Just as Randyll Tarly led the combined forces of The Reach to King’s Landing, and all the troops King’s Landing could muster were in position, ready to march toward the Westerlands, Lynd's n reached the outskirts of The Neck near Moat Cailin Bay and ca to a halt.
After more than ten days of arduous travel, with only brief stops for rest, exhaustion had inevitably set in. If they pressed on any further, even if they managed to reach Moat Cailin, they would likely be too drained to put up an effective fight.
Disease was another concern. Shortly after entering the swamp, over a dozen n had fallen ill. Thankfully, Lynd had anticipated such challenges and had asked Malora to prepare ample dicinal supplies before departing Tumbleton. Among these were redies specifically designed to treat ailnts common in the swamp. After administering the dicine, all those affected recovered swiftly, though their spirits remained low.
Given these circumstances, Lynd decided to halt and find a dry place for the troops to rest for two days, allowing them to recuperate before resuming their journey. However, finding a dry spot in The Neck was as challenging as locating snow in the deserts of Dorne.
"My lord, we should be close to Greywater Watch now. We could go there to rest," Dacey suggested, interrupting Lynd as he began improvising a plan.
"Dacey, do you know where Greywater Watch is?" Lynd asked skeptically.
Dacey shook her head. "No one but House Reed knows its exact location. It's said that Greywater Watch is built on a floating island that drifts through the swamp. It has no fixed location."
Raul, one of the deputies, wrung out his soaked cloak, water dripping onto the muddy ground. Frustrated, he said, "If we can't even find the place, how are we supposed to get there? Should we fly up into the air to look for it?"
Lynd silently acknowledged that he had underestimated the challenges posed by The Neck’s unique geography. His n, accustod to the warmth of the south, now struggled in this cold, damp environnt. Even breathing here felt oppressive, as if the air itself was saturated with water. Morale, no matter how resilient, was beginning to wane.
Dacey, undeterred by Raul’s complaints, dismounted her horse and crouched near the edge of the path. She plucked a handful of brown-leafed weeds from the ground and held them up. "We don’t need to find it," she said. "Look for these brown-leafed weeds. Light them on fire to create thick smoke. If the people of House Reed see it, they’ll send soone to us."
Lynd didn’t hesitate. He ordered his n to gather the brown-leafed weeds. Once they had collected enough, they lit a fire, and soon thick black smoke spiraled into the sky, climbing higher and higher until it dispersed hundreds of ters above.
After waiting for a while, Glory, who stood beside Lynd, suddenly seed to sense sothing and turned its gaze toward a patch of grass in the swamp nearby. Noticing this, Lynd followed its gaze.
From the grass erged a large lizard-lion, its scaled body glinting faintly in the muted light. The creature raised its head slightly, observing Lynd and the group with an unnervingly steady gaze.
Lynd’s warhorse, having long grown accustod to Glory’s imposing presence, remained calm despite the appearance of this formidable beast. However, Dacey and the others instinctively drew their weapons, ready to strike at a mont’s notice if the creature showed any aggression.
Lynd raised a hand, signaling them to hold their ground. Without hesitation, he dismounted from Ebon, his boots sinking into the mud as he walked cautiously toward the lizard-lion. His voice was steady as he spoke. “Lord Howland Reed?”
The group froze at his words, their expressions a mixture of confusion and disbelief. It was inconceivable to associate the lizard-lion before them with Howland Reed, the enigmatic lord of House Reed.
But Lynd saw differently. To him, and through Glory’s keen sight, the lizard-lion was shrouded in a faint grey mist. The mist coiled around the creature, taking on the indistinct form of a human figure, its presence subtly manipulating the lizard-lion’s movents.
Lynd’s mory stirred. Howland Reed was a figure cloaked in mystery, a man whispered to be a Skinchanger or perhaps even a Greenseer. His ties to the Children of the Forest were often spoken of in half-believed tales. He was said to provide them refuge in The Neck and, in return, gain access to their ancient knowledge. Few in the world knew more secrets than he did.
Given the beast’s magical aura and the convenience of its arrival, Lynd made the connection instantly. As his words hung in the air, the cold, reptilian eyes of the lizard-lion widened briefly, a flicker of surprise breaking its stoic gaze. It nodded, almost imperceptibly.
“I am Lynd Tarran,” Lynd continued, his tone respectful but firm, “ordered by the king to investigate the fall of Moat Cailin. I request a place for my n to rest and an opportunity to learn about the situation at Moat Cailin. Could you grant us this favor?”
The lizard-lion regarded Lynd in silence for a mont, its sharp gaze sweeping over him before shifting briefly to Glory. After a tense pause, it nodded again, then turned away. It glanced back at Lynd, as though beckoning, and began moving, its massive body gliding with ease through the swamp.
Understanding the gesture, Lynd returned to Ebon, mounted his horse, and motioned for the others to follow. The group left the main road and ventured into the swampy terrain, guided by the lizard-lion.
“Watch your footing and stay close,” Lynd called back to the group. “Two horses abreast, and keep your eyes on the tail of the horse ahead.”
The path carved by the lizard-lion was firm, providing just enough stability for the group to traverse. However, the trail was narrow, accommodating only three horses side by side at best. To either side, the swamp yawned open, its treacherous depths ready to claim the unwary. Lynd remained vigilant, calling out instructions to maintain order and ensure no one strayed.
Despite his warnings, a few riders in the middle of the group montarily lost their footing, their horses slipping into the mud at the edges of the path. Fortunately, the ground was not overly soft, and they managed to steady their mounts and return to the trail without incident.
After following the lizard-lion for about ten minutes, the group arrived at an island bordered on three sides by a narrow river and covered on the fourth side with dense reeds. The island featured dozens of houses arranged around a central spire-like tower, with a small square in the middle. In the square, children and won milled about, their activities coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of the approaching cavalry.
Alarm spread quickly through the villagers. Mothers hurriedly gathered their children, retreating into the safety of their hos, while several n stepped into the square, bows and arrows at the ready. Their tension visibly eased, however, when they noticed the lizard-lion leading the newcors. Recognizing the creature, they slowly moved their hands away from their quivers, their posture shifting from defensive to watchful.
As Lynd observed, the grey mist enveloping the lizard-lion began to dissipate. The creature shook itself briefly before reverting to its natural form, free of any magical influence. Whether it was acting on Howland Reed’s command or intimidated by Glory’s formidable presence, the lizard-lion quickly swayed its powerful body, slinking toward the reeds. It vanished into the tall grasses, leaving only ripples across the water's surface as evidence of its retreat.
Lynd turned to address his n. “Don’t enter the village. Set up camp outside. The ground here is dry enough. Gather firewood and light so bonfires. Dry your clothes and keep an eye on the horses—don’t let them stray into the swamp.” He then glanced at Nyria, who stood nearby with an air of weariness. “Let’s et the owner of this place.”
Nyria nodded silently, dismounted, and handed off the task of organizing the camp to her adjutant. Together, she and Lynd began walking toward the village.
The villagers, having realized the visitors were not a threat, dropped their initial hostility but remained wary. They stood at a distance, their curious gazes fixed on the striking figures of Lynd in his ornate armor, Nyria’s impressive height, and the imposing form of Glory. Although they were accustod to the sight of large lizard-lions, Glory was sothing entirely different. The Shadowcat’s imnse size and predatory grace left even these hardy swamp-dwellers uneasy. Their instincts, honed by years of surviving in the treacherous Neck, scread danger. When Glory’s sharp eyes swept over them, a shiver ran through the crowd, their hairs standing on end.
“Get out of here, all of you! Stop gawking at the guests like a bunch of swamp bumpkins,” ca a raspy voice from the direction of the tower house. Erging from its shadow was a man clad in a short green tunic, a hooded cloak draped over his shoulders, a longbow slung across his back, and a knight’s sword hanging at his side. His weathered face was frad by a thick beard. Walking beside him were two children—a boy and a girl.
The sight of the man and his companions confird Lynd’s suspicions. This was Howland Reed, lord of Greywater Watch, and the two children with him were undoubtedly era and Jojen Reed.
As Howland approached, Glory’s deanor shifted. Its massive body tensed, and it lowered into an aggressive stance, muscles coiled as if ready to spring. Lynd’s brow furrowed at the unusual reaction. Glory had never displayed nervousness toward anyone before.
Lynd focused his gaze on Howland and imdiately discerned faint traces of magic coursing through his body. However, the details were elusive, obscured by the layers of enchantnt. Seeking clarity, Lynd reached out to Glory’s keen senses, sharing the Shadowcat’s vision.
Through Glory’s eyes, Howland’s form transford. His human figure was replaced by a towering lizard-like creature, atop which rested an eerie, unnatural head made of woven earth and vines. This head, clearly not Howland’s own, emanated an unsettling aura of ancient power.
Shaken but composed, Lynd withdrew from the shared vision and placed a steadying hand on Glory’s neck, stroking gently to calm him. As Howland drew nearer, Lynd stepped forward, bowing slightly in deference. “Greetings, Lord Howland.”
Nyria followed, offering her own respectful nod.
“Greetings, Chosen of the Seven, Lady Footly.” Howland addressed Lynd not by his knighthood but by the title that symbolized his role in promoting the Faith of the Seven. He gestured toward the two children by his side. “These are my daughter era and my son Jojen.”
Lynd removed his helt, cradling it in his arms, and crouched slightly to get a closer look at the children—young souls who, he suspected, might play significant roles in shaping the future.
Jojen, it was clear, had not yet acquired the Greensight of the Three-Eyed Crow. He was still an ordinary child, untouched by the extraordinary burden that awaited him.
Lynd’s steady, scrutinizing gaze unsettled both children. Jojen shifted nervously, and era, though visibly timid herself, instinctively stepped forward and placed an arm protectively in front of her younger brother.
A thought suddenly struck Lynd. Without hesitation, he turned to Howland Reed, his voice carrying a decisive weight. “Lord Howland, a swamp is not an ideal place for children to grow up. A warm river delta is far more suitable. After this rebellion concludes, I would like to take them both as my foster son and daughter and bring them to The Reach. What are your thoughts on this?”
The boldness of the statent stunned everyone present. Howland stared at Lynd in disbelief, while the children looked up at their father with wide, uncertain eyes. Even Nyria, standing at Lynd’s side, was taken aback. She hadn’t anticipated such an unexpected offer, but she did not object. The idea had its rits. She imagined era serving as a companion to Brienne in Tumbleton, offering her the friendship of a girl her own age and perhaps balancing Brienne’s increasingly rough deanor from years spent among soldiers.
“Ser Lynd,” Howland finally spoke, his tone laced with suspicion, “you’re not serious, are you?”
Lynd’s expression was calm but resolute. “I’m entirely serious.”
Beneath the surface of Lynd’s words lay a deeper motivation. He wanted to bring era and Jojen to The Reach not only for their well-being but also to see whether the Three-Eyed Crow could still find a replacent for Jojen. Perhaps this move could alter the trajectory of events, ensuring that Jojen would not need to lead Bran Stark to the Land of Always Winter. A new path could be forged, sparing the boy from his ominous fate.
Howland’s gaze shifted to his children, lingering on them with a mixture of affection and hesitation. The offer was tempting, but his expression darkened with unspoken concerns. “I’m sorry, Ser Lynd,” he said after a pause. “While your offer is generous, the people of House Reed belong to the swamp. It is the source of our strength and spirit. If we were to leave, we would wither, like fish out of water.”
Lynd sighed softly at Howland’s refusal, understanding there was more to his decision than environntal reasoning. It was likely that Howland knew sothing—perhaps about his children’s purpose or a destined mission. If that were true, his choice wasn’t rely pragmatic but one of submission to that knowledge.
Lynd suspected Howland had resolved to follow that path, even if it ant sending his children toward a fate that could lead to their deaths in the frozen desolation of the far north.
Lynd did not press further. He reached out and gently touched the heads of the two children before retrieving two Dragon Rune necklaces he had prepared as spares. Handing them to the children, he said, “These are necklaces I made myself, and they will serve as a gift to commorate our eting. Do not wear them often; keep them in the box. When you feel down or your thoughts beco scattered, put them on. They’ll help you feel better. But rember, don’t wear them for too long.”
Over the past year, Lynd had conducted nurous experints on the Dragon Rune Necklace, which was capable of mitigating the side effects of the Dragon Communion Ritual. He had discovered that, as long as it was not worn for extended periods, ordinary people could also use the necklace to experience a calming effect and improved clarity of thought.
With this in mind, Lynd had crafted specific necklaces for Nyria, Malora, and Bert, who often found themselves engaged in ntal exertion. The ones he handed to the children now were spares he had kept for himself.
The two children’s eyes lit up at the sight of the necklaces. Eager to take them, they instinctively reached out, only to pause and glance toward Howland for approval.
Howland, possessing abilities akin to those of a Skinchanger, did not fully understand the intricacies of the rune necklace, but he could sense the power embedded within them. Knowing that the necklaces had been crafted by Lynd himself heightened his curiosity about Lynd’s skills and knowledge.
“Take them! But rember what Ser Lynd just said—don’t wear the necklaces lightly,” Howland instructed, his tone firm yet supportive.
The children bead with excitent as they held the necklaces. As they felt the weight and texture of the runes, an undeniable sense of the extraordinary emanated from them, sparking wonder and curiosity in their expressions.
Shortly afterward, Howland invited Lynd and Nyria into his tower house. Inside, a fire crackled warmly, dispelling the swamp's persistent chill. Lynd and Nyria sat close to the hearth, drying their damp clothes. A servant brought over bread, which they dipped into the salt placed on a wooden dish nearby. After their al, they began to settle into the tower house as welcod guests.
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