Archery

Lynn withdrew his dagger.

Warm blood splashed onto the back of his hand, but he paid it no mind.

He merely wiped it carelessly on the corpse's clothes.

A strange mixture of blood, scorched flesh, and pine needles hung over the camp.

The soldiers of the North had already untied the survivors.

The merchants slumped to the ground, their bodies trembling violently with fear and cold.

They looked at the corpses strewn across the ground, then at Lynn, their eyes filled with awe.

The fat merchant at their head was the one Lynn had saved earlier.

Struggling and dragging a broken leg, he crawled up to Lynn.

"My lord!"

Tears and snot streamed down his face as he knocked his forehead against the muddy, bloodstained ground.

"You saved us all!"

"My life, everything I have, is yours!"

He pulled a heavy coin purse from inside his clothes and held it high above his head.

"These are all my savings."

"Please, you must accept them!"

Lynn's gaze swept over the purse before returning to the merchant's face, filled with the relief of having survived.

"I accept your thanks."

Lynn's voice was calm and even.

Rather than take the purse, he spoke to Torrhen behind him.

"Take stock of their losses."

"Compensate them from the bandits' stolen goods."

"Use whatever remains to fund the troops."

The merchants froze.

Torrhen was taken aback as well, but he immediately answered loudly.

"Yes, my lord!"

Lynn bent down and helped the merchant to his feet.

"In the North, beneath the Stark banner, no one can do as they please."

"Putting down bandits is our duty."

With that, Lynn spared the merchants no further glance and turned toward the edge of the camp.

Jon followed silently behind him, without a word.

The night wind swept past, lifting the hem of Lynn's black clothes.

A hint of admiration showed in Jon's eyes.

By the time Lynn returned to their campsite with his men, a faint pale glow had appeared on the horizon.

Arya was the first to rush out of her tent.

She immediately spotted the shaken merchants and the extra wagons among the returning party.

"Lynn!"

She ran up to his horse and tipped her little face up, her eyes sparkling.

"Did you rescue all of them?"

"What about the bad men?"

"Did you kill them all?"

Lynn swung down from his horse and ruffled her hair.

"Yes."

"The problem's been dealt with."

Arya's face lit up with admiration.

To her, this was exactly what a hero should do.

Jon came over as well.

His gaze was complicated.

Watching the affectionate exchange between Lynn and Arya, his lips moved.

He seemed to want to say something, but ultimately chose silence.

He and Lynn were, in truth, much alike.

One was a bastard, while the other stood far below Arya in status.

Deep down, he hoped Lynn could defy the odds.

"Splendid."

A voice rang out, carrying a hint of mockery.

Tyrion Lannister wandered out of his tent with a wine cup in hand.

His dwarfish body cast a short shadow in the morning light.

"I heard. A textbook example of northern justice."

"Swift, thorough, and leaving no loose ends."

Tyrion walked up to Lynn.

His mismatched eyes, one black and one green, unequal in size as well as color, gleamed with penetrating intelligence.

"But I'm rather curious."

"Why did you choose to do it yourself, killing them one by one?"

"Wouldn't leaving that sort of thing to your men save you some effort?"

Lynn met Tyrion's gaze.

"In the North, a lord must carry out executions himself."

"It is our tradition."

Tyrion smiled.

"Ned Stark's tradition. I understand."

"But you aren't a lord, Lynn."

"You're merely an... unknown warrior."

Tyrion took a sip of wine, his smile deepening.

"Did you do it to intimidate your men?"

"Or to... enjoy the process?"

Lynn did not answer.

He simply looked at Tyrion calmly.

The two held each other's gaze for a moment.

Tyrion shrugged and was the first to look away.

"Very well. Forget I asked."

"Only an interesting puzzle is worth taking the time to solve."

Tyrion turned and staggered back to his tent.

They traveled for another day.

Night fell once more.

The campfire blazed brightly.

The soldiers spoke in low voices, while the merchants gathered to pray for their dead companions.

Lynn intended to escort the merchants to the nearest castle.

The effort would not be entirely thankless.

These merchants traveled throughout Westeros and could help spread Lynn's influence to some extent.

Even if that influence was barely perceptible for now.

Lynn sought out Benjen Stark.

The First Ranger was sitting alone beside the fire, carefully wiping down his longbow.

Made of yew, the bow was simple and sturdy, with fine markings carved into it. Clearly, it had been with him for many years.

Every ranger had a bow.

"Lord Benjen."

Lynn sat down opposite him.

Benjen raised his head, his weathered gray eyes looking particularly sharp in the firelight.

"What is it?"

"I'd like you to teach me archery."

Lynn got straight to the point.

Benjen paused in wiping down his bow.

He studied Lynn, looking somewhat surprised.

"The sword is a knight's weapon."

"The bow is a ranger's weapon."

"But since you wish to learn, I see no reason to refuse."

Benjen's voice was low and strong.

He had watched Lynn fight.

The young man was decisive, brave, and coolheaded enough.

He had the makings of a good ranger.

"Watch closely."

Benjen stood, picked up his longbow, and casually nocked an arrow.

He did not aim at anything, merely drawing the string back.

He drew the bow to its full extent.

The muscles in his arms bulged, yet he remained steady as a rock.

"Your shoulders, your arms, and your back must form a single line."

"Draw with your back, not your arms."

"Feel the power travel from your feet all the way to your fingertips."

Benjen released the bowstring.

With a sharp whistle, the arrow shot into the distant darkness and vanished.

Lynn stood and picked up a spare bow, imitating him.

Following Benjen's guidance, he adjusted his stance.

Once.

Twice.

He repeated the draw tirelessly, feeling the subtle changes in every muscle of his body.

Every archer possessed great strength.

Anyone who thought them easy prey, weak in close combat, would be sorely mistaken.

In some respects, these archers were even far stronger and more enduring than ordinary warriors!

Sweat began to trickle down Lynn's forehead.

His arms began to ache, but he paid it no mind.

His mind held nothing but Benjen's words, every detail of his instruction.

[Through diligent practice and a master's guidance, with the strength requirement met, you have successfully learned a new skill.]

[Archery (beginner) 1/10]

An almost imperceptible smile curved Lynn's lips.

It worked.

But soon, he felt dissatisfied again.

He looked around.

Jon's swordsmanship was good, but it overlapped with his own.

The sword techniques Torrhen and the guards knew were ordinary as well.

There was too little these men could teach him.

He needed more experience, more skills.

He needed to venture into a wider world.

The Wall was only the beginning.

The next day.

The party continued north.

Across the endless snowfields, the Kingsroad stretched like a gray scar.

At noon.

The scout reconnoitering ahead came galloping back.

"My lord!"

"There's a party up ahead!"

"They're flying the Night's Watch banner too!"

Benjen raised an eyebrow and urged his horse forward.

Lynn followed him.

Soon, a black-clad party appeared on the horizon.

There were about thirty of them, all travel-worn.

At their head rode a tall, middle-aged man with a resolute face.

"Yoren!"

Benjen recognized him and called out.

The man named Yoren spotted Benjen too, surprise crossing his face.

The two parties met in the middle of the snowfield.

"Benjen!"

Yoren swung down from his horse and gave Benjen a bear hug.

"I never thought I'd run into you here!"

"I thought you'd already gone back to Castle Black."

Yoren was a recruiter for the Night's Watch, responsible for escorting criminals who were about to join its ranks.

"I'm taking my nephew to the Wall."

Benjen gestured toward Jon.

Yoren's gaze lingered on Jon for a moment.

He seemed a little surprised, but nodded all the same.

Then his gaze swept over Lynn, Arya, and the hundred elite soldiers from the North.

"This is..."

Yoren's face was full of confusion, with a barely perceptible trace of reserve.

Clearly, he had recognized Lynn.

The man rumored to be a deserter at Castle Black.

"Lord Stark is going to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King."

Benjen offered a brief explanation.

"These are the guards he gave Lynn, specifically to escort Arya north."