Alliser Thorne's knees hit the snow with a dull thud.
It was like a signal.
The entire courtyard stared at the scene in disbelief.
They had expected Thorne to rage, to deny everything, perhaps even to draw his sword and fight to the bitter end.
But they never imagined that this man—who wore his title of "Ser" like a shield and whose pride was as brittle as iron—would simply kneel.
Was he... admitting it?
Admitting to Lynn's wild, yet piercing accusation?
Was he truly a Targaryen dog?
Had he planned to use the invasion of the White Walkers to let the wolves in and restore the dragons to the throne?
The thought sent a chill down the spine of every man in the Watch.
If true, Alliser Thorne wasn't just guilty of conspiracy to murder.
He was guilty of high treason.
It was a betrayal of the Night's Watch, the North, and the Seven Kingdoms entire.
"Thorne..."
Jeor Mormont's voice sounded drained.
He looked at the man kneeling in the snow, a heap of broken pride, and his old eyes were filled with bone-deep disappointment and fury.
He could tolerate Thorne's bitterness. He could tolerate his arrogance.
But he could never tolerate a brother of the Watch—a man who had sworn his life to the realm—harboring a traitor's heart.
"Look at me!"
Mormont took a deep breath and roared.
Thorne flinched violently. Slowly, he raised his head.
The face that was once etched with sneering disdain was now the color of dead ash.
"Is what Lynn said true?"
Mormont squeezed every word through gritted teeth.
Thorne's lips moved.
He wanted to deny it. But when his eyes met Lynn's—eyes that seemed to see through his very soul—the lies died in his throat.
He knew that before this man, any defense was futile.
He felt like a prisoner stripped naked, his darkest secrets exposed to the harsh light of day.
That feeling was more terrifying than death itself.
"I..."
Thorne managed only a single syllable before his voice failed him.
His silence was the only answer needed.
"You bastard!"
Mormont could no longer suppress his rage. He ripped the longsword from his hip.
He advanced on Thorne, the tip of his blade carving a cold furrow in the snow.
"Have you forgotten your vows?"
"Night gathers, and now my watch begins! It shall not end until my death!"
"I shall wear no crowns and win no glory!"
"I shall live and die at my post!"
Mormont's voice echoed through the silent courtyard, filled with grief and fury.
"You faithless turncloak!"
"You have stained the honor of the Watch!"
"You... are not fit to wear the black!"
Mormont raised his sword high, the cold steel poised above Thorne's neck.
"No! Lord Commander! Don't!"
Thorne finally broke. He scrambled backward on hands and knees, a foul stench of urine spreading from his breeches.
"I was wrong! I was a fool! Please, give me another chance!"
"A chance?"
Mormont scoffed.
"Did you give Lynn a chance when you sent an assassin to his bed?"
"You plotted to overthrow the realm. You broke your oath. Your crimes are beyond forgiveness!"
The sword whistled as it began its descent.
"Hold, Lord Commander."
A calm voice stopped Mormont's blade mid-swing.
It was Lynn.
Mormont turned, looking at Lynn in confusion.
"Lynn, he is a traitor. Do not plead for him."
"My Lord."
Lynn walked to Mormont's side and bowed slightly.
"By the ancient laws of the North, and the traditions of the First Men..."
"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."
The courtyard fell into a hush once more.
Everyone understood Lynn's meaning.
He wasn't pleading for mercy.
He was demanding the right to execute the traitor himself.
Mormont looked into Lynn's calm eyes, and he understood.
Lynn intended to use Thorne's blood—and Thorne's head—to declare to everyone who the undisputed authority of Castle Black truly was.
It was very Northern.
It was very... Stark.
And it aligned perfectly with Mormont's intention to groom Lynn for command. This was a perfect opportunity to establish his dominance.
Seeing Lynn's resolve, Mormont nodded slowly and sheathed his sword.
He looked down at Thorne, who lay shivering in his own filth, with nothing but disgust.
"Lynn, then you do it."
"For the sake of the service he once gave, make it clean. Don't let him suffer."
Lynn nodded and walked over to Thorne.
"Alliser Thorne."
Lynn's voice rang out, clear and steady in the cold air.
"You broke your vows. You conspired to murder a brother. You committed treason."
"I, Lynn, in the name of Jeor Mormont, 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, hereby sentence you..."
"To death."
Thorne's body went limp, and he passed out cold from the terror.
Lynn didn't falter. He slowly drew Longclaw from its scabbard.
The Valyrian steel seemed to ripple with a strange, reddish hue under the grey sky.
He didn't look at the unconscious man. Instead, his gaze swept over every brother of the Watch present.
One by one, they lowered their heads, afraid to meet his eyes, their faces stamped with awe and fear.
Lynn raised the sword.
He remembered the words Ned Stark had spoken on the execution block at Winterfell.
If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words.
Lynn stepped up to the unconscious Thorne and prodded his face with the scabbard.
"Wake up, noble Ser Thorne. You aren't dead yet."
Thorne groggily came to. When he saw the greatsword raised high above him, his pupils constricted to pinpoints.
"Tell me. Why did you want to kill me?"
Lynn asked calmly.
Thorne knew death was inevitable. Hate flooded his eyes, replacing the fear.
"I hate you! I wish I could tear you to pieces!"
He shrieked, his voice cracking.
"You damned deserter! You are the shame of the Night's Watch!"
"Very well."
Lynn nodded. No more words were needed.
The arm moved. The sword fell.
Shhhunk.
The head was severed cleanly, rolling a few times in the snow before coming to a stop.
The hateful eyes remained wide open, reflecting the grey Northern sky and the figure of the man standing over him, sword in hand.
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