Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"I heard about what happened yesterday. You did well; you didn't disgrace House Tyrell." Garlan tilted his head slightly, allowing his servant to straighten his clothes as he spoke to Lynd, who stood nearby. "Bitterbridge lies midway along the Roseroad, guarding the most important bridge in the region—a critical part of the Reach. Successive Lords of Highgarden have always placed great importance on the Lord of Bitterbridge." Garlan turned to Lynd with a solemn expression. "I need you to visit Lord Caswell later and offer a sincere apology for your actions yesterday. Do you understand, Bear Hunter?"

"As you command, Lord Garlan," Lynd replied without a trace of displeasure, maintaining a calm demeanor as if the matter was of no consequence to him.

"Well, you may go now." Garlan nodded, then added as though remembering something, "And don't forget to change your clothes before you go."

Lynd inclined his head and left Garlan's chambers. However, instead of heading straight to his room to change and then proceeding to Bitterbridge Castle, he followed his usual routine. He went to the stables, fetched Vortimer's warhorse, brushed its coat, secured the bridle and saddle, and then went to Vortimer's room to help organize his armor.

"The straps on your gauntlets need replacing. Once we pitch camp tonight, take them to the saddler and get a new pair," Vortimer remarked as he tightened the worn straps on his gauntlets.

"Yes, my lord," Lynd replied, fastening the straps on Vortimer's back so the plate mail fit snugly.

"Alright, leave the rest to the others. For now, your priority is to go to the castle and apologize." Vortimer adjusted his stance and spoke seriously. "You shouldn't have attacked Lorent Caswell yesterday. He will certainly inherit Bitterbridge one day, and you're only a knight's squire. You're fortunate to belong to House Tyrell. Otherwise, given old Lord Caswell's temperament and how much he values his only heir, he'd have already sent his army to hunt you down."

Lynd did not respond, remaining silent as he placed the armor-cleaning tools neatly on the table. After bowing, he left the room.

Once Lynd had gone, the servant attending Vortimer broke the silence. "After all, this boy comes from a hunter's background and doesn't grasp the weight of such matters. Fortunately, Lord Garlan stepped in; otherwise—"

The servant abruptly stopped as Vortimer turned to him with a cold, sharp look. "He is my squire and may become a knight in the future," Vortimer said icily. "You will address him as Lord Lynd, not 'this boy.'"

"Yes, Lord Vortimer," the servant replied quickly, bowing his head in fear.

While Vortimer rebuked his servant, Lynd returned to his quarters. He changed into the formal attire prepared for him by the Tyrells and set off directly for Bitterbridge Castle.

The castle, perched on the riverbank, connected its walls to the bridgehead, seamlessly integrating with the stone arch bridge that spanned the river.

The night before, Maester Hawley had shared the history of Westeros, including a detailed account of Bitterbridge's past and the origin of its name. Over 200 years had passed since the infamous massacre, but its shadow lingered over the area. Local tales spoke of ghostly screams echoing through the night, and some claimed to see apparitions reenacting the slaughter endlessly.

These haunting legends gave Bitterbridge Castle a cold and foreboding air. Out of fear, locals avoided building homes near the castle, opting instead for settlements farther away. This left a vast, open area surrounding the stronghold, free of obstructions and granting an unobstructed view from the castle walls.

To Lynd, these ghost stories seemed more like a deliberate tactic by successive Lords of Bitterbridge to maintain the surrounding area as an open defensive perimeter, reducing the risk of a surprise attack.

A stronghold of such strategic importance was not only valued by House Caswell, who continually renovated and fortified it, but also by the Lords of Highgarden and House Tyrell, Wardens of the South. Over the years, House Tyrell had supplied the Caswells with resources to further strengthen the castle. As a result, Bitterbridge had become less of a residence and more of a purely military bastion. Its defenses were formidable; capturing it from the outside was nearly impossible, and the only viable strategy was infiltration.

These thoughts occupied Lynd's mind as he entered Bitterbridge Castle and surveyed its surroundings.

Lynd couldn't help but think how absurd his situation was. He had no soldiers, no resources, and no real authority, yet thoughts of capturing castles occupied his mind. This wasn't just due to his own fanciful nature but also the lingering influence of the Peacekeeper's memories.

The constant training with House Tyrell's guards had drained nearly three-quarters of the Peacekeeper's energy bar. Lynd estimated that by the time he reached King's Landing, the bar would be fully charged, allowing him to activate another character from For Honor. The energy bar symbolized more than just accumulated experience points—it also represented the integration of memories and skills.

As these memories fused with his own, Lynd found his thoughts subtly shaped by them, even when he tried to resist. Seeing a castle made him think about its vulnerabilities; encountering someone armed triggered calculations on how to swiftly neutralize them. So far, these influences were manageable, but they left Lynd uneasy. Would activating another For Honor character deepen this effect? Could he maintain control over his own identity?

Lost in these musings, Lynd entered the castle hall. Armond Caswell sat in a high-backed chair at the center, surrounded by retainers addressing matters of governance. Though his white hair and frail demeanor suggested age, Armond's broad shoulders and strong frame hinted at a formidable past as a warrior.

As Lynd approached, a Maester whispered in Armond's ear, likely introducing him. Armond raised a hand, interrupting a vassal mid-report. "I need to rest for a while; we'll continue later," he said, dismissing the others in the hall. With a wave, he signaled Lynd to come closer.

Lynd approached, bowing deeply. Drawing on the etiquette lessons drilled into him by Vortimer, he delivered a formal and heartfelt apology for the previous day's incident, asking for Lord Caswell's forgiveness.

"Lynd the Bear Hunter," Armond said, his gaze heavy with authority. "I've heard the songs about you. A lucky man, blessed with good health—while my own boy cannot even hold a sword." His words carried the weight of a lord accustomed to command. "You are my guest, fed and sheltered under my roof. Yet you dared to harm my son. My first instinct is to have you seized and chopped into mincemeat. However, you're Lord Vortimer's squire, and I have a good relationship with him. Hurting you would strain that relationship. But letting this go unpunished would damage my authority and invite disrespect."

Armond rose, his movements deliberate, and gestured for Lynd to follow. They left the hall, passing through a cloister before arriving at an open space near the castle.

There, tied to horse stakes and kneeling due to the stakes' short height, were two men. One was Rolly, the young man who had sought Lynd's advice on swordsmanship the previous night. The other, older with white hair, was unfamiliar, but Lynd deduced he must be Rolly's father, the castle's weaponsmith.

Armond stopped behind the two bound men and motioned to an executioner nearby. Taking the whip from the man's hands, Armond turned to Lynd and held it out to him.

"I've investigated this incident," Armond said coldly. "If this fool hadn't approached you for swordplay, none of this would've happened. He must be punished, and his father must share the blame for failing to teach his son proper judgment. As for the punishment, Bear Hunter, I believe you are the most suitable executioner."

Lynd gazed steadily at the whip in Armond's hand, his expression unreadable. After a moment's pause, he reached out and took it.

"Go ahead! Hit them until I'm satisfied," Armond declared, stepping aside and motioning for a servant to kneel. He then sat on the servant's back as if on a makeshift chair.

Without a word, Lynd moved behind Rolly and his father, gripping the whip. He swung it with practiced precision, though his movements betrayed initial inexperience. The first few lashes were uneven—some too light, others too heavy—leaving injuries that appeared more serious than they were.

Drawing on the Peacekeeper's embedded memories, Lynd quickly adapted. As his technique improved, the blows became calculated, leaving deep marks and splitting the skin but causing only superficial damage. When Rolly and his father finally slumped unconscious, the whipping continued, ensuring their injuries appeared severe while sparing them further pain.

"Enough!" Armond commanded abruptly. "If you keep going, I'll have to find a new weaponsmith." With that, he rose and left, returning to the council chamber without a backward glance.

Lynd handed the whip back to the executioner, his face impassive. He neither untied Rolly and his father nor showed any concern for their plight. He understood all too well that displaying sympathy could worsen their treatment later.

Though the matter had concluded without escalation, Lynd's mood darkened. The experience stoked his desire for noble status. Without it, no matter his skill in swordsmanship, he remained a tool in the eyes of the nobility—a skilled thug at best.

Upon returning to his quarters, Vortimer's voice called out. "The matter has been resolved?"

Lynd nodded and recounted the events in detail.

"Frustrated?" Vortimer asked, his tone measured.

"A little," Lynd admitted.

Vortimer regarded him thoughtfully before speaking. "You have ambition and ability, Lynd. One day, you'll achieve great things. But until you're firmly established, keep your ambitions hidden. Don't let anyone sense them. I don't want to see another incident like today's. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Lynd replied.

"Good. Let today serve as a lesson." Vortimer's tone grew heavier. "Never forget your current status. If you act out of turn, you risk consequences that could be fatal—not just for yourself but for those around you. Lord Caswell could claim we violated guest rights by harming his heir after enjoying his hospitality. Lord Garlan would be implicated, and House Tyrell would not hesitate to hand you over to appease him."

Lynd said nothing, but his expression grew solemn, absorbing Vortimer's words.

"Your skill and potential mean little if they are overshadowed by your arrogance," Vortimer continued. "For now, you are my squire, no more than another soldier in the eyes of the powerful. Your delusions of importance need correction."

He gestured to a Tyrell guard uniform lying on the table. "From now on, you won't serve me or carry out my orders. You'll join the scouting party as an ordinary soldier. Earn military merit, and then you can return as my squire."

"Yes, my lord," Lynd replied calmly, offering no resistance.

Vortimer studied Lynd, surprised by his composure. He searched for signs of defiance or misunderstanding but found none. Unable to gauge Lynd's thoughts, he dismissed him with a wave, resolving to monitor him closely in the days to come.

News of Lynd's reassignment spread quickly among the Tyrell guards. Some soldiers gloated over his perceived demotion, while others expressed quiet sympathy. Meanwhile, the scouting party welcomed him with open arms. To them, having someone of Lynd's caliber among their ranks was a boon, promising greater safety on their perilous missions.