A letter from Winterfell

"Do you blame your father for dumping you in a place like this?"

Lynn pointed at Grenn.

"He was only three when his father left him outside a farmhouse to fend for himself."

Lynn swept his gaze over the others.

"Pyp stole a piece of cheese. His sister hadn't eaten in three days, and unless he wanted his hand cut off, he had to come to Castle Black and join the Night's Watch."

Grenn and Pyp both looked at Lynn, seemingly unable to understand how he knew their histories and offenses.

Seeing Lynn apparently defending those two scoundrels, Jon grew agitated too.

"They hate me!"

"Just because they can't beat me, they resort to filthy tricks and ambush me!"

Lynn nodded.

"Yes, you are better than they are."

"Not everyone gets the chance to learn swordsmanship from Ser Rodrik himself."

"I can guarantee that neither of them had ever touched a decent real sword before coming here."

"Do you still think you're better than them?"

Jon froze.

Put that way, he had only beaten a few commoners. What did he have to be so proud and arrogant about?

Besides, most of the men who came here to join the Night's Watch had troubles they could scarcely speak of.

They did not seem nearly as contemptible as he had imagined.

Watching Jon sink into thought, Lynn knew he understood.

Rather than clash with his brothers, he would be better off setting aside his prejudices and fitting in.

Only then could Jon truly get along with these men.

That was better than threatening violence every day.

Having helped Jon sort out his relationships, Lynn could now accept the Old Bear's ancestral sword, Longclaw, with a clear conscience.

Lynn patted Jon's shoulder, then pointed at Grenn and Pyp, who stood staring at each other.

"Teach them the swordsmanship you learned from Rodrik. Guide them, and I believe you'll soon have a good circle of friends."

Tyrion folded his arms, something close to admiration glimmering in his mismatched eyes.

He looked at Lynn.

"You really are an interesting fellow."

Tyrion's voice broke the heavy silence.

"Lynn, you should be the High Septon of the Seven, not stuck in this frozen hellhole."

Lynn ignored his teasing.

His gaze remained on Jon.

Jon lowered his head, his face alternating between red and pale.

He had always thought that coming to the Wall meant giving up everything that came with being a Stark.

Only now did he realize he had never truly let it go.

Grenn, Pyp, and the others also lowered their heads, afraid to look at Lynn.

Much of their resentment had faded after Lynn spoke those words of understanding.

"Let's go."

Lynn patted Jon's shoulder.

Jon nodded silently.

"My lord, a raven from Winterfell."

A man of the Night's Watch respectfully handed a small roll of parchment to Lord Commander Mormont.

The Old Bear unrolled the parchment and held it closer to the firelight from the hearth.

A look of relief slowly spread across his deeply lined face.

"Good news."

Lord Commander Mormont set down the parchment and looked at Benjen and Maester Aemon in the room.

"Bran Stark can get out of bed and walk with crutches now."

Benjen's face instantly lit up with joy.

"The Old Gods be praised!"

Maester Aemon smiled as well.

Though he could not see, he could feel the joy in the room.

When Jon heard the news, his whole body jolted.

Bran...

The little brother who had always followed him around, dreaming of becoming a knight.

The little brother who had fallen from a tower and lain unconscious.

He could actually get up and walk now?

An indescribable surge of joy instantly swept away the gloom that had weighed on Jon lately.

He sprang to his feet, wanting to find someone to share his happiness with.

But when he looked around, all he saw were numb or indifferent faces.

No one here could understand his joy.

Jon's heart sank again.

He thought of Bran, of Robb, of Arya and Rickon.

He remembered Winterfell's warm hearths and his family's smiling faces.

He lifted his cup and drained the remaining ale.

The cold liquid slid down his throat.

"Drinking alone isn't a good habit."

At some point, Tyrion had taken the seat opposite him.

He poured himself a cup, then refilled Jon's empty one.

"To Bran Stark."

Tyrion raised his cup.

Jon glanced at him without speaking, merely lifting his own cup and touching it to Tyrion's.

Clink.

The clear sound went unnoticed in the noisy dining hall.

"You don't look very happy."

Tyrion took a sip.

"Your brother is up on his feet. Isn't that wonderful news?"

"I..."

Jon opened his mouth, but did not know what to say.

He was happy.

But even more than that, he felt guilty.

When his family needed him most, he had come to the end of the world.

Tyrion seemed to read his thoughts.

"Do you blame your father?"

Jon shook his head.

"Then do you blame yourself?"

Jon fell silent.

Tyrion set down his cup, drew a wax-sealed envelope from inside his clothes, and pushed it across to Jon.

"What's this?"

"Some boring advice."

Tyrion shrugged.

"On how to survive here and still live like a human being."

Jon looked at the envelope without reaching for it.

Tyrion smiled and stood.

"Don't be so quick to refuse."

"You might need it someday."

With that, he staggered away, cup in hand.

Jon was left alone, staring blankly at the letter.

The night deepened.

Jon found Lynn wiping down his longsword.

In Lynn's room, Torrhen and several other guards were helping him pack.

Arrows, provisions, waterskins.

At first light tomorrow, they would set out beyond the Wall.

"Lynn."

Jon stood in the doorway, his voice hesitant.

Lynn looked up.

"What is it?"

"When you... go to King's Landing, will you pass through Winterfell?"

Lynn paused in wiping his sword.

He looked into Jon's hopeful eyes and nodded.

"Of course."

"Then... could you help me..."

Jon's lips moved, but the rest of the words seemed to catch in his throat.

"Take a message to Bran for me."

His voice held a barely perceptible tremor.

"Tell him I think about him every day."

"Tell him... he has to stay strong."

Lynn stood and walked over to Jon.

He said nothing, merely reaching out to give Jon's shoulder a firm pat.

"I will."

Those simple words instantly brought tears to Jon's eyes.

He nodded hard, then turned and hurried away.

Lynn watched him until he disappeared at the end of the corridor.

"My lord."

Torrhen's voice drew Lynn back from his thoughts.

"Everything is ready."

Lynn turned his gaze back.

Thinking of how these northerners revered close combat, always charging recklessly ahead as though every fight had to end with one side dead, Lynn felt a headache coming on.

It seemed he needed to give them a warning first.

Lynn walked over to the map and traced a finger across it.

"Our target is this area."

His finger stopped over a marked location called the Haunted Forest.

"Lord Commander Mormont says quite a few Wildlings have been active here lately."

"Listen carefully, all of you. Always remember: don't charge in blindly."

Lynn swept his gaze over every guard in the room.

"The Wildlings are much stronger than you. Use your heads more. Don't rush straight in and fight them to the death."

"Use our advantage in wit over the Wildlings to achieve the greatest gains at the lowest cost."

"Use poison, traps, arrows, and every means at your disposal."

"I don't want to see a single one of you lose his life to those Wildlings."

It might not have been very northern, but who did not want to stay alive?

"Yes, my lord!"

A unified growl rang through the room, filled with barely restrained excitement.

Other lords were always teaching them empty words about honor, valor, and sacrifice.

But Lord Lynn seemed a little different from the rest.

Lynn nodded and walked to the window.

He pushed it open.

The freezing night wind swept into his face, carrying snowflakes.

In the distance, the Wall stretched between earth and sky, like a sleeping white dragon beneath the moonlight.

And on the other side of that dragon.

In the endless darkness, countless experience points awaited him.