Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

While Lynd remained in Blackhaven, awaiting Beric Dondarrion's response to the Covenant of Defense and Offense, unusual changes began to unfold in the Dornish Marches north of the Wyl.

The Red Watch Clan, which inhabited the region, showed signs of division. Within just a few days, the twenty-odd large and small tribes that made up the clan split into two opposing factions. One faction was led by the Wildling King, centered around the Stone Mountain Tribe, while the other was an alliance of eighteen smaller tribes.

Both sides were roughly equal in size, but the Stone Mountain Tribe held the advantage in equipment, possessing not only iron weapons but also protective gear such as leather armor and shields. However, the alliance of smaller tribes had somehow acquired iron weapons of their own. Though fewer in number compared to those of the Wildling King's forces, these weapons were of significantly higher quality.

Not long ago, during a skirmish between the two factions, many of the Wildling King's tribe's iron weapons were shattered by their enemies' superior blades, leading to their rapid collapse in that engagement. Since then, the two sides had remained locked in a tense standoff within their respective territories, seemingly waiting for something. Yet those who closely observed the frontier knew that regardless of how this internal struggle ended, a powerful tribal force would inevitably emerge from the conflict—an outcome that boded ill for the lords and smallfolk of the Dornish Marches north of the Wyl River.

South of the river's mouth, outside the castle hall in Wyl, a wildling tribesman stood anxiously by the door, peering inside from time to time. His clothing was indistinguishable from that of the Smallfolk, and with his hood pulled up, he would have blended easily into any crowd. Only by pulling down the collar of his shirt and revealing the tattoo on his neck could his identity as a wildling be confirmed.

"Follow me."

After a long wait, the chief servant of Wyl Castle emerged from the hall and gestured for the tribesman to follow. Leading him around the hall, through a side corridor, and into a small courtyard at the rear of the castle, the servant instructed him to wait before turning away and leaving.

The wildling grew impatient as he stood there, but before long, Wyland Wyl entered the courtyard with his captain of men-at-arms and his Maester. His expression was dark with anger.

The wildling from the Stone Mountain Tribe immediately knelt, bowing respectfully before Lord Wyland Wyl of Wyl Castle—like a servant, because that was what he was. Wyland had handpicked him for a particular purpose: to watch over his bastard son, whom he loathed to acknowledge.

To Wyland Wyl, the bastard was a lifelong disgrace, a living reminder of shameful days he wished to forget. The boy's mother had been sent to the Skinners in the North more than a decade ago, and Wyland had a strip of her flayed skin fashioned into a pair of undergarments—his twisted way of erasing the memory of his humiliation.

As for the child born from that woman, had it not been for his grander plans to secure control over the Dornish Marches, Wyland would have strangled the infant at birth. Instead, he had endured years of feigned fatherly affection, all for the sake of his ambitions.

Now, with his plan nearing completion and that cursed offspring having risen to become the King of the Wildlings, Wyland was on the verge of realizing the Wyl family's long-cherished dream of reclaiming the Dornish Marches north of the Wyl River. Soon, he would no longer have to look upon that wretched child. This was the final stage of his scheme—when he could least afford any unforeseen obstacles.

Yet it seemed the gods, whether the Seven, the Old Gods, or any others that might exist, had no intention of letting him see his goal achieved without interference.

A few days prior, a raven had arrived in Wyl, bearing a proclamation from King's Landing. The decree announced that Lynd Tarran had been granted the title of Lord of Summerhall in recognition of his military achievements. Additionally, House Tyrell had awarded him the forest lands they held in the Dornish Marches as a reward for his efforts against bandits.

When Wyland Wyl received the news, he had nearly gone mad with fury. For over a decade, he had meticulously plotted his rise, only to have his ambitions cruelly thwarted just as victory was within reach.

And worst of all, there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew all too well how formidable Lynd was. Having attended the tournament in Godsgrace, he had personally witnessed the moment Lynd, after making a wager against all the nobles and knights of Dorne, had effortlessly defeated his challengers. In the aftermath, tales of Lynd's prowess had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, carried by bards who embellished his feats beyond recognition. The latest rumors painted him as nothing short of a god—one who wielded thunder and storm at his command.

Although Wyland Wyl did not believe the exaggerated rumors, he did believe in Lynd's military record—after all, it had been confirmed by the Iron Throne. Lynd had traveled thousands of miles, annihilated thousands of enemies, and rescued several cities. Such overwhelming combat prowess was something Wyl simply could not withstand.

After learning all of this, the only thing he could do was wait—wait for news of Lynd's arrival.

Just a day ago, his spy in Blackhaven had sent word that Lynd, who had been inspecting his lands, had arrived in Blackhaven. At the welcome banquet held in his honor, Lynd had made it clear that he intended to reclaim the land currently occupied by Blackhaven.

For him, this was undoubtedly bad news. He, too, had occupied part of the northern bank of the Wyl—territory that belonged to Lynd. This meant he was next in line to relinquish his claim.

As if dealing with Lynd wasn't trouble enough, a new issue had arisen—his own bastard son. The once-unified Red Watch clan had fractured into two factions, leaving Lord Wyl with the growing sense that everyone was turning against him. His mood was understandably sour.

Seated in the courtyard, Wyland Wyl picked up the jug from the table and poured himself a drink. Taking a deep gulp, he turned to the spy he had planted near his bastard son and said, "You'd better have some good news for me. I've had enough bad news today."

The man opened his mouth as if to speak, but after hearing Wyl's words, he hesitated and fell silent again.

Witnessing this, Wyl rubbed his aching forehead, took a deep breath, and suppressed the anger rising in his chest. "Go on," he said. "What did Hamir send you here for?"

The man finally spoke. "Lord Hamir hopes that my lord can provide a better batch of weapons. The previous ones were too poor in quality. During the battle with the traitors, our weapons were cut down by theirs. Without good weapons, Lord Hamir will find it difficult to suppress the traitors."

Lord Wyl's expression darkened. "Why did Hamir allow those tribes to form an alliance? Didn't I tell him to weaken them?"

The man quickly explained, "Lord Hamir did as you commanded—he weakened the tribes. But later, they received support from an unknown source. Not only did they acquire large supplies of food and weapons, but when Lord Hamir was about to take action, they had already formed an alliance."

Lord Wyl couldn't help but suspect that someone had uncovered his plans and sabotaged them in secret. "Do you know who supported the tribes?" he asked.

"No," the man admitted after a moment of thought, "but I'm certain the support only arrived recently."

"Only recently?" Lord Wyl's thoughts immediately turned to Lynd. Lynd had only just entered the Dornish Marches to inspect his lands, and now, suddenly, the wildling tribes of the Red Watch clan had received outside support. The timing was too convenient to ignore.

Still, whether or not Lynd was responsible didn't change Lord Wyl's immediate priorities. What mattered now was preserving the results of his long-term planning—ensuring a wildling tribe that remained entirely under his control. That meant he had no choice but to supply his bastard son with weapons and food.

"I'll have the weapons and food he needs ready in ten days," Lord Wyl declared, making his decision. "The handover will take place at the usual location. Also, tell him to resolve the civil war within the Red Watch Clan as soon as possible. Once that's done, he is to take his people and move west—beyond Red Watch and the Red Watch River, to the borderlands near Blackhaven."

Wyland Wyl was nothing if not pragmatic. He understood that unless he could rally the nobles of the Marches—such as the Yronwoods—to join him in opposing Lynd Tarran, he would stand no chance against him. Lynd had the backing of the Iron Throne, Highgarden, and the Faith of the Seven. That was a force Wyl could not afford to face alone.

The lords of the Dornish Marches had all suffered devastating losses in the extreme cold disaster, leaving them in no position to support Wyl Castle anytime soon. If he clashed with Lynd now, there would be no outside help—he would have to face the storm alone.

With no realistic chance of victory, his only option was to salvage as much of his plan as possible. The greatest outcome of all his efforts was securing control over the Red Watch clan. That was why he had ordered his bastard son to lead them west, away from Lynd's expanding influence. That mountainous region belonged to no one—it was unclaimed land.

"Marching west of Blackhaven?" The man hesitated before speaking with unease. "My lord, I'm afraid Lord Hamir won't listen to me. When I arrived, he was already gathering all his soldiers to prepare for war against the traitors. Once he has dealt with them, he intends to attack Blackhaven."

Wyland Wyl's expression shifted to surprise. He rose from his chair and questioned, "Why does he want to attack Blackhaven? Didn't I make it clear that Blackhaven isn't to be dealt with for the time being?"

The man quickly explained, "Lord Hamir believes Blackhaven is supplying the rebels with weapons and provisions. He wants to teach them a lesson."

"Damn it! That idiot—idiot!" Wyland Wyl knew his disobedient kin had ignored his orders. Enraged, he cursed repeatedly, then snatched the longsword from his captain of men-at-arms and, in a fit of fury, began hacking at the surrounding shrubs and flowers.

Everyone in the courtyard lowered their heads, not daring to look at him. The man from the Stone Mountain Tribe buried his face against the ground, his body trembling.

Just then, a servant happened to pass through the courtyard, carrying something in his hands. Upon witnessing Wyland Wyl's outburst, his face turned deathly pale. Before he could lower his head, Wyland Wyl charged at him with his longsword, beheading him before he had a chance to react.

As the blood splattered onto his body, Wyland Wyl quickly regained his composure. He stared expressionlessly at the corpse before turning to the captain of the men-at-arms. Sheathing his sword, he issued his command in a calm tone. "Throw the body into the pit with the poisonous snakes. And find out if he has any family—throw them in too. It'd be a shame for him to be alone in that pit. Let his family accompany him."

"Yes, my lord," the captain of the men-at-arms responded, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Wyland Wyl then turned to the messenger. "Tell Hamir to come here himself once the weapons and food are handed over. I will speak to him personally."

"Yes, my lord," the man replied hastily before making his exit from the courtyard as quickly as possible.

Wyland Wyl returned to his chambers, washed the blood from his body, and headed directly to his Lord's study. There, the butler and several subordinate nobles were already waiting to report on various matters. The moment Wyland entered, they bowed hurriedly.

Before they could begin their reports, Wyland Wyl raised a hand to silence them. He dismissed the subordinate nobles, keeping only the butler behind.

Then, in a cold, measured voice, he ordered, "Recall everyone from the northern shore. Tear down all the villages that have been built, flood all the reclaimed land with seawater, destroy every dock in the fishing villages, and burn down whatever cannot be dismantled."

The head administrator was left utterly stunned. Though Wyland Wyl had stated it as a simple order, its impact would be immense—tens of thousands of lives would be affected. More than twenty villages and fishing settlements fell within the scope of the command, housing a combined population of twenty to thirty thousand.

What baffled him even more was that Wyland Wyl had spent over a decade developing those areas, establishing farmland and building fishing communities. Now, he intended to erase all of it. Beyond the wasted effort and time, the financial loss alone would amount to tens of thousands of golden dragons.

Still, despite his shock and confusion, the butler dared not question the decision. He knew well that doing so would be a death sentence—the previous steward had made that mistake.

Choosing his words carefully, he said, "My lord, this will take time."

"Take time?" Wyland Wyl's eyes narrowed in displeasure.

The steward quickly clarified, "At the start, the Lord promised those who settled there that the land they cultivated would belong to them. If we recall them now, I fear—"

"I will station a thousand men to assist you," Wyland Wyl cut in without hesitation. "If anyone refuses my order, do not hesitate. Treat them as rebels."

The steward immediately nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I will have it done within twenty days."

Wyland Wyl continued, "Also, prepare a thousand long swords and axes, wrapped the same way as last time. And prepare some wheat cakes—the same kind we feed the horses. Wrap them as before. Those savages deserve nothing better than what animals eat. When everything is ready, I will deliver the goods myself in ten days."