Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"Care for a drink, my lord?" Varys asked Lynd, holding up a fine bottle of wine.

A small table was set up in the basement, adorned with wine and food. Lynd shook his head and replied, "Lord Varys, you should know that I don't drink."

Varys, in his characteristic feminine tone, said, "Ah, yes, I forgot! A commendable habit, truly. Many conspiracies and deaths have been accompanied by wine."

"Lord Varys, you didn't summon me here just to lecture me on the perils of drinking, did you?" Lynd wasn't accustomed to Varys' way of speaking and cut straight to the point. "Just tell me what you really want."

Varys smiled faintly. "Some of my little birds often whisper interesting things to me. I heard you're seeking to forge a full suit of Valyrian steel armor and a pair of knight's swords. Is that true?"

"It is," Lynd confirmed. "The pair of swords I'm using now are no longer suitable." He patted the broad-bladed half-sword at his waist before asking with suspicion, "Do you have news of Valyrian steel to share with me?"

"Yes," Varys replied, his answer surprising Lynd.

Lynd blinked, incredulous. "You're saying you know where I can acquire enough Valyrian steel to forge a full suit of body armor and two greatswords?"

Varys' smile widened. "Don't worry. From what I know, there's more than enough Valyrian steel to meet your needs—armor and swords both."

Lynd fell silent for a moment, his expression cautious. "What do you want in return?"

Varys leaned in slightly and whispered, "It's very simple. When I need your help, my lord, you'll lend me a hand."

Lynd did not immediately respond. The request sounded simple enough, but its vagueness set off warning bells in his mind. If he agreed too hastily, he might unknowingly put himself in an unfavorable position.

After some thought, Lynd replied with a serious expression, "Your request is too vague. I need more specific conditions."

Rather than appearing displeased, Varys nodded in satisfaction, as though Lynd's caution had only impressed him. To Varys, it was a sign that Lynd valued his word, making it far less likely he would break a promise.

"Rest assured, my lord," Varys said smoothly, "the help I require may be minimal—or may never even arise." He paused, considering the vagueness of his own words. "How about this: assistance that does not harm your interests or put you in danger?"

Lynd remained silent, weighing Varys' words carefully. After a brief pause, he asked, "Why does Lord Varys wish to help me in the first place?"

"I've already told you, my lord—you are a very special person," Varys said, his gaze fixed on Lynd. "I have met countless strange and extraordinary individuals across Essos, yet compared to you, they all seem... ordinary."

Lynd frowned slightly. "Am I really as special as you claim?"

"More than you realize," Varys replied calmly. "No one else in the Seven Kingdoms has risen from an ordinary background to become a Knight in just six months. No one else has achieved what you did during the group competition. And certainly, no one has ever dared to strike the King in full view of the court. I wasn't there to witness the fight, but I imagine it was quite a spectacle."

Varys gestured to the table, where the food lay untouched. "Do you want some? It's very good."

"Thanks. I'm a bit hungry." Lynd accepted the food without hesitation, eating heartily.

Varys raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised that Lynd showed no concern over whether the food might be poisoned. But the surprise passed quickly, and he returned to his usual composed demeanor.

"Lord Lynd, I have investigated your past," Varys said, pausing as if to gauge Lynd's reaction. Sensing the need for clarification, he added, "Of course, I didn't do it with ill intent. It's merely a formality. After all, if His Grace the King wishes to knight you, our Hand of the King must be assured of your background."

Lynd chewed his food slowly, his tone calm but pointed as he replied, "It seems, then, that my background has passed Lord Arryn's inspection."

Varys smiled knowingly. "No. I merely made the Lord believe there was nothing wrong with your background."

Lynd froze mid-motion, turning sharply to Varys. "What do you mean by that, Lord Varys?"

Varys' expression remained composed, though his eyes glimmered with interest. "I've always had a certain hobby—collecting intelligence on notable figures across the Seven Kingdoms. Over the past year, that hobby has turned into my work. The Hand of the King is uneasy about the remnants of House Targaryen, fearing they might still stir trouble in disguise. As such, anyone with even a shred of fame has been investigated and recorded. And you, Lord Bear Hunter, a man whose legend spreads across The Reach, were naturally included."

Lynd's brows lifted, his curiosity piqued. "And what did you find?"

"Interesting things," Varys replied, his gaze sharpening as he regarded Lynd. "Before your famed bear hunt, you were an ordinary hunter. But after being injured and knocked unconscious by the dying creature, you seemed... changed. Not only did you suddenly possess extraordinary swordsmanship, but even your manner of speech and behavior became markedly different."

Lynd looked at Varys with faint surprise. He wasn't shocked that some suspicions about him had been uncovered. He'd made attempts to cover his tracks, but the changes in him were far too conspicuous to escape the scrutiny of someone like Varys.

Still, he felt no fear. When a man's reputation grows large enough, even glaring doubts about him become embellishments to his legend. The more people whisper about a figure's mystery, the grander the tale becomes, until truth and myth blur into one. Eventually, those doubts dissolve, swallowed up by the stories surrounding them.

What did surprise him, however, was how early Varys had taken an interest in him and how thoroughly the Spider had unraveled those very doubts.

Varys smiled faintly. "Although your father's friend did an admirable job of providing cover for you, it was... too simple. Enough to deceive the Knights and Lords of The Reach, but not enough to escape someone like me."

Lynd set down the food in his hands, his interest deepening. "And what do you think caused these changes, Lord Varys?"

Varys poured himself a glass of wine, sipping thoughtfully before speaking. "At first, I wondered if you had been... replaced. But as my little birds uncovered more, that theory fell apart. If someone had taken your place, your father's trusted friend would surely have noticed."

Lynd tilted his head. "Couldn't it have been the Faceless Men? I hear they can perfectly imitate anyone."

"I considered that, too," Varys admitted, "but after meeting you in person, I discarded the idea entirely."

"So," Lynd said, narrowing his gaze, "when you spoke to me at the banquet, it was to confirm whether I was one of the Faceless Men?"

Varys smiled but gave no direct answer. Instead, he continued, "I reviewed all the information my little birds collected, and I noticed something else—something more unusual. Your changes are not limited to your mannerisms or swordsmanship. Your body itself has transformed. In a matter of months, you've grown taller and far stronger, far beyond what nature would allow. I've seen this kind of transformation once before."

Lynd's expression shifted to confusion and intrigue. "You've seen this happen before? Who are you referring to?"

"Of course," Varys replied smoothly, "many know of this transformation, though few regard it as particularly strange." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The last king of the Targaryen dynasty—the Mad King, Aerys II Targaryen."

Lynd blinked, clearly taken aback. "Him?"

"The Mad King wasn't always mad," Varys said, his tone adopting a distant, almost wistful edge. "When I first met him, he was among the most intelligent and charismatic men I had ever encountered. Even a brilliant mind like Lord Tywin Lannister's was convinced of Aerys' greatness and served him willingly."

For a moment, nostalgia flickered across Varys' face, but he quickly suppressed it, his tone turning grave. "But after the Defiance of Duskendale, everything changed. He was no longer the man he had been. His words, his actions—his very body—became... different."

Varys paused there, his expression guarded, as though recalling something deeply unsettling. Instead of elaborating further, he quietly raised his wine glass and took a measured sip, steadying himself.

"Some say that he was driven mad by Lord Denys during his six months of captivity in Duskendale, but I know it's not that simple," Varys said softly, as though revealing a secret that had weighed on him for years. "I saw the shadow of another person in him—someone constantly whispering into His Grace's mind, pushing him to burn everything with fire."

Lynd considered Varys' words, and an image formed in his mind—a mad king manipulated by a dark force, his actions driven not by his own will, but by something else. In that image, the shadow controlling the Mad King appeared as a Three-Eyed Crow.

Lynd wasn't particularly surprised. In his previous life, forum discussions had dissected the reasons behind the Mad King's descent into madness, and the theory of him being "possessed" by the Three-Eyed Crow had been one of the most popular. Now, through Varys' account, it seemed that the theory wasn't far from the truth.

Lynd compared his situation to the Mad King's. The difference, he realized, lay in control. The Mad King's two conflicting consciousnesses had likely fought for dominance, driving him to madness. Lynd, on the other hand, had fully integrated into this body. Though his cheat had given him the memories and skills of warriors long past, he remained able to distinguish himself from those influences. His mind was intact—he was in control.

"Are you suggesting that something has possessed me, too?" Lynd asked tentatively.

"Of course not," Varys replied, seemingly confident in his conclusion. "If you were like the Mad King, we wouldn't be having this calm conversation. You'd have already drawn your sword and struck me down."

Lynd deliberately placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, his voice light but laced with menace. "Can't I just behead you later?"

Varys met Lynd's gaze unflinchingly, utterly unperturbed.

After a brief pause, Lynd moved his hand away and smirked faintly. "Fine. You're right—I won't harm you." But the truth lingered in the back of his mind. For a fleeting moment, he had considered killing Varys.

The Spider had come dangerously close to his greatest secret. Though Varys had dismissed his suspicions, there was no guarantee he wouldn't revisit the matter in the future. A man like Varys missed nothing. And if Lynd were to kill him now, it wouldn't be long before false evidence linking him to House Targaryen ended up on Lord Arryn's desk.

"Lord Varys, do you believe the Seven Gods exist?" Lynd asked abruptly, his tone shifting as he posed the unexpected question.

Varys blinked, clearly puzzled by the change of subject, but he still answered smoothly, "When I have the time, I occasionally sit in Baelor's Sept."

Lynd smiled faintly, reading between the lines. "In other words, you don't truly believe."

Varys gave a small, enigmatic smile, neither confirming nor denying it.

"I didn't believe either," Lynd continued, his expression turning serious. "But now I do."

Varys raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "And what caused this sudden change of heart?"

"Because I am the best proof of the Seven Gods' existence."

Varys stilled, his calculating gaze fixed on Lynd, though he said nothing.

"You don't believe me?" Lynd asked.

"Should I?" Varys replied dryly, though his tone betrayed a hint of wariness. "Your words remind me of someone, Lord Lynd. Prince Rhaegar. He once declared with great conviction that he was the one born in the land of smoke and salt—the reincarnation of Azor Ahai."

"I know you don't believe me," Lynd said, undeterred by Varys' thinly veiled skepticism. "But I'm telling you the truth."

Varys' composure remained intact, though his curiosity deepened as Lynd continued. "The information you gathered likely says I was gravely injured and fell unconscious after hunting a mountain bear. But that's not the full story. After my father brought me back from the mountain, I died that night."

The smile vanished from Varys' face. His expression turned serious, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Lynd's voice softened, his gaze distant as he recounted the memory. "I remember what happened after I died. I entered a dark world—an endless void where I felt nothing. No time, no senses, just... nothingness. I don't know how long I stayed there. Then, a light appeared in that darkness. It pulled me away and..."

"And then what?" Varys asked, unable to hide his intrigue.

Lynd's voice grew more agitated, as though reliving the moment. "Then I returned to this world—but not on the ground. I was high in the air, far above, looking down at everything."

As he spoke, Lynd crouched and began quickly sketching on the dusty ground with his finger. Varys leaned forward, his eyes widening in shock as he recognized the image taking shape. In moments, Lynd had drawn an accurate topographical map of Westeros and part of Essos.

For the first time, Varys' composure faltered. He stared at the map, his face betraying genuine astonishment.