madman.
But he had to say it.
"Lord Commander."
Lynn's voice was steady and powerful.
"You cannot take them inside."
"Why?" Mormont frowned.
"Burn them."
Lynn enunciated every word clearly.
"Right here."
"Immediately!"
The entire courtyard fell into a dead silence.
Everyone looked at Lynn as if he were insane.
Burn the bodies of their own brothers?
In the traditions of the Night's Watch, that was the ultimate blasphemy against the dead!
Only the wildlings kept such savage customs!