"Ser Lynd, thank you for your help. Without you, Seagard might not have held out." In the lord's bedroom of the castle, Lord Jason Mallister sat propped up in bed with the aid of his servants. His pale, frail appearance betrayed the toll of his illness, and each word he spoke seemed to sap his strength. Yet, his spirit remained resilient.
Lynd bowed respectfully. "Lord Jason, please focus on recovering. I believe after this battle, the Ironborn will not dare harass Seagard again for a long time."
Lord Jason replied, though his voice wavered with fatigue, "Feel free to ask my son Patrek for anything you need. He will ensure the city supports you."
Seeing the strain on Lord Jason, who appeared close to fainting after uttering only a few sentences, Lynd chose not to linger. Offering a few more polite words, he took his leave of the earl's bedroom.
As he left the castle, Lynd spoke with Patrek Mallister, who accompanied him, inquiring about the earl's health.
"Father's condition has improved significantly," Patrek explained. "He can sit up, speak, and eat now. A month ago, he could only lie down, unable to do anything. The Maester diagnosed a severe cold that ordinary treatments couldn't cure. He suggested Father spend time in Oldtown or Arbor Island, where the climate might help. But before we could act on that, the Ironborn rebelled."
"This rebellion will be resolved soon," Lynd assured him calmly.
Patrek nodded and added, "I've already ordered preparations for a banquet—"
Lynd raised a hand to interrupt. "It's still wartime; this isn't the time for banquets," he said firmly. After a brief pause, he added, "However, if possible, please prepare more meat and send it to the barracks outside the castle. That will suffice for now. We'll rest and recuperate there."
Patrek hesitated but quickly countered, "How can that be appropriate? The military camp isn't a proper place for rest. You should come into the city instead—"
"No need," Lynd interjected. "The army is a mix of different groups, and relaxing in the city could lead to trouble. Besides, we must remain vigilant. Nearly 10,000 Ironborn prisoners are outside the city, and they require careful supervision to prevent incidents." He paused briefly before continuing, "We'll rest outside the city for two days. After that, we'll set out along the coastline toward Banefort. At that point, I'll take responsibility for some of the Ironborn prisoners myself. The remainder will be left under Seagard's care, with additional numbers accommodated by The Twins. Make sure the city's prison cells are cleared out in time to avoid any unexpected challenges."
"Understood," Patrek said, nodding earnestly.
Patrek immediately ordered provisions to be prepared, including a large amount of food, which was delivered to the military camp outside the city as Lynd departed. Though Patrek intended to include wine, Lynd firmly prohibited it. Drinking during wartime was strictly forbidden under his command.
The lack of alcohol displeased some of the soldiers from The North and The Twins, but none voiced complaints after learning it was Lynd's direct order. The abundance of food, however, served as a welcome consolation.
Though the army refrained from entering the city to avoid disrupting its citizens, the people were not barred from approaching the camp to provide services. Vendors, jugglers, and even prostitutes from Seagard took the opportunity to ply their trades near the encampment. Lynd permitted these activities but set a clear boundary: no civilians were allowed inside the camp, and all transactions had to occur outside.
The spoils of war, including the property looted by the Ironborn from the surrounding areas, were distributed according to wartime tradition. Lynd, demonstrating notable generosity, allocated half of the plunder to his soldiers, rewarding them based on their military contributions. Even the newer recruits from The Twins found their pockets filled with copper coins and silver stags, which they eagerly spent on the nearby vendors.
Lynd's only condition was strict adherence to military discipline. Knights and warriors from the Houses of Frey and Umber, unfamiliar with his character, initially tested these boundaries. When a member of a Frey cadet branch robbed and nearly killed a prostitute after completing a transaction, Lynd's punishment was swift and public.
These disciplinary measures quickly quelled any unruly behavior. Even the notoriously headstrong Northerners adjusted to Lynd's firm but fair rules, ensuring order within the camp.
"What's wrong? You don't seem very happy that we won the battle," Lynd remarked as he stepped into his tent after completing a week-long inspection of the camp. Inside, he found Nymeria seated with her twin attendants, carefully polishing her armor and weapons. Her expression, though calm, carried a subtle trace of unease, which puzzled Lynd.
Nymeria let out a soft sigh. "I didn't expect the battle to go so smoothly," she admitted. "With Banefort and The Crag likely to fall just as easily, this rebellion will be over before long. When that happens, I suppose you'll have to leave Tumbleton as well."
Lynd approached her, gently taking her hand. "I'll only be gone for a while," he assured her. "It's not so far that I can't visit you in Tumbleton, or that you couldn't come to see me."
Recognizing the shift in mood, Nymeria's attendants discreetly exited the tent, leaving the two of them alone.
"Will you need any help when the time comes?" Nymeria asked, her tone edged with concern.
Lynd shook his head. "No. The best help you can offer is running Tumbleton well. It's my rear guard—if it remains stable, I won't have any distractions."
Nymeria nodded thoughtfully. "In that case, I'll need you to leave Bert with me. He's the administrator of Tumbleton and oversees most of the government affairs. Without him, I won't have anyone to take his place in the short term."
"That's exactly what I was thinking," Lynd replied. "With Malora at my side, I can handle most of the administrative tasks. Besides, her responsibilities overlap with Bert's in some areas. If I were to bring both of them, they'd step on each other's toes and neither would reach their full potential."
At the mention of Malora accompanying Lynd to the new territory, a shadow of displeasure crossed Nymeria's face. Though she trusted Lynd's character implicitly, she couldn't ignore her concerns. She was well aware of Malora's designs on him, even if Lynd had never reciprocated or encouraged her advances.
The prospect of Malora and Lynd spending extended time together unsettled her. Malora's beauty and seductive nature would worry any woman, no matter how secure.
Lynd, noticing her unease, spoke with conviction. "You don't need to worry about Malora. I know she has feelings for me, but they're not romantic. It's something else entirely. You have nothing to fear; nothing will happen between us."
Nymeria was not one to let her emotions cloud her judgment for long. She quickly composed herself and shifted the conversation toward Tumbleton's future. Together, they discussed its governance and planned the steps for stabilizing and improving the region. For Nymeria, this practical focus helped ground her, allowing her to recover from the lingering bloodthirsty feelings that always lingered after a battle.
For reasons tied to her mysterious bloodline, Nymeria often grew increasingly bloodthirsty the longer a battle dragged on, almost to the point of becoming a berserker. Fortunately, Lynd's dragon rune necklace had proven effective in keeping her mind calm and stable during these moments, preventing any disastrous outcomes.
Concerned for her well-being, Lynd had previously consulted Malora, but even she couldn't offer a clear explanation. What Malora did share was intriguing: the House of Footly had ancient roots, dating back to the time of the First Men, and originating from a distant place in the East—possibly Asshai.
According to Malora, the family once worshipped a black stone that could absorb light, causing unease and negativity in anyone who gazed at it too long. This stone, she claimed, had been brought north by Brandon the Builder to serve as one of the cornerstones of The Wall. In exchange, Brandon had built House Footly, a castle, which had been destroyed during The Dance of the Dragons and was later restored.
Lynd shared this revelation with Nymeria, who listened with astonishment. She had never imagined that her family's history held such a deep, enigmatic legacy.
However, this did not alleviate Nymeria's symptoms. To help manage the side effects of the Dragon Communion Ritual performed for the Banished Knight, Lynd crafted several Dragon Runes Dragonglass Necklaces for Nymeria to wear during battles to suppress her bloodlust.
Nymeria also developed a habit of calming herself after battles by polishing her armor and weapons and discussing various topics with Lynd. These moments provided her a measure of peace, helping her regain balance after the turmoil of combat.
While Lynd and Nymeria engaged in conversation, attempting to ease their tense post-battle spirits, Jon stepped outside the tent and announced, "My lord, there's been an incident with the prisoners. You may need to handle it."
Both Lynd and Nymeria frowned at the interruption. Without exchanging a word, they rose and followed Jon out of the tent.
"What happened? Did someone else try to escape, unafraid of death?" Lynd inquired, his tone low and commanding.
"No," Jon replied, shaking his head. "Someone wants to join your ranks."
"Join my ranks?" Lynd repeated, momentarily stunned before breaking into a laugh. "Why would I want a group of pirates…" His voice trailed off as a thought struck him, and he paused. After a brief contemplation, he asked, "Who wants to join me? An ordinary Ironborn pirate, or someone of importance from the Iron Islands?"
"It's a noble of the Iron Islands, and a significant one at that," Jon replied with a grave expression. "Dagon Harlaw, the eldest son of Lord Rodrik Harlaw, the head of House Harlaw."
Lynd's expression shifted as he processed the name, and he couldn't help but confirm, "What's his name again?"
"Dagon Harlaw." Jon looked perplexed, noting Lynd's reaction. In his recollection, the name belonged to a legendary figure from the Iron Islands' lore, but he couldn't grasp why it would elicit such a response from Lynd.
For Lynd, however, the name stirred a deeply peculiar connection. He recalled something he'd come across in another system, an existential concept tied to a completely different reality. A post he had once read on a forum mentioned parallels between Cthulhu mythos elements and the world of Ice and Fire, citing figures like Dagon and the Deep Ones.
The Deep Ones were not mere myths in this world. Stories claimed that the black stone foundation of the High Tower in Oldtown had been constructed by these mysterious beings. Lynd had visited the High Tower and, while he could sense its intrinsic, otherworldly power, he hadn't discerned anything overtly unusual about the black stone foundation itself.
Another eerie connection to the Deep Ones was the tale of someone who had allegedly seen them, ventured into their underwater kingdom, and returned alive: Patchface of Storm's End.
Lynd quickly suppressed the thoughts triggered by the name Dagon and returned his focus to the matter at hand. "Why does this Dagon Harlaw want to see me?" he asked.
"He said he wants to survive," Jon replied simply.
"Survive?" Lynd echoed, confusion crossing his face. "Are the guards threatening him? I distinctly remember giving orders not to kill prisoners without cause."
Jon hastily clarified, "No, my lord. He's the heir of Lord Harlaw, a prominent noble of the Iron Islands. We've treated him as such, giving him his own tent and ensuring his safety. No one is trying to kill him."
"Then why does he say he wants to live?" Lynd asked, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
Jon shrugged helplessly. "We're not sure, my lord. He only said he wanted to speak with you."
"I think you should meet this Dagon Harlaw," Nymeria interjected, her voice calm but purposeful. She seemed to echo Lynd's unspoken thoughts as she added, "The territory you will inherit in the future, near the Sea of Dorne, is well-suited for building harbors. You will undoubtedly need sailors and captains to form a fleet. While the Ironborn are notorious for their penchant for raiding, there's no denying that they are the finest sailors in the Seven Kingdoms. If you can win over Dagon Harlaw, it would greatly benefit your efforts to establish a fleet for your domain."
Lynd considered her words carefully, nodding after a moment. He gestured for Jon to lead the way. "Take me to him."
Lynd's treatment of the Ironborn prisoners had been deliberately structured to prevent them from mounting any coordinated resistance. Prisoners were categorized based on their status, fostering division within their ranks.
The lowest-ranking Ironborn were bound tightly with leather thongs, kept under strict watch. Captains and civilian officers were afforded slightly better conditions—they could sit by the campfire and receive more adequate food. As for knights and nobles, they were housed separately in tents, allowed a degree of comfort. They were permitted to leave their tents only for meals, which were served within the confines of the prisoner camp. Nobles received treatment befitting their status, ensuring they ate better than most.
This strategy fostered resentment among the lower-ranking Ironborn toward their leaders. The sight of unbound nobles eating well and living comfortably while their subordinates suffered bred discontent. Should these nobles attempt to incite rebellion, it was unlikely they would find many willing followers among their disillusioned kin.
The Ironborn nobles were well aware of Lynd's strategy, recognizing it as a calculated attempt to undermine their authority. Yet, stripped of options, they could only endure the humiliation in silence. Their hold over their subordinates weakened with each passing day, eroding any semblance of unity among the prisoners.