Lynn let out a long white breath and turned to Maester Aemon.
"One last try, Maester. Feed the ravens some good grain and fresh meat. I'll write to every lord myself and lay out exactly what I stand for and what I intend to do. If even a third of them still have a brain, the Free Folk will stop at the New Gift and the Old Gift and become the shield that protects the Seven Kingdoms. If not, another war is coming."
He finished speaking, turned, and walked out. The Thenns fell in behind him.
He already knew the odds were bad, but he still copied the letter he had written to Last Hearth—shorter and tighter this time—dozens of times. Ravens could only carry so much weight, so the paper had to stay small and the fancy handwriting was out. If he crammed too many words in, he'd need a special fine-nib pen.
It was nearly dusk by the time he finally finished.
He carried the stack of sealed letters up to the rookery and asked Aemon which lords' titles and full names should go at the top. The old maester answered each one and, while he was at it, explained exactly how raven messages worked.
The whole system ran on "home roost," not "addressed delivery."
Most ravens were trained to fly back to one specific castle. If you wanted to send a letter from Winterfell to King's Landing, you had to keep a raven from King's Landing in your own rookery. When you released it, the bird simply flew home by instinct.
Because of that one-way limit, every castle had to swap ravens with its neighbors if they wanted to stay in contact. Of course, a few gifted birds could learn two, three, or even four different roosts and fly on command, but those "once-in-a-century" smart birds were extremely rare and valuable.
The maester at each castle acted as both keeper and engineer—feeding, training, and maintaining the rookery. The Citadel even treated "ravenry" as a formal subject; earning the black-iron link in your chain meant you really knew your birds.
The Night's Watch had been badly understrength for years, so they regularly sent men out into the lords' lands looking for criminals and bastards willing to take the black. Those recruiters were called "wandering crows" (like Yoren, the man who once saved Arya in King's Landing). It solved the lords' overcrowded dungeon problem, so the Watch stayed on decent terms with most noble houses. That made swapping ravens easy. In total, they could reach fifty or sixty different lords and petty lords.
"Right now the farthest our ravens can reach is Oldtown and the Citadel," Aemon said. "The Northern lords have always been our closest allies. Winterfell is burned, but you can send to Riverrun. King Robb may still receive it."
Lynn dipped his pen and, in the last of the sunset light, carefully wrote out each lord's title and name while Aemon spoke.
"Before King Robb marched south, House Umber and House Karstark always answered our calls," the maester noted.
Meaning they stopped after he left, Lynn thought.
"Dreadfort, Cerwyn, Torrhen's Square, Deepwood Motte, Bear Island, Widow's Watch, White Harbor, Barrowton, the Ryswells, the Hornwoods, the Norreys, the Harclays, and the Wulls in the mountains—Black Castle can reach all of them."
He paused, then gave his advice.
"I suggest you write to the Northern lords first. If you want food, they're the only ones who can help in time. Help from the south would arrive too late even if they were willing."
Transportation problems were just an excuse—sea routes existed. Aemon's real point was clear: he had no faith in the Northern lords and even less in the southern ones. He simply didn't want to waste precious ravens.
He was also testing Lynn—trying to see whether the man truly meant to hold the Wall or was using it as a stepping stone to a crown.
When Lynn stayed quiet, Aemon continued.
"The Neck has no maester and no ravens. They answer only to the Starks. Outsiders can barely even find them."
"South of the Neck you have King's Landing, the Eyrie, Riverrun, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, Highgarden, and Sunspear. Those great houses all keep ravens here. There are dozens more names, but my memory is not what it was. I'll write them down for you later."
Lynn finished adding every Northern lord except the Umbers, then handed the stack to the old man.
"Send them as soon as you can, Maester. And get me the southern list as quickly as possible."
His voice grew heavier than usual.
"Maester Aemon, this is not some political gesture or show. The Others are following the Free Folk's campfire ashes south. I killed one with my own hand. Samwell Tarly killed another. I'm certain of it—you can question him yourself later."
Aemon nodded. He had already heard the story from Grenn.
"No one can say for sure whether the Long Night is coming, but we both know wights can cross the Wall. That is why someone must hold the Wall. This is not only about the Free Folk's survival—it is a crisis for all of Westeros, perhaps the entire known world. If humanity cannot unite at a time like this, then someone must force them to."
Aemon was silent for a long moment. Finally he spoke, very softly.
"It will be difficult, Lord Lynn. Very difficult. Even in the Long Night at the end of the Age of Heroes, the First Men and the Children of the Forest did not join together right away."
"Until they are on the very brink of extinction with nowhere left to run, men find it almost impossible to set aside their immediate interests and think about the future."
Lynn nodded even though the maester could not see it. He agreed completely.
But then he turned the question back.
"That depends on whose interests we're talking about. For the lords, interest means rights, titles, land, and gold. For the smallfolk—who outnumber them a thousand to one—interest is usually just staying alive. What do you think, Maester?"
Aemon gave a small, bitter smile.
"Lord Lynn, your words remind me of my brother—King Aegon the Fifth."
"He tried to push through reforms that would give the smallfolk more rights. The lords fought him bitterly. In this age the nobility's power is deeply rooted. The smallfolk cannot be stirred up with a single slogan or a few policies. You must admit—though it is not pleasant to say—many smallfolk are themselves ignorant and short-sighted. They will cheer you for one promise and turn on you for the next. That is how my royal brother failed."