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Chapter 213: Who Can Prove It
🕑 Added 2025-03-18 13:07:42 +0000 UTCJust as everyone was still reeling from the revelation of Lynd’s identity, Young Griff suddenly stepped forward and asked, “Have you come to kill me, Lord Lynd, the Chosen One?”
Jon Connington’s heart clenched at the boy’s words. He quickly pulled Young Griff behind him, shielding him protectively.
Lynd tilted his head slightly, gazing at the boy before responding, “Who are you? And why would I want to kill you?”
With his chest puffed out, Young Griff declared, “I am the grandson of Aerys II Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Targaryen dynasty and the Iron Throne—I am Aegon Targaryen.”
Lynd chuckled. “The last person to introduce himself to me that way was Viserys Targaryen. It sounded ridiculous then, and hearing you say it now is just as amusing.”
As he spoke, Lynd began walking toward Young Griff. None of the Golden Company soldiers dared to stand in his way. The display of power he had just unleashed made it clear that all the whispered legends about him were true—he was not someone an ordinary man could hope to defeat.
The people surrounding Young Griff grew tense, instinctively closing ranks around him.
Even Rolly Duckfield, despite the conflicted look on his face, stepped forward loyally to shield the boy.
Lynd didn’t approach too closely. After stepping out of the Golden Company’s encirclement, he halted and looked directly at Young Griff. “Viserys’ claim was laughable, but at least he had a legal argument. As one of the last surviving Targaryens, he had a legitimate reason to assert his claim to the Iron Throne. But you? What right do you have to call yourself Aegon Targaryen? Everyone knows that Rhaegar’s son, Aegon Targaryen, was killed by Gregor Clegane. So what proof do you have that you are who you claim to be?”
Young Griff frowned but held his ground. “I am Aegon Targaryen. I don’t need proof.”
“Oh? And I suppose I could say I’m Aegon the Conqueror? No proof needed,” Lynd mocked, then gestured to Jon Connington. “He could call himself Daeron Targaryen—no proof needed.” He swept his gaze over the rest of the group. “Aerys I, Maegor I, Jaehaerys I, Queen Rhaenyra—none of them need proof either, do they?”
“You—” Young Griff’s face reddened in frustration. He had no answer.
“Lord Lynd,” Jon Connington interjected, sensing that Lynd did not appear to bear them ill will. A flicker of hope crept into his voice. “You didn’t come here just to mock us, did you?”
“Of course not,” Lynd replied casually. “I happened to be passing through Myr, and you happened to be here, so I thought I’d stop by, satisfy my curiosity, and see what exactly you have that makes you think you can overthrow the Iron Throne.” He studied Jon Connington for a moment before shaking his head. “Frankly, it’s disappointing. You don’t even have a legitimate claim. What gives you the right to challenge the throne?”
Jon Connington immediately countered, “This is indeed Prince Aegon, the only son of Prince Rhaegar. His claim is—”
“I’ll ask again: proof?” Lynd cut him off. “Who can prove he is Aegon Targaryen? The entire world believes Aegon Targaryen was killed years ago. Now, suddenly, another one appears. Who can say whether he is the real thing or just a well-crafted puppet?”
“I can vouch for him with my honor,” Jon Connington declared.
Lynd smirked. “Your honor is worthless. Everyone knows how much you hate Robert Baratheon—you would do anything to see him dead. Creating a false Aegon would be the least of it.” He chuckled and added, “Besides, you yourself need proof that you’re Jon Connington. Don’t forget—the world believes you’re long dead, having wasted away in despair. A dead man proving the identity of another dead man? Doesn’t that sound ridiculous to you?”
Jon Connington faltered, his face darkening as he struggled for a rebuttal.
“Or are you relying on Varys’ word as proof?” Lynd continued, his tone laced with skepticism. “Who would trust the word of a eunuch? Or perhaps you plan to have Prince Oberyn vouch for you? Let’s set aside whether he would even agree to such a thing—if he did, how many would believe him? Everyone knows he still carries a deep grudge over the death of Princess Elia. His testimony would be dismissed as nothing more than a fabrication spun for the sake of vengeance.”
Jon Connington’s expression turned grim. It was clear that his original plan had indeed been to have Dorne legitimize Young Griff’s claim upon their return to Westeros, using Oberyn’s support to rally their cause.
“The boy’s hair and eyes are proof enough of his identity,” the Maester beside Young Griff said in a solemn tone.
“Silver hair and purple eyes?” Lynd scoffed. “I could find a dozen like that in Lys.” He glanced at the people around him before continuing, “You have no real proof that he is Aegon Targaryen, but I could provide plenty of reasons why he isn’t.”
Jon Connington and the others froze for a moment, looking at Lynd in confusion.
Lynd gestured toward Myles Toyne and the surrounding Golden Company soldiers. “As everyone knows, the Golden Company was founded by Blackfyre descendants. Their entire purpose has always been to overthrow the Targaryen dynasty and place a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne. And now, you expect people to believe that the Golden Company has suddenly become allies of a Targaryen claimant? Tell me, in the eyes of the world, does this boy look more like the son of Rhaegar Targaryen… or a Blackfyre pretender?”
A heavy silence fell over the group as their faces paled.
Lynd, having already satisfied his curiosity, had no further reason to stay. He had met the so-called Aegon, as well as the exiles and would-be restorers who, in another time, might have returned to Westeros when the Seven Kingdoms were at their weakest.
Had Lynd not appeared here today, these people would have landed at Cape Wrath, marching across the Stormlands and toward King’s Landing, conquering and slaughtering as they went. He didn’t know exactly what had happened in that alternate future, but given the strength they would have had upon landing, their march to the capital seemed almost inevitable—unless Daenerys Targaryen returned to Westeros with her dragons in time to stop them. Otherwise, there was a strong chance that Young Griff—Aegon, or whatever he truly was—would have taken the Iron Throne.
But now, the situation had changed. The lands Lynd controlled, and those he intended to control, would stand directly in the path of this army. They would be forced to seek another route to the Crownlands, and whether that path would be as smooth as their original one remained to be seen.
As Lynd turned to leave, Jon Connington suddenly called out, “Lord Lynd, if the usurper Robert were to die, would you—”
“Lord Jon,” Lynd interrupted, sweeping his gaze across the group. “You still don’t understand.”
His voice was steady, but it carried a weight that made everyone listen.
“The Iron Throne has never been about bloodlines or reputation. It has always been about power.” Lynd’s expression was unreadable as he continued. “Aegon the Conqueror established the Targaryen dynasty because he had three dragons and the strength to subjugate his enemies. Robert Baratheon became king because he won the war—because he took the throne.”
“So tell me—what great power do you possess that would compel me to follow you?”
A slow smirk crossed his face. “Truth be told, despite all your allies—the Golden Company, Dorne, Pentos—you’re no better off than Viserys, the so-called ‘Beggar King’ you all mock. In fact, you might even be worse than him. At least he had the courage to proclaim his lineage and claim his birthright openly. Would you dare to do the same?”
With that, he didn’t wait for a response. He simply lifted off the ground, soaring effortlessly over the tall courtyard walls before disappearing from sight.
...
Lynd didn’t concern himself with how Jon Connington and the others reacted after his departure. As he had said, he had come to see them, to confirm the truth for himself. And though his words had been harsh, he held no personal contempt for Jon Connington. In truth, he respected him.
If Lynd had been in Jon’s position—an exile with no resources, no backing—he wasn’t sure he could have achieved what Jon had.
After all, Jon Connington had fled Westeros in disgrace, with barely anything to his name. In the early years, he had survived as a mere mercenary, scrabbling for coin.
And yet, from those meager beginnings, he had built something formidable. Through careful alliances, persuasion, and sheer persistence, he had rallied Dorne, the Golden Company, the Magisters of Pentos, and even the Sealord of Braavos to his cause. He had slowly constructed a power base with tens of thousands of soldiers and immense financial backing.
“To have once been the Hand of the King… truly no ordinary man,” Lynd mused. That was the thought that lingered in his mind after reading all he could find about Jon Connington.
...
At a street corner not far from the White Gull Garden, Dahax, disguised and waiting, saw Lynd approaching and immediately stepped forward.
“My lord,” he asked, “since you already know that these people plan to invade the Seven Kingdoms in the future, why not deal with them now?”
“They are nothing more than a minor inconvenience,” Lynd replied, shaking his head. “Eliminating them would not solve the real problem. The Golden Company alone numbers ten thousand. Even if only a fraction of them still cling to Blackfyre ambitions, as long as even a tenth of them do, this fight will never truly end.”
“Better to let them gather under a single banner. Let them rally every would-be invader, every schemer who dreams of conquering Westeros. And when they do…” A cold glint flashed in his eyes. “It will be far easier to deal with them all at once.”
Dahax hesitated. He wanted to argue—what if the gathered forces proved too difficult to handle?
But then he looked at Lynd again, and whatever protest he had died in his throat.
No matter how many enemies gathered… Lynd would find a way to deal with them.
Lynd spent two days in Myr, and during that time, he wasn’t idle. He dealt with several of Dahax’s enemies, tightening Dahax’s control over Myr’s underground world.
Jon Connington and his companions left shortly after Lynd’s departure, moving in haste. Though they believed that since Lynd had chosen not to kill them when he had the chance, he wouldn't come after them later, they weren’t willing to gamble on his character. Instead, they took the safest course of action—getting as far away from Lynd as quickly as possible.
What they didn’t know, however, was that Lynd’s next destination was also Braavos.
By the time he left Myr, the Magister’s Council had already ruled on Fenya’s case. She was found not guilty but was required to compensate Magister Pash for the lost shipment of weapons.
During the council meeting, one of the Magisters defended Fenya, using past shipping records to argue that her delivery speed had been reasonable and that there had been no unnecessary delays. The problem had simply been bad luck—the shipment hadn't arrived before the intended recipient was wiped out.
Her only real mistake was attempting to trade goods that didn’t belong to her. However, considering that every Magister in that room had done something similar at some point, the council’s judgment was lenient. She only needed to repay the cost of the weapons and offer a portion of her profits to Magister Pash to settle the matter.
At the same time, the connections her ancestors had cultivated over generations proved useful. Various factions worked behind the scenes to separate Fenya’s case from the broader power struggles within the council, ensuring that she wouldn’t be drawn into the political conflict.
For Fenya, this was the best outcome she could have hoped for. While she had to give up part of her earnings and repay the full cost of the weapons, these losses were negligible compared to her overall gains.
After making the necessary payments, she didn’t immediately reinvest her remaining funds into forming a new trading caravan. Instead, she went to the Miracle Merchant Guild, took on her next high-level membership task, and built her new caravan around that mission.
Although Fenya herself had managed to escape Myr’s power struggle, the conflict only escalated further. What had begun as a mere test of strength between the merchants and nobles against Myr’s Armed Governor soon evolved into a full-blown war within the Magister’s Council, spilling over and affecting ordinary merchants and civilians alike.
As the chaos unfolded, some of the pieces Lynd had placed in Myr began to move. His hidden agents gradually expanded their influence, infiltrating every corner of the city before lying dormant—waiting for the moment Lynd would call them into action.
...
After leaving Myr, Lynd no longer concerned himself with the affairs of the Disputed Lands. He had already gathered enough information on the three Free Cities in the region and confirmed that now was not the right time to intervene. The ongoing conflict involving the Dothraki in the Disputed Lands was of no concern to him. Instead, his focus remained on expanding Summerhall’s influence through the Miracle Merchant Guild, biding his time until the right opportunity presented itself.
His attention, however, was now entirely fixed on the armor of the Banished Knight.
While intelligence suggested that the armor had ended up in the hands of the Sealord of Braavos, Lynd had a lingering feeling that his journey to Braavos might turn up empty.
During his time in Myr, he had learned from Dahax that a former Magister of Myr had attended one of the Sealord’s treasure auctions and claimed to have seen the enchanted armor. According to the Magister’s description, the armor was adorned with an extravagant number of gemstones, dazzling even in the dark of night.
If that account was true, then the enchanted armor in Braavos was likely not the one he was searching for.
The armor of the Banished Knight, while beautifully crafted, had never been embedded with gemstones—nor could it be. Adding gemstones would disrupt the stability of the dragon rune magic that infused it.
Still, despite his doubts, the Sealord’s enchanted armor was the only lead he had. Whether or not it was the right one, this journey to Braavos was one he had to make.
