Hearing Lynd's audacious words, Garlan and Vortir were stunned into silence. They exchanged incredulous glances before turning back to Lynd, staring at him as if he were a creature from a fable. The very idea of forging armor out of Valyrian steel was beyond belief. Weapons crafted from the rare tal were prized treasures across Westeros, with only a few notable examples like House Stark’s Ice or House Tarly’s Heartsbane. But armor? That was entirely unheard of, bordering on lunacy.
To Garlan and Vortir, Lynd's ambition sounded more like a fever dream than a realistic endeavor.
Lynd, however, fully understood what they must be thinking. He could see the disbelief and skepticism etched on their faces. Yet, he didn’t try to dispel it. There were things he couldn’t explain to them—not yet.
He needed Valyrian steel for a reason far beyond vanity or ambition. To fully unleash the extraordinary powers and swordsmanship of the Banished Knight—a legacy etched deeply into his mory—he required weapons and armor capable of withstanding the mystical inscriptions of Dragon Runes. Just as ordinary obsidian couldn’t endure the power imbued by those runes, ordinary steel couldn’t hold their intricate, otherworldly patterns either.
This was a lesson Lynd had learned firsthand. The previous day, he had attempted to create a necklace inscribed with Dragon Runes using standard obsidian. As expected, the ordinary material crumbled under the strain of the mystical power. Recalling the mories of the Banished Knight, Lynd sent Raul to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing to procure obsidian that had been scorched by dragonfire—a detail the Banished Knight had distinctly rembered.
The results were striking. While the untreated obsidian continued to shatter, the dragonfire-infused pieces accepted the runes flawlessly. After fashioning a necklace and wearing it, Lynd imdiately felt the intended effect: a soothing, cool energy that banished the violent turmoil clouding his mind, leaving his thoughts razor-sharp. It was exactly as he had experienced in the Banished Knight’s mories.
However, the necklaces were far from permanent. Over ti, the power of the runes would degrade, and the necklaces would lose their effectiveness, requiring replacents. Fortunately, the Dragonpit contained an ample supply of dragonfire-touched obsidian—more than enough for Lynd to manage until he could find a way to permanently counteract the lingering side effects of the Dragon Communion Ritual.
This experience with obsidian prompted a question that Lynd couldn’t ignore: would ordinary steel also fail to endure the power of Dragon Runes, just as ordinary obsidian had?
To test his theory, Lynd procured steel plates and attempted to inscribe the runes upon them. As he suspected, the steel shattered instantly. But it didn’t stop there—the fragnts themselves disintegrated into powder, fragile as dried clay beneath his touch. The Dragon Runes didn’t just break the steel; they seed to unravel its molecular structure, transforming the fragnts into sothing entirely different.
Realizing this, Lynd revisited the process of creating the Banished Knight’s armor and weapons, ticulously combing through his inherited mories. It was then he uncovered a critical misunderstanding.
Though the Banished Knight’s world used what they called “ordinary iron ore” to forge their gear, that iron ore was anything but ordinary by the standards of the world of Ice and Fire. The Banished Knight’s realm was suffused with magic, a place where gods and mystical forces intertwined with the mortal world. Even the minerals mined from the earth were imbued with latent magic. When forged into steel, that magic remained, making their so-called “ordinary steel” inherently magical.
By contrast, the iron ore in the world of Ice and Fire lacked any such magical properties. Here, the only steel capable of holding magic was Valyrian steel—crafted through the lost art of dragonfire-forging and infused with spells.
This revelation clarified everything. If Lynd was to replicate the Banished Knight’s legendary armor and weapons, Valyrian steel was his only option. Ordinary steel simply couldn’t withstand the Dragon Runes’ power.
Yet, the truth about his plans wasn’t sothing he was ready to share. The explanation he gave Garlan and Vortir about selling spots in the cavalry patrols to fund his armor was only a partial truth—a convenient excuse to obscure his real motives.
“Are you insane? Valyrian steel for armor and weapons?!” Vortir exclaid, his voice sharp with disbelief. He stared at Lynd as though he had sprouted a second head.
Lynd responded with a faint smile, refraining from further explanation. Even if he wanted to clarify, he couldn’t.
Garlan, more composed than Vortir, approached the idea with careful thought. “Twenty thousand golden dragons would indeed fall short for both armor and weapons made of Valyrian steel,” he said, almost as if reasoning on Lynd’s behalf. “But perhaps making a single weapon might be achievable. The larger problem is where to find Valyrian steel and soone who can forge it. As far as I know, the secrets of working Valyrian steel were lost when Valyria fell into ruin.”
Lynd’s wry smile deepened—Garlan had struck at the heart of the issue. Lynd knew all too well the magnitude of the obstacles before him.
He recalled that, more than a decade later, a blacksmith in King’s Landing would reforge Ice, House Stark’s ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword, into Widow’s Wail and Oathkeeper.
However, Lynd couldn’t rember the blacksmith’s na, nor which of the city’s many forges he worked at. Worse still, the craftsmanis still young at this ti, and it was uncertain if he had even learned the necessary techniques yet. Tracking him down in the present might yield nothing.
As for acquiring Valyrian steel itself, Lynd knew of a city on the continent of Essos that possessed both the materials and the expertise to craft with it. Unfortunately, the na of the city remained frustratingly elusive in his fragnted mories.
Vortir, anwhile, dismissed the entire notion as a flight of fancy. Unlike Garlan, who seriously considered Lynd’s plans, Vortir viewed them as impulsive—likely the result of the heady rush of victory from the team competition. He assud Lynd would eventually co to his senses.
Vortir’s focus, however, shifted to a more pressing concern: Lynd’s recent actions with the cavalry patrols. He aid to make Lynd see the potential consequences of his misstep. “The Lord knows you’ve been selling spots in the cavalry patrols,” he said sternly. “Your actions have caused quite the stir. So say it reflects poorly on you and the army, and they believe you deserve punishnt.”
Lynd, far from surprised, showed no reaction beyond a faint nod. His only concern now was ensuring that events unfolded as he intended.
Garlan, however, seed unfazed by the issue. With a casual smile, he remarked, “Co now, Lord Vortir. Father won’t punish Lynd. After all, he’s done so much for House Tyrell.”
Vortir shot Garlan a disapproving look. “That’s only because King Robert’s invitation arrived. Otherwise, the Lord wouldn’t have let this go so easily.” Turning back to Lynd, he continued firmly, “You’ve gone too far this ti. Without consequences, this will undermine the Tyrells’ ability to manage the army.”
This ti, even Garlan didn’t argue. He sighed and offered Lynd a wry smile. “Originally, Maester Mollos and Lord Roger wanted to bring you to Highgarden for further training,” Vortir added. “The Lord didn’t agree at first, but he didn’t outright reject the idea either. It seed likely he would co around. But now? That’s out of the question. Soone who sells cavalry patrol rights will never be trusted to manage the Lord’s Guard—or even Highgarden’s garrison.”
“You’ll probably be sent out to the provinces for grunt work,” Vortir said bluntly. “But don’t worry. Even if it’s nial labor, if you work hard, you’ll still have a chance to return to Highgarden.”
Garlan imdiately chid in, “He’s right. Don’t let this discourage you, Lynd. If you make the best of your situation, you’ll find a way back.”
However, Garlan and Vortir had no idea that this was exactly what Lynd wanted.
Ever since he had ordered Scar-Eyed Mitt to spread rumors about him selling cavalry patrol positions, Lynd had been using the scandal to create an excuse for Lord Tyrell’s inner circle to block his transfer to Highgarden. What seed like self-destructive behavior was, in fact, a carefully calculated move.
While Highgarden appeared to offer a promising future, it was not a future Lynd desired. His teoric rise—from a rural nobody to a celebrated figure known even to the king—had drawn the envy of powerful nobles close to Lord Tyrell. Though they couldn’t openly oppose him now, Lynd knew that once he entered Highgarden, their ho turf, they would find countless subtle ways to make his life miserable.
The political gas played by the Tyrell elites were far removed from Lynd’s strengths. Being too close to the center of power at this stage would leave him vulnerable, like a moth drawn too close to the fla. He understood that survival—and eventual triumph—required distance and ti.
By staying away from Highgarden and the heart of Tyrell power, Lynd could focus on what mattered most: building his strength. Only when he possessed enough power to withstand their sches would he step back into the ga.
“Lord Garlan, do you know what the Lord intends to do about this?” Lynd asked, hoping to glean so insight.
Garlan shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, though his expression suggested he wished he could offer more.
Vortir, however, seed to have an idea. After a mont of consideration, he said, “The cavalry patrols will almost certainly expand, and your role as captain won’t change. However, you’d better be more cautious this ti. Whether or not the people you choose pay you, they must et one critical requirent—they need to be ready to fight imdiately, without requiring extra training.” He paused, adding aningfully, “Also, you’d be wise to familiarize yourself with Tumbleton and its surroundings.”
“Tumbleton?” Lynd and Garlan both reacted with surprise, though their reasons differed. Lynd was startled because he had never heard of the place, while Garlan’s expression suggested he knew exactly what it ant.
As if realizing he’d said too much, Vortir quickly made his exit, taking Garlan with him. “We’ll leave you to prepare for the banquet,” he said before leaving the tent.
Once they were gone, Lynd wasted no ti. He imdiately retrieved the chest containing Maester Hawley’s collection of books and began searching for information on Tumbleton. Finally, he found the relevant volu and began flipping through it eagerly. What he discovered stirred a mix of curiosity and ambition within him.
Though obscure now, Tumbleton had once been a significant site in Westerosi history, infamous for its role in the Dance of the Dragons. Two decisive battles during the civil war between the Greens and the Blacks had unfolded there, involving tens of thousands of soldiers. Dragons clashed above its skies, and the town was reduced to ash by dragonfire. A prince, two dragons, and countless nobles and soldiers had perished in its ruin. To this day, the area remained a desolate wasteland, its ruins haunted by the echoes of that bloody war. Legends claid the spirits of the dead and the dragons’ wails still lingered in the area.
Currently, Tumbleton was a shell of its forr self, a forgotten shadow of its historical importance. The land was nominally owned by House Footly, one of the poorest noble houses in The Reach, whose only distinction was their title.
eyond that, the family was indistinguishable from common farrs. Despite Tumbleton’s advantageous location—situated upstream on the Mander River, with easy access to Highgarden via boat—it had never been rebuilt. Its ruins were a stark reminder of its tragic past.
Vortir’s ntion of Tumbleton hinted at Lord Tyrell’s intentions. Lynd deduced that the Tyrells likely planned to rebuild the town. Whether this ant relocating the impoverished House Footly or forming a cooperative arrangent, the ultimate goal seed clear: Tumbleton and its surrounding lands would co under Tyrell control.
For Lynd, this presented both a challenge and an opportunity. If assigned there, he would likely lead a cavalry unit tasked with overseeing the town’s reconstruction. His duties would include clearing out bandits in the area and restoring trade routes between The Reach and the northern territories.
Tumbleton’s strategic location couldn’t be overstated. Only six leagues from King’s Landing, the town lay on the edge of the Kingswood and within a few leagues of the Roseroad.
Though the road connecting Tumbleton to the Roseroad had been neglected for years, it was still structurally sound and could be repaired with minimal effort. Once operational, northern caravans could transport goods directly to Tumbleton, then sail down the Mander River to Highgarden. This would reduce costs, travel ti, and risks, transforming Tumbleton into a critical hub for comrce and warfare in The Reach.
While Lynd recognized the opportunity this posed, he also understood the odds of becoming Tumbleton’s lord were slim. For now, all he could do was wait and adapt as the situation unfolded.
For the mont, however, his focus shifted to a more imdiate concern: knighthood. Lynd couldn’t shake his disappointnt that Robert Baratheon hadn’t knighted him in the arena the previous day, despite expressing admiration for his skills. Lynd had hoped to achieve that important milestone in his status but wasn’t discouraged. There would be other opportunities—he was already considering the upcoming rebellion in the Iron Islands as a potential mont to prove his worth again.
But tonight’s banquet at the Red Keep offered a more pressing chance. The invitation itself hinted at the king’s growing appreciation, and Lynd couldn’t help but feel that this event might finally be the mont when he crossed that critical threshold.
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