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Chapter 269: Before the Curtain Rises
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 11:13:12 +0000 UTCThe past few years had been remarkably peaceful for Lynd. He had taken part in very few wars or conflicts. The war between the Kingdom of Lorne and the Dothraki was the largest he had ever been involved in—though even then, at Nymeria’s request, he’d played only a supporting role. Everything else barely qualified as a skirmish.
Perhaps the gods thought things had been going too smoothly for him. First, there was the outbreak of religious conflict within the Chosen Legion stationed in the Holy City of the Scourge. Then came the blight discovered in the farmlands of Tumbleton. This year’s and next year’s harvests were both expected to suffer. Worse still, the blight hadn’t originated in Tumbleton—it had spread from elsewhere in the Reach. That meant grain production across the entire region would likely decline.
Lynd didn’t take the internal religious strife within the legion lightly. The very fact that he had summoned all officers of corps commander rank and above made it clear how seriously he regarded the issue. But when weighed against the looming threat of food shortages, there was no question which problem was more urgent.
“Looks like I’ll need to open up a new grain-producing region. But where?” The thought had already taken root in Lynd’s mind, though the question of where to put it was more difficult.
Ideally, the new farmland would be as close as possible, but every suitable location within his domain was already being cultivated.
Even the locals in Summerhall found his obsession with grain puzzling. The region produced more food than it could consume. Aside from the lands owned by the lords, which still grew staple crops, most private farmers had long since stopped planting grain. Instead, many had gone to work in nearby towns or castles.
Lynd never offered much explanation to his vassals—not because he didn’t care, but because he couldn’t explain the truth. He couldn’t very well tell them that he knew the Long Summer was nearing its end, and that what would follow wasn’t just winter, but a Long Winter—perhaps even an Endless Winter. Without preparation, food production would collapse, and the resulting famine would be catastrophic.
If he said that aloud, it would cause a continent-wide panic—on both Westeros and Essos. As the Chosen of the Seven, the embodiment of many gods, anything he said would be taken as absolute prophecy.
The fear such a prophecy could spark would ripple outward in unpredictable ways, potentially disrupting all his long-laid plans. So he said nothing. He would handle it himself.
To that end, he had already converted every usable plot of land in his territory to food production. Most of the harvest was stockpiled, stored deep underground in frozen vaults sealed with dragon-rune enchantments. The magical metals granted by the Nameless King's memories had perfectly filled the gap left by the rarity of Valyrian steel, allowing him to create as many rune-based artifacts as he needed.
He had also tasked the Black Cave with developing cold-resistant grain strains capable of surviving in winter, or exploring ways to help ordinary crops grow during colder months—such as recreating greenhouse technology from his previous life.
Two options came to mind almost immediately, and Lynd muttered to himself, “If Westeros has nothing to offer, then we’ll have to look across the Narrow Sea... The Golden Fields? Or the Disputed Lands?”
“The Golden Fields and the Disputed Lands?” Jon, who had been recording the meeting, looked up in confusion. “What do you mean, my lord?”
Lynd didn’t answer. Instead, he rapped his knuckles against the table.
The sound cut through the room like a signal. Everyone fell silent at once, as though someone had pressed a button to mute their voices.
After a brief pause, Lynd delivered his decision.
“All followers of the Seven within the Chosen Legion stationed in the Holy City of the Scourge are to be recalled to Summerhall. The legion there will be reformed with new local recruits. From now on, the Chosen Legion based in Summerhall will be known as the Chosen Legion of the Seven, and the one in the Holy City of the Scourge will be called the Chosen Legion of Calamity.
“The Chosen Legion of Calamity will be divided into five sub-legions, each consisting of 5,000 standing soldiers. Their names will be: Calamity, Death, War, Famine, and Plague.”
“All members of the Chosen Legion of Calamity must complete their training in Summerhall. Every officer will undergo a loyalty trial. Until their training is complete, the defense of the Holy City of the Scourge will remain the responsibility of the Chosen Legion of the Seven.”
The room went still. Lynd’s officers looked around at one another in stunned silence.
“What? Do any of you object?” Lynd frowned, his voice low and firm.
“No, my lord,” everyone replied at once.
“Good. Then go make the necessary preparations.” Lynd gestured for them to leave.
Once the officers of the Chosen Legion had left one by one, Jon, unable to hide his concern, spoke up.
“My lord, a military redeployment of this scale... it could stir up some—”
“It’s fine,” Lynd interrupted, shaking his head to ease Jon’s worry. “There haven’t been any major wars in years. All minor conflicts have been handled by local garrisons. The legion trains daily, but training can’t replace real combat. Essos has more than enough going on. Sending the Chosen Legion there for some field experience will do them good. As for what others think, we don’t need to concern ourselves.”
Seeing Lynd speak so decisively, Jon said no more. Instead, he pulled a report from the stack of documents and handed it to Lynd.
“My lord, this is something you might want to take a look at.”
Lynd took the report and scanned it. It described how someone had spotted Euron secretly returning to the Iron Islands and meeting with several lords dissatisfied with Asha’s reforms. Judging by their mobilization of supplies, it looked like they were plotting a rebellion against her.
“Does Asha know about this?” Lynd asked as he set the report aside.
“She does. But she’s not acting just yet—she’s waiting for them to gather before she moves in for the kill.” Jon pulled out another file, this one from the Stepstones, and handed it over. “Dagon requested a fleet transfer to the Iron Islands recently, to relieve Baelor’s fleet. It’s most likely connected. By now, the fleets of the Three Krakens should all be in position around the islands.”
Lynd glanced through the report and was pleased with Asha’s caution. He set the file down and was about to move on to other tasks when a thought struck him. He picked the report back up, looked it over again, and said, “This might be a good opportunity.”
“What kind of opportunity?” Jon asked, puzzled.
Lynd didn’t answer. He simply resumed flipping through the documents on his desk, reviewing and signing them in turn.
After handling the last of the paperwork, he signed one more directive and handed it to Jon.
“Take this to the ruling council. Have them approve it immediately and send it to the Holy City of the Scourge without delay.”
Jon took the document, read it briefly, and froze.
“My lord... we already have more farmland than we need. Even with the blight and some expected loss in yield, our overall grain production should still be quite substantial. Assigning the Holy City to clear even more farmland around it—won’t that be a bit... excessive?”
“Just carry out the order,” Lynd said flatly, without offering any explanation.
“Yes, my lord.” Though Jon still didn’t understand Lynd’s deep fixation on grain, he trusted there had to be a reason behind it. He made a mental note to send a letter to his own stronghold at Blackcrown, advising Maester Normund to begin stockpiling supplies as well.
“What year is it now in the Aegon calendar?” Lynd asked suddenly.
Jon thought for a moment. “It should be the 297th year, my lord.”
“The two hundred and ninety-seventh, already?” The date triggered something in Lynd’s memory. If he remembered correctly, this was the very year that marked the beginning of events in his past life’s version of this world. The White Walkers would soon begin moving south—and the first attack on a Night’s Watch patrol was near.”
“Bring me the latest reports from the Wall and beyond it. I want to see them.”
Jon quickly fetched the relevant documents from the adjacent temporary archive.
Lynd had always taken affairs concerning the Wall and lands Beyond it very seriously. He had stationed a dedicated team at the Wall to gather intelligence and had also instructed Dacey to monitor events in the far north, compiling their findings into regular reports.
Lynd took the latest dossier, flipped through it quickly, and soon found what he was looking for.
The first report noted that a few months earlier, Lord Bronze Yohn Royce of Runestone had sent his youngest son, Waymar Royce, to join the Night’s Watch.
If nothing had changed, Waymar would soon be killed by a White Walker during a routine patrol.
The second report came from the walrus folk—trading partners of Dacey’s—who had spotted signs of wight activity near the upper reaches of the Frozen River, at the edge of the Land of Always Winter.
After returning to Bear Island, Dacey had followed Lynd’s orders to establish contact with the wildling tribes north of the Wall. Thanks to Lynd’s growing reputation Beyond the Wall, she had quickly forged a relationship with the walrus folk along the Frozen Shore and opened up a stream of trade.
Dacey’s supply of armor and weapons to the Men of the Frozen Shore had allowed their villages to win repeated victories against the cannibal tribes, strengthening ties between them and Bear Island. Their alliance grew so close that Dacey even hired a unit of their white bear warriors to join her army.
Her trading with the wildlings Beyond the Wall, however, drew discontent from the Night’s Watch. But that discontent never escalated beyond complaints—everyone understood that while Dacey was nominally under Winterfell’s jurisdiction, her true allegiance was to Lynd Tarran.
Setting aside Lynd’s goodwill and assistance toward the Wall, his power alone was reason enough for the Night’s Watch to tread carefully.
So, they turned a blind eye. In fact, many among the Watch grew envious upon seeing how profitable Dacey’s trade with the wildlings had become. Some even attempted to make contact with the tribes themselves, hoping to claim a piece of the pie. But the Watch’s long-standing bad reputation among the wildlings made those efforts fruitless. The tribes simply didn’t trust them.
...
The third notable report came from the Wall itself. In Icemark, Willas had discovered a concealed cave system that extended deep beneath the Wall, eventually revealing a massive subterranean altar. There, he found the remains of the three hundred Night’s Watch brothers who had mysteriously vanished from Icemark over a century ago.
After this discovery, Willas chose to remain at the altar permanently, ceasing all engagement with external matters. The Night’s Watch soon descended into chaos.
Following his entry into the Watch, Willas had quickly risen to prominence—thanks to his status and his longstanding support for the order. He became second only to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, and in terms of influence, he arguably surpassed him.
With the Watch growing rapidly and old outposts being reactivated, the Lord Commander could no longer manage its daily affairs alone. Willas, effectively acting as a shadow commander, took over most responsibilities in his stead.
So when Willas locked himself away inside the altar and withdrew from the outside world, the Watch lost its backbone. Disorder was inevitable.
Jeor Mormont now found himself unable to control the Night’s Watch, which had ballooned to fifty thousand men. The only option left was to delegate authority to the commanders of each garrison and let them manage on their own.
...
After finishing the report, Lynd closed his eyes and reflected for a moment before writing three letters, which he handed to Jon to deliver—two to the Wall and one to Bear Island.
The letter to Bear Island instructed Dacey to closely monitor the Frozen Shore and prepare to evacuate the Men of the Frozen Shore to Bear Island if necessary.
The letters to the Wall were addressed separately to Jeor Mormont and Willas. The one to Mormont was brief—it informed him that the wights north of Bear Island had begun moving southward. The letter to Willas, however, was more direct: Lynd asked him outright what his intentions were.
Lynd had maintained contact with Willas over the years, but had never once asked him why he had gone to the Wall. Now, with growing concerns, he felt it necessary to ask, to ensure Willas’s actions wouldn’t interfere with his own plans.
After finishing the letters, Lynd turned to Jon again and asked for the latest intelligence from King’s Landing.
As for the coming war—he had no intention of stopping it. In fact, he needed a war. A massive one. Something powerful enough to shatter the ancient system that had governed the Seven Kingdoms for a thousand years. But that war, however vast, had to unfold under his control.
...
Soon, the latest reports from King’s Landing were placed in Lynd’s hands. There were two sets of documents: one from Varys, the other from Lynd’s own agents stationed in the city.
Varys’s report detailed how Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had secretly met with several of King Robert’s bastards in the capital, and had later traveled to Storm’s End to see Edric Storm, the openly acknowledged bastard being fostered there. Clearly, Jon Arryn had begun to suspect that Joffrey and the others were not Robert’s trueborn sons.
The report also mentioned that Lysa Tully had recently suffered another miscarriage—her fourth. Evidence suggested that the unborn children from her second and third pregnancies after birthing little Robert might have actually been fathered by Petyr Baelish. And it was highly likely that Jon Arryn had been responsible for inducing the miscarriages.
Lynd’s own agents hadn’t uncovered anything within the Red Keep itself, but they did bring him news from the streets of King’s Landing. Of particular interest was the High Sparrow—he had settled in Flea Bottom and begun preaching there.
Lynd had always kept an eye on the High Sparrow. The man’s true name had long been lost to time. He had first appeared in the Starry Sept in Oldtown, and had traveled the Seven Kingdoms as a wandering septon.
Now, he had taken root in King’s Landing—likely drawn there by the unique importance of the Great Sept of Baelor. Across the Seven Kingdoms, the Faith of the Seven followed Lynd’s guidance. The Great Sept, however, remained under the control of the Red Keep, untouched by Lynd’s influence.
If the High Sparrow hoped to rise within the Church, the Great Sept of Baelor was his only chance.
