Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

Willas, who had just completed the silent prayer ritual in the Starry Sept, hurried back to the barracks outside the castle despite his fatigue. Without delay, he summoned all the knights, officers, and Maesters who had accompanied him to a meeting to tally the losses.

When he saw the final figures, his face turned an ugly shade of green. The losses among the ordinary soldiers and cavalry patrols were moderate, with just under 300 men lost. After all, by the time they arrived to support the army, the Ironborn's retreating horns had already sounded, and the most challenging period had passed.

What truly soured his expression was the devastating loss of over 200 of the more than 500 sworn knights and hedge knights from the noble families of The Reach.

Worse still, the majority of these 200 deaths were avoidable. Many had been drunk or in bed with prostitutes when the Ironborn attacked, unable to even grab their weapons before being cut down.

Although the rest had perished in battle, there was no honor in their deaths. Under normal circumstances, they should have been in the barracks, prepared to lead their men to the castle in time to mount a proper defense.

Instead, most of the knight officers and generals had abandoned their posts to frequent taverns and brothels within the castle. Only a handful of lower-ranking officers remained in the barracks. If not for Lynd promptly reorganizing the scattered troops and Jon decisively following Lynd's orders to lead the army, the situation could have been far worse.

Their timely intervention eliminated a group of Ironborn at the gates and secured both the docks and City Hall, sparing further disgrace and loss.

What troubled Willas even more was that among the more than 200 dead were heirs and second sons of noble families from The Reach. These young men had been sent to gain experience, not to die in Oldtown. Explaining their deaths to their grieving families would be a monumental challenge and a potential political disaster for Highgarden.

"Record all the knights who died in the incident as having fallen heroically in battle," Willas commanded decisively. "Furthermore, all knight officers who were absent from the barracks during the attack will be stripped of their military positions. They will be reassigned to the cavalry patrols, alongside the squires and attendant knights, under the command of Ser Lynd Tarran."

Willas continued, "Ser Lynd Tarran will also serve as the captain of the men-at-arms and as military judge."

This decision caused immediate unrest. While the knights could reluctantly accept the loss of their titles, the prospect of being led by Lynd was deeply unpalatable. Even Lynd, standing nearby, frowned at the announcement, surprised by Willas's decision. He hadn't been consulted beforehand and would have opposed it had he known. Leading knights from various houses, many of whom were heirs, was, in his view, a thankless and precarious task.

"Stop this talk. I've already made my decision," Willas said firmly. Usually gentle in demeanor, he now radiated authority, silencing the tent with a glare that made everyone bow their heads slightly.

"Lord Willas, are you certain you want me to take charge of the cavalry patrols and serve as military judge?" Lynd asked after a moment's thought.

"Yes, Ser Lynd," Willas replied with a serious expression. "And I owe you an apology. You warned me about the hidden dangers in the ranks, but I failed to heed your advice. As a result, unnecessary losses occurred last night, and I must bear responsibility for this failure."

Hearing Willas publicly apologize and admit fault, the knights and officers present looked visibly ashamed. Lynd, however, remained composed. In a calm tone, he asked, "What level of authority will I hold in these two positions?"

Willas hesitated briefly before responding, "The highest level."

Lynd pressed further. "To clarify, as Knight Commander, I will have full authority over all knights under my command, and as military judge, I will have the power to discipline anyone in the barracks who violates military law. Is that correct?"

Willas, sensing a faint unease but unwilling to back down, nodded. "Yes."

Lynd's tone turned cold. "In that case, all former knight officers who left the barracks without authorization last night will report to the camp square to receive ten lashes as punishment."

The announcement sent shockwaves through the tent. The knights erupted in outrage, their indignation palpable. Public punishment was an enormous humiliation, and they immediately rebuked Lynd for his audacity.

Willas immediately calmed the crowd and proposed to Lynd, "I agree with punishing knights who violate military law, but knights are knights after all. It is truly damaging to a knight's honor to be punished in front of everyone. Could the punishment instead be carried out inside the knights' tents?"

"No, the punishment must be carried out in the middle of the camp, and no soldiers on guard duty or in the logistics team may witness the execution," Lynd interrupted firmly. Turning to the indignant knights around him, he added, "If you feel this damages your honor, you may leave the ranks now. After all, I have not yet officially assumed the position of military judge. But if Lord Willas confirms my appointment, and you remain in the barracks while refusing to accept military discipline, I will consider it a violation of military law and execute you myself."

As Lynd spoke, a faint but unmistakable murderous aura emanated from him. Whether due to the countless lives he had just taken near the Starry Sept or something else, his aura seemed sharper and heavier than ever, stifling the spirits of those present. Some even imagined a faint scent of blood in the air.

Whether it was the weight of Lynd's words or the oppressive effect of his presence, the tent fell into complete silence.

Lynd, unaffected by the tense atmosphere, turned to Willas and said, "Lord Willas, as leader of this force, you bear great responsibility for the knights' lack of discipline, which led to so many dishonorable deaths last night. Once the negligent knights have been punished, you must also face your punishment, which will be doubled—twenty lashes."

"Lynd Tarran, you're insane! How dare you—" Lynd's words were immediately met with outrage, and the tent erupted in protests, with voices rebuking him for his audacity.

Willas, however, remained calm. Raising a hand to silence the crowd, he looked directly at Lynd and said sternly, "Ser Lynd, I accept the punishment."

The tent froze in stunned silence, with everyone staring at Willas in disbelief, unable to find the words to respond.

What followed was an extraordinary scene. Dozens of noble lords, along with hundreds of knights, squires, and knightly attendants, were stripped to their underclothes and laid out on makeshift crucifixion racks in the barracks yard. Behind them stood executioners, their faces hidden by hoods. It was rumored these men were recruited from House Hightower to prevent future retaliation against soldiers in the camp.

Each executioner held a long whip. At Lynd's command, the whips descended, and the yard echoed with screams.

Flogging was a skill, one that required precision to balance punishment and restraint. But these executioners, likely inexperienced, delivered each lash with full force, their anger and resentment toward the nobility evident in their strikes. As a result, every blow tore into the knights' backs, leaving them bloodied and raw.

When the ten lashes were complete, the executioners reluctantly returned their whips, though some seemed dissatisfied that they couldn't strike further. The knights, their backs flayed, were not immediately treated. Instead, they stood aside, grim and silent, their humiliation palpable.

Then came an even more shocking moment. Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden and commander of the army, removed his shirt, walked to the execution rack, and lay upon it. Lynd, now officially the military judge, stood behind him, whip in hand. Jon, Lynd's adjutant, read aloud the punishment order against Willas.

The barracks erupted. For the soldiers, punishing the knight officers was understandable—they had abandoned their posts, leaving the army leaderless during the crisis. But punishing Willas was another matter entirely. He had been inside the Starry Sept during the incident, not derelict in his duties. To them, this punishment was unjust, and Willas was being wrongly implicated.

Cries for clemency rang out, with soldiers shouting that the punishment was unfair and that Willas should be spared. Lynd, however, remained unmoved. Once Jon finished reading the order, Lynd raised the whip and struck Willas's back with full force.

The first lash left a deep mark on Willas's back, and his anguished scream rang through the yard, silencing the crowd. Lash after lash followed, each leaving its mark, each drawing blood. Willas's screams gradually faded, and by the time the final lash was delivered, he had lost consciousness.

At that moment, Lynd put away the executioner's whip, signaled to the Maester standing nearby to have Willas taken back to his tent for treatment by the Healers, and ordered the men in the barracks to dismiss.

From that day forward, everyone in the barracks remembered the name of the Bear Hunter, Lynd, the silent knight who usually stood beside Willas in his magnificent armor. No one dared to take the military laws of the barracks lightly anymore. Soldiers meticulously noted every regulation, fearing the consequences of being dragged to the square and publicly punished for any violation.

What transpired in the barracks quickly spread across Oldtown. Though the city was still reeling from the Ironborn invasion the night before, the news of the mass execution in the barracks outside the castle sent shockwaves through the populace. The name "Bear Hunter Lynd" became widely known, and the people assigned him two contrasting labels: madness and justice.

The paradox of describing the same person with such opposing terms made Bear Hunter Lynd seem even more enigmatic and fascinating to those who heard of his deeds, sparking widespread conversation about him.

In the High Tower, Leyton Hightower reviewed the reports submitted by his Master of Whisperers with an unreadable expression, betraying neither approval nor discontent.

"The interrogation is complete. The Ironborn who attacked Oldtown were led by Euron Greyjoy," the Master of Whisperers reported. "Originally, they intended to attack Lannisport, but Euron suddenly changed course and chose Oldtown instead."

"Why did he change the target?" Leyton asked in a deep voice.

The Master of Whisperers shook his head. "No one knows, not even the Ironborn themselves."

Leyton did not press further. To him, Euron's motives were now secondary; the priority was assessing the damage and restoring the confidence of Oldtown's residents and merchants.

"Have you determined why the watchtower failed to sound the alarm?" Leyton asked.

"We have," the Master of Whisperers replied. "Both the watchman and the guard on duty were poisoned. The culprit was the maid in charge of the laundry. However, the investigation revealed that the maid had been dead for two or three days. Someone killed her and assumed her identity to infiltrate the High Tower."

Leyton's face grew grave as he said, "You're suggesting that two days ago, when my grandson Willas attended the banquet, an assassin was already hiding in the High Tower, prepared to poison him?"

"Yes, my lord," the Master of Whisperers confirmed.

Leyton's tone turned icy. "I don't care what it takes—cleanse the High Tower of any undesirables within three days." After a brief pause, he added, "If necessary, you may request Malora's assistance."

The Master of Whisperers hesitated before responding, "Lady Malora is no longer in the High Tower."

"What?" Leyton asked, startled. "When did this happen? Where has she gone?"

The Master of Whisperers answered, "She left just now with her personal maid."

Leyton's shock deepened. For the first time in over a decade, Malora had left the High Tower. Regaining his composure after a long silence, he asked, "Where did she go?"

"To Lord Willas's barracks outside the castle," the Master of Whisperers replied. "She said she intended to travel to Dorne with his group."

Leyton's expression darkened. He understood why Malora had gone to the barracks, and it filled him with shame. Yet, he found himself at a loss for words. After all, this was the first time Malora had shown such strong interest in a man.

"Shall I pursue Lady Malora?" the Master of Whisperers asked.

"No, that won't be necessary," Leyton said, shaking his head. "Inform Baelor to send a few knights—no, tell Garth to lead a group of knights and soldiers to protect his sister. He's always claiming he wants to see the world; this is a good opportunity for him to visit Dorne. Besides, Willas's men suffered significant losses during last night's battle, and we owe them reinforcements."

"Yes, my lord. I will inform Lord Garth immediately," the Master of Whisperers acknowledged. He then produced another document and placed it on Leyton's desk. "This is news just received from Lord Willas's camp."

Leyton scanned the document, his expression shifting briefly to one of surprise before he smiled faintly. Returning the paper to the Master of Whisperers, he commanded, "Send this to Highgarden at once using our fastest messenger raven."

The Master of Whisperers bowed. "Yes, my lord."