Game of Thrones: Knight’s Honor

It was silent. Three or four in the morning. Dawn would soon break. The campfire had gradually burned down, leaving only glowing embers. Those resting had wrapped themselves tightly in warm blankets, reluctant to abandon their comforting cocoon of warmth. Someone added a log to the fire, breaking the stillness with the faint crackle of burning wood.

The Ironborn soldiers stationed on the castle walls, tasked with monitoring the army outside, were similarly wrapped up against the chill of the early morning swamp air. Their breath fogged in the cold as they stamped their feet and paced the walls, desperate to stave off the creeping numbness threatening to freeze their feet.

The archers stationed in the arrow towers fared better. Bonfires had been lit near them, offering a measure of reprieve from the icy air. The heat softened their vigilance, allowing their bodies to relax. Weariness spread slowly, weighing down their limbs, and before long, their heavy eyelids closed. Soft snores echoed through the arrow towers, betraying their lapse into slumber.

In the enveloping darkness beyond, a pair of vertical pupils cut through the night, sweeping across their surroundings with predatory intent, seeking suitable prey.

Outside the castle, the camp stirred with quiet activity. While a group of sentries patrolled the perimeter, the rest of the soldiers had retreated to their tents. However, rest was an illusion. Inside the tents, men sat fully armed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. They had traded their cavalry equipment for the gear of infantry—leather armor, shields, spears, and short swords.

In a tent at the heart of the camp, Lynd sat alone. His focus was unwavering, his mind connected to Glory, the embodiment of his will, sharing its vision and issuing commands.

The Ironborn warden of Moat Cailin had left nothing to chance. The castle's defenses were formidable: more than a dozen guards patrolled the walls, while over a thousand soldiers waited below, ready to provide reinforcements. The three surrounding arrow towers were manned by hundreds of archers, poised to unleash a hail of arrows on any approaching enemy. Combined with the natural defenses of the swampy terrain, the castle was nearly impregnable. It was no wonder the Northern coalition army had been stalled here for over ten days, unable to advance.

Yet no matter how solid the fortifications, they were only as effective as the people manning them. After days of uneventful vigilance, the Ironborn had grown complacent. Their mindset was simple: if tens of thousands of attackers had failed to breach the castle, a few thousand would stand no chance. This false sense of security had dulled their edge, leaving them vulnerable in their moment of perceived invincibility.

Through Glory's unique vision, Lynd easily pinpointed every sentry on the castle walls. Fatigue and overconfidence had taken their toll—many sentries, tucked into their dark hiding spots for warmth, had succumbed to sleep.

Lynd acted without hesitation, targeting these dozing sentries first. He issued Glory a silent command to strike.

Moving like a shadow in the darkness, Glory crept up to each target. Unseen and unheard, it struck with lethal precision, biting into the sentries' necks and silencing them before they could utter a sound.

After efficiently eliminating a dozen sentries, Lynd shifted his focus to the guards stationed on the castle walls. At first glance, these sentries appeared vigilant, positioned in a way that allowed them to watch out for one another. Additionally, several soldiers were gathered around a campfire at the foot of the walls, ready to provide support at the first sign of trouble. Attacking seemed nearly impossible under such circumstances.

In reality, however, the coordination and readiness implied by their positions existed only in theory. The relentless cold and exhaustion had dulled their senses. Huddled together in an attempt to preserve the last traces of warmth in their bodies, their remaining focus was fixed on the darkness beyond the walls, searching for any movement outside the castle. Their fellow guards on the walls had faded from their awareness, as none of them imagined that danger could come from within their stronghold. Confidence in their control over Moat Cailin had bred carelessness.

Recognizing this vulnerability, Lynd commanded Glory to begin its work. It targeted the sentries lingering in the shadows beyond the firelight first, dragging them silently into the darkness where they disappeared without a sound.

Next, Lynd directed Glory to create opportunities to eliminate the guards stationed near the brazier. With careful precision, Glory approached, striking swiftly. While there were faint noises during the attacks—like the subtle twitching of the guards as they succumbed—these were muffled and went unnoticed. Their throats were bitten before they could utter a cry, ensuring the Ironborn soldiers asleep near the campfire remained undisturbed.

Once the guards on the castle walls were dealt with, Lynd turned his attention to the archers tasked with guarding the arrow towers. These targets were even less of a challenge. The warmth inside the arrow towers had lulled them into complacency. One by one, they leaned against the walls, dozing off in the quiet of the night. Glory moved effortlessly through the shadows, disposing of them without resistance.

After eliminating the archers on guard duty, Lynd ordered Glory to block the doors of the rooms where the remaining archers were resting. Using sticks and stakes, Glory ensured that the doors would remain obstructed, preventing the occupants from interfering or escaping once the attack began.

With these preparations complete, Lynd instructed Glory to return to the castle gates. There, Glory removed the bolt securing the gates. However, it did not open them. The gate's pivot bolt was heavily corroded, and turning it would produce a sound—one that, while faint, would be glaringly loud in the stillness of the night.

After completing the preliminary tasks, Lynd's spirit withdrew from Glory, and he emerged from his tent. Without hesitation, he made his way to the adjacent meeting tent, where Nymeria and the others were already gathered, fully armed and ready.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense but focused. Lynd approached the table where Howland had set up a detailed model of Castle Moat Cailin earlier that day. He pointed decisively at the model and began issuing orders.

"The gates have been opened," he stated firmly. "Tell the men to gather immediately. Be cautious. The first and second cavalry patrols will go in first and eliminate the guards along the walls. The third and fourth cavalry patrols will target the barracks next to the castle. Everyone else will focus on taking the castle itself."

Howland, studying the plan, raised a question. "What about the tower?"

Lynd dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about the tower. The archers inside are trapped in their rooms. They won't pose a threat to us. We'll deal with them after we've cleared the rest."

Howland nodded, refraining from pressing further. However, his mind lingered on Lynd's recent actions. He had noticed Glory slipping away into the darkness earlier, clearly under Lynd's control. This reminded Howland of his own ability to possess creatures like the Lizard-lion. He couldn't help but wonder—was Lynd also a Skinchanger? Yet, certain inconsistencies kept him skeptical.

For one, Greenseers or Skinchangers typically avoided wearing excessive metal, as it interfered with their spiritual abilities.

Even the most skilled among them only managed to minimize the interference caused by metal jewelry or weapons. Yet Lynd, clad in full metal armor and wielding multiple metal weapons, displayed abilities that defied these limitations. It was a mystery that unsettled Howland, but there was no time to dwell on it further.

Meanwhile, the soldiers had already assembled under the direction of their captains. The units moved swiftly, marching towards the gates of Moat Cailin. Once the first cavalry patrols had fully opened the gates, the troops surged inside, charging towards their designated targets.

The Ironborn within the castle proved to be far less prepared than Lynd had anticipated. Perhaps they had placed excessive trust in their sentries, assuming no threat could bypass their vigilance. Despite the loud, grating noise of the gates being forced open, no alarms were raised, and the Ironborn continued to sleep soundly.

It wasn't until the cavalry patrols stormed through with spears and shields, driving their weapons into the bodies of the unsuspecting defenders, that the Ironborn finally awoke—only to find themselves in chaos. The first moments of their awareness were filled with pain and panic, as spears pierced their flesh and screams tore through the still night air.

The disarray among the Ironborn worked heavily in Lynd's favor. Those who attempted to resist were no match for the disciplined shield and spear formations. Many barely had time to grab their weapons before they were struck down. Even those who managed a weak counterattack only landed a few futile blows on the shields before falling to the unrelenting assault.

The more than a thousand Ironborn stationed at the foot of the castle walls were overwhelmed, pinned down by the combined efforts of the first and second cavalry patrols. Howland's archers from Greywater Watch provided precise and coordinated support, ensuring the defenders had no chance of regrouping. It was clear that their complete defeat was only a matter of time.

On the other side of the castle, the third and fourth cavalry patrols stormed the barracks. Startled by the commotion outside, the Ironborn there scrambled to arm themselves. However, caught off guard and unarmored, they stood little chance against the disciplined ranks of spears and shields. Even with their numerical advantage, they could not withstand the onslaught. Hundreds were swiftly cut down, while the rest scattered in disorganized flight, desperate to escape the carnage.

After entering the castle, Lynd and Nymeria led the remaining group to the entrance of the main hall. The guards stationed there were hurriedly trying to close the large doors, clearly intending to buy time for the rest of the Ironborn army inside.

Nymeria, however, took the initiative. Swinging her massive axe, she struck with devastating force, cutting the two guards attempting to push the doors closed cleanly in half. Lynd followed close behind, delivering a powerful kick to the door that sent the defenders standing behind it flying backward. With the entrance breached, Dacey, Jon, and the others surged in, their weapons striking with deadly precision. They attacked the defenders inside, who were clad in distinct Ironborn garb, with relentless efficiency.

Lynd, wielding his greatsword of the Banished Knight, charged ahead. The blade, massive and sharp, cleaved through the men blocking his path with a force that was as swift as it was brutal. He carved through the Ironborn ranks like a guillotine, each sweeping strike leaving a path of destruction. His momentum and strength were unstoppable, his attacks slicing through the crowded defenders as though they were nothing.

After delivering several devastating blows, Lynd created a wide gap in the dense Ironborn formation within the main hall. He turned to Nymeria and shouted, "Go capture Victarion, I'll handle the rest."

Without hesitation, Nymeria gathered a group of fighters and led them through the opening Lynd had forged. They quickly ascended the stairs, heading toward the room where Harren Botley, the Ironborn commander, was said to be resting.

Meanwhile, Lynd remained in the hall, continuing his deadly assault. Each time a group of Ironborn managed to regroup and mount a resistance, he charged into their midst, breaking their formation with a series of spinning, brutal slashes. He moved tirelessly from one cluster of enemies to the next, leaving no chance for the defenders to reorganize. By the time the battle in the hall subsided, the once-formidable Ironborn force—numbering over a thousand—had been decimated by Lynd and his men.

As the dust settled, Nymeria descended the stairs, her figure drenched in blood. In her hand, she carried a severed head. Without hesitation, she handed it to Lynd, who examined it briefly but failed to recognize the face. He tossed it to Dacey and instructed, "Take the head out and persuade them to surrender."

Dacey immediately took the head and ran outside, accompanied by most of the fighters. Only a few remained behind to secure the battlefield and ensure no threats lingered within the hall.

Lynd turned to Nymeria, his eyes scanning her blood-soaked appearance with concern. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

Nymeria shook her head, her expression calm yet still brimming with a warrior's adrenaline. "I'm fine. It's all his blood," she replied, gesturing to the crimson stains on her armor and skin. "That guy was weak—he only managed to take one of my axe strikes. It ended too quickly, just as I was getting started. How can someone like that be called the number one warrior of the Iron Islands?"

Lynd frowned at her words, troubled by the implications. He was well aware that Victarion Greyjoy was supposed to be a formidable fighter, one whose strength and skill were unmatched among the Ironborn. Even considering Nymeria's rigorous training and her exceptional physical capabilities, defeating him so easily felt... strange. Something about this didn't add up.

Just as Lynd was mulling over his doubts, Glory emerged silently from the shadows and approached him. Distracted by the sight of the Shadowcat, Lynd set his concerns aside, reached out to rub Glory's head, and turned to Nymeria with a faint smile. "Don't worry," he said. "There's still Seagard Castle ahead. That one should be a straight fight—not as easy as this."

Nymeria regarded him with a skeptical expression. She knew the number of Ironborn in Seagard Castle far exceeded those they had just defeated, but having witnessed Lynd's strength firsthand, she doubted those defenders would be much harder to handle than the ones here.

The battle within Moat Cailin Castle had ended swiftly. The Ironborn archers stationed in the three arrow towers were captured before they could even contribute to the fight. Of the remaining defenders, about 600 surrendered, all of them wounded. The rest perished in combat. Whether any of those 600 injured captives would survive remained uncertain.

On Lynd's side, the losses were minor but troubling—over ten dead and more than twenty injured. Although the skirmish was undeniably a victory, Lynd felt no satisfaction. The casualties, though few, were caused by carelessness. His men had grown overconfident in their perceived upper hand and had fallen victim to unexpected counterattacks.

To Lynd, a flawless victory was one without casualties, and the avoidable losses grated on him. Quietly, he resolved to tighten their training and enforce stricter discipline in future operations.

Adding to his dissatisfaction was the discovery, through questioning the prisoners, that the man Nymeria had killed was not Victarion Greyjoy. Apparently, Victarion had left Moat Cailin several days earlier.

"Lord Howland, you should immediately send word to Lord Eddard that Moat Cailin has been cleared. Ask him to come here as soon as possible. I still need to move on to Seagard to break the siege and can't remain here for long," Lynd said, addressing Howland Reed.

"I understand. I will inform the Lord," Howland replied. Without delay, he stepped into an open area, took out a piece of parchment, and began writing a concise report of the situation at Moat Cailin. Using the blood of a nearby corpse, he affixed a seal to the document before imprinting it with his ring.

Once the message was prepared, Howland moved to a quiet corner, sat down, and closed his eyes. Entering a meditative state, he seemed to withdraw entirely from his surroundings. Moments later, a raven descended from the sky, snatched the message in its claws, and took flight, heading north.

Lynd, ever cautious, ordered several men to guard Howland and ensure no one disturbed him while he remained in his trance. Then, accompanied by Nymeria and Glory, Lynd began another sweep of the castle, searching for any remaining threats or survivors.

Though they found no Ironborn hiding within the ruins, they did come across two former Moat Cailin guards concealed in a secret cellar beneath the stables. The men had been hiding there for over ten days, surviving on scraps. Starving and disheveled, they were almost unrecognizable to the archers from Greywater Watch who stumbled upon them.