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Chapter 160: Ice Dragon
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 12:06:33 +0000 UTCInside the hut, the group sat around the fire, while Craster's wives huddled in the corner, the true owners of the place. The fire pit was small and couldn't warm everyone, so more Rangers stood outside. Craster, now a wight, was tied up with ropes and left outside the hut, watched by seventeen Rangers.
“What should we do next?” The legendary creature had appeared before their eyes. Not only was Benjen completely at a loss, but even Mance Rayder’s mind was blank at that moment. They could only turn to Lynd for advice.
“Lord Commander Mormont has always felt there aren’t enough men. The Seven Kingdoms don’t support the Night’s Watch much,” Lynd said, using a twig to stir the logs in the fire pit, making the flames burn more fiercely. “You can take this wight to King’s Landing and show it to the King and the Lords of the Great Council. Show them what lies beyond the Wall so they understand the danger. They will naturally prioritize the Wall’s safety. By then, the Night’s Watch will have the men and money it needs, and restoring it to its former glory won’t be difficult.”
At Lynd’s words, the Rangers' eyes lit up. Undoubtedly, his suggestion was the best course of action, at least for them. However, Mance Rayder and a few of his companions exchanged worried glances.
“When transporting it, be careful not to leave it in the sun for too long, and don’t let it touch fire,” Lynd reminded them. “It’s best to get a cage to hold it.”
Benjen nodded. “I know what to do.”
Lynd then turned to Craster’s wives. Most of them looked relieved, but in one or two pairs of eyes, there was lingering hatred.
Calmly, Lynd said, “Craster is dead, and I killed the White Walkers. The protection pact he secured through sacrifice no longer exists. Staying here is too dangerous. If you remain, you’ll either be killed by White Walkers or wights, or you’ll fall to marauding wildlings. Your best option is to go south of the Wall with the Rangers. It will be much safer.”
Many of the women appeared tempted, but the eldest among them, an old woman, shook her head vigorously. “No, this is our home. We will live here. We will go nowhere.”
After her words, the other women looked dejected.
Lynd fixed his gaze on her and said sternly, “Madam, you seem to misunderstand me. I’m not asking for your opinion. I’m telling you my decision. Do you understand?”
Under his gaze, the old woman flushed with panic and lowered her head. “Yes, my lord,” she murmured.
Lynd turned to Benjen. “You leave at dawn tomorrow. No stopping along the way. Get back to Castle Black as quickly as possible with the people and the wight.”
“Yes, Lord Lynd,” Benjen nodded hurriedly.
“I’ll go with you tomorrow, to keep an eye on you along the road,” Mance Rayder said suddenly.
Before Benjen could respond, Lynd cut in sharply. “No need. You’ll continue north with me. We’re going to the Fist of the First Men.”
A dark look crossed Mance Rayder’s face. He and his companions exchanged glances before asking, “My lord, what do you seek at the Fist of the First Men?”
As if he could read Mance’s mind, Lynd replied, “I already told you. I’m looking for the legendary Horn of Winter.”
The night passed swiftly. At the first light of dawn, before the sun had even risen in the east, Benjen was already preparing to leave. He led the Rangers under his command, taking the wight of Craster and Craster’s wives with him, galloping toward the Wall.
The cage for the wight had been hastily built the night before using whatever materials they had on hand. Since it wasn’t particularly sturdy, they worried it might fall apart on the road, so they built three and covered them with deerskin blankets and door curtains to block out the sun. The wight Craster was tightly bound with ropes, even though he had already lost his hands and feet, and they placed an animal skin over his head as an extra precaution.
Lynd had also instructed Benjen to take the sacrificial pound back to Castle Black and give it to Maester Aemon for study, in case it held any mysteries.
Once Benjen and the Castle Black Rangers departed, Lynd and the others, including Mance Rayder, continued their journey north. After walking a short distance, they passed by the sacrifice ground. The sight of countless bodies scattered across the area left them speechless.
They moved on in silence, still shaken by the scene. The Ranger guide led them northwest. After a while, a young Ranger spoke up. “It seems the legendary White Walkers aren’t that strong. Even Lord Lynd was able to handle a few of them easily.”
At his words, the other Rangers gave him looks of disbelief, as if he were an idiot.
“You’re right—except that was Lord Lynd, not us,” one Ranger said impatiently.
Lynd looked at the young Ranger and said, “White Walkers are very strong, even for me.”
The others seemed unimpressed, thinking he was merely being modest. What they didn’t realize was that he was telling the truth.
Although it had appeared that Lynd easily defeated the three White Walkers, it was only because his strength and speed far exceeded theirs, and he wielded Valyrian steel, which gave him a significant advantage.
However, that didn’t mean he completely overpowered the White Walkers. If his opponent’s strength and speed were on par with his own, then even he would find them formidable adversaries.
Just as Valyrian steel was lethal to them, the weapons of the White Walkers were equally dangerous to him. If he were struck, even through steel armor, he would be wounded. This was why acquiring the Valyrian steel armor of the Banished Knight had become an urgent priority.
That night, as Lynd reviewed the battle and took stock of the key moments against the White Walkers, he discovered three things he hadn’t noticed before—each carrying both advantages and disadvantages for him.
The first was that the White Walkers' sensing abilities were nearly on par with his own. When Lynd had caught one off guard and smashed its head with a punch, the creature hadn't been able to dodge entirely, but it had reacted quickly enough to move its head along with the blow, reducing the impact. Without that reflex, it would have lost more than just half its head.
This combination of quick reactions and powerful self-healing made White Walkers formidable opponents for him. More importantly, if the White Walkers were indeed a species, then the elf-like White Walker he had encountered was likely not among the strongest, merely a scout or a vanguard. Lynd couldn't predict how powerful a truly formidable White Walker might be—it could even rival the ancient Old Gods.
The second thing he realized was that Valyrian steel was not as absolutely lethal to White Walkers as he had initially believed.
When he had slain the three human White Walkers, one of them had blocked the Banished Knight’s greatsword with its arm. Though the arm shattered into ice crystals, it was only severed—the White Walker itself had not immediately disintegrated. It was only when he bisected the creature's body that it fully shattered.
In other words, Valyrian steel was only fatal when it inflicted a decisive wound. This seemed to apply only to human White Walkers for now, and whether the same held true for elven White Walkers remained uncertain.
If Valyrian steel had such limitations, then Dragonglass likely worked the same way.
This realization complicated things. It meant that for ordinary people, killing a White Walker would be incredibly difficult. Even the human White Walkers were far superior to regular human warriors in strength and agility. In direct combat, even if a warrior wielded Valyrian steel or Dragonglass, landing a truly fatal blow would be no easy feat.
The third discovery, however, was somewhat more favorable. After he had slain the three human White Walkers, he noticed three invisible streams of magic emerging from their evaporating bodies, flowing into the Dragon runes—not only in the Banished Knight’s greatsword but also into the Dragon rune in his heart.
This phenomenon matched the memories of the Banished Knight. Only those who had completed the Dragon Communion Ritual possessed this ability. It was called Dragon Communion, and it was meant for dragons—after slaying a dragon, some of its power would be absorbed. The process felt similar to a kind of ancestral treasure from another world.
However, just as directly consuming a Dragon Heart in the Communion Ritual could influence a Banished Knight’s mind, absorbing a dragon’s primordial magic upon death also had an effect, albeit to a lesser extent.
What puzzled Lynd now was why Dragon Communion had activated when he had killed a White Walker. After much thought, the only answer that made sense was that the power of the White Walkers was somehow linked to dragons.
This led him to recall a legend about the First Men beyond the Wall and a story he had once read in Castle Black’s library about a constellation called the Ice Dragons.
According to legend, Ice Dragons once lived in the Shivering Sea and the Great White Wilderness. They were the inspiration behind the Ice Dragon constellation in the night sky. These creatures were said to be entirely made of ice crystals, with blue eyes and transparent, frozen wings. Their descriptions bore a striking resemblance to White Walkers—or perhaps it would be more accurate to call them Dragon White Walkers.
Since the White Walkers’ magic had triggered the Dragon Communion ability, it was undeniable that they were connected to the legendary Ice Dragons. It was even possible that the White Walkers were a race created by them.
“Lord Lynd.” A voice called out, pulling Lynd from his thoughts. Mance Rayder had approached him, speaking in a low voice.
Lynd turned to look at him. “Brother Mance, is there something the matter?”
Mance was silent for a moment before saying, “I looked at Craster’s wounds yesterday. His fatal wound was in the neck. He was killed by a beast that tore out his throat.”
Lynd replied evenly, “Are you trying to say that I killed Craster, and that’s why he became a wight?”
Mance Rayder’s gaze was heavy. “Guest right is an ancient and sacred oath.”
“I can assure you, it was indeed I who ordered Glory to kill Craster,” Lynd said with a smile. “And I did not violate guest rights.”
Mance’s expression darkened. “And how do you figure that?”
“Brother Mance, don’t forget—I never ate the bread and salt provided by Craster.” Lynd’s tone remained casual.
Mance froze, and after a brief moment of recollection, realization dawned on him. It was true—Lynd had not partaken in Craster’s bread and salt. At the time, Mance had assumed he simply found the food unappealing and thought nothing of it. But looking back now, it seemed that Lynd had been planning to kill Craster from the start.
Yet what puzzled Mance was why Lynd, a nobleman from the South who had never been beyond the Wall before, would deliberately seek to kill a wildling.
Though filled with questions, Mance did not press further. Instead, he returned to an unfinished conversation from the previous night. “Lord Lynd, regarding the wildlings beyond the Wall, there are still some things I don’t understand. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
“Does it matter what I think?” Lynd asked before Mance could even pose his question.
Mance hesitated, unsure how to respond.
Lynd swiftly crushed his expectations. “You’ve misunderstood something, Brother Mance. The reason I accepted the wildling tribes was because they were willing to change, to integrate into my lands and work for me. That’s why I took them in. As for those who refused, I either eradicated them entirely or sent them into the mines—where they and their descendants will work for me forever.”
Mance’s face paled.
“If you think my treatment of them is lenient, then you can imagine how the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms view them.” Lynd reached out, scratching Glory’s outstretched head before motioning for the beast to run off and play. Then, he continued, “You’re asking this because you want to know whether the Seven Kingdoms will accept the wildlings beyond the Wall, correct? I’ll give you a clear answer: as things stand, the answer is a resounding no.”
His voice was calm but carried the weight of absolute certainty. Even with the wind and snow swirling around them, everyone nearby heard him clearly. Disappointment flickered across Mance Rayder’s face, while the expressions of the Night’s Watch Rangers darkened.
Then, without warning, Lynd spoke words that sent a chill through the gathered men. “Brother Mance, what made you sympathize with the wildlings so much that you led your brothers in the Night’s Watch to break their oaths?”
At his words, the surrounding Rangers stiffened. Their hands instinctively reached for their weapons—but as their fingers brushed the hilts, they hesitated. They were standing before Lynd, the chosen one who had effortlessly slaughtered wights and the legendary White Walkers. They knew the futility of resistance.
Mance let out a slow breath. “You knew from the very beginning that I had broken my oath.” He looked at Lynd. “Tell me, then—where did I go wrong?”
Lynd simply smiled, saying nothing.
Mance did not press him, only giving a bitter chuckle. “You may be mistaken. I didn’t break my oath out of sympathy for the wildlings. I just never liked the black cloaks. Jeor Mormont should never have forced me to trade my red cloak for a black one.” He paused before asking, “What do you intend to do now? Execute us here? Or drag us back to Castle Black in chains?”
Lynd glanced at Mance, then at the surrounding Rangers. With a shrug, he said, “I’m not a member of the Night’s Watch. Your internal affairs are none of my business.”
