Lynn was in his room, studying the roll of human skin map.
The material of the map was peculiar—neither parchment nor paper, but a kind of incredibly thin, tanned human skin.
The lines on it were crude and impressionistic, clearly drawn by someone unskilled in art.
But the blood-red eye symbol was drawn with startling clarity.
It seemed to possess a mysterious power, drawing the viewer's gaze inextricably into it.
"What exactly is this place?"
Lynn gently ran his finger over the symbol.
A sacred site of the Old Gods?
Ruins left by the Children of the Forest?
Whatever the possibility, it held a fatal allure.
He knew that Lord Commander Mormont sending him to find this place was a test, and even more so, a gamble.
If they won, the overall strength of the Night's Watch might increase, becoming key to resisting the White Walkers.
If they lost, the expeditionary force would vanish forever into the frozen wastes beyond the Wall.
Lynn enjoyed this kind of gamble. And clearly, he wasn't the only one.
Mormont felt the same.
Instead of fear, a strong surge of excitement rose in Lynn's heart.
He carefully rolled up the map and tucked it securely into his tunic.
Then, he picked up the Valyrian steel dagger.
The cold dragonbone hilt fit his palm perfectly.
He slowly drew the blade. The strange, ripple-like patterns on the steel flowed with a mysterious sheen in the dim room.
It was a perfect killing tool.
Light, sharp, and lethally effective against the Others.
But it was too short.
On a real battlefield, facing enemies wielding polearms or longswords, a dagger had significant limitations.
He still needed a true primary weapon.
A longsword... also forged of Valyrian steel.
The image of "Longclaw" floated into Lynn's mind.
He knew that sword was in Castle Black, in Mormont's possession.
He also knew that last night, he had paved the way to obtain it.
Now, all he had to do was wait.
Knock, knock.
A steady knocking sounded at the door.
"Enter."
Lynn sheathed the dagger and looked up.
The door was pushed open.
Jeor Mormont walked in, carrying a long, rectangular wooden chest.
Lynn's heart skipped a beat.
It's here!
His face remained impassive as he stood up from the bed and bowed slightly.
"Lord Commander."
Mormont placed the wooden chest on the room's only table.
Having sat untouched for years, the chest landed with a dull thud, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Mormont didn't speak; he just looked quietly at Lynn.
In those sharp eyes was a complex mix of emotions Lynn had never seen before.
There was appreciation, gratitude, reliance, and a trace of... expectation, like a father looking at a son.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy.
"Lynn."
After a long silence, Mormont spoke slowly.
"I know my decision last night put you at great risk."
He was referring to not burning the bodies immediately, but bringing them back to the castle instead.
"You are the Lord Commander. You need not explain your decisions to me," Lynn replied calmly.
"No."
Mormont shook his head.
"A good leader must not only give orders but also know how to admit his mistakes."
He took a deep breath, as if to expel all the stifled air from his chest.
"If I had listened fully to your advice last night, perhaps what followed would not have happened."
"I... almost got myself killed."
"But you ultimately made the correct preparations for defense, did you not?"
Lynn looked at him and said, "You separated the bodies and ordered everyone to keep their weapons close."
"That minimized casualties to the greatest extent possible."
A bitter smile appeared on Mormont's face.
"You don't need to comfort me, son."
"I know I was bound by those damned rules and traditions."
"And you showed me how fragile those so-called traditions are in the face of true darkness."
Mormont turned slightly.
He reached out, gently stroking the dusty wooden chest on the table.
"I thought for a long time last night."
Mormont's voice echoed slowly in the quiet room, carrying a sense of relief.
"I was thinking about why I put on this black cloak and came to this godforsaken place."
He didn't look at Lynn.
His gaze seemed to penetrate the thick stone walls, looking toward the distant south, to the home he could never return to.
"Bear Island. That was my home."
"It isn't big, nor rich, but the people there are brave and loyal."
"The women of House Mormont are born warriors, just like the men."
"They would defend their home with their lives."
Lynn listened quietly, not interrupting.
He knew the old man needed a listener.
"I once had a son, Jorah."
Mormont's voice grew raspy.
"He was my son, and the rightful heir to Bear Island."
"I placed high hopes on him, thinking he would bring glory to House Mormont."
"I passed this sword to him."
Mormont's hand slapped heavily onto the wooden chest.
"This is our family's ancestral Valyrian steel sword, 'Longclaw'."
"I thought he would be like me, like all our ancestors, wielding it to defend the North, to defend our home."
"But he disappointed me."
Mormont's fist clenched on the chest.
"For a woman—a woman who loved only gold and vanity—he forsook everything we stood for."
"He sold poachers into slavery, breaking the realm's harshest laws."
"When the judgment came to Bear Island, he fled like a coward."
"He fled across the Narrow Sea, leaving the shame to me, to the entire House of Mormont!"
As he spoke, Mormont's body trembled slightly.
Those old eyes were filled with pain and anger.
And Bear Island, because of his departure, was left with only Maege Mormont and Lyanna Mormont—two women—to hold it together...
They said Mormont women were no less capable than men, but he knew all too well how hard that burden was...
Perhaps he should never have come here...
Mormont pulled his thoughts back, taking a deep breath to calm his emotions.
"Later, he left this sword behind."
"He said nothing, but I knew. He had given up."
"He gave up Bear Island, gave up the Mormont name, and gave up his right to be my son."
Mormont undid the latches on the wooden chest.
With a creak, the lid was slowly lifted.
An ancient yet magnificent longsword lay quietly on a lining of dark red velvet.
At the end of the hilt, the silver-carved bear's head still glinted with a cold sheen in the dim light.
"Since then, I have kept it locked here."
"I am no longer worthy to own it."
"A father who could not even teach his own son well, a coward who fled to the Wall because of his son's shame—what right does he have to wear a sword that represents honor?"
"It should belong to a true warrior!"
Mormont turned, his sharp eyes locking tightly onto Lynn.
That gaze was as hot as the fire in the hearth.
"Lynn."
"Last night, you saved my life."
"Today, you pointed the way forward for the entire Night's Watch."
"You are brave, fearless, calm, and you possess the resolve to fight the darkness."
"You are a hundred times, a thousand times the man my worthless son ever was!"
Mormont's voice became resonant, filled with undeniable decisiveness.
"This sword should not gather dust here!"