Lynd’s performance the previous night had beco the talk of all Highgarden. Praise for his music spread throughout the city, and the already artistically inclined court was now gripped by an almost fanatical admiration. So even suggested that Lynd should be granted the title of the God of Music.
Despite the growing fervor, Lynd remained indifferent. After dressing simply in the morning, he took Augustus and set out for Joel’s wedding at his estate outside the city.
Though Joel had so renown in Highgarden—his swordsmanship was on par with Vortir’s—that was where his influence ended. His Flowers surna had already set clear limits on his prospects, restricting both his social circle and his future.
Fortunately, Joel didn’t care. To him, enjoying life with close friends was far more important than status or noble recognition. As a result, most of his companions were common folk—traders, fishern, and other laborers. Apart from Lynd, the only guest of noble birth was Vortir.
Because Lynd had dressed plainly, and Augustus was in similarly unremarkable attire, they appeared to be just another father and son attending the celebration. Since few at the gathering recognized him, his arrival caused no commotion.
After exchanging a distant greeting with Joel, who was busy welcoming guests alongside his wife, Lynd took a seat in a quiet corner with Augustus, listening to an old fisherman boast about how, in his youth, he had once caught a giant whale in the Mander River.
"Whales only live in the sea. How did one end up in a river?" Lynd suddenly interrupted, his curiosity piqued.
The old fisherman fell silent, struggling for an explanation. Finally, he grumbled, "It was just there, swimming in the river. How the hell should I know why?"
With that, he grabbed his cup and wandered off in search of a more receptive audience for his tales.
"He wasn’t lying," Joel remarked as he approached, holding a goblet of wine. He took a seat beside Lynd. "Old Borui really did catch a whale in the Mander when he was young. The poor thing must’ve wandered into the river by mistake and couldn’t find its way back to the sea. He and his father found it, tried to capture it. His father drowned in the process, and Borui was later discovered on the riverbank—alongside the whale’s carcass."
Lynd turned to Joel, raising a brow. "Shouldn’t you be busy with the wedding? What are you doing out here?"
"The wedding? This is the wedding," Joel said, gesturing around. "We’re not nobles—we don’t need so grand, formal affair. lis is Lyseni; she doesn’t care for Westerosi traditions either. We held the ceremony yesterday, according to Lyseni customs. Vortir served as the witness. It’s all done."
"Congratulations," Lynd said sincerely. He felt no disappointnt at not being chosen as a witness—only genuine happiness for his friend.
Joel smiled, his expression radiating contentnt.
At that mont, Vortir arrived and took a seat on Lynd’s other side. He glanced down at Augustus, cradled in Lynd’s arms, and smirked. "You’ve been keeping this little one well hidden. There are already plenty of rumors outside—people are saying your son is a deford monster, just like the Imp of Casterly Rock."
Lynd’s expression remained unchanged. "People can say whatever they like. Their words don’t concern , as long as they don’t say them in front of ."
Vortir frowned. "You’re as calm as stagnant water. I heard about what happened last night. I’m surprised you didn’t react."
"Do you think I should have?" Lynd asked.
"I don’t know," Vortir admitted. "I just know that if I had your power and status, and soone tried to humiliate —even if that soone was a king—I wouldn’t just sit there and take it."
Lynd gently pushed Augustus’s hand away from the goblet he was reaching for. His expression darkened slightly. "And what if that’s exactly what he was waiting for?"
Vortir and Joel exchanged puzzled glances. "What do you an?"
Lynd recalled Robert’s behavior from the night before and said solemnly, "Our king might be looking for an excuse to start a war. Either he destroys his enemies, or they destroy him."
The words hung in the air. Vortir and Joel fell silent, both lost in thought.
After a mont, Lynd suddenly rembered sothing. "Ah, I haven’t given you a wedding gift yet." He rummaged through his belongings, then retrieved a small box and handed it to Joel. "Use it when you can’t keep up with your wife’s demands."
Joel scoffed. "My stamina’s just fine—I don’t need this!" Despite his words, he still took the box without hesitation. He didn’t open it, instead giving Lynd a knowing look. "Elixir of the Seven?"
Lynd nodded.
Joel’s casual deanor vanished. Carefully, he tucked the box into his inner pocket. The Tyrells controlled the distribution of the Elixir of the Seven in the Reach, but they never sold it—only gave it as a reward to their vassals. Because of this, the elixir was nearly impossible to obtain, and its value was astronomical. One vial alone could buy a small estate in the countryside.
The wedding celebration continued well into the afternoon. More and more people arrived—so acquaintances, so complete strangers—but Joel welcod them all the sa. Laughter and rrint filled the estate.
But then, one of Lynd’s retainers arrived, bearing urgent news. An assassin had infiltrated Goldenrose Courtyard with clear ill intent.
Lynd wasn’t the only one caught off guard. Vortir and Joel were equally astonished. The timing and target of the assassination attempt seed… odd.
For one, Highgarden’s heir was getting married, aning nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms had gathered here. Security was tighter than ever, with guards stationed everywhere to ensure the safety of guests. Attempting an assassination under such circumstances—let alone successfully escaping—was almost unthinkable.
And then there was the assassin’s choice of target.
Lynd.
A man widely believed to be the closest thing to a living god.
Whoever had sent the assassin wasn’t just reckless—they were inviting death.
"You don’t need to co with . Stay here and enjoy your wedding," Lynd said, declining Joel’s offer. He turned to Vortir, about to speak.
Vortir spoke first. "I am Highgarden’s master-at-arms. Protecting Highgarden’s security is my responsibility."
Lynd nodded. Having soone from Highgarden present would indeed be preferable.
With that, he took Augustus and left Joel’s manor alongside Vortir, heading toward Goldenrose Courtyard.
...
By the ti they arrived, Jon was already waiting at the entrance. Without wasting words, Lynd handed Augustus over to the Holy Sister of Redemption and gestured for Jon to lead them to the assassin’s corpse.
As they walked, Jon gave a brief explanation. "The assassin infiltrated the estate by disguising himself as a servant of Goldenrose Courtyard. The Holy Sister of Redemption noticed sothing was off and captured him on the spot, but he was a trained deathsworn. As soon as he was caught, he bit down on the poison sac hidden in his mouth and killed himself."
Vortir’s expression darkened. The servants within the manor were all House Tyrell’s people. No matter how it happened, the fact that an assassin had been able to use a servant’s identity to infiltrate the estate reflected poorly on the Tyrells.
They soon arrived at the courtyard, where the assassin’s body lay in the cloister along the edge. His mouth was open wide, as if gasping for air, but thick foamy blood filled it. His face was darkened with a purplish hue, and his eyes, now eerily red, were blood-filled and lifeless.
"Strangler," Lynd said imdiately upon seeing the telltale signs of the poison.
Jon handed him a mask. "This was what he wore when he sneaked in. It’s made from human skin. I’d wager the real servant he was impersonating is already dead."
Lynd took the mask and examined it carefully.
Vortir, standing nearby, observed thoughtfully. "A poison like Strangler, combined with a human-skin mask… this assassin could be a Faceless Man."
Lynd shook his head. "No, not a Faceless Man. I have several of their masks—I know exactly how they’re made. This mask, while similar, is nothing like a true Faceless Man’s disguise. It’s an imitation." He let out a cold chuckle. "A fake Faceless Man, ard with a signature poison… whoever sent him wanted us to think it was the work of the Faceless n."
Kneeling beside the corpse, Lynd examined the body more closely.
Whoever had sent the assassin had been ticulous. His body had been scrubbed clean of identifying marks before his mission, leaving no obvious clues behind. The only certainty was that he was a eunuch—and judging by the scars, he had been castrated at least a year or two ago.
"The Unsullied," Vortir said imdiately, recognizing the famous breed of eunuch warriors.
Lynd nodded in agreent. "He was trained in the sa way as the Unsullied."
Vortir frowned. "Do people in the Seven Kingdoms even know the Unsullied’s training thods?"
Lynd stood up. "The thods themselves aren’t exactly a secret. Many in Westeros know how Unsullied are trained. What’s difficult is having the patience and ti to see the training through."
Vortir’s expression turned grim. "So, in other words, we have no leads on who sent him?"
"Not exactly," Lynd replied vaguely, though he didn’t elaborate. It was clear he intended to investigate on his own.
Vortir seed to suspect as much but didn’t press the matter. Instead, he asked, "What do you plan to do about this?"
Lynd thought for a mont. "Lord Vortir, please inform the Lord and see how he wishes to handle it. I’ll ensure the matter is kept quiet to prevent unnecessary panic."
Vortir nodded and imdiately left Goldenrose Courtyard, heading for Highgarden Castle.
...
When Lord Mace Tyrell heard the news, he was visibly shaken. He understood better than anyone how disastrous it would be if this incident beca widely known. Without hesitation, he ordered the assassin’s body to be secretly retrieved from Goldenrose Courtyard and set his people to work investigating who had sent the killer—and who had dared to stir trouble during his heir’s wedding.
Both Lynd and Mace Tyrell wanted the matter kept under wraps to avoid casting a shadow over Garlan’s wedding.
But whoever had orchestrated the attack had no intention of letting it be buried.
That very night, rumors of an assassination attempt on Lynd began circulating in the taverns outside Highgarden. The whispers spread like wildfire, reaching every noble who had co to attend the wedding.
At first, the nobles dismissed the rumors as absurd—assassinating Lynd was no different from courting death. But as the whispers grew more persistent, so began to question their own judgnt.
However, Highgarden quickly took action, publicly denouncing the rumors and sending n to arrest several of the instigators. Lynd himself cooperated with the investigation, and soon, the situation settled. Whether or not the attempt had truly occurred, the nobles understood one thing: they had to act as if it hadn’t.
Garlan’s wedding was held as scheduled in the Sept of Baelor. Guests arrived one after another, and when King Robert and Lord Tywin made their entrance, the ceremony officially began.
Yet one detail puzzled many—the wedding was not presided over by the High Septon, but by an ordinary septon.
There was so quiet murmuring, but since House Tyrell showed no signs of protest, no one openly questioned it.
Before the Seven, Garlan and his bride exchanged their vows. Everything proceeded smoothly, without incident, and Mace Tyrell, along with the rest of his household, finally allowed themselves to relax.
Since the assassin’s appearance at Goldenrose Courtyard, the Tyrells had been on high alert. The number of guards in Highgarden had tripled, and security was tighter than ever—even Lord Mace’s personal attendants were subjected to strict inspections. No one was taking any chances.
At the wedding feast that followed, the tension eased. Lord Mace and his wife seed noticeably more at ease, laughing and conversing with guests instead of wearing the stiff expressions they had held earlier.
Lynd, anwhile, was one of the evening’s most sought-after figures, second only to Mace Tyrell and King Robert. Many guests took the opportunity to approach him, offering goodwill and praise—especially toward Augustus, who received no shortage of complints.
As Lynd politely handled the stream of well-wishers, his gaze swept across the banquet hall, searching for soone. When he finally found his target, he excused himself and strode toward him.
Upon reaching the group, Lynd addressed them directly. "Gentlen, I’d like a private word with Lord Renly. Would you mind giving us a mont?"
A few of them hesitated, exchanging glances. It was no secret that Renly and Lynd were far from allies.
Still, no one dared to refuse him. One by one, they stepped away.
Lynd then turned his attention to Loras Tyrell, who remained standing at Renly’s side, clearly unwilling to leave. "Lord Loras, I believe the lord could use your attention elsewhere."
Loras opened his mouth as if to object, but Renly stopped him with a subtle gesture. With a brief but intimate touch to Renly’s hand, Loras shot Lynd a cold glare before turning and walking away.
Now alone with Lynd, Renly studied him with a complicated expression. Yet despite whatever thoughts ran through his mind, his face remained composed, his usual easy smile in place—the kind that could put people at ease.
He looked, for all the world, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than the man who had nearly stripped him of his power in the Stormlands.
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