Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

Jon Snow woke with a start, gasping for air like a man pulled from the depths of the sea.

In truth, his condition wasn't far off. Ever since the battle against the Free Folk coalition days ago, he had been trapped in the same dream over and over. In it, he was an unborn child, floating in a world that felt suffocating—like drowning without water.

Though still inside the womb in the dream, he could hear faint, muffled voices from outside. It took him several dream cycles to pick out a few names—Rhaegar, Arthur, the White Bull.

He quickly connected them to the people he knew: Prince Rhaegar, Ser Arthur Dayne, and other members of the Kingsguard. He had no idea why these names echoed through his dreams, but something told him they were tied to his origins.

"Dreams often reflect memories," said a tall figure from the shadows of the trees nearby, speaking the Common Tongue with a faint Ironborn accent. "No one dreams of things they've never seen. Even the strangest dreams are just fragments of what we've encountered, pieced together in ways that make them seem uncanny."

"I dreamed of things from before I was born. Are those memories too? I didn't know unborn children could remember anything," Jon replied. After a few days together, he had grown confident that the other man meant him no harm—at least not for now. He spoke more freely now, less guarded.

"Maybe not for others," the figure said calmly, "but you are different. Sometimes the blood in your veins gives rise to powers no one expects."

"Is that why you saved me? Because of my blood?" Jon asked, his voice low and steady.

"That's part of it," the man answered. "But more than that, you reminded me of a friend. Just as reckless, just as brave, just as fearless."

Jon pushed himself upright, leaning against a nearby stump so that the warmth from the fire could reach his body.

As the man spoke, he lowered his hood, revealing a strikingly handsome and commanding face marked with the unmistakable features of a White Walker.

"You're just like him," he continued. "Even when you're staring into something terrifying, something that should make you collapse in fear, you still reach for your weapon and fight."

He smiled faintly and pointed toward Jon's hidden hand. "Just like now. You know you can't win—but you still hold onto your weapon."

Jon pulled his hand from beneath his cloak, revealing a dragonglass dagger. "You're a White Walker. Why do you act like a man? Don't White Walkers hate all life?"

"They do," the elf White Walker nodded. "The power that created the White Walkers was born from hatred for all living things. It came from the heart of the Land of Always Winter—a place with no life, only endless cold. To that power, life is something that must be frozen. A silent world, an eternal night—that's what it sees as perfection."

Jon studied the other man carefully. "Lord Lynd said there are different types of White Walkers. Among them, the elf White Walkers are the rulers—intelligent and powerful. That's what you are, isn't it?"

"Elf White Walker?" The being raised a brow, intrigued. "Who came up with that name? That man Lynd?"

Jon nodded. "Yes. Lord Lynd—no, King Lynd, I should say."

"That's the second time I've heard that name. The last was from a man named Euron. Seems like this Lynd is an important figure in your world." The elf White Walker looked thoughtful. "Tell me about him."

Jon hesitated. Something about the request felt off. But in the end, he spoke, sharing what he knew of Lynd.

From the very beginning, the elf White Walker seemed astonished. Even in his own era, he had never known anyone who could fight a hundred men alone.

When Jon mentioned Lynd becoming one of the Seven Gods and wielding divine power, the elf's expression turned strange, almost skeptical. His gaze lingered on Jon, as if he weren't sure whether to laugh or question his sanity.

And when Jon spoke of Lynd becoming the God of Storms, the God of Calamity, of single-handedly destroying an entire city, the disbelief on his face was plain. It wasn't that he thought Jon was lying—it was that he believed Jon had elevated Lynd into a god out of sheer admiration. That wasn't unfamiliar to him. In his own time, his people had once revered him the same way—as something more than mortal.

"So this Lynd you speak of is the strongest ruler in your world? And he's the one who prepared everything to resist the White Walkers?" the elf White Walker asked in a deep voice.

"Yes, it was Lynd..." Jon began to reply, but then suddenly snapped to attention, rising from the ground as if shaken from a trance. He turned a sharp gaze toward the elf White Walker and demanded, "What did you just do? Why did I answer you without even thinking?"

"You woke up from my mind-binding technique that quickly... your bloodline is indeed impressive," the elf White Walker replied without a trace of guilt. Instead, he nodded approvingly. "I could have used other methods to make you tell me what I wanted to know, but they're time-consuming—and damaging. This way is easier. Safer. For both of us."

"What is it that you want?" Jon asked warily, tension in his voice.

The elf White Walker was silent for a moment before replying, "I just want to find a worthy ally—someone who can help me end the suffering of my people. We were all deceived. There is no eternal life... only endless pain."

For a brief moment, Jon felt a flicker of sympathy for the being in front of him. But he didn't let down his guard.

"The Lynd you mentioned... he may be the only partner I can turn to now. I wish to meet him." The elf White Walker looked Jon in the eyes. "But I can't appear in your human lands like this. That's why I need a messenger—someone to carry my words to Lynd."

Jon hesitated. "You're... letting me leave?"

"I never meant to keep you here," the elf White Walker said, gesturing to a warhorse nearby. "You're free to go anytime. Though I suggest you ride—on foot, I can't guarantee you'll make it to The Wall."

Jon glanced at the horse, then stepped over to it. He checked the saddlebag and found some cooked meat inside—clearly prepared for him.

He didn't dwell on it. With practiced ease, he mounted the horse, then turned to the elf White Walker and asked, "What message do you want me to give to King Lynd?"

The elf White Walker thought for a moment, then said, "Tell him I'll be waiting at the Fist of the First Men. But I won't wait forever. The opportunity has come—if he misses it..."

He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he rose, pulled the hood of his cloak back over his head, and stepped into the shadows of the trees, disappearing from sight.

Jon stood still for a moment, staring into the place where the elf White Walker had vanished. Then, slowly, he unfastened his coat and looked down at the scar on his chest, his face clouded with worry.

He remembered dying. He remembered the blades of the wildlings, the pain of swords piercing his body, and the spear that went straight through his heart. He should have been dead.

But he'd woken up.

If it weren't for the scars still marking his body, he might have thought it was just a dream, some phantom born of fever or fear. But he knew the truth. He had been brought back. And it was that elf White Walker who had revived him.

The thought of it made his stomach churn.

He didn't have an answer—not yet. So he tucked the question away, deep in his mind. When he found Lynd, maybe he'd understand.

...

Further south, Lynd and his group had spent several days traveling down from the northern edge of the Haunted Forest. After crossing the Antler River, they finally reached the southern region.

Everywhere they looked bore the scars of war. The final clash between the Night's Watch and the Free Folk had left its mark—swords and axes still half-buried in snow, corpses only recently burned, vast swathes of trees cut down to build makeshift fortresses and barricades. Signs of the desperate, bloody battle lingered across the land.

"The Black Rock tribe… I didn't expect them all to die here." Osha recognized the totem patterns on some of the wooden shields and let out a sigh. "Beyond the Wall, the Black Rock tribe was considered a major tribe, with five thousand people—half of them seasoned warriors. When I left, their chief was still yelling about killing Mance Rayder and becoming King-Beyond-the-Wall himself."

As she spoke, Osha walked up to one of the shields, picked it up and tested its weight before strapping it to her back. Then she grabbed two small axes and hooked them onto her belt, followed by a short sword, which she equipped as well.

Jojen and Meera Reed also picked out some weapons that suited them from the battlefield. Although Jojen had only just begun to recover, he was already able to draw a bow and shoot. And these weren't ordinary arrows—they were Dragonglass-tipped.

Archers equipped with Dragonglass were typically elite rangers, sharpshooters with status far above that of common scouts. They were usually deployed deep within the army, serving as a key force.

Finding a full quiver of Dragonglass arrows abandoned here could only mean one thing—the ranger who carried them was dead. If he were still alive, there was no way he would have left them behind.

Benjen turned to Lynd and said, "I won't go with you any further. If someone sees me walking with you, it could cause unnecessary trouble."

"If I need to find you again, where should I go?" Lynd asked quietly.

Benjen thought for a moment. "Either at the Fist of the First Men, or at that ruin we visited before."

Lynd nodded. "Be careful. I'd hate for my men to mistake you for a White Walker and kill you."

"Don't worry. I'll be careful." Benjen said casually, then turned his wight horse around and headed north along the path they'd come from.

Once Benjen's silhouette disappeared into the dense woods, Lynd led the group—Jojen, Meera, the Children of the Forest, and Osha—southward.

Compared to the wide, smooth plains of the Frozen Shore, the Haunted Forest was far more difficult to travel through.

Back on the coast, it had only taken a single day to get from the Walrus Tribe's base to the far-northern ice castle in the Land of Always Winter, gliding over the snow almost as fast as flight.

But from the northern edge of the Haunted Forest, traveling south on foot took them two and a half days even with Lynd's help. He had used rune power to create a massive sled, pulled by Benjen's wight horses. Without it, the journey could've taken ten days or more.

Now that Benjen had left, Jojen used his Greenseer abilities to locate some scattered warhorses in the forest, and the group mounted up and pressed south.

About half a day later, they reached the woods near Craster's Keep. After cresting a small rise, they could just make out the long-abandoned ruins of the keep in the distance.

"There's movement up ahead!" Jojen suddenly said. His Greenseer powers were incredibly useful in a forest like this. By sensing through the trees, he could scout the surroundings better than even the Children of the Forest.

"It looks like a bunch of Free Folk are chasing a ranger! That ranger..." Jojen's eyes went pale as he connected with a creature or plant near the scene. Then his face changed, surprise flashing in his expression. "That ranger looks like Bran's brother—Jon Snow of the Night's Watch!"

"Where are they?" Lynd frowned and asked.

"Over there. Follow my raven," Jojen said, pointing.

Lynd glanced at the rest of the group. "Stay alert. I'll be back soon."

Without waiting for the raven, Lynd launched himself into the sky, soaring over the forest in the direction Jojen had indicated.

Within seconds, he saw the scene for himself—more than a dozen wildlings in furs chasing Jon Snow across the snowy forest floor. Jon was running full tilt, desperate to escape.

If Lynd hadn't known the current state of the war between the Night's Watch and the Free Folk, just seeing this scene might've made him think the Watch had been completely overrun.

Jon was clearly at the end of his strength.

Lynd didn't hesitate. He dropped from the sky, landing hard in the snow ahead of Jon.

Jon stumbled to a halt, startled.

"Need a hand, Jon?" Lynd asked calmly.