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Chapter 157: Mance Rayder's Concern
🕑 Added 2025-02-18 12:19:49 +0000 UTCMance Rayder was utterly astonished. He looked at the knight before him—a man riding an unusually large, armored warhorse, clad in completely anachronistic yet exquisitely crafted metal armor, with two large knightly swords at his waist that seemed more like decorations than weapons. For a moment, Mance didn't know what to say.
In his experience, men like this did not belong Beyond the Wall. Dressed as he was, the knight should have frozen to death not long after leaving the Wall. Yet here he stood, right in front of him. Am I hallucinating? Mance wondered, uneasy, his nerves taut.
Benjen Stark introduced the knight to him, saying, “This is Lord Lynd Tarran of Summerhall, the Chosen One. He saw a group of prisoners being sent to Mole’s Town the other day, and this time he wanted to see Beyond the Wall for himself, so he came with us Rangers.”
“Chosen One? You mean the Chosen One of the Seven Gods from the ballads?” Mance Rayder’s eyes widened with surprise as a thought struck him. He sought confirmation.
Benjen nodded. “Yes, the hero of your two favorite ballads.”
Mance Rayder stared at Lynd in shock, momentarily speechless.
Lynd, too, was taken aback upon hearing Benjen introduce Mance Rayder as the leader of the Rangers. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he turned his gaze to the man who would one day become the King-Beyond-the-Wall.
Back at Castle Black, when he hadn’t seen Mance, Lynd had assumed the man had broken his oath and deserted the Night’s Watch. Who would have thought he had simply been transferred to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea? It seemed the increased number of Night’s Watch brothers had altered some events.
However, Lynd also noticed something else. The moment Mance Rayder learned his identity, a flicker of panic flashed across his face. Subtly, he gestured toward his fellow Rangers gathered by the campfire. In response, the men from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea discreetly moved their hands away from their weapons.
Lynd’s eyes sharpened. He was now certain—Mance Rayder had already forsaken his vows, and those with him had followed suit, joining the wildlings.
Yet Lynd did not expose them. Instead, he dismounted and approached the two men. “Brother Benjen, it seems you know this Brother Mance Rayder well?”
Benjen smiled, seemingly pleased to introduce his friend. “Yes. After I joined the Night’s Watch, Mance was the one who taught me how to be a proper Night’s Watchman. He’s saved my life more than once on patrols.”
Lynd nodded, then turned to Mance and extended his hand. “Since you are a friend of Brother Benjen, you are also a friend of mine, Brother Mance Rayder.”
Though Lynd’s expression and tone were natural, Mance could not shake the feeling that this knight knew something about him.
Don’t scare yourself. He knows nothing. I’m just being paranoid. Mance quickly gathered his thoughts, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
With forced calm, he shook Lynd’s hand, masking his unease behind an expression of admiration.
There was nothing else he could do. All he could hope for was that neither Benjen nor this so-called Chosen One noticed anything amiss. Because if even a tenth of the stories about this man’s strength were true, then he and his men wouldn’t even have a chance to fight back.
Benjen, unaware of the tension beneath the surface, was delighted to see Lynd and Mance shake hands. He led them toward the campfire, where he unceremoniously pulled a piece of freshly roasted elk from the flames and began carving it for them.
Around the fire, the other Rangers gathered in groups, taking out their dried provisions and toasting them over the flames to soften before sharing them with their companions. None of them realized that, just moments before, these so-called comrades from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had been considering stabbing them in the back.
Lynd accepted a piece of roasted meat from Benjen, took out a small container of spice powder he had brought with him, and sprinkled a little over the meat before handing it to Mance. “This is spice powder from across the Narrow Sea. A little of it makes the roast taste much better. Try it.”
Mance eyed the meat Lynd had offered him, noting the fine layer of green powder on its surface. It looked… suspicious. Like poison. He hesitated but, after a moment, took the meat and shoved it into his mouth.
His initial grimace of caution quickly gave way to surprise. The flavor was incredible.
Lynd handed the spice container to Benjen, who was practically drooling. “Sprinkle it evenly,” he advised before turning back to Mance Rayder.
“Brother Mance,” he said casually, “I remember that Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is at the far eastern end of the Wall, quite far from here. Is this area also within Eastwatch’s patrol range?”
Benjen, upon hearing the question, also looked puzzled. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea’s patrols typically covered the eastern edge of the Haunted Forest, extending toward Hardhome. This area was well outside their jurisdiction.
Mance Rayder offered a vague explanation. “We were tracking a group of wildlings and got caught in a snowstorm halfway there, so we had to take shelter in Whitetree.”
“Wildlings? Are they from the cannibal tribes of the Frozen Shore?” Benjen asked anxiously, immediately associating them with the most dangerous of the Free Folk.
Mance was momentarily stunned and did not reply. He had given the excuse casually, not expecting it to provoke such a strong reaction from Benjen.
Then, Benjen told Mance about the camp he had discovered not long ago—one belonging to a wildling tribe known for its cannibalistic ways.
Mance’s face darkened. Instinctively, he shifted back into the mindset of a Ranger, asking the same question Benjen had just voiced. In his experience, unless they had encountered something extraordinarily dangerous, the wildling tribes would never risk crossing the Frostfangs to reach Eastwood. For the wildlings beyond the Frozen Shore, the Haunted Forest—filled with all manner of spirits and ghostly legends—was one of the most dangerous places.
“Perhaps the White Walkers were chasing them,” Lynd suddenly suggested.
Whether it was coincidence or something more, the cold wind that had been howling around them suddenly stopped. The Night’s Watchmen gathered around the campfire all fell silent, turning their heads to look at Lynd. The entire village of Whitetree became eerily still, with only the crackling of burning pinewood echoing through the night.
“Haha! Lord Lynd, you have quite the sense of humor!” Benjen suddenly burst into laughter, and the others quickly followed, shaking their heads, their laughter filled with disbelief. It was clear they had dismissed Lynd’s words as nothing more than a joke.
Lynd said nothing more. He simply smiled, poked at the fire with a stick, then stood and walked toward the massive Weirwood tree that loomed over Whitetree Village.
Whitetree still had inhabitants—Free Folk who neither welcomed nor opposed the presence of the Night’s Watch. They allowed the black-cloaked brothers to take shelter here but never spoke to them or interacted beyond what was necessary. As always, while the Night’s Watchmen rested in the village, the villagers remained behind locked doors, silent as ghosts.
The village itself was built around a single, ancient Weirwood. There were four houses in total, all clustered beneath its enormous branches, which spread wide enough to cover the rooftops.
But this Weirwood was particularly eerie. Its twisted, knotted trunk looked as if it had been warped by some unseen force, forming what resembled a natural face. The contrast of its bone-white bark and blood-red leaves only made it more unsettling, giving the impression of a grotesque, leering visage.
Lynd walked up to the Weirwood and gazed at its ghostly face. He could sense lingering traces of magic clinging to it, though they were faint and unclear. He needed a clearer look.
Summoning Glory back, he watched as the massive shadowcat emerged from the darkness of the trees.
The sight of the enormous feline sent the Night’s Watchmen from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea into a panic. They scrambled to their feet, shouting in alarm as they drew their weapons.
The men from Castle Black, however, remained unfazed, their expressions quickly turning amused. Smirks spread across their faces as they watched their brothers from Eastwatch react in terror. It was clear they remembered their own first encounter with Glory—and now, they were content to let the others make fools of themselves.
Mance Rayder was also startled by the sight of Glory, but he quickly recalled the tales from the ballads. Almost immediately, he realized what the massive shadowcat was—the legendary beast described in the songs, the Seven’s Sacred Beast.
He hastily informed his men of Glory’s identity, warning them to stay calm and to suppress any reaction that might betray them.
Glory padded silently past the campfire and came to stand beside Lynd, its keen eyes also fixed on the Weirwood.
Lynd entered a state of shared vision.
At that moment, the Weirwood’s eerie face no longer appeared as a simple, twisted formation of wood. Instead, Lynd saw three bloodshot eyes—neither fully tangible nor entirely ethereal—staring back at him.
Though he could not be certain whether the Three-Eyed Crow was watching him through the Weirwood, he could tell from the state of the eyes that the ancient being had not yet fully recovered.
Lynd had no intention of involving himself with the Three-Eyed Crow on this trip beyond the Wall. As long as the crow left him alone, he had no reason to interfere. Whatever grudge existed between himself and Willas, they could settle it another time.
With that thought, Lynd simply bowed toward the Weirwood. He made no move to harm it, showing neither hostility nor reverence—just acknowledgment. Then, with a silent command to Glory, he turned and walked away.
As he departed, a few crows that had been hidden in the dense branches of the Weirwood suddenly took flight, flapping their wings as they disappeared into the night.
Mance Rayder observed Lynd’s actions with quiet surprise. The Weirwood represented the Old Gods, yet Lynd had bowed to it.
To Mance’s understanding, Lynd was a figure associated with the Seven Gods. While the Septons of the Faith did not openly wage war against the followers of the Old Gods, they certainly did not revere them either. For someone like Lynd to bow to a Weirwood was, in some sense, blasphemous.
Unable to suppress his curiosity, Mance finally asked, “Lord Lynd, why would you, the Chosen of the Seven Gods, bow to a Weirwood—the symbol of the Old Gods?”
Lynd looked at him and asked in return, “Why shouldn’t the Chosen of the Seven Gods bow to a Weirwood? Is there some law in the scriptures that forbids it?”
Mance had no answer.
The truth was, he followed the Old Gods. He had never stepped foot in a Sept to listen to the teachings of the Seven, let alone read their sacred texts. He had no idea whether such a prohibition even existed.
After a moment’s thought, Mance Rayder asked, “My lord, I have heard of your deeds in the south. For example, you subdued the wildling tribes in your territory and gave them the status of citizens, allowing them to live like everyone else. Was this really the right way to deal with those wildling tribes?”
Lynd knew exactly what Mance Rayder was thinking, but he deliberately twisted his words. “So what do you want me to do with them? Kill them all?” he asked. “Although you Rangers and the wildling tribes have been fighting for thousands of years, and the hatred runs deep, they are still human beings like us. To want to destroy their clans and entire species at the slightest provocation seems a bit extreme.”
Benjen, who was listening, nodded repeatedly, agreeing that Mance Rayder’s words had gone too far.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Mance Rayder hurriedly shook his head and explained, “I just meant that by doing this, my lord, you have turned a once-free people into your subjects, bound under your rule for generations, required to pay tribute to you for generations.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Mance suddenly stopped, realizing he had said too much.
Benjen Stark looked at his mentor and friend with a strange expression and said, “Mance, it seems that the last incident had a significant impact on you. You’ve started to think like the Free Folk. If you weren’t wearing a black cloak, I’d almost think I was sitting in front of a wildling tribesman.”
“That incident did affect me,” Mance admitted without pretense. “But not in a bad way. At least it made me consider things from the other side.”
“You should keep those thoughts to yourself here,” Benjen warned, his tone serious. “If you ever say something like that back at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, it could lead to trouble.”
Mance Rayder only smiled in response, not bothering to argue. There was no chance he would ever return to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
He then asked cautiously, “Where are you planning to patrol next?”
Benjen, completely unsuspecting, revealed his plan. “We’ll go back to Craster’s Keep and use it as a base to patrol the surrounding area, see if we find anything. What about you? Will you keep tracking your target, or return to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea?”
Mance Rayder thought for a moment before replying, “I’ll take my men further north to the Fist of the First Men. If we don’t find anything there, I might head toward Antler River.”
Benjen looked worried. “That far north? That’s deep in wildling territory. It’s incredibly dangerous.”
Lynd interjected, “Brother Benjen, you don’t need to worry. I’m going to the Fist of the First Men as well. I can travel with Brother Mance. Please trust that I am more than capable of ensuring his safety—and that of his men.”
Benjen’s concern eased, and he nodded. “That’s right. Lord Lynd, you’re heading north as well. You might as well travel with Mance.”
Mance Rayder had no choice but to force a smile at this arrangement. Then, out of curiosity, he turned to Lynd and asked, “Lord Lynd, what exactly do you intend to do in the north?”
Lynd smiled and answered, “I want to find the legendary Horn of Winter.”
