Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"You are Bert Falwell?" Lynd asked, looking down at the somewhat short and stocky knight before him.

"Yes, my lord," Bert replied, bowing his head.

Lynd sat down on a boulder and gestured for Bert to do the same, pointing to a nearby one. "Tell me, what is the purpose of your army?"

Bert glanced at Jon, who nodded in encouragement. Taking the cue, he carefully sat down opposite Lynd and answered, "Our orders are to follow the bandits of the Scorpion Brotherhood and wait for our chance."

"What chance?" Lynd pressed.

"I'm not sure. Only Ser Torrhen Lefford knew, but he's…" Bert turned his head, his gaze settling on the old knight's cleaved corpse. A trace of sadness flickered in his eyes. "He can't speak anymore."

"Is this the only army the Westerlands have sent?" Lynd continued.

"For now, we're the only ones," Bert replied.

"Do you mean other armies from the Westerlands will come later?" Jon interjected, unable to contain his curiosity.

Bert nodded. "When I left, I saw several armies gathering. I just don't know if they're being sent here."

"How large is this army?" Jon asked again.

"When I left, the forces gathering were about the same size as ours, but they were still assembling," Bert explained. "The final army should be quite a bit larger."

Lynd frowned, his thoughts growing heavy. This was troubling news. If Lord Tywin continued sending troops, especially in increasing numbers, it would signify more than a simple reconnaissance—it would mean he truly intended to take Tumbleton.

Although Lynd felt confident in his ability to handle the bandits and a smaller contingent of Lord Tywin's forces, a full mobilization of the Westerlands' noble armies would force a retreat. However, such a move seemed unlikely. Tumbleton belonged to The Reach. A full-scale invasion by the Westerlands would provoke open war between the two regions, something the Iron Throne would not permit.

This led Lynd to suspect that Lord Tywin's gathering of troops might have another purpose entirely. Yet, with so little information, Lynd couldn't form a definitive judgment. The need for an intelligence network loomed in his mind, though he knew it was a plan for the future.

"How many spies from the Westerlands are embedded within the Scorpion Brotherhood's bandits?" Lynd asked.

"I don't know," Bert admitted. "Only Ser Torrhen would have known."

Lynd studied Bert intently. "Why did you join this army? With all due respect, Lord Bert, you don't strike me as someone suited for combat."

Bert shrugged helplessly. "The Falwells needed to send someone, and I was the unlucky choice. If I hadn't joined the army, I'd be in Oldtown at the Citadel by now."

"You were planning to study at the Citadel?" Lynd inquired.

"Yes," Bert replied honestly. "I've loved reading since I was a child. My dream is to become a Maester."

Lynd's mind flicked to a familiar image—Samwell Tarly. The resemblance between the two men, in both build and temperament, struck him. Both shared a thirst for knowledge.

"When this is over, I'll let you go to the Citadel to study," Lynd declared decisively. "But until then, you'll stay with me. Bert Falwell is dead for now. Do you understand?"

Bert, knowing his life was spared, broke into a joyful smile. Overcome with gratitude, he repeatedly thanked Lynd for his kindness.

Jon, pleased that his cousin would survive, approached and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Lynd continued, "However, I don't keep idle people around. Before you leave, you'll need to contribute. For now, you'll work with Jon as my clerk."

Bert froze momentarily but quickly answered, "Yes, my lord."

"By the way," Lynd added, "you don't seem to know who we are. Jon, take him downstairs and explain our situation. Let him know what needs to be done."

"Understood, my lord," Jon replied. He then led Bert aside and began explaining their background.

The moment Bert had seen Jon, he had guessed that the group was connected to House Tyrell, but he had no clear understanding of Lynd's identity. Even after Jon introduced Lynd by name, Bert looked puzzled. He could not recall any noble family with the surname Tarran.

Bert's confusion stemmed from his isolation over the past several months. Being constantly with the army—either in the barracks or on the road—he had lost touch with events in the wider world. Thus, he knew nothing about Lynd, whose reputation had already spread across the Seven Kingdoms.

It wasn't until Jon recounted Lynd's exploits in detail that Bert understood. Lynd was not from an old noble family but a self-made man whose rise was as extraordinary as it was improbable. Bert couldn't help but marvel at Lynd's sheer luck.

Yes, it was luck that amazed Bert, not Lynd's strength. Bert, an avid reader of histories and biographies, had never come across a story in which a commoner from a hunter's background ascended so quickly. To be knighted by the king in mere months and entrusted with command of troops was unheard of.

What astonished him further was the autonomy Lynd had been granted. The Tyrells not only valued him highly but also allowed him to recruit soldiers and expand his forces—a privilege even the old Highgarden nobles rarely enjoyed. This piqued Bert's curiosity, and he no longer regretted the delay in his studies. Observing the rise of such a remarkable figure firsthand was as fascinating as anything the Citadel could offer.

Meanwhile, the battlefield was swiftly cleared. Everything of value—leather armor, clothing, weapons, and equipment—was stripped, leaving only naked corpses behind.

Witnessing this, Bert couldn't help but remark, "My lord, this is truly undignified. They should at least be left with a piece of clothing."

"I'm poor now and won't waste any usable supplies," Lynd replied calmly. "Besides…" He turned his gaze to Bert and added, "All men must die. Since they entered this world naked, it's only fitting they leave it the same way."

With that, Lynd ordered Bryn Rivers to lead the first cavalry patrols, transporting the loot and the supplies from the earlier logistics team back to the Tumbleton stronghold. He, meanwhile, would continue pursuing the bandit alliance ahead.

"My lord, aren't your forces a bit too few? There are six or seven hundred bandits," Bryn expressed with concern.

"That's enough. They're just bandits, and they've already lost their nerve. The Guard's Unit has plenty of men," Lynd replied confidently. Then, as if struck by a thought, he turned to Jon and Bert. "You'll stay with Bryn and help transport the spoils. You won't be needed for the next battle."

"Yes, my lord," both men answered promptly.

"Let's move," Lynd commanded, looking toward the Guard's Unit, already prepared to march.

As soon as the order was given, the cavalry patrols, having just finished resting, quickly set off under Lynd's command, following the tracks left by the bandit alliance in the direction of Tumbleton.

The team moved at a fast pace, and in theory, they should have been able to catch up to the bandit alliance, which was trudging slowly ahead, within an hour. However, it seemed that Lynd was at odds with the land itself. Since entering the territory, heavy rains had hindered their march. Even now, as they traveled along the road, flash floods suddenly appeared, forcing the group to take a detour and waste several hours. It wasn't until late evening that they finally caught up with the bandits' alliance.

They were now less than five li from Tumbleton, separated by two hills. The bandits, rather than attacking Tumbleton that night, had set up camp, conserving their strength. They ate the last of their food and prepared for the battle they anticipated the following day.

The leaders of the bandits displayed some competence. Before setting up camp, they had sent sentries to the surrounding hills to guard against surprise attacks. Unfortunately, the sentries were not as diligent as their commanders had hoped. After days of marching and food shortages, they were exhausted. They stood watch briefly but soon found places to rest, waiting for food to be brought up to them. That rest became their final one.

After eliminating the sentries, Lynd stood on the hillside, observing the scene below. Though it was growing dark, he could clearly make out the bandits scattered across the ground. They had unloaded their equipment and were completely relaxed, showing no signs of preparedness—just like the previous group Lynd had encountered.

Such an opportunity was too good to pass up. Leading the cavalry down the hill, Lynd repeated the tactics from before. A few hours later, the scene played out almost identically: unprepared opponents, a valley-like formation, and an inevitable slaughter. The only difference was that this time, Lynd did not completely annihilate the bandits.

It wasn't a matter of inability but strategy. Lynd needed survivors—mouthpieces to spread word of his arrival. He sought to instill fear among the bandits and wildling tribes in the area, ensuring they would listen carefully to what he had to say.

"What a glorious victory! I've been a soldier under the Tyrell banner for almost ten years, and I've never seen such a clean and decisive battle," Raul said, panting as he wiped blood from his face. He surveyed the battlefield with admiration.

"That's because you've seen so few wars," Lynd replied, his tone devoid of joy. "These are merely the defeated remnants of Lord Tywin's forces—a ragtag group. Before they took up arms, they were just ordinary farmers and civilians. They may be numerous, but they aren't combat-ready. They're not even as formidable as the last army we faced. At best, they're a threat to small villages, but..."

Lynd trailed off, deeming the topic unworthy of further discussion. Instead, he asked, "How many men did we lose?"

"Two dead and eleven injured," Raul reported.

Lynd froze momentarily before asking, "Two dead? How did that happen?"

Raul hesitated before answering, "In a very foolish way. They didn't sit properly in the saddle, fell off, and were trampled to death by the horses behind them."

Lynd was silent for a moment, then said, "Make sure to intensify training. I don't want to see anyone else die because they fell off their own horse and got trampled."

"Yes, my lord," Raul replied, bowing his head.

The bandits were at their wits' end. Apart from the Scorpion Brotherhood, who carried some valuable items, the rest had nothing of worth beyond their weapons—most of which would need to be remelted before they could be reused.

Although Lynd appeared confident and in control, he was uncertain about how the battle would unfold from Tumbleton onwards. This was his first time leading an army into battle, not only in this life but in all his past lives.

Now, however, his heart began to settle. Everything had progressed far better than he had anticipated. His attempts at mounted archery had proven effective, though the battle had exposed several flaws. For instance, the short bow lacked the power to penetrate shields, and the saddle's design made it impossible to free both hands during combat.

These were technical issues, but they could be resolved with the help of skilled craftsmen. The most pressing concern was the expansion of his army. Archery tactics required sufficient numbers to be effective. The current group of just over 100 men was inadequate to maintain arrow coverage or achieve significant lethality. To reach this level, he needed to expand to about 500 soldiers.

Finding suitable recruits, however, was a major challenge. While the wildling tribes, mountain folk, and bandits entrenched in the area might be subdued and recruited eventually, that was a plan for the future. For now, Lynd needed an immediate source of soldiers.

"The people in the valley might be..." Lynd thought, recalling the inhabitants of the valley outside Tumbleton. They seemed like a viable source of recruits who could be brought into combat quickly. However, their identity posed a significant problem. Until this issue was resolved, neither Nymeria Footly nor Lynd himself could approach them directly, as he now represented House Tyrell.

As Lynd cleared the battlefield, Bryn's first cavalry patrols returned to Tumbleton. Passing through the town with their spoils, they transported the loot to the ruins of the Old Castle. There, piece by piece, the armor and weapons were carried into a temporary storage facility that had been fashioned from the ruins.

"They've already won?" the old Maester asked in amazement as he stood on the hillside, watching the spoils being transported.

"Something's wrong?" Nymeria Footly asked. Her sharp eyesight allowed her to see that much of the armor among the spoils was complete standard-issue equipment, and the weapons were of fine quality. It didn't resemble the gear of a mere band of robbers.

"Perhaps we should ask them…" the old Maester began, but before he could finish, a fast horse came rushing down the slope nearby, heading toward Tumbleton.

"My lady, it's Wick," he exclaimed.

Hearing this, Nymeria immediately ran down the hill to the village entrance. The rider approached, breathing heavily. As he neared, he saw Nymeria and reported, "My lady, it's all over. The thieves have been wiped out."