Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"If I ever come back to this hellhole, may I never find a woman." Joel had sworn this for the ninetieth time, huddling inside his cloak, clutching its edges tightly to block the biting wind from creeping in through the gaps.

Because he was hunched over, he had little control over his horse, which simply followed the movement of the group.

Not far from him, Vortimer was also wrapped tightly in his cloak. His expression was weary, his spirits low, and for once, he did not even muster the energy to mock Joel's complaints.

Throughout the ranks, both prisoners and soldiers had bundled themselves up as much as possible, their heads bowed against the relentless wind as they trudged forward at a slow, grueling pace.

Only the dozen or so Northern cavalrymen leading the way remained relatively unaffected. They were accustomed to the bitter cold of the North and continued moving with ease, riding back and forth along the column to ensure no one had fallen behind or become lost.

Yet, no matter how resilient these Northerners were, even they reacted to the extreme cold—tightening their cloaks, shifting stiff fingers, hunching their shoulders against the wind. Only Lynd appeared completely unaffected.

Clad in full steel armor, he moved as if the freezing wind did not exist. Not a single snowflake clung to him, nor did the chill seem to touch his body. Even the warhorse beneath him showed no sign of discomfort.

This was entirely due to the ice dragon runes. Any cold that approached him was absorbed without exception. In this land of ice and snow, the runes were in their element. In just a few days, they had gathered more cold energy than he had accumulated over the past several months.

Though pleased with the rapid increase in power, Lynd could not feel at ease. If they failed to find shelter soon, many in the group would not survive the final stretch of the journey.

After leaving Winterfell, they had headed steadily northward. The weather had been manageable at first—not warm, certainly, but tolerable.

Then, less than three days later, as they passed through Wolfswood, a brutal cold wave descended from the north. By morning, the land was buried under ice and snow. More than ten people had frozen to death overnight.

Lynd had assumed it was another extreme cold disaster, but the Northern cavalryman guiding them had dismissed the idea. "This is just a normal cold wave," the man had said. "An extreme cold disaster would be much worse."

After hastily burying the dead, the group pressed on. With every mile, the wind howled stronger, and the snowfall thickened, nearly swallowing the road entirely. At one point, they had nearly lost their way.

Fortunately, among the soldiers were experienced Northerners who frequently traveled between Winterfell and The Wall. They had quickly located familiar landmarks buried beneath the snow and guided the group back to the Kingsroad.

Their advice was to push on toward Mole's Town. The storm would lessen there.

Some had suggested taking shelter in Queenscrown instead, but those who had been there knew it had long been abandoned. There would be little protection from the storm, and while it might serve for a dozen people, their group numbered in the hundreds. If they went there, many would surely freeze to death.

With no better choice, they continued north, leaning into the relentless wind.

"Mole's Town! It's just ahead!" A Northern scout emerged from the swirling snow and shouted to the group.

At the words, those who had been on the verge of collapse gritted their teeth and pushed forward. Some could go no further and fell into the snow, their bodies too weak to move.

Lynd ordered the supply wagons emptied, transferring the fallen onto them and leaving the discarded supplies along the roadside with clear markings. After the handover at Mole's Town, the Night's Watch could retrieve them.

Before long, the faint outline of a wooden settlement appeared through the storm. The villagers, having been notified in advance, had vacated several houses in preparation for their arrival. As the group entered the village, they were ushered into these shelters.

Inside, the fireplaces had already been lit, filling the rooms with warmth. Those who had been near collapse quickly regained their strength, though some had been too weak to recover. A few more had succumbed before reaching safety.

The houses were clearly built with a purpose. Logs formed thick, solid walls, and the roofs, though having gaps, were sturdy enough to prevent escape. Heavy chains and locks secured the doors.

As the South had begun sending an increasing number of prisoners to the Night's Watch, it had become impractical to transport them directly to Castle Black. Mole's Town, being the closest settlement, had become the designated handover point. To facilitate this, Castle Black had even funded the construction of these secure lodgings specifically for holding prisoners.

The villagers had not opposed the arrangement. Each prisoner transport was accompanied by well-funded southern soldiers, whose spending brought prosperity to the town. And since they had not been required to pay for the new facilities, they had no reason to object.

With the soldiers and prisoners settled, Lynd was led by a Night's Watchman to a larger house at the northern edge of the village.

Vortimer and Joel had already gone inside to warm themselves—and to complete the formal handover of prisoners to the waiting men of the Night's Watch.

"Lynd, this is Cotter Pyke, the steward of Castle Black, and Alliser Thorne, a ranger. They've come from the Night's Watch to take custody of the prisoners," Joel announced. His spirits had returned, and as he spoke, he scooped up a bowl of boiled turnips from the cauldron beside him and ate with gusto.

"Lord Lynd," the two men greeted, rising briefly.

Lynd nodded in return before sitting down. Vortimer handed him a bowl of hot soup, which he took with a nod of thanks. He sipped it slowly, letting the warmth spread through his body as his gaze drifted over the two Night's Watchmen—particularly Alliser Thorne.

He recalled that in the future, Cotter Pyke would become the commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and contend with Jon Snow for the position of Lord Commander, while Alliser Thorne would serve as the Master-at-Arms at Castle Black and later become one of Jon Snow's greatest obstacles.

"Lord Lynd, is there something about our attire that seems improper?" Alliser Thorne asked, raising an eyebrow as he caught Lynd's lingering gaze.

"No," Lynd replied, shaking his head. He casually fabricated an excuse. "It's just my first time meeting the legendary Night's Watch. I was merely curious."

"I almost forgot," Cotter Pyke suddenly recalled, standing up and rummaging through the backpack beside him. He pulled out a small box and handed it to Lynd. "Ser Lynd, here are your letters."

"My letters?" Lynd frowned in confusion, taking the box and opening it. Inside, three small copper tubes lay neatly arranged, used for storing letter paper. The wax seals on both ends remained intact, bearing the sigil of Nymeria, the Lady of Tumbleton.

Suspicion creeping into his mind, Lynd unsealed the tubes and carefully extracted the rolled-up letters inside. He read through them attentively.

The letters had been written half a month ago. Though there were three, they all conveyed the same message—Jon Bulwer, the steward Lynd had appointed to oversee Miracle Harbor, had resigned from all his positions and returned to the Bulwer family's Blackcrown Castle to inherit his family's title and lands.

For now, the stewardship of Miracle Harbor had been passed to Wyeth Rowan, a member of House Rowan and Jon Bulwer's long-time attendant. Rowan had been at Jon's side since the early days of Tumbleton's revival and was deeply familiar with his affairs. Before leaving, Jon had highly recommended him as a replacement.

Lynd frowned as he reread the message and let out a quiet, self-mocking chuckle. "Not long ago, I tricked one Jon, and now I've lost another Jon entirely. Is this my punishment?"

"What's wrong? Something happened in your lands?" Vortimer asked, noticing Lynd's expression.

Lynd didn't answer. Instead, he handed Vortimer the letter.

Vortimer scanned the contents and let out a laugh. "That brat Jon has some incredible luck—getting a castle and a lordship for free."

"Free?" Lynd asked, raising an eyebrow.

Vortimer shrugged. "Jon wasn't high in the line of succession. He knew that, which is why he became a steward under House Tyrell and then followed you. He never expected to inherit anything. But whether it was his luck or his predecessor's misfortune, those ahead of him either died in battle or left to become Maesters, and suddenly, he was first in line. When I left Highgarden, I heard Lord Bulwer had fallen gravely ill. I figured it wouldn't be long before Blackcrown Castle had a new master. Looks like I was right."

Lynd sighed at Jon's unexpected fortune, but the thought of Miracle Harbor's ongoing construction dampened any amusement he might have felt. "This is good news for him," he admitted, "but not for me. I've lost the one person most familiar with Miracle Harbor's operations. While Wyeth Rowan is competent, he doesn't have Jon's authority. There will be complications, and the harbor's construction will inevitably slow down."

"The House Bulwer you're discussing—do you mean the House Bulwer of Blackcrown Castle?" Alliser Thorne suddenly interjected.

"Yes," Vortimer nodded.

Alliser Thorne's expression remained neutral as he remarked, "I have a fellow ranger from House Bulwer. His name is Jack Bulwer."

Vortimer was caught off guard and didn't immediately know how to respond. House Bulwer was a well-established family in the Reach, and between the main line and its branches, there were more than a hundred individuals bearing the name Bulwer. Which branch Jack Bulwer belonged to was anyone's guess.

Before the atmosphere grew awkward, Lynd broke the silence. "Ser Alliser, as a Ranger, you must often patrol north of the Wall, correct?"

"Yes, my lord," Alliser nodded.

Lynd set down his bowl of hot soup and asked, "Can you tell me about the Land of Always Winter? I need to be prepared."

"Be prepared?" Vortimer immediately caught the implication in Lynd's words and turned to him. "Lynd, are you planning to go to the Land of Always Winter?"

Joel, who had been wholly absorbed in his meal, paused and looked up at Lynd in surprise.

Lynd nodded but did not reveal the truth behind his decision. Instead, he gave a simple excuse. "It would be a pity to come all this way and not take a look beyond the Wall."

"Are you insane? What's there to see in that godforsaken place?" Joel exclaimed.

"With all due respect, Lord Joel is right," Alliser agreed, his tone carrying an unmistakable bitterness. "North of the Wall, there is nothing but ice, snow, and damned wildlings. It is not a place worth visiting."

Lynd did not bother to explain further. Instead, he stated plainly, "It doesn't matter. I decided on this back when I set out from Tumbleton." Then, turning to Cotter Pyke and Alliser Thorne, he asked, "When will you be returning to Castle Black?"

"Not for a while," Cotter Pyke replied with a shake of his head. "This storm will likely last for days. Until it clears, we're staying put. Once it passes, we'll distribute the prisoners accordingly. We won't return to Castle Black until the commanders from the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea have taken their people."

"In that case, I'll go on my own." Lynd did not say anything more on the matter. He turned to Vortimer and Joel and instructed, "After the storm passes, take the men back on your own. Don't wait for me."

"Hm." Vortimer did not try to dissuade him but simply offered a brief, "Be careful."

Joel, however, snorted. "You don't need to worry about him. Even the Rangers of the Night's Watch can make it through the Land of Always Winter. With his abilities, what could possibly happen to him? If anything, you should be worried about the wildling tribes—if he runs into them, they'll be the ones in trouble."

Lynd saw no point in wasting more time. Nymeria's letter had only heightened his urgency—he needed to find the Horn of Winter as soon as possible and return to his lands to handle any problems that might arise now that Jon Bulwer was gone.

He stood up, embracing Vortimer and Joel in farewell before heading for the door.

As he reached for the latch, Alliser suddenly spoke. "Lord Lynd, you'd best not wear your armor beyond the Wall. That cold steel will turn you into ice in the Land of Always Winter. You should change into warm furs instead."

Lynd smiled and replied, "Don't worry. With the blessings of the Seven, the cold will not touch me."

With that, he stepped out into the snow.

Leading Ebon from the stable, Lynd mounted his horse and rode north toward Castle Black. Glory, who had been playing nearby, noticed his departure and trotted up to join him.

Unlike the sweltering heat of the South, Glory seemed to thrive in the North. The icy winds and thick snowfall did not affect it at all. it ran through the snow with ease, exuding a sense of exhilaration that Lynd could feel through their mental bond. The sheer joy transmitted to him lifted his own spirits.

For half a day, he pressed on through the thick snow, making his way through a dense forest. Then, as he emerged from the trees, the wind and snow suddenly lessened before vanishing entirely.

With the storm no longer obstructing his vision, Lynd looked ahead—and there it was.

The Wall.

A towering, frozen monolith, hundreds of meters high, stretching endlessly to the horizon on either side. The sheer size of it dwarfed everything around it. It stood like an immovable sentinel, shielding the land beneath it from the northern winds and snowfall.

In the distance, beneath the icy barrier, a castle of wood and stone rested against the base of the Wall. Its dark, weathered form stood in stark contrast to the shimmering silver-blue ice, resembling a black scar upon its surface.

Lynd, however, paid little attention to the sight itself. His focus was entirely on the magic radiating from the Wall—the way it pulsed across the massive structure, the way it interacted with the dragon runes inside him and on the greatsword of the Banished Knight.