Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"My lord, news has arrived from Castle Cerwyn. Lord Lynd Tarran, the Chosen One, Ser Vortimer, Ser Joel, and their company have crossed the Wolfwood Bridge and will arrive at Winterfell in half a day," said Maester Luwin, holding up a piece of parchment as he knocked on the door of the lord's study. He addressed Eddard Stark, who was engrossed in reviewing documents.

Lord Eddard nodded upon hearing this, quickly finished signing the document in his hands, and handed it to the steward, Vayon Poole, who stood nearby. "Set up the banquet according to the specifications outlined here," he instructed.

Vayon Poole glanced at the list on the document and frowned slightly. "My lord, won't this be too simple?"

"These are the formal banquet specifications for receiving a lord," Eddard replied solemnly.

"But Lord Lynd Tarran is not just any lord—he is also the Chosen One of the Seven Gods," Vayon Poole reminded him.

Eddard's expression hardened. "The gods should be left to the gods, and the secular to the secular. We need only fulfill our earthly obligations and should not interfere in the affairs of the divine."

"Yes, I understand," Vayon Poole nodded and withdrew.

"Is there anything else, Maester Luwin?" Eddard turned to the maester.

Maester Luwin's expression grew serious. "My lord, last time, Lord Tarran fought across a thousand miles to retake Moat Cailin, ensuring your army's safe passage through The Neck. Now, he has once again traveled thousands of miles to escort a group of prisoners to The Wall. In all fairness, you should go out of the castle to greet him in person."

Lord Eddard was silent for a moment before nodding. "I understand. I'll change my clothes and go with Ketter to greet them at the castle gates."

Maester Luwin, satisfied with the response, said no more and took his leave.

After sitting for a while, Lord Eddard rose and left the room, heading for the courtyard where Catelyn was likely playing with the children at this hour.

Though he had already made his decision, his thoughts lingered on Lynd.

Lynd had once saved him from a difficult situation by reclaiming Moat Cailin and had since earned great military achievements. From Jon Umber's vivid and praise-filled accounts, it was clear that Lynd was a formidable warrior, beloved by the people.

Yet, despite his valor, Eddard never liked him.

Lynd had meddled in religious matters, attempting to incite strife during the trial of the Iron Islands. He had also secretly taken possession of the loot the Ironborn had plundered from the Westerlands—an unforgivable felony. However, despite knowing of his crimes, Robert had chosen to forgive him, elevating him to lordship and granting him Summerhall. It was an affront to justice.

What Eddard disliked most, however, was Lynd's tendency to invoke the name of the gods. Rumors from the south painted him as a savior chosen by the Seven, and even Brother Chayle at Winterfell had begun to believe in such claims. Worse still, under Brother Chayle's influence, Catelyn herself had started to entertain those notions.

Eddard took a deep breath, muttering to himself. It's fine. It'll be over in just one day. Just one day.

Soon, he arrived at the courtyard and saw Catelyn seated in the small attic, embroidering alongside the holy sisters and maidservants. Sansa sat among them, watching with keen interest. The sisters had taught her well—her upright posture and composed demeanor already reflected the grace of a proper lady.

To Catelyn's left, Bran lay in his cradle. Though still an infant, he repeatedly pulled his tiny hands free from the quilt, reaching for something unseen in the air, only for Catelyn to tuck them back under the blanket again.

Arya, just over a year old, sat in a small high chair to Catelyn's right. She turned her head curiously, drawn to the sounds of the bustling courtyard, as though something exciting was happening. Waving a small wooden fork in her tiny hands, she appeared to be mimicking some kind of movement.

In the courtyard, under the guidance of Master-at-Arms Rodrik, Robb sparred with his foster brother, Theon Greyjoy, using wooden swords. The two young boys moved with enthusiasm, their strikes and parries mirroring those of seasoned warriors.

Theon had been at Winterfell for nearly a year now, gradually adapting to life in the Stark household. He and Robb had become fast friends—it was likely they would grow to be as close as brothers.

Standing at the entrance to the courtyard, Eddard took in the peaceful, harmonious scene before him. He felt as if he could stand there forever, watching this quiet moment of family life. A part of him even wished it would never end.

But he was a lord, and his duties did not afford him such luxuries. Not only was there always paperwork to handle, but there were also people he would rather not meet yet could not avoid.

"Ned, have you finished with everything?" Catelyn's voice drew him from his thoughts. She had sensed his presence, as if bound to him by some invisible thread. Looking away from her embroidery, she set it down, rose to her feet, and walked toward him.

Though she was now the mother of four children, Catelyn had lost none of her beauty. Once renowned as one of the great beauties of the Riverlands, she had only grown more graceful with time. Maturity had enhanced her features, making her even more captivating.

"Mmm." Lord Eddard looked at his wife with love in his eyes, nodded, and then said with some reluctance, "You need to go with me to greet someone later."

Catelyn frowned. In her view, it was inappropriate for a lady to personally greet someone unless the guest was of exceptional status or significance.

"It's Lynd Tarran, Lord of Summerhall," Eddard stated plainly.

"So it is the Lord's Chosen," Catelyn said, realization dawning on her. Her hesitation vanished, replaced by a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes.

Eddard could not help but feel a twinge of displeasure at the change in her expression.

Although he intended to keep the greeting simple, involving only himself, Catelyn, the Maester, and a few others, she clearly had different plans. To her, they represented the dignity of both House Stark and House Tully. Handling the matter casually would be shameful in the eyes of the South, particularly The Reach.

As a result, the entire household at Winterfell was summoned—from the Maesters and stewards to the cooks and smiths. Even the children, Robb and Sansa, were included.

Just as Catelyn had been eager, Robb and Sansa were equally excited about Lynd's arrival. In recent years, the many legends surrounding the Chosen One had replaced the old, frightening tales once told by the Old Nan. Brother Chayle had also become their favorite storyteller, as he was the only one who could share the latest accounts of the Chosen One's deeds.

Now that the Chosen One himself was coming, their excitement was boundless. Robb donned the leather armor recently crafted for him by the master leatherworker, fastening his long-cherished deerskin cloak over his shoulders. Sansa put on her finest dress, determined to appear as refined as any noble lady of the South.

Unlike them, Theon felt uneasy. He even considered feigning illness just to find an excuse to hide away.

Though a year had passed, the trial remained vivid in his mind. The image that stood out most was the helmet of the Banished Knight cradled in Lynd's arms—particularly the fierce dragon atop the helm.

That dragon had become a symbol of his memory of the trial. Every time he dreamed, it would emerge, destroying everything in its path.

Atop the outer city walls, Varly, a man-at-arms stationed in the watchtower, caught sight of a group emerging from the crest of a distant hill along The Kingsroad. His keen archer's eyes quickly distinguished the riders at the front. They bore high banners—one edged in red with a long sword emblazoned upon it, the other golden with a rose.

"They're here! They're already here!" Varly shouted down from his perch, leaning over the railing.

Hearing his call, the assembled crowd shifted into position on the parade ground. Catelyn took hold of Eddard's arm and pulled him—reluctant as he was—to the front of the line.

"Damn it! Are we welcoming the king?" Eddard muttered, unable to suppress his irritation as he glanced around at the spectacle.

In truth, he was not alone in feeling that way.

When Lynd, following the Winterfell guards leading the way, finally rode onto the parade ground, even he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. It was as if time had rewound ten years, back to King Robert's first visit to Winterfell. The only difference was that the little Starks had yet to grow up.

When Lynd came into view, even Eddard, who had already dealt with him before, could not help but feel a moment of awe.

A warhorse, larger than any ordinary steed, clad in gleaming armor, led the procession. Upon its back sat a tall knight encased in dragon armor, bearing four weapons. Beside him strode a beast, black and white striped, even larger than the warhorse.

Though the people of Winterfell had heard countless tales of Lynd, the Chosen One, no amount of storytelling could prepare them for the sight of the legend in the flesh. Seeing him in person—and the creatures that accompanied him—left them all in silent astonishment.

"Lord Eddard, it's been a year since we last met, but you haven't changed at all," Lynd said as he approached the gathered crowd. He dismounted from his horse and took the initiative to bow to Eddard Stark.

"It's been a year, Lord Lynd, but you look just the same as ever," Eddard replied before turning to introduce Lynd to his wife, children, and advisers.

As Lynd took in the sight of the young Wolf Lord and the Three Fools, who had yet to grow up, he couldn't help but be impressed. Arya, in particular, reminded him of something Willas had once said. He thought of the Many-Faced God who had appeared at Winterfell back then—it seemed as if that presence had been waiting for Arya, who had not yet even been born.

When his gaze fell upon Bran, still swaddled in his blankets, he turned to Lady Catelyn. "May I hold him, Lady Catelyn?"

"Of course," she said, nodding quickly before handing the baby over to him.

Lynd cradled Bran in his arms, studying him carefully, trying to sense if there was anything extraordinary about the child. Yet, despite his efforts, he saw nothing unusual.

Just then, Glory stepped forward, coming to stand behind Lynd. The massive beast lowered its head, peering over his shoulder to look at Bran. Without hesitation, Lynd switched to Glory's vision.

Catelyn, standing nearby, instinctively tensed at the sight of the great creature looming so close to her child. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but before she could, Eddard placed a reassuring hand on her arm, silently urging her to hold her peace.

Lynd, sensing nothing out of the ordinary, eventually returned Bran to Catelyn. He murmured a few words of blessing, and at that, the tension in Catelyn's posture melted away. A smile even flickered across her face.

Afterward, Lynd introduced Vortimer and Joel to the people of Winterfell. When they learned that both men were masters of swordsmanship from The Reach, the warriors of Winterfell, led by Master-at-Arms Rodrik, were eager to spar with them. The two southern swordsmen, in turn, welcomed the opportunity, saying they were just as interested in witnessing the fighting skills of the First Men of the North.

With the introductions complete, Lynd and his company were led into the hall. The food that had been prepared earlier was reheated and served, and the banquet proceeded smoothly.

However, one issue arose—there were too many prisoners, and Winterfell simply didn't have enough cells to house them all.

"Just let them stay in the courtyard," Joel said between bites of his roasted goose leg, addressing the cell guard who had come to report the problem. "Give them food. They won't run. And you don't need to worry about them causing trouble. With Lynd here, these vicious criminals are no different from the most devout believers."

Brother Chayle, the Septon of Winterfell, who had been listening, perked up with curiosity. "Did something happen on the road?"

At that, Joel launched into a story, recounting how the prisoners had broken down in tears along the journey, confessing their sins to Lynd before ultimately becoming devout believers.

As Joel spoke, Septon Chayle repeatedly gasped in amazement. Catelyn, one of the few deeply religious people in the hall, listened with rapt attention. She was visibly moved and, in the end, expressed her own desire to confess to Lynd.

Eddard, standing nearby, stiffened at her words. His expression darkened, his displeasure nearly written across his face, but he said nothing to dissuade her.

After the banquet, Vortimer and the others were dragged off to the training yard for a friendly contest, both to test their skills and to help digest their meal. Meanwhile, Lynd was taken to the sept near the Great Hall by the septons, with Lady Catelyn following behind, intent on making her confession.

Eddard, handing his children over to the holy sisters and maesters, silently followed them into the sept.

But before he could step inside, Catelyn turned and drove him out, making it clear that this was not a matter for him to witness. Septon Chayle and the other septons were likewise ushered out, leaving only Catelyn and Lynd alone in the candlelit space.

Once they were alone, Catelyn began her confession. She spoke mostly of trivial matters, though a few times, she hesitated and mentioned the name Jon. However, she quickly steered away from that topic, perhaps feeling that such things were too personal—family business, not meant for an outsider's ears.

Even so, her words provided Lynd with valuable insight into what had transpired at Winterfell over the past year.

For instance, he had once predicted a second wave of extreme cold, yet when it did not come as expected, he had assumed he had been wrong. But in reality, he had not been mistaken—the second disaster had indeed struck, though only in the North. The interval between the first and second cold waves had been a mere five months.

Just as before, the sudden onset of the cold had taken everyone by surprise. Although the northern lords had made some preparations, they had still suffered heavy losses. Many had frozen to death.

Worse still, the nearby mountain clans had been hit hard by the disaster. With their people starving and their supplies exhausted, they had descended from the mountains in large numbers to raid and plunder the North.

Though these raiders were eventually driven back by the northern lords, they had left widespread destruction in their wake.

That explained why so many of the villages Lynd and his company had passed through had been abandoned. Even those that remained were in a state of desolation.

It would take at least ten years for the North to fully recover.

Though Lynd had many questions about the state of the North, he, as before, did not interrupt. He simply listened in silence.