Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"By the Seven Gods, what happened here?" A soldier stared at the scene before him, unable to mask the horror in his voice.

No one around him responded. Instead, they exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting toward the innocent-looking tree branches, as if fearing they might suddenly transform into deadly weapons.

"Go up and check it out," Roman ordered, pointing to one of the soldiers.

The chosen soldier hesitated but reluctantly stepped forward, cautiously approaching the gruesome scene. After a quick examination of the corpse, he turned back and shouted, "It's a trap, my lord! He must have been killed by some sort of trap."

"Some sort of trap?" Roman echoed, his curiosity piqued. Sensing no immediate danger, he advanced toward the corpse, followed by his men. Examining the scene, he frowned. "What kind of trap has such power that it can pierce a man and leave him hanging in a tree?"

The question hung in the air unanswered. The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances. Like Roman, they were familiar with simple hunting traps meant for rabbits or small game. This was unlike anything they had ever encountered.

Realizing that pressing for answers would yield nothing, Roman sighed and adjusted his posture. He could sense that the traps were likely set against bandits, implying that whoever had placed them might be an ally. Yet, his innate caution refused to let him relax. "Everyone, stay on guard and keep moving," he commanded. Then, turning to his personal guard, he snapped, "What are you waiting for? Get all the shields out and form up around me."

The soldiers hurried to obey, quickly raising their shields and forming a protective circle around Roman. Meanwhile, the remaining troops, assigned to Coldmoat Castle, secured the outer perimeter and scouted ahead.

As the group pressed deeper into the forest, they encountered more corpses. Some had fallen victim to similar traps, while others bore clean, precise wounds that spoke of skillful weapon attacks. The seasoned veterans among them noted grimly that these bandits had been killed in a single blow, with no sign of resistance—each death swift and untraceable.

The eerie realization sent a shiver through the ranks. Whispers of invisible foes and childhood tales of vengeful spirits stirred in their minds. Tension gripped their hands, making their weapons tremble slightly.

Under the oppressive atmosphere, their pace quickened. The forest was not vast, and soon they glimpsed the open expanse through the thinning trees. Relief surged as they neared the forest's edge.

But just as the soldier leading the group stepped forward eagerly, a short sword whistled out of nowhere, embedding itself firmly into the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Enemy attack! Enemy attack!" The startled soldier froze, then retreated hurriedly into the formation, clutching his spear with trembling hands. "Someone just attacked me!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "Someone's out there!"

"Silence! I saw it!" Roman barked, his sharp tone cutting through the rising panic. The soldier's outburst had already caused unrest among the ranks. "Stay on guard!" he commanded. "Point your spears outward! Raise your shields! Don't panic. We outnumber them, and our weapons are better!"

Roman's stern voice steadied the group, restoring order. Yet, no further attack came. Instead, a figure emerged from the dense forest ahead—a warrior clad in leather armor, carrying a double-edged sword. His movements were calm and deliberate as he strolled toward the short sword embedded in the tree. Without haste, he pulled it free and slid it into the sheath at his waist.

Turning to face the tense hundred-man team, the warrior's eyes fell on the spider-emblazoned flag borne by the standard-bearer. His gaze shifted to Roman, whose attire marked him as the leader. "Lord Webber," the warrior called out, his voice carrying easily across the space. "You're late. I've already dealt with these bandits. I haven't had time to sort through the spoils yet. If you'd like, you can help me with that. Of course, I wouldn't ask you to work for free—I'll give you half."

Roman finally got a good look at the man addressing him and, in that instant, recognized him.

"Bear Hunter... you're Lynd, the Bear Hunter of White Holdfast!" Roman exclaimed, his voice betraying his surprise as he looked at the young man before him.

Lynd gave a slight bow, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. "It is an honor. You have heard of me."

Roman, now certain of Lynd's identity, felt a flood of thoughts rush through his mind. He recalled what he'd learned about Lynd during the inquiries made by House Webber. The peculiar figure with two swords who had stood out in the Great Hall had piqued their interest. After the meeting, Roman had been tasked with gathering information on this individual.

It turned out the young man was the very bear hunter whose feats had been the subject of tavern ballads. At first, House Webber had dismissed the tales as exaggerated songs spun by bards. A fifteen-year-old boy single-handedly hunting a mountain bear to avenge his father? To them, it was a fanciful tale, likely embellished to entertain drunkards. They assumed Lynd must have been aided by experienced hunters from White Holdfast and that they, not Lynd, had dealt the killing blow to the beast.

Roman himself had doubted the story. He had witnessed the destructive power of a crazed mountain bear and knew how easily such a beast could decimate even a well-armed hunting party. The idea of a lone boy standing against such a creature seemed absurd.

But now... Roman's certainty wavered. The brutal traps, the precision of the kills, and the calm, assured demeanor of the man before him—these all painted a different picture. Perhaps the bard's tale wasn't so far-fetched after all. If Lynd could single-handedly take down an entire bandit force in this manner, was it so impossible that he had slain a mountain bear?

Roman also began to understand why Joel Flowers had allowed Lynd to guard this region alone. Joel must have known about Lynd's capabilities, trusting his prowess implicitly.

Signaling for his men to lower their weapons, Roman stepped forward and asked eagerly, "Earlier, two bandit leaders wearing plate armor fled into this forest with their men. Where are they now?"

"They've already been claimed by the Stranger," Lynd replied calmly. With a deliberate motion, he sheathed his sword and gestured beyond the trees. "Their bodies are outside. You can collect them for me."

Roman had already suspected this, given the state of the corpses they'd passed earlier, but hearing it from Lynd reassured him. The bandit leaders were indeed no longer a threat. He quickly ordered his men to begin gathering the bodies and spoils of war, knowing they would count toward the army's tally of military merit.

Under normal circumstances, Roman might have been tempted to claim the credit for himself, but not this time. The sheer brutality of the traps and the corpses they'd found weighed heavily on him. Roman couldn't shake the feeling that if he crossed Lynd, he and his men would meet the same fate as the bandits, left to rot in the shadows of the forest.

Lynd, however, seemed oblivious to Roman's internal conflict. He had his own concerns. Old Baine had often warned him about men like Roman Webber—opportunists who might try to seize credit for his accomplishments. Lynd had considered the possibility that Roman might attempt such a move here.

If it came to that, he could fight back. He was confident he could kill Roman and use the terrain to defeat the Webber soldiers. But doing so would mean exile. He would have to flee the Reach—and likely all of Westeros—for the distant shores of Essos, a fate he had no desire to embrace.

Still, Lynd reminded himself that military glory wasn't his priority. What mattered was Joel's recognition. As long as Joel acknowledged the role Lynd had played in eliminating the bandits, the ultimate goal would be achieved.

After disarming the remaining traps in the forest, Lynd felt a wave of relief wash over him. With Roman Webber now in charge of the area alongside his team of a hundred soldiers, Lynd's responsibilities had shifted to a more supportive role. The traps, deadly as they were, no longer served a purpose, and their removal ensured the safety of Roman's men while they worked.

The soldiers efficiently cleared the forest, retrieving the bodies and arranging them outside in neat rows. As the gruesome tally grew, the soldiers—and even Roman himself—could not help but feel a profound sense of awe. The dozens of lifeless bodies testified to Lynd's skill and determination. Their gazes drifted toward him, watching as he calmly sat nearby, meticulously polishing his weapon, his demeanor unshaken despite the carnage he had caused.

Stories of knights defeating hundreds of enemies had circulated for centuries in Westeros, from bards' songs to fireside tales. Legends of warriors like Arthur Dayne, who supposedly cut through the Kingswood Brotherhood like a storm, were well known. Yet, those with real battlefield experience understood the truth: such feats were rarely the work of a lone knight. These legends often overlooked the contributions of squires and soldiers, attributing the glory entirely to the knight.

But here, Lynd had achieved something undeniably extraordinary. Even if traps had aided his efforts, the feat of eliminating so many bandits alone was remarkable. More impressive still was his composure—his calm presence suggested the battle had been almost effortless.

Roman found himself struck by an unusual intuition: the young commoner before him, born to a simple hunter, would one day rise to prominence. This gut feeling pushed Roman to make a bold decision—to befriend Lynd now and stake an early claim in his future.

Having resolved this, Roman approached Lynd, his eyes falling on the sword in Lynd's hands. Pointing to the weapon, he said with genuine interest, "This is the first time I've seen a sword of this design. May I take a look?"

Lynd didn't hesitate, handing over the polished blade. Roman examined it closely, running his fingers along the broad edge and balanced hilt. "This blade is wider than a typical bastard sword," he observed. "It's excellent for slashing and can even parry effectively. Its only drawback is its length—it's better suited for close combat."

Lynd raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Roman's quick analysis showed not only familiarity with weaponry but also a practiced eye, likely honed through firsthand experience. "Did you design this sword yourself, Lord Lynd?" Roman asked, handing it back with a measured respect, addressing Lynd as if he were a noble.

"Yes, I designed it specifically for my fighting style," Lynd admitted. He paused briefly, then added, "But I must correct you—Lord Roman, I am no noble. I'm just a commoner and shouldn't be addressed as a lord."

Roman smiled warmly, waving off Lynd's protest. "No, no! With the skill and strength you've shown today, Lord Lynd, it's only a matter of time before you earn a title. I'm simply getting used to it early."

The shift in Roman's demeanor, from nobleman to affable merchant, did not go unnoticed by Lynd. Roman's intentions were plain—he wanted to forge a connection. While Lynd wasn't sure why someone of Roman's status would seek his friendship, he could tell the gesture was genuine.

As Lynd pondered this, he weighed the advantages of aligning with Roman and House Webber. Despite their involvement in dishonorable dealings with the Red Lake Forest bandits, the Webbers had skillfully concealed their actions. House Rowan, their overlord, had refrained from directly reprimanding them, allowing them to atone by participating in this anti-bandit campaign. The Webbers' position remained secure.

Although House Webber was considered a second-tier noble family in the Reach, they had strong ties to more powerful houses across Westeros. Their connections to House Lannister of the Westerlands, for instance, were well known. Tywin Lannister, the current Warden of the West, was partially of Webber blood through his grandmother. Such alliances ensured the Webbers' influence extended far beyond their modest fiefdom.

Recognizing the value of such an ally, Lynd decided it would be wise to accept Roman's overtures. Whether Roman's friendliness stemmed from admiration or calculation didn't matter. Building a connection with House Webber could only benefit him in the long run.