The sea of clouds beneath them rolled like a solidified, milky-white ocean.
Occasionally, through gaps in the clouds, one could glimpse the vast, boundless snowfields below, and the Kingsroad winding like a black vein.
Arya's screams and excited shouts as she left still echoed in Lynn's ears.
But now, Arya was no longer on the dragon's back.
Myrcella gripped tightly to the specialized saddle's handrail on the dragon's back.
Her luxurious golden gown flapped in the biting wind, and her golden hair was already a tangled mess.
Her cheeks were red from the cold, and her lips were somewhat purple, but she gritted her teeth the entire time, not making a single sound.
In her green eyes, there was fear, but even more, there was an innate resilience.
She was like a golden rose forcibly transplanted to The Wall, striving to maintain her last shred of dignity and pride in the extreme cold.
Ygritte, sitting beside her, was a completely different sight.
Having shed the Lady's gown that made her uncomfortable all over, she had changed back into her familiar leather armor and furs.
This wildling girl, born of fire, was like a hawk freed from all its shackles.
She spread her arms, letting the wild wind blow through her fiery red hair.
She laughed aloud, her laughter clear and wild, full of the joy of newfound freedom, yet it was quickly torn to shreds by the howling wind.
She even stuck out her tongue to catch the snowflakes carried by the wind, savoring the crispness of the North.
"This is what living is all about!" Ygritte shouted, turning to look at the calm Lynn.
"It's a million times better than cooping up in that warm, broken house in Winterfell, learning those sissy rules of the Southerners!"
Lynn just smiled and said nothing.
He unfastened the thick bear fur cloak Robb had given him and, without a word, draped it over Myrcella, shielding her from most of the cold wind.
Myrcella trembled, feeling Lynn's body warmth radiating from the cloak, and the comforting scent of pine.
Myrcella looked up, a complex emotion flashing in her green eyes, and whispered, "Thank you."
Lynn's action, however, instantly silenced the little wildcat behind him who had just been cheering.
Ygritte's smile vanished.
Her blue eyes, which always sparkled with wild light, narrowed slightly, like a she-wolf surveying her territory.
She looked at Lynn, then at the Southern princess who was huddled in the cloak, with only her green eyes visible.
An indescribable sense of annoyance rose from the bottom of her heart.
"Lynn, why didn't you give me one too!"
"I'm cold too!"
When she was in Winterfell, she had heard the maids gossiping.
They said that Lord Lynn, in King's Landing, was not only going to marry House Stark's second daughter, who was like a little wolf cub, but also a real princess.
She hadn't paid attention at the time.
Princess? What was that? Could it be eaten? Could it fight?
In her opinion, those Southern noble ladies were all like delicate flowers in a greenhouse, falling over with a single gust of wind.
They were useless except for being pretty.
But in the end, she learned that the princess was Myrcella.
And now, this princess was sitting right in front of her.
Ygritte admitted that Myrcella was indeed very beautiful.
Her golden hair was more dazzling than the sun, and her skin was fairer than fresh snow.
Even she herself sometimes couldn't help but want to steal a kiss from her.
Moreover, Myrcella was not as fragile as she had imagined.
In this hellish weather that could freeze off a person's nose, she had endured for so long without a sound—it had been almost two months... The most crucial thing was... Lynn's attitude towards her.
It was a kind of gentleness Ygritte had never seen before, tinged with a hint of respect.
It was different from the brotherly indulgence he showed Arya, and also different from the slightly teasing intimacy he showed her.
This made Ygritte feel very displeased.
No, not displeased.
It was *very* displeased!
Lynn, facing Ygritte's questioning, simply said, "It's fine, you're resistant to cold..."
Ygritte rolled her eyes.
As if she thought of something, she moved closer to Lynn and nudged him with her elbow.
"Hey."
Ygritte's voice was a bit muffled in the wind, but her impatient tone was crystal clear.
Lynn turned his head, looking at the wildling girl.
"How many women are you going to marry, anyway?"
Ygritte got straight to the point.
Her voice was loud enough for Myrcella, who was beside them, to hear clearly.
Myrcella's body visibly stiffened.
"Women?"
Lynn raised an eyebrow.
"Don't play dumb with me!"
Ygritte glared at Lynn, pointed her finger, and unceremoniously gestured towards Myrcella.
"One little she-wolf from House Stark isn't enough, and now another golden-haired one?"
"I heard that old man Luwin muttering that you Southerners have a rule: a man can only have one wife!"
"Damn, that's two already!"
"Don't your Seven Gods care?"
Ygritte's voice was filled with righteous indignation.
In her view, if you liked someone, you just went and took her, and then were good to only her for life.
How could it be like this?
Eating from one bowl, looking into another pot, and then bringing back another basin from outside?
Myrcella, listening to Ygritte's words, buried her face deeper, and an unnatural blush crept up her ears.
Such... coarse language.
"They're not wives."
Lynn corrected, a wry smile on his face.
"Then what are they?"
Ygritte persisted.
"They are allies."
"Allies?"
Ygritte frowned, clearly unable to understand the word.
In her black-and-white worldview, there were only two types of relationships between people.
One's own people and enemies.
Allies should fall into the category of one's own people, right?
"Aside from personal factors, Myrcella is a princess; she represents House Baratheon and Lannister."
"By marrying her, I can gain the support of the royal family and the Westerlands."
Lynn patiently explained.
"Arya Stark; by marrying her, I can gain the friendship of the entire North."
"In the South, marriage isn't just about two people; it's more like a contract, a contract that firmly binds two families together."
Lynn tried to explain this complex political marriage in a way she could understand.
"So, you don't like them?"
"And you don't want to 'poke' them either?"
Ygritte's focus was always so unique.
"You're just... using their names?"
This left Lynn speechless for a moment.
Not poke?
How could that be?
Ygritte's words also made Myrcella's body tense up again.
She seemed a bit nervous.
But she made no comment, just listened quietly.
"In the Free Folk tribes, if a man fancies a woman, he'll steal her from her family's tent!"
"Then he takes her to his own tent and pokes her, and that's it."
"Of course, you can't poke wildling women who already have husbands; you'll get beaten up."
A hint of her people's pride appeared on Ygritte's face.
"Then, he has to prove to everyone that he has enough strength to protect her and provide for her!"
"You're the strongest man I've ever seen, Lynn."
Ygritte looked at him with burning eyes.
"Whoever you want to marry, why don't you just go and take her?"
"Why all these twists and turns?"
"By your logic, as long as you poke the daughter of a big shot, you'll get support. My method must be more effective than yours!"
Myrcella quietly raised her eyes, peeking through the gap in the cloak, secretly observing this wildling girl who kept talking about "taking" people.
Her green eyes were filled with confusion and novelty.
Take?
This word was very unfamiliar to her.
The education she had received since childhood told her.
Marriage was responsibility, obligation, an exchange of family interests.
She had never imagined that marriage could be something so... primitive, direct, and full of power.
Even... freedom.
To be with whoever she wanted, that made her yearn for it.
However, she wasn't against marrying Lynn.
This was a blessing in disguise.
"Ygritte, this isn't Beyond The Wall."
Lynn sighed.
"In the South, there are Southern rules."
"Sometimes, using your brain is more effective than using your fists."
"Bullshit rules!"
Ygritte scoffed, pouting her lips.
"Rules are meant to be broken!"
"Don't you never follow those Southern rules either?"
"That's different."
"How is it different?"
Just as this debate about Northern and Southern marriage customs was about to fall into a vicious circle, Myrcella, who had been silent, suddenly spoke up.
"Lady Ygritte."
Her voice was soft, but it was unusually clear in the howling wind.
Ygritte was startled for a moment, then turned to look at her.
"What is it, my dear noble Lady."
Myrcella slowly lifted her head from the cloak, revealing her face, which was red from the cold but still beautiful and dignified.
"To become Lord Lynn's wife is my honor, and also my responsibility."
She looked into Ygritte's wild blue eyes and said, word for word.
"As a princess of House Baratheon, my marriage belongs to the Seven Kingdoms, to the iron throne."
"This is my destiny, and I accept it with pleasure."
Myrcella's voice was calm and firm, carrying a sense of... fate that Ygritte couldn't understand.
Ygritte opened her mouth.
She wanted to say something but found herself speechless.
She looked at the golden-haired princess in front of her.
Suddenly, she felt that she wasn't so fragile after all.
Within her slender body, there seemed to be something hard hidden.
Just like the rocks at the foot of The Wall.
Seemingly ordinary, yet able to withstand thousands of years of wind and snow.
"You Southerners... are really fucking strange."
Ygritte could only manage to blurt out this sentence in the end, then she turned her head away sullenly and said no more.
Silence returned to the dragon's back.
Lynn looked at the two girls beside him, whose styles were completely different, yet who had, in some ways, reached a delicate balance, and he couldn't help but smile.
The dragon began to descend.
Below, on the snowfield, appeared a chaotic cluster of stone houses.
In the distance, a giant castle was under construction.
They had arrived at the Gift.
It was also Lynn's fiefdom, the home of him and his people.
When Winter's massive figure appeared in the sky above the camp, the entire camp erupted.
The wildlings, who had been drinking and eating meat around bonfires, fighting and brawling just a second ago, all dropped what they were holding the next second.
They rushed out of their tents, letting out fervent cheers towards the sky.
They shouted Lynn's name.
The wave of sound converged, almost shaking the clouds in the sky apart.
This was their King.
The king-beyond-the-wall who led them over The Wall, gave them land and food, protected them from the dead, and allowed them to live like people!
Winter landed steadily in the largest open space in the center of the camp.
Lynn dismounted, Ygritte followed closely behind him.
When her feet touched the solid ground, and she smelled the air mixed with bonfire, roasted meat, and sweat, she felt every cell in her body cheering.
A familiar feeling.
She was back!
Lynn helped Myrcella, who was still a bit weak in the knees, off the dragon's back, and a group of wildling warriors immediately surrounded them.
Tormund's tall figure squeezed through the crowd.
"Lynn, you're finally back, you bastard!"
He gave Lynn a big bear hug.
"If you hadn't come back, these brats would have torn the entire Gift apart!"
Lynn patted his back, signaling him to let go.
"I'm back this time because I have a job for you all to do."
Lynn's gaze swept over the energetic, restless wildling warriors in front of him, a smile playing on his lips.
"A battle... that requires acting."
Tormund's eyes instantly lit up.
"A fight? Against whom?!"
"Some villages near Winterfell."
Lynn said unhurriedly.
"Your task is to impersonate a group of marauding rebels who burn, kill, and loot."
"Remember, you must act convincingly, but you absolutely must not actually harm anyone."
"After it's done, everyone will receive a bounty."
"Of course, you won't need money."
"I will exchange all those gold dragons for more practical things."
"Rebels?"
Tormund was startled for a moment.
Then he seemed to understand something, and a smile appeared on his face.
"I get it, Lynn, you're going to... put on a show for certain people?"
"Tormund, you're surprisingly clever for once."
Lynn smiled and nodded.
Tormund scratched his head, embarrassed.
"Of course, I, Tormund, am a genius."
Just then, Ygritte squeezed through.
"What about me? What's my task?"
She asked impatiently.
Lynn looked at her blue eyes full of anticipation and smiled.
"You?"
Lynn reached out and tidied her wind-blown red hair.
"You'll be the leader of these rebels."
Ygritte froze abruptly.
She stared blankly at Lynn, as if she couldn't believe her ears.
Her... the leader?
An indescribable surge of ecstasy instantly burned through her limbs!
All those annoying thoughts about "how many wives" were instantly thrown out the window.
To hell with Southern rules!
To hell with princesses!
I'm a rebel leader now!
A brilliant and wild smile bloomed on Ygritte's face.
She suddenly jumped up, planting a big, wet kiss on Lynn's cheek, leaving a damp mark.
Then, she turned around, hands on her hips.
Facing the group of wildlings in front of her, she announced in an unprecedentedly commanding tone.
"Did you all hear that?!"
"From now on, I'm your boss!"
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