Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

The second day of the group competition was supposed to be the highlight of the tournament: the jousting competition among the Knights. In the past, this would undoubtedly have been the event everyone anticipated most. However, after witnessing the spectacular group competition the previous day, the jousting now seemed underwhelming in comparison.

Even ordinary folk found it lackluster, and King Robert, usually a fervent supporter of tournaments, did not attend. Of course, his absence might also have been due to the humiliating beating he suffered the day before—his swollen nose serving as a painful reminder.

Despite boasting the largest number of participants in history, with over 800 Knights competing for the championship, the jousting arena lacked its usual energy. The majority of the audience consisted of the Knights' relatives, friends, and companions. This subdued atmosphere affected the participants, many of whom seemed dispirited and careless. Consequently, accidents were frequent, and several renowned Knights suffered inexplicable defeats.

Oddly enough, this lackluster spectacle began to attract a new kind of audience. These spectators weren't drawn by the prospect of thrilling duels but by the chance to watch the once-mighty Knights falter in embarrassing and comical ways.

While the jousting arena grew quiet, the taverns in and around King's Landing buzzed with activity. Those who had wisely withdrawn from the previous day's group competition celebrated their survival, recounting the intense battles in the arena. The discussions, however, shifted focus, centering on the undeniable prowess of Lynd, the Bear Hunter.

Lynd's performance had been extraordinary, far outshining all others. His near-achievement of the legendary feat—slaying 100 opponents single-handedly—captivated the masses. Upon learning about his background, many low-level fighters began idolizing him, akin to how the Knights of the Seven Kingdoms once revered Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.

However, Lynd's meteoric rise to fame was not without its detractors. Jealous rivals and the bereaved kin of those he defeated in the arena were quick to malign his character. They claimed that most of Lynd's victories came from ambushing opponents who were already engaged in other battles. To them, while his strength was undeniable, his tactics were dishonorable.

Lynd's supporters staunchly defended him. They argued that the arena was akin to a battlefield, where survival outweighed notions of honor or chivalry. To them, only the victors earned the right to define what was honorable. The fierce debates escalated into physical altercations, often fueled by alcohol, as many used the arguments as an excuse to brawl.

The Gold Cloaks of King's Landing found themselves overwhelmed by the chaos. From dawn until dusk, they patrolled the city's countless taverns, arresting troublemakers and hauling them off to the dungeons. While they grumbled about the workload, they secretly appreciated the opportunity to collect fines. Though most of the fines were turned over to the Crown, a portion remained with the Gold Cloaks, serving as a welcome supplement to their earnings.

The city's common folk, on the other hand, were delighted by the spectacle. For them, the tavern brawls were far more entertaining than the Knights' duels. Crowds gathered around the taverns, cheering and jeering, turning the chaos into impromptu street theater.

However, not all taverns shared in this raucous atmosphere. The high-end establishments on Silk Street were notably quieter. Though their patrons also discussed Lynd the Bear Hunter, their perspective differed. To them, Lynd's impressive combat skills were unimpressive in a broader sense; they regarded him as nothing more than a glorified mercenary—at best, a lesser version of the Mountain.

What truly captured their interest was the position of House Tyrell, to which Lynd was tied. Rumors from the Red Keep suggested that King Robert, far from holding a grudge against Lynd for the previous day's humiliation, admired him greatly. The King reportedly praised Lynd's courage, commending him for disregarding the royal status to fight valiantly in the arena.

It was said that King Robert intended to reward Lynd further, offering him accolades in addition to the champion's prize money.

Because of this shift in King Robert's attitude, his grudge against House Tyrell for their actions during the War of the Usurper a year ago appeared to have faded. This reconciliation signaled the revival of trade between the Crownlands and The Reach, a development that was the true reason for the gatherings in these upscale taverns. The wealthy merchants weren't merely exchanging gossip—they were preparing for the lucrative opportunities such a change would bring.

In the private box atop Todder's Pumpkin, Littlefinger sat with a satisfied grin. He hadn't returned to Gulltown; instead, he had spent the day sealing deal after deal with prominent merchants from The Reach. The contracts, neatly stacked in a small box beside him, were proof of his success. Judging by their sheer volume, this was far from the first agreement he'd concluded that day.

Unlike those still speculating about the resumption of trade in the South, Littlefinger had anticipated this outcome well in advance. To him, King Robert's bitterness toward House Tyrell had eroded long ago during his year of snubbing the Tyrells, and reconciliation was only a matter of timing. Bear Hunter Lynd's rise to fame had simply provided the King with the ideal excuse to mend ties publicly.

Seizing this foresight as an advantage, Littlefinger had already negotiated a dozen major contracts at rock-bottom prices. Once trade with The Reach resumed, these contracts would yield him an immense fortune, likely worth hundreds of thousands of golden dragons. This windfall would bring him closer to achieving his ambition of climbing into the power center of the Seven Kingdoms.

As Littlefinger reviewed the next merchants on his list, a subordinate entered the room, bowing slightly. "My lord, the item has been delivered," the man reported. "He was very pleased with your gifts, especially the Valyrian antiques."

Littlefinger's fingers lightly brushed the dragonbone dagger resting at his waist. "Just pleased with the antiques?" he asked coolly. "And the dragon egg?"

The subordinate hesitated before replying, "He said the dragon egg was fake. But he acknowledged it was a fine work of art—very impressive."

"Fake?" Littlefinger murmured, momentarily taken aback. Yet he quickly dismissed the thought. Valyrian artifacts, particularly those tied to dragons, were rife with counterfeits. It was hardly surprising if his acquisition turned out to be one of them. What mattered was that the gift had served its intended purpose.

The subordinate continued, "He also mentioned that all you need now is one more notable success in Gulltown. He believes that with it, he can persuade Lord Jon Arryn to transfer you to King's Landing."

A confident smile spread across Littlefinger's face. Securing tangible results in Gulltown was a manageable task for someone of his skills. The real challenge had always been ensuring that those results reached Jon Arryn's ears.

He had deliberately avoided involving Lysa Tully in this effort, knowing her intervention might arouse suspicion in the ever-cautious Jon Arryn. Lysa was a critical piece in his long-term strategy, a pawn too valuable to risk prematurely.

Now that he had found a reliable intermediary to sing his praises, the rest would follow naturally. In fact, Littlefinger mused, his plans might come to fruition even sooner than expected. By the time next year rolled around, he might already be firmly established in King's Landing.

His thoughts filled with visions of the bright future ahead, Littlefinger couldn't suppress a triumphant grin. Reaching for the bottle of Arbor wine on the table, he poured himself a glass to toast his forthcoming success.

But just as he raised the glass to his lips, the lively chatter from the tavern hall below abruptly ceased. A moment of heavy silence followed, broken only by the sound of a melodic and majestic chant rising through the air.

Littlefinger had never heard this stirring tune before. Intrigued, he turned to his subordinate. "What's the name of this song?"

The man responded promptly, "It's called The Song of the Bear Hunter. It's been the most popular tune in the taverns these past two days. Practically every bard is singing it, but the ones from The Reach perform it best."

Littlefinger raised an eyebrow. "The Song of the Bear Hunter? Does it refer to Lynd, the Bear Hunter?"

"Yes," the subordinate confirmed with a nod. "The song recounts how Lynd avenged his father's death by venturing alone into the forest to hunt a mountain bear. Afterward, Joel of House Crane noticed his bravery and recruited him for a campaign against bandits near Red Lake in The Reach. That's the old version of the song, though. Now, the bards have composed a new ballad based on his feats in the fighting ring yesterday. I'd wager it will remain popular in King's Landing for a long time."

"Lynd the Bear Hunter..." Littlefinger repeated, his expression thoughtful as he rolled the name over in his mind. The melody from below floated up, its majestic tones stirring something faintly familiar within him. Over the past two days, Lynd's name had been everywhere. Littlefinger had dismissed him as a mere formidable warrior, but hearing the ballad now, a spark of curiosity was kindled. There was something about Lynd's story that felt faintly parallel to his own.

Meanwhile, in the Tyrell camp, Lynd had received an unexpected honor: a personal invitation to a banquet at the Red Keep. While House Tyrell had also been invited as a group, Lynd's separate, individual invitation was a clear sign of King Robert's immense admiration for him—on par with the Tyrells themselves.

"No, no, your movements are far too stiff! You look like a scarecrow trying to walk. Here, do it like this," the etiquette teacher instructed.

To ensure Lynd wouldn't embarrass himself at the banquet, the Lord of House Tyrell had sent a court etiquette tutor to teach him the basics. The tutor, assuming that someone of Lynd's humble background would struggle, had initially planned a simple lesson. However, to his surprise, Lynd proved to be a quick learner. Apart from needing some refinement in his speech, his grasp of etiquette soon rivaled that of many nobles.

In a corner of the tent, Garlan and Vortimer, who had come to mock Lynd's inevitable struggle, found themselves surprised instead. Yet as they reflected on Lynd's astonishing past achievements, they realized that his rapid progress in courtly manners shouldn't have shocked them.

"Well done! Your etiquette is now passable," the tutor said, clearly impressed after Lynd demonstrated a flawless bow. "Next, I'll teach you the art of conversation with nobles."

Before the tutor could proceed, Vortimer interjected. "Forget it. None of the lords at the Red Keep will bother with noble courtesies when talking to him." Turning to Lynd, he said, "You don't need flowery speech. The sword in your hand speaks for you—that's all that matters."

Lynd nodded in agreement, politely declining the etiquette tutor's further lessons. Afterward, a group of tailors entered to take his measurements. While they couldn't craft an entirely new nobleman's outfit on such short notice, they promised to adjust an existing one to fit Lynd's frame.

When the tailors left, Vortimer dismissed the remaining attendants, leaving only himself, Garlan, and Lynd inside the tent. His expression turned serious as he addressed Lynd. "I heard some unsettling rumors in camp today—that you've been selling spots in the cavalry patrols. Is that true?"

Garlan, equally grave, turned to Lynd, waiting for his response.

Without hesitation, Lynd nodded. "Yes, it's true."

Garlan's concern deepened. Before Vortimer could speak, he asked, "Why would you do that? You're not short on money, and there's no need to—"

"No," Lynd interrupted calmly. "I am short on money."

Garlan blinked in disbelief. "Short on money? How can that be? I have your bonus here, ready to be claimed—twenty thousand golden dragons. It's the full amount, converted into Tyrell Merchant Guild gold notes, without a single copper deducted."

Lynd explained, "I'm planning to forge a new suit of armor and weapons. The money I have now isn't enough."

Garlan stared at him in shock. "What? Twenty thousand golden dragons aren't enough for armor and weapons? Are you planning to craft them out of solid gold?"

Even Vortimer turned to Lynd, his expression skeptical.

Lynd's tone remained steady. "It's not entirely wrong to say gold will be used, but it's not gold itself. I plan to forge my armor and weapons from Valyrian steel. The cost of such materials—and their craftsmanship—far exceeds gold. Twenty thousand golden dragons truly isn't enough."