GOT: The Dangerous Traveler 9
Lyn Corbray
Year 281 A.C. – Maidenpool
The eastern wind blew fiercely as Lyn Corbray rode toward Maidenpool. The city rose in the distance, its pink stone walls gleaming under the sunlight, a fortress of trade and culture nestled between rolling hills and the pines of the horizon. On horseback, Lyn wore simple attire, devoid of any identifying insignias, but the two swords hanging from his waist were unmistakable: the legendary Dawn and the imposing Blackfyre.
His gaze was calculating as he rode down the dusty road, observing the leather barges floating near the shore and the fishermen gathering clams under the watchful eyes of the city walls. The city was alive with the bustle of merchants, peasants, and soldiers moving through its streets and crowded port. From his vantage point, Lyn could see the castle of House Mooton perched on a hill, with the Jonquil Tower standing out like an accusing finger against the sky.
When he reached the city gates, the guards gave him a suspicious look but didn't stop him. Lyn offered them a brief smile and passed through, letting the lively cacophony of Maidenpool envelop him. The streets were narrow, cobblestoned, and the air was filled with the scent of salt, fish, and the distant sweetness of local bakeries. Lyn kept his head low, but his eyes never stopped moving, scanning the anonymous faces for potential threats.
"An interesting city," he murmured to himself, directing his horse toward an inn near the Fool's Gate. His goal was clear: to plan a journey to Essos before news of his recent "feat" caught up to him.
As he entered the inn, the noise of conversations and laughter paused for a moment as eyes turned toward him. Lyn ignored the stares, moving with the confidence of someone who belonged wherever he found himself. He approached the bar and ordered a glass of wine while listening to the conversations around him.
"They say Arthur Dayne was murdered at Harrenhal," a merchant commented, his voice filled with awe and fear. "And his sword, Dawn, has disappeared. The rumors point to a young man from House Corbray. His name… I can't remember. They say he's the same one who defeated and killed Barristan Selmy in a duel. The songs about that day will be interesting!"
Lyn sighed inwardly, taking a sip of his wine. The news had already reached here, though the details remained confused and fragmented.
'I'll have to move quickly,' he thought, leaving a few coins on the counter before approaching the innkeeper. 'I just hope my father and brother are alright. I left them a letter and used a cat to wake him up by scratching his face. That should be enough.'
The innkeeper looked at him without much expression, though she was clearly intrigued by his handsome face.
"I need a room for the night," he said in his usual tone of charming indifference. At the same time, the woman, a young girl with braided hair, handed him a key.
"Second floor, at the end of the hallway. Three silver stags in advance."
Lyn paid without argument and climbed the creaky stairs to his room. Upon entering, he locked the door with a firm twist of the key and dropped the swords on a nearby table. The room was modest but clean, with a sturdy wooden bed, a small window overlooking the backyard, and a basin filled with water.
He flopped onto the bed with a heavy sigh, interlacing his hands behind his head as he stared at the wooden ceiling. He knew his time in Maidenpool would be brief; the world was looking for him, and every day he stayed put brought him closer to being found. But for now, there was only silence and the promise of a restless sleep before facing the next step of his escape.
He let out a long sigh and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the swords. Dawn and Blackfyre were symbols of power, trophies of his skill, and now, of his danger. He lay back, closing his eyes, seeking a moment of calm amidst the chaos surrounding him.
When he opened them again, the world had changed. He was no longer in the modest inn room but in a dark, oppressive place. The walls were cold, damp stone, barely illuminated by a flickering torch in the distance. Before him, a man was chained, his face hidden behind a smooth, featureless mask.
'A vision,' Lyn thought quickly. An involuntary one—or rather, not provoked by him. That meant there was something to learn in this vision.
Lyn felt a shiver run through his body, but it wasn't fear; it was anticipation. The vision wasn't clear in its meaning, but something within him, in that strange gift he possessed, told him this man was important. The manacles binding him glowed with an almost ethereal light, and the mask seemed to shift slightly, as if it were a living part of his face.
The man lifted his head slowly, as if sensing Lyn's presence. Though he didn't speak, a silent understanding passed between them. "Come," the figure seemed to say, though no sound was uttered. "Find me. Free me."
Before Lyn could react, the vision faded, and he found himself back in the inn room, breathing heavily and his heart pounding. The sense of urgency still clung to him, as if the vision had left an indelible mark on his mind.
"That… was refreshing," he whispered.
After waiting a few hours while preparing to act, Lyn Corbray left the inn under the cover of night. The sea breeze carried the salty smell from the Bay of Crabs, mingling with the scents of the city: fresh fish, wood smoke, and the acrid sweetness of crowded streets. He walked with his hands resting near the hilts of Dawn and Blackfyre, hanging discreetly at his waist, while his eyes scanned every corner.
The vision still unsettled him. That chained man in a cell, the featureless mask, and the strange sensation that his powers were pushing him toward a predetermined direction.
'The answers must be here,' he thought. As he moved through the streets, he stopped a fisherman unloading his catch near the port. "Excuse me, friend. Do you know where the city's dungeons are?"
The fisherman looked at him suspiciously, but noticing his casual demeanor, he nodded toward the castle on the hill. "Under the Mooton castle, like in any other city. But I warn you, no one gets in there without permission."
Lyn nodded, thanking him with a gesture, and headed toward the indicated location. Along the way, he repeated his question to a couple of passersby, confirming the exact location of the dungeons. Each answer reinforced his determination.
When he neared the castle, he found a secluded spot where he could act without being observed. The moonlight bathed the pink stones of the walls, creating deep shadows in which Lyn hid. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let his mind expand, seeking a connection with the nearby creatures. Within seconds, he found his target: a rat moving nimbly through the drains and cracks of the castle.
When he opened his eyes, his right eye had taken on a milky white hue, a stark contrast to his left, which remained normal. His consciousness left his body and transferred to the small creature, which now saw the world through the rat's eyes. The perspective was low but perfect for moving undetected.
The rat slipped easily through the shadows, guided by Lyn's will. It entered through an opening at the base of the castle, a narrow tunnel leading to the dungeons. The air was cold and damp, and the sound of dripping water echoed in the darkness. As it advanced, Lyn could feel the vibrations of distant voices mixed with the clinking of chains.
Finally, the rat reached a cell. There was the man from the vision: chained, motionless, though he wasn't wearing a mask—just an ordinary face.
Lyn studied the surroundings through the rat's eyes. The walls were thick, the iron door solid, and two guards chatted a short distance away, distracted.
"There you are," Lyn thought, his connection with the rat vibrating. The man lifted his head slowly, as if sensing Lyn's presence even through the small creature. The same silent understanding he felt in the vision passed between them.
Satisfied with his reconnaissance, Lyn refocused his consciousness on his main body, though his right eye remained fixed on the grim dungeon scene.
But Lyn was a man of action—that's what he liked; besides bedding a good whore or noble lady. At this point, to him, they were one and the same.
So, without wasting time, the young man slipped toward a side entrance of the castle he had identified during his inspection as the least guarded path. The guards stationed near the main entrance were distracted by a dice game and didn't notice his presence.
Moving silently, Lyn reached the dungeons. Two guards chatted in front of a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands. Their laughter drowned out any subtle noises. Lyn slipped behind a nearby pillar and pulled a small stone from his pouch. He tossed it toward a dark corner, creating a sharp noise that drew the men's attention.
"What was that?" one of them said, turning toward the source of the noise.
"Probably a rat," the other replied, but both moved to investigate.
Taking advantage of their distraction, Lyn moved quickly and silently. With a precise strike to the base of the neck, he stunned the first guard, who fell to the ground unconscious. The second barely had time to react before Lyn silenced him with another accurate blow. Both bodies lay on the ground, breathing but inert.
Lyn took a key from one of the guards and opened the cell door. The chained man looked at him intently, showing no surprise, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"A man appreciates the liberation," the prisoner said in a calm, inflectionless voice.
Lyn raised an eyebrow. "I knew you were more than you appeared. What should I call you? It's a bit unsettling to just call you 'a man,' you know. You're not very original."
"A man has no name," the prisoner replied, but after Lyn's prolonged silence, he spoke again. "Denario."
Lyn crossed his arms, assessing the man.
"Those Braavosi words, right? So, are you one of them? An assassin who kills for names?"
The man inclined his head slightly. "A man fulfills the duty assigned to him. Three names for a life, that is the rule."
Lyn smiled, though his eyes showed genuine interest. "Three names, you say. But what if, instead of names, you give me something more? I want to learn what you know. Teach me your arts."
"That is not a name. A man cannot fulfill that request."
"Oh? Then I already have my first name. Denario."
Denario, or the Faceless Man, fell silent, staring intently at Lyn.
'Creepy bastard, stop staring at me with that expressionless face of yours,' Lyn thought.
"A man can teach, but the price will be high. Are you willing to pay it?" Denario finally spoke.
"Eh, yeah, sure. Deal," Lyn replied in a carefree tone.
The man freed his wrists from the chains with surprising ease now that the locks were open. "Then a man will teach you, but first you must take him to Braavos."
"Braavos… well, we're on our way," Lyn smiled. His week had definitely improved.