As the banquet hall fell silent in shock at Lynd's name being absent from the list of rewards, King Robert rose with a sly smile and addressed the crowd. "Did you really think I'd forget the achievements of our chosen one, Lynd? He traveled thousands of miles, reclaimed five castles in succession, defeated tens of thousands of enemies, and took the head of Balon's eldest son!"
Hearing this, the crowd couldn't help but sense something unusual in the air. Their curiosity deepened as King Robert pulled a scroll from his sleeve and handed it to Grand Maester Pycelle. "Read it," Robert commanded.
Grand Maester Pycelle accepted the scroll, unrolled it, and his expression immediately betrayed his astonishment. He glanced back at Lynd, his eyes brimming with both confusion and intrigue. The attendees, equally curious, strained to guess the contents of the scroll, but no one dared press the Grand Maester to reveal it too quickly.
"What are you waiting for? Read it aloud!" King Robert snapped impatiently.
Without delay, Grand Maester Pycelle began to read: "In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I hereby promote Lord Lynd Tarran, chosen by the Gods, to the rank of Lord. I grant you the royal manor of Summerhall, along with all its lands and tax revenues, to be held and inherited by your heirs for generations to come."
The hall fell into a stunned silence. Even the Wardens of the Realm exchanged looks of disbelief. The shock wasn't because Lynd's title had been elevated—his rise to Lord was expected given his achievements and King Robert's favor. The true source of their astonishment lay in the land bestowed upon him: Summerhall.
Summerhall, though now in ruins after the fire set by Aegon V, carried profound significance. It had traditionally been associated with the heir to the Targaryen throne, much like Dragonstone. After Robert's ascension, the land remained unused, preserving its symbolic legacy. Many had assumed it would eventually be given to Stannis Baratheon, completing the tradition in a new era. The fact that Robert had granted this historically rich fiefdom to Lynd instead was unexpected—and controversial.
Stannis's expression upon entering the hall had already hinted at his displeasure. Now, understanding the cause, his simmering resentment was palpable. Queen Cersei, too, looked livid. She had hoped Summerhall would go to Joffrey when he came of age, cementing his position as Robert's heir by naming him Prince of Summerhall. With that plan shattered, her displeasure was as obvious as Stannis's.
Lynd, however, remained composed. He stepped forward, accepted the scroll from Grand Maester Pycelle, and returned to the crowd without a word. Internally, though, his mind raced as he considered the implications of this unexpected reward.
He quickly recalled Summerhall's location and the extent of its associated lands. The fiefdom was vast, spanning north to the edge of Grassy Vale and Kingswood, south to the borders of Blackhaven, and east to the ridges of the Red Mountains.
Notably, the newly acquired Summerhall territory directly connected to the enclave he had previously gained from House Tyrell, the Red Watch. With this addition, Lynd now controlled the entire northeastern tip of the Red Mountains. The sheer size of his territory rivaled that of some ancient, first-tier noble houses.
More significant, however, was the strategic proximity of Summerhall to Nymeria's lands. Though separated by Grassy Vale, the two territories could still connect through Kingswood.
Lynd's pensive expression caused those around him to mistake his demeanor for confusion over such a substantial reward. They couldn't help but sneer inwardly. After all, Lynd was merely an ordinary person. Faced with such immense benefits, he was unable to maintain the composed demeanor of a true noble. They were confident that, in his position, they would not have lost their composure so easily.
At the banquet, with the rewards already announced, it was naturally time to deal with those who were to be punished.
At King Robert's command, the nobles of the Iron Islands, imprisoned for over ten days, were brought into the center of the banquet hall.
Leading the group was Balon Greyjoy, his face gaunt and his hair pale. He still wore the driftwood crown, the traditional symbol of authority in the Iron Islands. However, at this moment, it appeared to be a mark of humiliation rather than honor.
Following him were members of House Greyjoy, including Victarion Greyjoy and Aeron Greyjoy. Behind them came the lords and nobles of the Iron Islands, such as those from Harlaw, Great Wyk, and Old Wyk. Among them was Dagon Harlaw, who had pledged allegiance to Lynd. His expression was bleak, reportedly due to the death of his younger brother during the Battle of Fair Isle.
Among the group were several children, including a boy and a girl who stood close to Balon Greyjoy—presumably Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy.
Yet, as the defeated nobles appeared, Lynd's attention wasn't drawn to the prominent figures like Balon Greyjoy. Instead, it was fixed on Aeron Greyjoy, walking behind Victarion.
Aeron Greyjoy looked utterly pale, as though he had just emerged from a harrowing illness. His hair hung limp, like seaweed, and there was an unhinged quality to his demeanor.
Word had it that during the naval battle of Fair Isle, Aeron Greyjoy had been struck unconscious by Stannis Baratheon's attack and fallen into the water. He had hit his head, lost consciousness, and sunk into the depths. Everyone assumed he had drowned, yet a day later, he washed ashore. Deranged, he wandered the coastline until local villagers captured him and brought him to Lannisport.
While most believed that Aeron's madness was the result of the head injury inflicted by Stannis, Lynd knew otherwise. He could see faint traces of magic radiating from Aeron's head. With the eyes of Glory, he discerned the true source: an indistinct, octopus-like sea monster, conjured by magic, clinging to Aeron's head. Its tentacles burrowed deep into his brain as if it were siphoning nutrients.
When the procession reached King Robert's throne, Balon Greyjoy stepped forward and knelt without hesitation, the rest of the nobles following suit. Balon removed the driftwood crown from his head and, with a dramatic gesture, smashed it against the ground. He then lowered his head, awaiting judgment.
Though Lynd already knew the outcome, he remained curious about King Robert's reasoning for sparing the Ironborn.
To Lynd, the verdict defied logic. In his understanding of history and rebellion, such leniency seemed incomprehensible. From the Eastern perspective, rebellions were quashed by eliminating entire families. Even in the Western tradition, it was expected that the roots of dissent would at least be severed. Yet, here Balon Greyjoy was allowed to return to the Iron Islands, with the other nobles retaining their titles.
The punishment, when announced, confirmed what Lynd had anticipated. None of the Iron Island nobles, including Balon Greyjoy, were executed or stripped of their titles. Instead, they were deprived of all their wealth, which was to be used to compensate the Westerlands and cover the costs of the rebellion.
Lynd found this laughable. The Iron Islands were already impoverished, with little wealth to offer as compensation. Most of the treasures they had looted were now in Lynd's possession. When the punishment was declared, some of the Iron Island nobles who knew about the events at Faircastle couldn't help but glance toward him.
Furthermore, the taxes on the Iron Islands were to be tripled for the next five years, a decision that would surely plunge the already destitute region into deeper poverty.
"Forgiving a group of rebels like this is far too lenient a punishment," Lynd muttered with disapproval as he processed the terms of the punishment.
Randyll Tarly, standing nearby, glanced at Lynd and whispered, "Which is more dangerous: a group of unruly bandits or a disciplined group full of internal conflicts?"
Lynd's mind sharpened at Randyll's pointed words. He quickly grasped the underlying implication—chaos was likely brewing in the Iron Islands. The Ironborn, now unchecked by the authority of their noble leaders, would have become even more unrestrained. Returning these great lords to power could serve as a tool to restore control over the Ironborn. The high taxes imposed would fall on the Ironborn themselves, fostering resentment toward their reinstated nobles. Simultaneously, these nobles would harbor mutual animosity—those who had avoided rebellion would despise the ones who had supported it, while those suffering heavier burdens would resent those who bore less. All of this would breed hostility toward House Greyjoy, the very architects of the rebellion.
A realization struck Lynd, prompting him to step forward from the crowd. His voice was resolute as he declared, "Your Grace, I don't think these punishments alone are sufficient."
The hall fell silent, and all eyes turned to Lynd. King Robert, seated on the throne, straightened his posture and regarded him intently. "Lord Lynd, do you have any suggestions?"
Lynd's expression was grave as he replied, "The Ironborn's proclivity for plunder stems entirely from their belief in the Drowned God. The ancient ways of this faith glorify rape, plunder, and the creation of a new world with blood, flames, and songs of destruction. Unless this barbaric and cruel belief is eradicated, the Ironborn will continue to raid and wreak havoc along the coasts of the Seven Kingdoms."
King Robert leaned forward, his tone contemplative. "What are you suggesting?"
Lynd's voice grew firmer. "Declare the faith of the Drowned God an evil religion that must be extinguished. In its place, establish the Faith of the Seven as the sole religion of the Iron Islands."
Before the room could fully absorb Lynd's proposal, Aeron Greyjoy erupted, shouting, "No!" He attempted to lunge at Lynd, his rage evident, but the guards restrained him. It took several men to hold him back, his sheer strength defying expectations.
Unshaken, Lynd turned toward Aeron. Calmly, he walked up to the struggling Ironborn priest, crouched before him, and extended a hand to touch Aeron's head. "Be quiet," he commanded.
As Lynd's hand made contact, a burst of white light emanated, capturing the room's attention. Aeron Greyjoy, who had been thrashing violently moments ago, grew still. His struggles ceased entirely, and his once-passionate eyes turned vacant, devoid of any spark of awareness.
Gasps echoed through the hall as the gathered nobles and onlookers watched in stunned silence. A few exclaimed in awe, murmuring about witnessing a miracle.
However, unbeknownst to them, Lynd held a Dragonglass pendant concealed within his palm, inscribed with intricate runes. As he touched Aeron's head, he released the pendant's stored power, subtly dispersing the Kraken's magic that imbued Aeron. The result left the priest in a trancelike state, and the white light was merely the visible manifestation of the pendant's energy.
After briefly silencing Aeron, Lynd turned away and, without drawing any attention, discreetly scattered the powdered Dragonglass onto the ground. Then, with deliberate steps, he returned to the lords and faced Robert, whose expression showed a flicker of surprise. Meeting the king's gaze, Lynd spoke calmly, "Your Grace, what do you think of my proposal?"
"What was that just now... that light from your hands?" Robert asked, his thoughts still caught on the earlier sight of Lynd's glowing hands.
"That?" Lynd responded, his tone vague but confident. "It was merely a small gift bestowed upon me by the Seven." As far as Lynd was concerned, invoking the Seven's name provided an all-encompassing explanation. With the Faith of the Seven as his shield, there was no need for elaborate excuses. After all, as the Chosen of the Seven, it was only natural to possess a hint of divine power.
Robert gradually pushed aside his curiosity about the white light, shifting his focus back to Lynd's proposal. With a serious expression, he finally said, "Your proposal is a good one. The Faith of the Drowned God..."
"Wait a moment," Eddard Stark interjected firmly. "Your Grace, when the Andals brought the Faith of the Seven to Westeros six thousand years ago, they waged war against the Old Gods for a millennium. In the end, a sacred covenant was signed between the Faith of the Seven and the faiths of the Old Gods. This covenant guarantees that everyone in Westeros has the right to choose their faith freely, and that is what brought us peace. If Your Grace were to outlaw the Faith of the Drowned God and force the Ironborn to worship the Seven, it would violate that covenant. What, then, of the North, which worships the Old Gods? Or Dorne, where various other beliefs coexist? Would Your Grace compel us to abandon our faiths as well?"
Lynd, hearing Eddard's words, acted quickly. Before Robert could respond, he stepped forward and admitted his mistake. "I hadn't considered that," he said with humility. "Perhaps I am still too young and lack the wisdom to think as deeply as Lord Eddard. Please, Your Grace, forget this foolish proposal of mine."
"You are young, that much is true," Robert said, his tone less stern. "But that's nothing to worry about—you still have plenty of time to learn. Perhaps you should bring a more accomplished Maester from the Citadel and expand your knowledge under their guidance." Seeing that Lynd himself had withdrawn the proposal, Robert dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand, allowing Lynd to retreat.
As Lynd returned to the crowd, he felt the weight of reverent gazes from those around him. The faithful of the Seven were clearly awestruck by what had just unfolded.
At that moment, Garlan approached him. "Ser Lynd," he began, his tone curious, "you don't strike me as someone who enjoys taking the lead or offering advice. Why would you...?"
"You have to keep your promises to others," Lynd interrupted with a cryptic answer, cutting Garlan off before he could finish. His gaze shifted toward a Septon of the Seven in the Westerlands whose face betrayed frustration.