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Chapter 144: The Fool’s Gambit
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 13:16:26 +0000 UTCThe death of Lord Wyland Wyl caused quite a stir in the Marches. Within just two days, the news had spread to the nearby territories and even reached Sunspear, at the far end of Dorne, via raven.
Many found it unbelievable that Lord Wyland Wyl had fallen at the hands of wildlings. In the countless conflicts in the Marches, it was rare for a noble of his stature to die in battle—let alone at the hands of wildlings. This only fueled curiosity about the origins of these fierce raiders.
While many studied the movements of the wildling tribes, the funeral of Lord Wyland Wyl was held in Wyl on the seventh day after his death.
Nearly all those with inheritance rights from the collateral branches of House Wyl gathered at the castle, as local custom dictated that the new lord would be named at the funeral. However, as Wyland Wyl had left no heir, the title’s succession would have to be decided among them.
Beyond the Wyl kin, numerous lords from the Boneway attended the funeral, eager to witness the rise of a new Lord of Wyl. Among them, House Yronwood held the most prestige, being the dominant power in the Boneway and a house strong enough to rival the Yronwoods' historic adversaries. Close behind were House Manwoody of Kingsgrave and House Fowler of Skyreach, followed by a collection of lesser lords.
House Yronwood was represented by Cletus Yronwood, the eldest son and heir of Lord Anders Yronwood. Skyreach was led by the famed twin beauties of House Fowler, Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler. Most of the other minor lords had sent their eldest sons, a clear indication of Wyland Wyl’s rather unremarkable ties with the neighboring nobility.
The only exception was Kingsgrave, whose lord, Dagos Manwoody, had come in person. His unexpected presence caught not only the new Lord of Wyl off guard but also drew the attention of the nobles observing the ceremony.
“This old vulture never moves without a reason. Why would he come all the way here for Lord Wyl’s funeral?” In the hall of Wyl Castle, Jeyne Fowler cast a disdainful glance toward the Lord of Kingsgrave and muttered to her twin sister.
“Maybe he and Lord Wyl were close?” Jennelyn Fowler shrugged, her tone indifferent.
“A vulture and a viper, friends?” Jeyne scoffed, eyeing her sister. “Just wait and see. There's going to be trouble. The scavenger caught the scent of a dead snake—he won’t leave without picking the bones clean.”
As the twin sisters whispered, Cletus Yronwood, not far away, overheard their exchange. He leaned in and murmured a few words to the men-at-arms beside him. While he had no intention of interfering in the Wyl succession, he would certainly not allow Kingsgrave to profit from it. Checks and balances had long been the Yronwoods’ preferred method of managing the Boneway’s lords.
In the center of the hall lay Wyland Wyl’s corpse, his shattered half-head hidden beneath an iron mask. By Wyl family tradition, a dozen specially treated venomous snakes had been placed beside him. A Silent Sister, holding a lantern filled with strong incense, walked solemnly around the body, performing the final rites.
As the ceremony continued, impatience grew among the Wyl family branches. One by one, they began loudly declaring their claims to Wyl Castle, each insisting that their right to inherit was the strongest.
The hall quickly descended into chaos, the nobles bickering like merchants in a crowded marketplace.
Watching the disgraceful scene, Cletus Yronwood finally rose to his feet and shouted, “Silence! Silence! You stand before the coffin of Lord Wyland Wyl, not in the bedchamber of your estates! Squabbling like fishwives—where is your dignity as nobles?”
Though young, his status commanded respect. One by one, the feuding Wyl kin fell silent, though many cast resentful glances toward the heir of House Yronwood.
The succession to the title and lands of Lord was recorded in the Wyl family genealogy, leaving no room for dispute. Cletus turned to Edwyn, the advisor and maester who had served three Lords of Wyl, and said, “Maester Edwyn, please bring out the Lord Wyl’s genealogy.”
At this, the old maester bowed to Cletus and took a heavy parchment from his assistant’s hands. Following the procession to the coffin of Lord Wyland Wyl, he placed the book on the shelf that had been prepared in advance and opened it before everyone. He quickly found the page for Wyland Wyl and traced the lineage to the previous generation.
“Feles Wyl, son of Mors Wyl in the bloodline, is the Wyl family member with the highest inheritance rights,” the old maester announced after carefully sorting through the genealogy.
At that moment, among the Wyl family's collateral branches, a group of people cheered. Among them was a middle-aged man with a pointed nose, thin cheeks, and a pale complexion, who waved at the crowd with a look of complacency.
Though the matter was settled, objections were inevitable. However, in the face of the genealogy book, there was nothing that could be done to change the outcome.
“Chosen by the Seven Gods, Lord of Summerhall, Red Watch, and Red Watch River— Lord Lynd Tarran approaches.”
The ceremonial official at the door suddenly announced the arrival of a visitor in a loud voice. Though the hall was filled with noise, his proclamation was clear and carried over the crowd, immediately silencing the room.
Everyone’s mind was filled with the same question: What is Lynd Tarran doing here?
Those present knew well the enmity between Lynd Tarran and Lord Wyland Wyl. Before his death, the Chosen One had brought Wyland Wyl considerable misfortune. First, he lost over a thousand soldiers in the defense of Wyl Castle. Then, under Lynd’s command, he surrendered Bone Bridge and the Serpent Fang Tower on the other side of the river, making him a laughingstock among the Lords of Dorne.
Some even suspected that Wyland Wyl’s death was orchestrated by Lynd. It was suspicious that only days after Wyland Wyl fell in battle against the Wildling King, Lynd announced that he had fully subdued all wildling tribes in the northeastern section of the Red Mountains.
The timing was too coincidental, making it difficult not to suspect that Lynd had a hand in directing the wildling tribes to attack Wyland Wyl. Unfortunately, suspicion alone was not enough—there was no evidence to prove it.
Furthermore, those familiar with the wildling tribes knew that the Wildling King who killed Wyland Wyl hailed from the Stone Mountain Tribe, an enemy of the wildling clans Lynd had subdued. Cooperation between them was unlikely.
Unlike most of those present, who harbored fear toward Lynd, Cletus held him in high regard. He had participated in the Godsgrace Tournament and once made a wager against Lynd, which he lost with little effort. Later, Lynd instructed him in swordsmanship, correcting his flaws with such clarity that the improvement was undeniable. As a result, Cletus had developed a certain admiration for Lynd.
As Lynd stepped into the hall, Cletus was the first to move forward, saluting him. “Lord Lynd, it’s been a long time.”
“It’s been a long time, Ser Cletus,” Lynd replied.
Lynd remembered Cletus well. He was one of the few who had not been disarmed when facing Lynd in combat. Later, upon learning that Cletus was the heir to House Yronwood, he made note of him as one of the rare individuals who had left an impression.
“Obella? You're alive.”
Just as the two were exchanging greetings, someone in the Yronwood entourage suddenly exclaimed. The man who had spoken stared at the woman in black veils behind Lynd, his face full of shock. One after another, similar gasps of surprise rippled through the crowd.
Cletus turned his gaze toward the woman and, with an expression of equal surprise, said, “Sister Oberna!”
“Cletus, you've grown up a lot in two years!” Oberna smiled as she looked at him.
Lynd was also somewhat taken aback by the Yronwoods' reaction. He hadn't expected Oberna to be so well-acquainted with the young nobles of House Yronwood or that their relationship would be anything beyond casual.
Obella seemed to read Lynd’s thoughts and explained, “When I was very young, my father often took me to the castle to play. I lived there for a long time and knew everyone in the Yronwood family.”
“Obella, you and Lord Lynd…” Cletus looked at her with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
“Ser Lynd is my husband's liege lord,” Obella clarified before introducing Russell. “This is my husband, Russell Tarran, captain of Ser Lynd’s independent company.”
“Husband?” Cletus turned to Russell, his expression filled with disbelief. “Obella, what happened to you in the past two years?”
“This isn’t the time to talk about that. I’ll explain later,” Obella replied, shaking her head slightly before turning her attention to the young Yronwood nobles who had gathered around.
Lynd, wasting no time with further conversation, strode to the center of the hall, where Wyland Wyl’s coffin lay. In the midst of the watching crowd, he declared, “You don’t have to guess why a nobleman from the Reach is here. I will make it clear—this Lady Obella Wyl is Wyland Wyl’s only daughter and the rightful heir to Wyl Castle. My purpose here is to ensure she receives what is rightfully hers.”
As soon as Lynd spoke, the hall fell into stunned silence. A moment later, an uproar broke out. The Wyl family's collateral branches erupted in protest, shouting at Lynd, while the other nobles present began loudly discussing the unexpected turn of events, eagerly anticipating the spectacle that was about to unfold.
“Quiet! Quiet!” Lynd’s voice rang out over the clamor. His hand came to rest on the great sword of the Banished Knight, and in an instant, a surge of thunder burst from his body. The shockwave blasted outward, shattering every window in the hall. The surrounding walls bore black scorch marks as if licked by flames.
The room fell deathly silent.
All eyes were fixed on Lynd. Some were filled with fear, others with shock, but among them were expressions of awe and even excitement.
For a long time, rumors had circulated about Lynd’s miraculous feats in Lannisport. Though the Faith of the Seven had acknowledged them as miracles, many in Dorne had dismissed the stories as mere tricks—a charlatan’s performance meant to deceive ignorant northern lords.
But now, having witnessed his power firsthand, no one could deny the truth of the rumors. If anything, the stories they had heard fell far short of capturing even a fraction of what they had just seen.
Among the crowd, some followers of the Faith of the Seven had already fallen to their knees, reciting prayers in reverence. Others, adherents of different beliefs, murmured their own chants, as if doing so was the only way to steady their shaken hearts.
Obella and Russell, witnessing this for the first time, stood speechless, overwhelmed by what they had just seen. Their awe for Lynd surged to new heights.
Satisfied with the silence, Lynd gestured to Russell, who stepped forward and handed him a set of documents. Lynd placed them atop the genealogy book and said, “These documents confirm Obella’s identity. They include letters exchanged between Lord Wyland Wyl and Obella’s foster father, an inheritance document signed by Wyland Wyl himself and sealed with his lord’s seal, and a birth certificate penned by a Maester from the Citadel. I trust that Maester Edwyn here can verify their authenticity.”
“There’s no need for verification. These are all genuine,” the old Maester immediately confirmed before Lynd had even finished speaking. “Aside from the letterhead, every other document here was drafted by me personally.” He then turned to Obella, his voice softer. “Come here, child. Let me have a look at you.”
Obella hesitated. She glanced at her husband, then at Lynd, before finally stepping forward. As she moved, the eyes of everyone around her followed, their expressions a mixture of envy, jealousy, and resentment.
The old Maester gazed at Obella, his expression growing emotional. “You look very much like your mother,” he murmured. “I was the one who delivered you when you were born. I wrote your birth certificate with my own hands and personally delivered it to Harmen Sand. I thought you had died long ago… but here you stand. House Wyl is back in the rightful hands.”
At these words, the faces of those from the Wyl family's branch line darkened. They knew that unless they could somehow prove Obella was an impostor, their hopes of claiming Wyl Castle were lost.
Meanwhile, in the crowd watching from the Kingsgrave Castle delegation, a young man with red hair and a pale complexion tensed. His anxiety was evident. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of parchment documents, preparing to step forward.
Before he could move, several figures emerged from the crowd, closing in on him in an instant. Hands gripped him tightly, restraining him, and then—quick, precise—a series of short daggers pierced his body. The blades cut deep, severing bones, puncturing his heart and lungs. A hand clamped over his mouth, silencing any cry before it could escape.
His eyes widened in horror as he looked toward the Lord of Kingsgrave Castle, Lord Dagos, standing ahead of him. But Dagos never looked back.
Moments later, the young man’s struggles ceased, his strength drained away. The parchment scrolls slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground.
Without drawing attention, the assassins swiftly carried his lifeless body out of the hall, slipping away through the crowd.
Only one person had noticed.
Lynd.
