"It belongs in the hand of a man who can restore its glory."
Mormont extended both hands.
Solemnly, he lifted the longsword from the chest.
Step by step, he walked up to Lynn.
"Lynn."
"This sword... it is yours."
At that moment, Lynn's heart began to pound against his ribs.
Here it is!
The Valyrian steel sword he had dreamed of!
"Lord Commander, this... this is too precious," Lynn stammered, feigning hesitation. "This is your family's legacy. I am an outsider, just a brother of the Watch. I cannot..."
"Legacy be damned!"
Mormont barked, cutting off Lynn's refusal.
"My house has been shamed from the moment my son fled!"
Mormont's eyes bulged with intensity. The domineering aura of the Lord Commander returned in full force.
"I said, it belongs to you now!"
"This is not a reward, nor is it a trade!"
"This is an old man's gratitude to the one who saved his life!"
"And it is a Commander's expectation for his most promising warrior!"
"Take it!"
Mormont practically forced the hilt into Lynn's hand.
A cold, heavy sensation traveled from his palm up his arm.
It felt as though he were holding the winter of the North itself.
With this sword, Lynn thought, fighting wights won't be a struggle anymore. One swing will cleave them in two!
"Lord Commander, I..."
"If you dare say 'no' one more time, I'll throw you off the Wall myself!" Mormont glared, his patience wearing thin.
He looked at Lynn, then seemed to remember something and added, "However, the bear on the pommel... that is the sigil of House Mormont."
"It doesn't suit you to carry the Bear."
Mormont fumbled in his tunic and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth.
He unwrapped it to reveal a wolf's head carved from pale weirwood.
The carving was lifelike. In the eye sockets, two red garnets had been set, glinting with a blood-colored light.
"I asked Maester Aemon to have someone carve this for you overnight."
"You saved the Stark boy, and now you serve House Stark. You're half a Stark yourself."
"Swap this onto the hilt."
"A direwolf fits you better."
Mormont placed the wooden wolf head into Lynn's palm.
Lynn looked at the weirwood wolf, then up at Mormont's aged face, which was written with absolute sincerity.
He realized this old man truly saw him as hope.
He saw him as a successor to whom he could entrust everything.
This heavy trust was far more valuable than the Valyrian steel blade itself.
"I..."
Lynn opened his mouth, but a thousand words condensed into just two.
"Thank you."
Originally, he had viewed the natives of this world as mere NPCs. Acquiring treasures or skills was just a way to level up.
But holding the steel sword now, the simple joy of loot faded.
He felt the weight of the responsibility behind the blade.
Lynn stopped refusing. He carefully tucked away the wolf pommel.
Then, he bowed deeply to Mormont.
"Lord Commander, I promise you."
"This sword will never be shamed in my hands."
"I will use it to bring the dawn for the Night's Watch, and for the North."
Mormont looked at Lynn and nodded with relief.
"Good. Good."
He patted Lynn heavily on the shoulder.
Then he turned and strode out of the room without looking back.
His back was not broad, but in that moment, his figure seemed towering.
---
By noon the next day, the mess hall at Castle Black was unusually lively.
The fear from the previous night hadn't fully dissipated, but the living still had to eat.
Brothers of the Watch gathered in knots of twos and threes, gnawing on hard black bread while whispering about the events of the night.
"Did you hear?"
"In the Lord Commander's solar... Othor's corpse really came back to life!"
"Of course I heard! I was right outside. It sounded like they were tearing the tower down!"
"What happened next?"
"It was Lynn! Lynn charged in there! And the bastard, Jon Snow!"
"I heard the monster couldn't be hurt by steel, but Lynn took it down with a single dagger stroke!"
"Is that true? Is he that good?"
"Every word is true!"
"And then over at Maester Aemon's, Jafer's body came back too. Lynn's men burned it to ash!"
The whispers were filled with awe and curiosity toward Lynn.
The man who was once a deserter had become a legendary hero overnight.
Alliser Thorne sat alone in a corner.
He was sullen and silent.
He could feel that the brothers who used to be respectful were now looking at him with a hint of distance and disdain.
When Lynn walked into the mess hall, the entire room instantly fell silent.
Every eye turned to him in unison.