Alliser Thorne stared at the bizarre scene in the room, unable to make sense of it.
Lord Commander Mormont slumped against a corner, his clothes disheveled. Clear finger marks on his neck showed that he had been in a struggle.
That bastard Jon Snow stood there blankly, holding up a strip of burning cloth as though his soul had left his body.
And Lynn, the deserter Thorne despised most, held a strangely shaped dagger with one foot planted on Othell's corpse.
Strangest of all, Othell's eyes were not their usual color but a lifeless, ashen white, and a gaping hole had been torn in his neck.
"Lynn! You traitor!"
In an instant, Thorne concocted an entire tale of a traitor attempting to assassinate the Lord Commander.
Almost by reflex, he drew his longsword and pointed its tip straight at Lynn.
"How dare you! You tried to murder the Lord Commander!"
His shout prompted the Night's Watch men behind him, who still had no idea what was happening, to draw their weapons as well.
Within moments, more than a dozen longswords were pointed at Lynn.
The tension in the room reached breaking point.
"Stop!"
An angry roar, full of authority, brought everyone to a halt.
It was Jeor Mormont.
Bracing himself against the wall, he struggled to straighten up.
"Sheathe your swords, all of you!"
Fury burned in the Old Bear's eyes.
The Lord Commander's commanding presence kept Thorne and the others from making another move.
"Lord Commander, but he..."
Thorne still tried to protest.
"I told you to sheathe your sword! Do you not understand me, Ser Alliser?"
Mormont's voice carried an order that brooked no argument.
Thorne's face turned a dark, purplish red.
He shot Lynn a vicious glare, then reluctantly slid his longsword back into its scabbard.
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