BlurryDream
patreon
Chapter 161: First Men’s Fist
🕑 Added 2025-02-20 13:20:30 +0000 UTC"That's the Fist of the First Men," said Mance Rayder, pointing ahead.
After passing through a dense forest, the group emerged onto a hilltop, where they could see a towering mountain rising on the horizon.
From a distance, the mountain's abrupt shape stood out. On a flat expanse of land, a hill in the shape of a fist jutted upward, as if a giant beneath the earth was trying to push its hand through the surface.
Knowing that Lynd had no intention of interfering in the Night's Watch's affairs, the black-cloaked rangers felt at ease and loosened up. Their lifted spirits quickened their pace, turning what should have been a two-day journey into just a day and a half. By noon, they reached the border, where the Fist of the First Men loomed into view.
"My lord, are you certain the Horn of Winter is on the Fist of the First Men?" Mance Rayder asked, continuing to lead the group forward. He glanced at Lynd beside him, seeking confirmation.
Lynd replied in a deep voice, "If nothing unexpected happens, it should be at the index finger corner of the Fist of the First Men."
"'Nothing unexpected'?" Mance Rayder repeated, eyeing Lynd with doubt.
Lynd frowned. "The book that records the Horn of Winter originates from a ranger’s patrol journal. I don't know if the contradictions come from the recorder or from the ranger's own writings, but the passage about the Horn of Winter is filled with inconsistencies. I found the journal in Castle Black, but much of it has been damaged, making it impossible to verify the original record."
Mance Rayder considered this for a moment before suggesting, "Can you tell us what was written? Maybe we can help you make sense of it."
Lynd thought for a while. Two heads were better than one, after all. He shared with the group the details of the section concerning Ranger Rorschach and the Horn of Winter, along with his uncertainties.
Someone casually speculated, "What if this Rorschach actually died, then came back to life as a wight… but retained enough awareness to write a journal?"
The oath-breaking ranger beside him shot him a glare. "A wight writing a diary? How clever do you have to be to come up with something like that?"
The others chuckled at the absurdity of the suggestion.
Yet, as implausible as it seemed, it wasn't entirely impossible. At least in the memories of the Banished Knight, there had been cases where the dead retained fragments of their former wisdom.
Lynd said in a low voice, "Regardless, we'll know the truth once we reach the Fist of the First Men. And even if the story is full of contradictions, as long as the Horn of Winter is truly buried there, we don’t need to care whether the tale itself is accurate."
The group agreed with his reasoning, quickening their pace. Eager anticipation drove them forward—they were about to lay eyes on the legendary artifact said to awaken the giants beneath the earth and bring down the Wall.
Although they had spotted the Fist of the First Men from a distance at noon, they did not reach its summit until dusk.
At the top, they found a ring-shaped fortress enclosed by an artificial wall. Within the enclosure lay the ruins of several buildings, a few tombs, and a pile of oddly shaped mounds.
The fortress was simple, yet ancient. According to historical records, it had been built by the First Men during the Age of Morning, making it between five and six thousand years old.
The group stepped inside. The rangers unloaded the firewood they had gathered along the way, stacking it near the ruins. They also gathered the scattered stones, reinforcing the walls of the crumbling structures to create a windbreak. Soon, a campfire was lit, and their temporary camp was set up.
Under Mance Rayder's guidance, Lynd arrived at a place known as the Finger of the Gods. The burial mounds were indeed here—many of them, spread across an open field.
"So many burial mounds… which one holds the Horn of Winter?" Mance Rayder muttered, scanning the scene.
"If we clear them one by one, it could take all night," a ranger pointed out.
"There’s no need to clear them all," Lynd said. Upon reaching the mountaintop, he had already used his long-range vision to survey the area. In his sight, only one of the graves emitted a faint trace of magic.
The burial mound in question lay alone at the edge of the mountain, near the cliff. Lynd stepped forward and moved a large stone aside, revealing the grave beneath it.
He swiftly cleared away the rubble, and soon, the corner of a black cloak came into view.
Mance Rayder and his men hurried over to help. Together, they uncovered the grave in no time.
Inside, they found the remains of about eight Night’s Watch brothers, their weapons still buried alongside them. Despite the passage of time, the weapons had remained relatively intact, likely due to the environment.
Scattered among the remains were arrowheads and spear tips made of obsidian, along with a few obsidian daggers.
Lynd reminded them, "Gather all the obsidian arrows and daggers. They can injure or kill White Walkers. These will be your lifeline beyond the Wall."
At his words, Mance Rayder and his men immediately crouched down, carefully picking up every piece of obsidian they could find.
“What about the wights?” someone asked while picking up a piece of obsidian.
Lynd explained, “There are two ways. One is to burn them with fire, and the other is to use other forces to dispel the White Walkers' magic within them.”
As he spoke, he walked over to the only visible corpse of a Night's Watch member, which was emitting a faint magical aura. Kneeling down, he lifted the cape covering the body and saw a bronze horn hidden beneath it—the source of the magic, in his eyes.
Mance Rayder, who had been focused on his own task, noticed Lynd picking up the not particularly large bronze horn. He immediately stopped what he was doing, walked over, and asked in an excited tone, “Is this the Horn of Winter?”
“Maybe,” Lynd replied, not giving a definitive answer.
What was certain was that the horn was broken. A deep, unmistakable crack ran from the top to the base, severing the mysterious rune etched into the bronze. Upon closer inspection, the break appeared as if it had been sliced by an incredibly sharp blade.
Despite being damaged for such a long time, the magic lingering within the horn remained astonishing. One could only imagine how powerful it must have been when it was intact.
Moreover, Lynd noticed that the horn was actually composed of two layers. Beneath the outer bronze shell, which was covered in intricate runes, the inner layer was lined with rings of polished black stones.
At first, Lynd assumed they were obsidian, but upon closer examination, he realized they bore a striking resemblance to the foundation material he had seen at the base of the Hightower in Oldtown—the Black Stone Fortress.
One was the foundation of an island at the southernmost tip of Westeros, while the other was a legendary artifact found at the northernmost edge of the continent. The fact that these two seemingly unrelated things were connected by the same mysterious black stone raised more questions than answers, sparking an irresistible urge to investigate further.
While Lynd pondered the secrets of the Horn of Winter, Mance Rayder was more concerned with its function. After hearing Lynd’s uncertain response, he pressed further. “Why only ‘maybe’?”
Lynd turned to him and said, “This horn is too small—much smaller than I expected. What do you think will happen to the Wall if a horn this size is blown?”
Mance Rayder immediately pictured the scene in his mind, and understanding dawned on him. The contrast was simply too stark. No matter how small the Horn of Winter was, it should be massive—large enough for a giant to handle, at the very least. After all, it was meant to awaken the Giants of the Earth and bring down the Wall. This horn, however, was far too small.
Lynd didn’t linger on the subject. Instead, he walked over to his horse, took a supply box from the saddlebag, placed the horn inside, and returned it to the bag alongside the dragon egg.
At that moment, something caught his eye. The dragon egg, which he hadn't checked in two days, seemed to have changed. Curious, he took it out and placed it near the fire for a closer look.
The once-stone-like shell had developed vein-like patterns, interweaving across its surface and linking all the scales. The magic within had grown stronger—not only more potent but now pulsing with a rhythmic vibration, almost like a heartbeat.
“Is that a dragon egg?” someone exclaimed as they caught sight of what Lynd had just taken out.
Mance Rayder, who had been busy organizing obsidian arrowheads, looked up upon hearing the commotion. After handing the task over to his subordinates, he walked over to Lynd, his eyes widening in astonishment as he gazed at the egg in his hands. “So the stories of the Song of the Chosen, ghosts, and dragon eggs are true… You really got a dragon egg from the ghost in Summerhall?”
“Yes,” Lynd admitted without hesitation. He then gestured for the crowd to keep their distance and called Glory over before beginning the routine maintenance of the dragon egg using dragon runes.
Unlike the previous times, which had yielded no visible reaction, this time, as he infused the power of the dragon runes, the vein-like patterns on the egg’s surface began to glow with a faint red light. With each pulse of the glow, the scales shimmered in alternating hues of reddish tones and silvery blue.
The onlookers, captivated by the strange sight, momentarily forgot what they were doing. They stood in silence, watching Lynd and the dragon egg in his hands with rapt attention.
The process did not last long. Soon, Lynd sensed that the dragon egg had absorbed as much rune power as it could for now, and he stopped.
The egg returned to its previous petrified state, but if one looked closely, the vein-like patterns still flickered faintly, as though mirroring the rhythm of a heartbeat.
When the rune’s power touched the egg, Lynd could clearly feel the changes—far more significant than the last time he had tended to it. He speculated that The Wall had something to do with it. Passing near The Wall must have affected the rune, and by extension, the egg. And from what he could tell so far, the influence seemed to be a positive one.
“Lord Lynd, are you trying to hatch a dragon?” someone finally broke the silence, unable to contain their curiosity after witnessing the phenomenon.
“Not yet. Not yet,” Lynd answered cryptically, leaving the questioner utterly confused.
He then stood up, placed the dragon egg back into his backpack, and retrieved some of the animals Glory had hunted. Without another word, he tossed them over to Mance Rayder and his men to process.
As one of them took a carcass and drew a knife to skin it, he muttered, “If only we had some wine. Craster must have had some hidden in his cellar—he drank all night and didn’t finish it. We should search for it before we leave.”
“Shut up!” a ranger snapped. He was supposedly a follower of the Old Gods. “We still have guest rights with the Craster family and their guests. You’ll be cursed by the gods if you do that.”
The first man scoffed. “Craster is dead. Guest right dies with him.”
“But his wives are still alive,” another interjected.
Someone else changed the subject altogether. “What do you think will happen when Benjen Stark returns to Castle Black with Craster’s wight?”
“Someone among them will definitely be scared shitless.”
“Just like you. I slept next to you last night and smelled piss.”
“Shut up. You smelled piss because you sleep next to the sheep pen, and the ass of a fat sheep was right in your face.”
Amidst the crude banter of the oathbreakers, they quickly butchered the prey, rubbed it with coarse salt, and set it over the fire to roast. Soon, the sizzling of fat and the mouthwatering aroma of cooking meat filled the air.
As he tended to the fire, turning the meat, Lynd asked casually, “Where are you going after this?”
Mance Rayder thought for a moment before answering, “I have an agreement with Grigg, a leader of the Thenns. He’ll send reinforcements to meet me, and then we may head to the Thenn lands in the north.”
“Will he trust the Night’s Watch?” Lynd asked.
“Yes. Because I’ve already broken my oath in front of him,” Mance Rayder said simply, offering no further explanation. Then he gestured toward the other former Night’s Watchmen and added, “They have also broken their oaths. We’re all bastards—one parent a Night’s Watchman, the other Free Folk. Among the Watch, bastards are even lower than robbers, murderers, and rapists. The others are always on guard around us.”
Lynd’s voice was quiet, but his words carried weight. “What you’re doing now only proves what they already believe—that bastards can’t be trusted.”
Mance Rayder fell silent. He did not refute the statement.
Lynd didn’t press the matter. Instead, he said, “Once Benjen brings the wight to King’s Landing, it’ll draw the attention of the king and the great lords. The Night’s Watch will inevitably grow stronger as a result. Patrols will likely extend as far as the Fist of the First Men, and conflicts between the Watch and the Free Folk will only increase. Add the return of the White Walkers to the equation, and life beyond the Wall will become more difficult than ever. I hope, by then, you won’t regret breaking your oath, King-Beyond-the-Wall.”
Mance Rayder froze for a moment before laughing. “Is that some kind of prophecy?”
The others around them began to murmur, but Lynd did not answer.
“Movement! Movement at the foot of the mountain!” a sentry suddenly shouted from his post on the cliff.
At once, everyone rushed over to the edge, peering down.
But the raging snowstorm obscured their vision. They could only make out the shapes of many people running for their lives. Among them were dozens of giants.
Lynd, however, could see more clearly than the rest.
What he saw below was a hunt.
The White Walkers were chasing the wildlings.
