Time stretched endlessly in the deathly silence of waiting.
The night at Castle Black was longer and colder than anywhere else.
Lynn leaned against the tower's icy wall, motionless as a stone.
The cold had long since numbed his skin, but he paid it no mind.
All his attention was fixed on the window on the top floor, where a dim yellow light shone.
He could imagine what the Old Bear, Mormont, was doing at that moment.
Perhaps he was sitting by the fireplace with a cup of strong liquor, leafing through ancient records about the wildlings and White Walkers.
He might still have thought Lynn's wild suggestion that day absurd, but his old soldier's vigilance kept him from sleeping peacefully.
Lynn's mind raced.
He was neither a bloodthirsty madman nor a reckless youth bent on proving himself.
Everything he did served a clear purpose.
Saving Mormont was not merely repayment for his decision to let Lynn leave. It was also for something more important.
Longclaw.
That Valyrian steel sword.
In a world that would soon be overrun by White Walkers, the value of a Valyrian steel weapon was immeasurable.
It was not merely a symbol of status, but the sharpest weapon against the darkness.
He knew Longclaw was in Mormont's room.
It had been put away after his disgraceful son, Jorah Mormont, fled.
Mormont would never again give it to a son who had brought him shame.
And Lynn, a "prophet" who saved his life and proved the threat of the White Walkers with hard evidence, would be the most suitable-and only-candidate to inherit the sword!
This game had begun the moment he suggested burning the bodies.
Mormont's refusal had been expected.
That was even better.
Only when Mormont experienced the horror of a wight himself and saw himself