Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"What are your plans next?" With the tavern mostly empty, Old Baine finally had a moment to rest. He seated himself across from Lynd, his expression tinged with concern.

Lynd pondered briefly before asking, "Old man, do you still have connections with the guard unit in Red Lake?"

"You're thinking of becoming a guard in Red Lake?" Old Baine frowned. His gaze drifted to the stumps of his hands and legs as he replied solemnly, "Guard duty is no easy job."

Once a guard himself—indeed, the captain of the Red Lake City Guard—Old Baine had a storied history.

He had accompanied the head of House Crane to Highgarden, meeting many of The Reach's nobles in the process. But misfortune had struck during a mission to clear bandits from the Red Lake Forest. Ambushed and gravely injured, Baine would have perished had it not been for Lynd's father, who had saved his life. That debt was the reason for the old man's fondness for Lynd.

Although he had retired long ago, Old Baine still had ties in Red Lake City. Introducing someone to the guard unit wasn't beyond his reach.

After a moment lost in thought, Baine asked, "Why do you want to join the guards? Weren't you set on becoming an outstanding hunter like your father?"

"I want to see the world," Lynd replied, masking his true intentions with a plausible excuse. "I don't want to die having only known White Holdfast and the Red Lake Forest. I want to see Highgarden, King's Landing, even the Wall in the North. If I stay here, I might never get the chance—not until the Stranger comes for me."

Baine studied him for a long moment before speaking. "This injury of yours—it's changed you," he said. "You're not the same as you were before."

Lynd's heart skipped a beat, but his face betrayed nothing.

"Death changes a person completely," Baine went on, sighing heavily. "I know that better than anyone." He paused before leaning forward, his tone turning serious. "Do you really think becoming a guard in Red Lake will help you see all those places?"

"At the very least, it gives me better odds than I have now," Lynd answered.

He could, of course, leave White Holdfast on his own and wander across Westeros. But doing so would strip him of his status as a civilian, reducing him to a nameless wanderer. The life of a vagabond was rife with hardship. At best, he might waste away in some forgotten corner of a city; at worst, he could end up as a bandit or enslaved across the Narrow Sea. Some unlucky souls were even sent to the mines, their lives forfeit to brutal labor.

Climbing the social ladder was hard enough for a commoner. As a wanderer, the odds were nearly impossible. For Lynd, joining the guard in Red Lake was a calculated step—a way to edge closer to the nobles and find opportunities that could elevate him in this world.

Old Baine regarded him intently for what felt like an eternity before speaking. "The current captain of the Red Lake City Guard is Will the Smiler. He used to serve under me, and we got along well. I don't think it'll be an issue to recommend you to him."

A spark of joy lit up Lynd's heart, but he maintained a calm, measured expression.

Baine nodded in approval, appreciating the restraint. In the past, Lynd had always worn his emotions plainly for all to see, his mood easy to read. Now, he seemed like a man transformed, keeping his feelings buried deep. Once again, Baine marveled at how profoundly a brush with death could change a person.

Old Baine continued, "Although I can recommend you, and Will may give you a chance based on my word, whether or not you become a guard in Red Lake will depend entirely on your own abilities."

"What do you mean by abilities?" Lynd asked, frowning slightly.

"Follow me," Old Baine replied, rising from his seat. He gestured for Lynd to do the same, then instructed the tavern's waiter briefly before heading toward the courtyard behind the building.

Lynd stood, leaning on his crutch, and followed close behind.

Once they reached the backyard, Old Baine motioned for Lynd to wait while he disappeared into his house. After a few moments of rummaging under his bed, he emerged holding a broadsword and a round shield reinforced with Steelskins.

"Take these and give them a try," Old Baine said, approaching Lynd and handing over the weapons.

Lynd set his crutch aside and accepted the sword and shield. He tested their weight with a few casual swings, but as he tried to wield the broadsword using techniques he remembered from his training, a wave of discomfort overtook him. What should have been smooth and fluid felt awkward and clumsy, his movements betraying an obvious lack of practice.

Old Baine observed Lynd's attempts without surprise. To him, this was what he expected from someone who hadn't handled a broadsword in a long time.

Lynd, however, was visibly dissatisfied with his performance. After only a couple of swings, he lowered the weapons and turned to Old Baine. "Can I try a different sword?" he asked.

Old Baine hesitated for a moment, assuming the issue was with the weapon's fit. Without commenting, he returned inside and retrieved a knight's sword.

This knight's sword was well-maintained, its blade free of rust. Though the emblem on its hilt had been polished off, it was clear this sword was a relic of Old Baine's war days. Judging by its craftsmanship, it likely belonged to a knight's squire or a lesser knight, not someone of great renown.

Lynd didn't discard the broadsword. Instead, he placed the shield aside and took the knight's sword in his other hand, adopting a dual-wielding stance.

Old Baine froze, staring at Lynd in disbelief. While it was true that some knights in Westeros were known for dual-wielding weapons, they were legendary figures capable of extraordinary feats in battle. For ordinary fighters, attempting to dual-wield was more likely to end in disaster than victory.

Just as Old Baine opened his mouth to correct Lynd's apparent misconception, something unexpected happened.

Lynd leaned slightly forward, his body low and poised. Using his crutch for momentum, he moved with remarkable speed and agility—his apparent limp vanishing as his movements became fluid and precise. As he advanced, the two blades in his hands worked in perfect harmony, slashing and thrusting in a mesmerizing display of skill.

Old Baine's breath caught. His time as captain of the Red Lake City Guard had honed his own swordsmanship to a high level, and he'd witnessed countless knightly duels and tournaments. Even so, Lynd's performance left him momentarily speechless.

The way Lynd wielded the weapons—a broadsword and knight's sword of differing lengths—seemed more fitting for a seasoned duelist than a man who had been reliant on a crutch just moments ago. His strikes and thrusts were precise, targeting the weak points in armor with an almost uncanny accuracy. Old Baine could tell: defending against such an attack, even fully armed, would be nearly impossible.

"Is this swordsmanship something specifically meant for knights?" Old Baine wondered aloud, the thought striking him as he observed Lynd.

At that moment, Lynd paused. It wasn't that he had exhausted his knowledge of swordsmanship, but his body had reached its limit. Any further exertion risked aggravating his old injuries.

"Old Baine... do you think... my current... abilities... are enough... to qualify me... as a guard?" Lynd asked, his voice strained as he leaned heavily on the two swords, gasping for breath.

"You are qualified," Old Baine replied, calming his chaotic thoughts as he gave Lynd his approval. His voice carried certainty, though his eyes held a glint of curiosity. "But tell me—when did you learn this swordsmanship? I've never seen anything like it from you before."

Lynd had anticipated this question and prepared an answer during his display of dual-wielding techniques. Now, hearing Old Baine's inquiry, he delivered his response smoothly.

With a reverent expression, Lynd pressed his palms together in a gesture of prayer and said, "When I was injured and unconscious, I met the Warrior, my lord. He was moved by my heroic hunt to avenge my father against the mountain bear. As a blessing, He granted me the combat skills of a great warrior, allowing me to master these techniques as though I had trained for years." His tone turned somber, and he added, "But my body remains weak. For now, I can only use this dual-wielding swordsmanship. The rest of the skills He bestowed are sealed within me, inaccessible until my body fully recovers and grows stronger."

Old Baine was stunned. This explanation was far from anything he had expected. He stared at Lynd, his thoughts racing.

The Faith of the Seven was the dominant religion in The Reach and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole, but Baine was not a devout believer. Over the years, he had seen how the corrupt clergy exploited the Faith for personal gain, how nobles staged miracles to win favor, and how merchants sold worthless trinkets as relics of the Seven, swindling the faithful. To him, the Seven were little more than a convenient tool for those in power. He pretended to follow the Faith but harbored deep skepticism.

Yet here was Lynd, someone Baine had known since boyhood, earnestly claiming to have received the blessing of the Warrior. At first, the idea struck Baine as absurd—a fabrication to justify what he'd just witnessed. But as he looked at the breathless, exhausted Lynd, doubts began to creep into his mind.

Lynd had grown up under Baine's watchful eye, and in fifteen years, he had shown no remarkable skill in swordsmanship. He was an ordinary boy, a common hunter from White Holdfast. The techniques Lynd had just demonstrated, however, were extraordinary—beyond what even seasoned knights achieved after years of training. A transformation this profound in such a short time defied explanation.

Baine considered the alternatives. If Lynd had not spent years secretly mastering these techniques—and it was clear he had not—then the only plausible explanation was the one Lynd offered. The Warrior's blessing.

And as absurd as it seemed, the reasoning fit. Legends and stories often spoke of divine intervention for acts of bravery and resolve. Lynd's story—a boy avenging his father by single-handedly hunting a mountain bear as large as a hill—was already the stuff of song. In fact, a passing bard had heard of Lynd's feat and planned to immortalize it in verse.

"Is what you say true?" Old Baine asked, his tone grave as he scrutinized Lynd's face.

"I swear to the Seven Gods that everything I've said is true," Lynd replied, placing his hand over his chest and mimicking the solemnity of a devout believer.

To Lynd, the oath was harmless. He believed the Seven Gods didn't exist—and even if they did, his words weren't a lie. His cheat truly was a blessing for a warrior, albeit not from divine origin.

"Who else have you told about this?" Old Baine pressed.

"Apart from you, I haven't told anyone," Lynd said, holding Old Baine's gaze with a sincerity that would melt suspicion. "I feel this matter is almost too incredible. If others knew, it might lead to trouble, so I never intended to share it. But you're different, Old Baine. You're the person I trust most in the world. I know I can tell you without worry."

Old Baine's stern expression softened. A faint smile emerged from beneath his thick beard, a sign of relief. He nodded slightly before asking, "Is your plan to see the world also tied to this?"

"In part, yes," Lynd admitted.

"I see." Old Baine nodded thoughtfully. "Once your injuries heal, I'll go to Red Lake and make the recommendation. But before that, you'll need to forge two proper weapons."

Lynd glanced down at the knight's sword and broadsword he held. "Aren't these swords good enough?" he asked, puzzled.

"You mustn't keep the knight's sword," Old Baine said, shaking his head. "That blade could bring you trouble. As for the broadsword—it's fine if you just want to be an ordinary guard. But if you aim for something greater, you'll need weapons tailored to you. The right equipment will improve your chances of surviving on the battlefield and earning military merit."

Lynd considered this and nodded. Despite handling the two swords well just now, he had felt a subtle discomfort. The weapons weren't quite a perfect fit. If he could forge a pair of swords designed specifically for him, his combat effectiveness would undoubtedly increase.

After a moment of thought, he asked, "Can the smith in the village forge them?"

Old Baine snorted dismissively. "He's good for sickles and horseshoes, not proper swords." Noticing Lynd's hesitation, he added reassuringly, "Don't worry. I still have your five golden dragons saved. That's enough to commission two decent swords."