Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

"What? All the bandits around Summerhall have fled?" Lynd looked at Lothor, who had just returned from the nearby village, bewildered, and asked, "Why did they suddenly flee?"

Lynd had spent the past two days mulling over how he might change his approach toward these bandits. Unlike before, when he would mercilessly annihilate them or capture them alive to be thrown into the mines of the Red Mountains, he had begun to consider using them for a more practical purpose. The Red Mountains, rich in mineral deposits, had long been left undeveloped due to the lack of suitable roads, the ever-present danger of wildling tribes, and rampant banditry. Lynd had thought the bandits might serve as an expendable labor force for mining these resources. But now, hearing of their sudden flight, he couldn't help but wonder if someone close to him had leaked his plans.

Dacey chuckled as she observed Lynd's stunned expression. "They fled because you scared them," she said, her voice tinged with amusement.

Lynd froze for a moment before gesturing for her to elaborate.

"They thought we came to Summerhall specifically to wipe them out," Dacey continued, recounting what she had overheard in the village.

As Dacey spoke, the expressions of those gathered around grew increasingly strange. They exchanged glances, then looked back at Lynd, their eyes filled with a mixture of astonishment and amusement. Clearly, in their eyes, this was a story bordering on the mythical. Even the heroes of ancient legends couldn't boast of such a feat—causing an entire bandit group, over three thousand strong, to flee at the mere mention of their name. This tale alone seemed enough to elevate Lynd's reputation above even the storied figures of old.

Lynd, however, felt an odd mix of emotions. He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation while simultaneously acknowledging the implications. The development brought both advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, he no longer had to contend with the bandits in the Red Mountains near Summerhall. As the story spread, and with him firmly established as the Lord of Summerhall, the remaining bandits in his territory would likely abandon their posts or disband entirely, making it easier for him to consolidate power. On the other hand, the loss of the bandits meant he'd have difficulty finding such a convenient and low-cost labor force for the mines again.

With a wry smile, Lynd consoled himself. "There are still the wildling tribes. The wildling tribes aren't bad either. It would be nice to meet another Gravel Tribe."

The Gravel Tribe had become an indispensable part of Tumbleton, skilled miners whose expertise in extracting silver had significantly boosted the town's finances. For the foreseeable future, Tumbleton's prosperity would depend on their labor.

Still, Lynd couldn't fully trust the news Dacey had brought. It was possible the bandits had used the villagers to spread false information, hoping to mislead him while they regrouped. To confirm their movements, Lynd sent Glory to investigate the camps he had discovered earlier through the trails of bandit scouts. He wanted to ensure the bandits hadn't merely gone into hiding.

Glory visited four camps that night. Each was deserted, save for a few old, weak, or sick individuals left behind. The state of the camps made it evident the bandits had fled in haste, abandoning many of their daily belongings. While the bandits had disappeared, the number of spies watching Lynd's team had not diminished. These spies, however, were no longer bandits but members of nearby wildling tribes.

Just as he had done with the bandits, Lynd refrained from directly targeting the wildling spies. Instead, he ordered Glory to track them back to their settlements, marking them for future action.

As Lynd's group continued its journey, they received unexpected hospitality from the villages they passed. Whether these were Free Folk settlements or villages belonging to his subjects, the residents showed considerable goodwill. In some of the more affluent villages, they were even offered fresh vegetables as gifts.

The population around Summerhall included a significant number of Free Folk. These were mostly lowborn who had fled during the Usurper's War and settled near Summerhall after their lands were confiscated by various lords. Though their lives here were born of necessity, many considered it a stroke of fortune.

Years ago, the Targaryen royal family had transformed the land around Summerhall into a haven of beauty and abundance, cultivating flowers, fruits, and vegetables and establishing wineries for the royal household. After the fire that destroyed Summerhall, however, the area was abandoned. Apart from the occasional visit by Prince Rhaegar, who would come to the ruins to play his harp, the Targaryens viewed the place as cursed and stayed away.

In the absence of royal oversight, the once-magnificent flower fields and orchards fell into disrepair, and the wineries shut down. The workers who had lived on the estates became farmers, adapting to their new reality.

However, no matter how deserted the land may be, its foundations remain intact. With careful cultivation, the soil proves remarkably fertile, and the annual harvests of the smallfolk who have no choice but to remain here are sufficient to secure daily rations, even if they are far from abundant.

More significantly, neither during the war nor after King Robert claimed the Iron Throne did any tax collectors venture into this land. It is as if the territory had been deliberately erased from the realm's notice.

Yet, in place of tax collectors, bandits have made their presence known, frequently occupying the area and pillaging the harvests of the villages. During the harsh months of extreme cold, these bandits have plundered nearly all the food stores, leaving the villagers to face starvation and death from exposure. It is no surprise that the villagers harbor a deep hatred for these marauders.

Now that Lynd has appeared, driving away the bandits, they view him as a savior. However, one wonders if their sentiments will remain as favorable once they learn that Lynd is the Lord of Summerhall and intends to make them his subjects, imposing taxes upon them.

After a journey of seven or eight days, Lynd and his entourage finally arrived at Summerhall, the first stop on their inspection of the territory.

Built to royal standards, Summerhall was vast, rivaling even the grandeur of the Red Keep. Though much of it now lies in ruin, the surviving foundations and main structural beams hint at the splendor and magnificence the palace once boasted in its prime.

The entire area lacked city walls, though a solitary watchtower stood guard. Streams flowing down from the surrounding mountains merged in front of Summerhall, forming a lake. A moat had been dug on either side of the lake to encircle the estate. However, the moat was shallow, barely reaching an adult's waist, and seemed intended more for aesthetic appeal than as a defensive feature.

The bridge spanning the moat had been removed—likely by the villagers—to prevent children from wandering into the cursed ruins and provoking the wrath of the ghosts said to haunt the area.

Once, Dacey and the others might have laughed off such tales of ghosts, but now they found themselves less skeptical. After all, magic—just as enigmatic—had already become a part of their world. Was it really so far-fetched to believe in the existence of spirits?

"Those bandits weren't entirely useless. At least they left us a campsite we can use," Asha remarked, her interest in the ruins of Summerhall limited at best. Her primary concern was setting up camp quickly and retreating to her tent for a well-earned rest.

Back in the Iron Islands, Asha had spent most of her time learning to sail and rarely rode horseback. In recent weeks, however, the long hours of riding had taken a toll, and the soreness in her thighs was nearly unbearable. She had to walk with her legs awkwardly spread apart to avoid aggravating her raw skin, joking bitterly that she now resembled a heavily pregnant woman ready to give birth.

"That campsite is filthy—covered in horse and human filth. It's hardly suitable for my lord," Brienne countered, expertly guiding her warhorse around Asha, almost as if to flaunt her ease in the saddle.

"Brienne's right," Nymeria chimed in, wrinkling her nose at the stench. "Let's set up our own camp elsewhere, using our own supplies. Dacey, Lothor, find a spot away from here," she instructed, before turning her attention to Lynd. Standing at the edge of the castle's moat, he appeared transfixed, staring silently at the ruins of Summerhall. Nymeria approached him and asked, "What's wrong? It's just a pile of ruins. Since we arrived, you've been standing there, staring as if spellbound. Do you actually believe there are ghosts here?"

Lynd tore his gaze from the ruins, turned to Nymeria with a small smile, and nodded. "You're right—there really are ghosts."

Nymeria blinked, stunned by his calm response. She studied his expression to ensure he wasn't joking and asked hesitantly, "Are you serious?"

Lynd didn't reply. Instead, he turned his attention back to the ruins, his focus unwavering. The crumbling remains seemed to hold an inexplicable pull over him, as if enchanted. If Nymeria had moved to face him directly, she would have noticed his eyeshadow had turned entirely gold and silver.

As he had claimed, the ruins of Summerhall were indeed haunted. Lynd could see the energy of resentful spirits lingering in the ruins. However, their aura was unlike anything he had encountered before.

The energy of resentful spirits in other places manifested as a black mist-like energy that blanketed the area, filled with countless spectral faces that loomed and shifted within the mist. From time to time, the spirits emitted screams inaudible to ordinary ears.

In contrast, the energy of the vengeful spirits in Summerhall was entirely different. Here, the energy had coalesced into a fantastical realm where Summerhall stood intact, as if untouched by its tragic past. Within this fantasy realm, the vengeful spirits relived their former lives. Lynd even saw Aegon V and Duncan the Tall appear in the courtyard, their figures unmistakable amidst the illusion.

Though Lynd did not know Aegon V or Duncan the Tall personally, their physical characteristics made them easy to identify. One bore a crown, signifying his royal stature, while the other was unnaturally tall—almost as tall as Nymeria. Recognizing them was effortless.

Previously, Lynd could only observe the intricate details of the vengeful spirits' energy by using the eyes of Glory. Without Glory, his vision offered only a vague and indistinct impression. Now, however, the situation had changed entirely. Even without relying on the eyes of Glory, he could clearly see every detail of the vengeful spirits' energy as if his senses had sharpened.

What stood out most, however, was Glory itself. In the past, Glory had shown an insatiable hunger for the energy of vengeful spirits containing dragon souls, while it scoffed at other energies, such as those found in Harrenhal. But now, the circumstances in Summerhall seemed to trigger something unusual. Glory developed a powerful desire to consume the energy of these spirits, far stronger than its previous cravings—even stronger than the appetite it displayed at the Dragonpit.

This desire grew so intense that Lynd had to repeatedly issue commands to curb Glory's instinct to devour. To avoid disaster, he sent Glory away to patrol at a distance, ensuring it stayed far from Summerhall.

Lynd sensed that Summerhall held a profound secret. He began to understand why Prince Rhaegar had been drawn back here so often; the harp-playing was likely just a pretext. He believed the energy of the vengeful spirits before him could offer clues to uncover the secret. For this reason, he decided to forbid Glory from devouring or destroying the spirits until the truth of Summerhall was revealed.

Elsewhere, practical matters unfolded as the camp was set up. Stakes salvaged from the bandit camp negated the need to cut down new trees for tent supports, saving valuable time. By the time the camp was ready, daylight still lingered.

Servants busied themselves assembling the tents. Lothor led his men to the simple horse stalls, where they combined beans with the grass they'd gathered along the way to feed the horses. He later led another group to hunt game in the surrounding forest. Meanwhile, Dacey oversaw the lighting of campfires, and the cook directed his team in setting up cauldrons over the flames. Various prepared ingredients were added to the cauldrons, and before long, the rich aroma of cooking filled the air.

As night fell, Lothor and his men returned, carrying a dozen large and small pieces of game. They began roasting the meat directly over the campfire, its sizzling juices and dripping fat filling the camp with a mouthwatering scent.

Though Lynd had prohibited drinking during their journey, he made an exception that evening. He permitted the distribution of sweet fruit wine, chosen because it was difficult to get drunk on, to his men.

After eating, Lynd turned to Nymeria. "I'll be spending some time in the ruins tonight. You should get some rest," he said, heading to his tent to change into more casual clothes.

"Are you going to look for the dragon egg?" Nymeria asked curiously.

"Dragon egg?" Lynd paused, taken aback. "Why would you think that?"

Nymeria explained, "The Great Fire of Summerhall destroyed everything. Even the stones used to build the palace were reduced to ash. It's said that dragon eggs were destroyed in the fire too. But as we all know, dragon eggs are immune to fire. So, there are rumors that the eggs weren't destroyed and may still be hidden in the ruins."

"Does anyone really believe those rumors?" Lynd asked, shaking his head. "Even if they were true, the Targaryens would've found the eggs when they combed through the ruins, collecting the ashes of the victims. The fact that they didn't find them suggests the eggs were destroyed. And that idea—that dragon eggs are immune to fire—has never been proven. Who knows if it's even true?"