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Chapter 152: Playing at Sorcery
🕑 Added 2025-02-15 13:02:40 +0000 UTCAfter nightfall, Lynd did not go to bed. He took the backpack containing the dragon egg, left his room, and descended the outer staircase from the guest quarters with Glory, heading toward the Godswood within the castle.
Finding the ancient Weirwood in the center of the Godswood was easy. The magic radiating from it was nearly as powerful as that of the three Sacred Trees in Highgarden—so striking that it was impossible to miss.
By the time Lynd arrived, someone was already there. A young child sat by the black pool next to the Weirwood, clad in an ill-fitting animal-skin coat and oversized boots, as if he had taken an adult’s clothes and thrown them on. His head was bowed, and he was sobbing, seemingly having been there for some time.
Lynd ignored him, walking straight to the Weirwood and sitting down beside it. Glory, however, approached the carved face on the tree, sniffed it, then lay down next to Lynd, appearing thoroughly uninterested. It was a stark contrast to his drooling reaction upon seeing the Three Sacred Trees in Highgarden.
"Are you Lord Lynd?" The child, startled at first, quickly recognized him upon seeing Glory.
"Yes," Lynd acknowledged with a nod, then gestured toward the boy. "Go on, keep crying. Don’t mind me."
"I—I’m not crying!" The child immediately rubbed his eyes, his voice defiant. "I just got something in my eyes."
"Hm," Lynd responded, indifferent, and took the dragon egg from his backpack, cradling it in his hands as he continued to care for it using dragon runes.
Seeing this, the child’s curiosity got the better of him. He moved closer, his eyes widening at the sight of the dragon egg. A song he had heard from a bard—the one about the Chosen, the ghost, and the dragon egg—flashed through his mind. His voice was filled with surprise as he asked, "Is this the dragon egg that Ser Duncan the Tall gave you after you saved the suffering ghost at Summerhall?"
"Yes," Lynd nodded.
"Can I touch it?" the child asked hopefully.
"No," Lynd replied flatly.
"Oh." The child's disappointment was evident, but his attention soon shifted to Glory. He pointed at the beast and asked again, "Can I touch it?"
"No. Glory doesn’t like to be touched," Lynd said.
The child’s presence seemed to remind Glory of some unpleasant memories from Highgarden, and in response, the beast bared its teeth in a menacing display. The child recoiled, stumbling backward until he landed on the ground with a soft thud.
Lynd watched him for a moment, then suddenly smirked. "You know nothing, Jon Snow."
The boy froze, staring up at him. "You know me?"
"Yes, I know you," Lynd affirmed with a nod, then asked, "Do you hate Lady Catelyn?"
Jon Snow stood still, lost in thought. After a long pause, he shook his head slightly. "I know why she hates me, but I don’t blame her. I’m just… a little sad."
Lynd smiled. "You don’t actually need to be sad. Did you know that before your brother became well-known in the North, you were already a little famous in the South?"
Jon’s eyes widened. "Huh?"
Lynd’s expression grew serious. "When Lord Eddard brought you back from the South to Winterfell, it caused quite a stir. Many people speculated about your parentage because those who knew Lord Eddard understood that he was a man of unwavering integrity. He was married to Lady Catelyn, a man of strict principles who would never visit a brothel or have an affair. And since he dared to bring you back and acknowledge you as his bastard, yet never spoke of your mother, people assumed she must have been someone special—someone who had already passed away."
Jon took a sharp breath. "Ser Lynd, do you know who my mother is?"
Lynd shook his head. "I don’t. But there’s been a rumor in the South for a long time. Do you want to hear it?"
Jon nodded vigorously.
Lynd began the tale. "After the Battle at the Tower of Joy, Lord Eddard returned Lord Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, to House Dayne at Starfall. Then, Ashara Dayne threw herself into the sea from the White Sword Tower. The story goes that she couldn’t bear the grief of losing her brother at your father’s hands. Not long after, you appeared at Lord Eddard’s side as his bastard."
Jon processed the words, his thoughts racing. He murmured, "My mother was… Ashara Dayne?"
"At the Tourney at Harrenhal, some claim to have seen Lord Eddard dancing with Ashara Dayne. That led to speculation that you were conceived then," Lynd continued. "If that were true, it would mean you’re actually older than Robb. Under normal circumstances, your body should have developed faster than his—taller, stronger."
Jon nodded, his mind replaying memories. What Lynd said made sense. A year ago, he and Robb had been of similar strength, but now he was noticeably stronger.
Then Lynd dropped another revelation. "In fact, many people are mistaken. Your father is not Lord Eddard."
Jon was completely thrown. He had only just learned who his mother might be, and now, suddenly, he had lost the father he had always known.
Lynd continued, "As I said, Lord Eddard was one of the most honorable men I’ve ever met—strict, unwavering. He spent years around our King, who was known for his many scandals, yet not once was there ever a rumor about Eddard himself. A man like that wouldn’t have lain with a lady outside of marriage. So the truth is, he could not have had an affair with Ashara Dayne. But there was someone else in House Stark—someone known for his charm, who was at the Tourney at Harrenhal, and who had contact with Ashara Dayne."
Jon’s breath hitched as realization dawned on him. "You’re saying… my father is my uncle, Brandon Stark?"
"Yes," Lynd confirmed with a nod. "Your father is Brandon Stark. And that means you are the rightful heir to Winterfell."
The weight of it all was too much. Too much information at once, too many truths and uncertainties crashing into each other in Jon’s mind. He stood there, stunned, unable to fully grasp it.
Without another word, he turned away and left the Godswood, heading back to his residence near the stables. He needed time—to think, to process, to simply breathe.
Lynd watched Jon Snow’s retreating figure, unable to suppress a small smile. Then, turning toward the shadows beneath the trees not far away, he spoke calmly. “Lord Eddard, aren’t you going to comfort your child?”
From the darkness, Lord Eddard stepped forward. He had been concealed by his black cloak, blending seamlessly into the surroundings, making it nearly impossible for an ordinary person to spot him.
As he approached, his face was pale, his expression rigid. “Lord Lynd, you went too far just now—to deceive a child like that.”
“A child?” Lynd echoed, his tone indifferent. “That boy is more mature than you imagine.” He met Eddard’s gaze without concern. “Your character is very different from that of our King, yet in some ways, you are much the same. For example, our King simply ignores bastards altogether, while you, at least, brought one back to Winterfell. But you did not treat him well…”
Eddard’s expression darkened, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “I did not treat him well?” He glared at Lynd, his voice edged with fury. “How dare you say such a thing?”
Lynd remained calm, studying him. Then, in a quiet voice, he asked, “May I ask, Lord Eddard, what does Jon Snow call you? Lord Eddard? Lord? Or… father?”
Eddard froze, the anger in his eyes quickly fading. A shadow of sorrow replaced it.
“At today’s banquet, everyone from Winterfell sat in the Great Hall—even the stable boys had a place at the table. But Jon Snow? He had to stay outside.” Lynd’s voice was steady as he looked at Eddard. “Is that the kindness you speak of, my lord?”
“Catelyn…” Eddard started, as if to offer an explanation.
“Ah, so now you place the blame on a woman?” Lynd’s tone remained low, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to it. “That does not sound like the Lord Eddard I know.” He held Eddard’s gaze before asking, “And tell me, do you truly consider Lady Catelyn your wife?”
Eddard’s expression hardened. “What do you mean by that?” His voice had turned cold.
Lynd leaned back against Glory, unbothered by the change in Eddard’s demeanor. “If you truly saw her as your wife—the one who will walk beside you for the rest of your life, the one who will share your grave when your time comes—then why is it that you cannot even grant her a little trust?”
Eddard frowned. “I have not trusted her?” he asked, confusion flickering in his eyes.
Lynd pressed on, peeling away his defenses like layers of an onion. “You do not trust her enough to share the greatest secret in your heart. That is why you have never told it to the woman who gave you four children.”
A flicker of panic crossed Eddard’s face, but he quickly masked it, his voice carefully measured. “What secret? Ser Lynd, what are you talking about?”
Lynd met his gaze and spoke words that had haunted Eddard Stark for years. “Ned, promise me, Ned.”
At the sound of those words, Eddard staggered back as if struck. He took several unsteady steps before his legs gave out beneath him. Whether he had lost his footing or tripped over a root, he landed heavily on the ground, his face pale with fear as he stared at Lynd, his breath shallow and uneven.
"You? How could you..." Eddard stared at Lynd in shock, his thoughts in complete disarray, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Lynd watched the panic in Eddard Stark’s eyes and said, "You want to ask me how I know this great secret, don’t you?"
Eddard instinctively nodded.
"God is everywhere," Lynd answered, offering an explanation that was more religious than logical.
With that, he rose to his feet, carefully placing the restored dragon egg back into his backpack.
Eddard remained frozen in place, still lost in his own thoughts. Lynd glanced at him and continued, "Lord Eddard, do you know why Lord Willas has been sending all the condemned prisoners from The Reach to The Wall to become Night’s Watchmen?"
"Huh?" Eddard blinked, his thoughts elsewhere. His mind was consumed with the urgent need to ensure his secret did not spread, so he barely registered what Lynd was saying.
Lynd paid no mind to Eddard’s distraction and went on. "For the past two years, Lord Willas has been sending hundreds of death row inmates to The Wall every few months. By now, the total number should be in the thousands. No lord has ever done this in the past few centuries. Even when Bloodraven commanded the Night’s Watch, he only sent a little over a hundred men. Have you ever wondered why Lord Willas is doing this?"
As Lynd spoke, Eddard slowly refocused, his mind piecing together the scattered fragments of his thoughts. He had indeed noticed the increasing numbers of Night’s Watch recruits from the South over the years, often seeing them pass through Winterfell. But he had never found a clear answer as to why.
Lynd's expression turned solemn. "Winter is coming, Lord Eddard. Winter is coming."
Eddard's brow furrowed. It took only a moment for him to realize that Lynd was not simply repeating his House’s motto.
"Lord Eddard," Lynd continued, "you are King Robert’s friend and brother-in-arms. Your influence on His Grace is significant. You should use it." His gaze was firm. "The burden of manning The Wall should not fall solely on The Reach. You must convince King Robert to decree that all condemned prisoners from across the Seven Kingdoms be sent to The Wall. After all, winter is coming—and no one will be spared. The North will bear the brunt of it."
Eddard’s expression hardened. "Ser Lynd, what exactly are you implying?"
Lynd did not hesitate. "The White Walkers are real, Lord Eddard."
Eddard’s eyes narrowed. For a long moment, he simply stared at Lynd, his expression unreadable, as if evaluating whether the man before him had lost his mind.
Lynd recognized the doubt in Eddard’s gaze and knew that no amount of words would convince him. There was no point in pressing the matter further. He turned and took a few steps away before pausing. Without looking back, he said, "Lord Eddard, compared to the safety of this world, your secret is meaningless. So do not worry—it will remain a secret. You need not fear anyone discovering it."
With that, he led Glory away and disappeared into the Godswood, leaving Eddard standing in place, deep in thought.
The next morning, after the final headcount, the group set off as planned.
Vortimer, having drunk too much the previous night, had gone out to relieve himself and, instead of returning to his room, had fallen asleep in the stables.
Joel, on the other hand, had spent the night in the bed of a local girl. When he finally left, he had even left his sword with her.
Lady Catelyn had come with her children to see Lynd and his companions off, but Lord Eddard was conspicuously absent. It was clear that he was still preoccupied with the events of the previous night.
Lynd scanned the crowd, his eyes settling on Robb, who stood beside Lady Catelyn, and Jon, who lingered at the back, partially hidden behind the others. He waved them forward. Lady Catelyn frowned at this but said nothing.
As the two approached, Lynd removed the broad-bladed half-swords strapped to his back and handed them to Jon and Robb.
"These two half-swords have been with me for a long time," he said. "But I rarely use them. To me, they have been more ornamental than practical, and in that, they have remained hidden weapons. I give them to you now, and I hope you will find them useful."
Jon and Robb took the swords, unable to hide their excitement.
As Lynd fastened the last strap on his horse, he glanced up and noticed Eddard Stark standing by the study window, watching in silence. Meeting his gaze, Lynd offered him a slight bow before mounting his horse and riding ahead of the procession.
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