Chapter 41: The Knighting Ceremony

Lynd was not surprised that Varys knew about the girl he had saved. After all, Varys had his little birds scattered throughout King's Landing and was likely aware of even the most trivial details—perhaps even what color Lord Tywin's underwear was tonight, not to mention Lynd's own affairs.

So, instead of looking startled, Lynd simply nodded calmly and said, "So it was her. She is indeed pitiful, but she survived."

Varys, however, was caught off guard by Lynd's composure. A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he sighed and said, "It's good that she survived, but you shouldn't let her leave with the Faceless Men. She'll undoubtedly cause a lot of trouble if she becomes one of them. It would be better for her—and everyone else—if she just stayed a peasant girl."

Lynd's expression hardened as he looked at Varys. In a low voice, he replied, "A peasant girl, Lord Varys? Do you truly believe that's a wise choice? Can she realistically be content with that life for the rest of her days? And Lord Tywin—if he discovers she's alive—what do you think her fate will be?"

Varys's face betrayed genuine astonishment at Lynd's words. He had never imagined Lynd knew the girl's identity. After all, Lord Tywin had gone to great lengths to bury that particular scandal, ensuring the girl's existence was completely erased. The Lannister guards who had been involved that night were discreetly reassigned to the Westerlands mines—permanent assignments, with no hope of return.

Varys himself had only learned of the girl's survival from Tyrion, the Imp. Outside of the participants, he had believed only he and the Septon who performed Tyrion's wedding knew of her. And the Septon had long since been silenced by Tywin. This secret had seemed impenetrable.

But now, hearing Lynd reveal such knowledge, Varys felt a surge of disbelief and unease. He studied Lynd closely, muttering, "You're even more remarkable than I thought."

Instead of dwelling on the revelation, however, Varys redirected his scrutiny toward Lynd. Lynd frowned slightly, his gaze steady as he asked, "You say the same thing Lord Jaime said—that I'm special—but I don't quite understand. Lord Varys, could you explain?"

Varys finished the food in his hand in a single bite, stood, and replied cryptically, "There's no need to worry. You'll understand soon enough."

Before Lynd could respond, the music at the banquet abruptly stopped. A new tune filled the air—the Song of the Bear Hunter. The melody froze those who recognized it, and one by one, heads turned toward Lynd, seated in the corner.

Gradually, the hall's focus shifted to the entrance of the cloister leading to Maegor's Holdfast. There stood King Robert, bruised and with his arm in a bandage, flanked by a group of Kingsguard. He strode into the hall with his characteristic swagger, heading straight for his throne.

The crowd hesitated, unsure whether to greet him formally, but Robert waved them off impatiently. He forced his swollen eyes open, scanning the hall as though searching for something—or someone. His gaze darted back and forth, hindered either by the dim lighting or the bruises clouding his vision. After a few futile moments, he bellowed toward Lord Tyrell, "Lord Tyrell! Where is the boy who beat me in the fighting ring yesterday? The one they call Bear Hunter Lynd. Didn't I send him an invitation?"

Lord Tyrell, flustered, bowed and responded, "Your Grace, he is here, though it's his first banquet, and he's not accustomed to such gatherings."

At that moment, Lynd emerged from the shadows of the hall, stepping into the warm glow of the hanging candles and lamps.

"So, you're here," Robert said as his gaze landed on Lynd. Following Lynd's glance toward the corner he had come from, Robert noticed the wooden platter full of food on the ground. A faint smile crossed his face. "It seems you really aren't used to these kinds of banquets—and neither am I. Compared to pretending to be refined and making empty talk with lords and ladies, I'd rather be in the barracks, eating and drinking with the men."

At this moment, Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, rose from his seat and interjected, "Your Grace, attending banquets allows you to better understand the minds of your vassals and formulate appropriate policies. It is—"

"I know, I know, I know it's necessary, which is why I'm here!" Robert cut him off with a wave of his hand, clearly irritated. He then turned back to Lynd, gesturing for him to come closer. "Come here, Bear Hunter Lynd."

Lynd seemed to guess what was about to unfold. A flicker of joy crossed his face before he quickly masked it. With a composed demeanor, he stepped into the open space in the hall and stood before the king.

Robert rubbed the swollen lump on his face, glaring at Lynd. "I haven't been beaten like this in years—if ever. My head's still spinning even now. That's why some are saying I made this decision while still dazed, and that it doesn't follow the rules." He smirked. "But I'm the king. I don't need to care about rules. Kings make the rules."

He muttered a few more words under his breath, then straightened, gesturing at Jon Arryn, who had opened his mouth to speak. "Enough. I don't want to hear it." Turning back to Lynd, he commanded, "Kneel, Lynd of White Holdfast!"

Sensing the weight of the moment, Lynd stepped forward and dropped to one knee before the king. A ripple of realization spread through the room, and the nobles in attendance began to murmur among themselves. Many frowned, including Lord Tyrell, whose face betrayed his surprise. However, a few wore subtle smiles, pleased by this unexpected turn of events.

Robert reached for his waist, intending to draw his sword—but his hand came up empty. Scowling, he cursed under his breath. "Where's a sword? Damn it, someone bring me a sword!"

Jaime Lannister, standing near Queen Cersei, stepped forward immediately. He unsheathed his sword and presented it to the king, but Robert only glanced at it before scoffing. "No, Kingslayer. Your sword isn't worthy of him." The insult landed heavily, and Jaime's expression flickered for an instant. Yet, outwardly, he appeared unaffected. With forced nonchalance, he reattached his sword to his waist and stepped back behind the queen. His hand gripped the chair behind her tightly, his knuckles turning white, betraying the anger simmering within.

Lord Tywin, watching from the crowd, remained as inscrutable as ever. His cold, stoic demeanor revealed nothing of his thoughts.

Robert turned instead to Barristan Selmy, the legendary Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "Barristan, give me your sword."

Barristan hesitated for only a moment. Though he felt Jaime had been slighted unfairly, he would not disobey the king's order. He unsheathed his sword and stepped forward, holding it out for Robert.

The king took the blade, hefting its weight with satisfaction. He approached Lynd and placed the sword lightly on his right shoulder. "Lynd of White Holdfast," Robert declared, his voice steady and commanding. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

He moved the sword to Lynd's left shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

Returning the sword to Lynd's right shoulder, he continued, "In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the weak and innocent."

Finally, he brought the blade back to Lynd's left shoulder. "In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women."

The solemnity of Robert's recitation brought an air of gravitas to the hall. Even the nobles who had initially shown discontent now stood silent and respectful, their expressions dignified.

With the oath complete, Robert lifted the sword from Lynd's shoulder and proclaimed, "Lynd the Bear Hunter, you are now a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. I hope you're satisfied with this reward."

Lynd rose to his feet, unable to suppress a smile. "Yes, Your Grace. I am very pleased."

The significance of this moment was not lost on anyone present, least of all Lynd. Being knighted was not merely an honor—it was a gateway to status and opportunity in the Seven Kingdoms. Without it, he would have remained just another mercenary or hired sword. Now, at just fifteen years old, he had achieved knighthood after a single tournament, and not just any knighthood, but one bestowed directly by the king himself. Such an event was unprecedented in the history of Westeros and marked Lynd as someone extraordinary.

As he stood under the gazes of the gathered lords and ladies, Lynd couldn't help but reflect on his earlier doubts. When Robert had left the fighting ring the day before without knighting him, Lynd had assumed his guess was wrong. He had already begun formulating a plan to earn knighthood through military merit. But now, all those concerns had evaporated.

It seemed, as Jaime and Varys had both hinted, that Lynd truly was destined for something greater. And judging by the hushed murmurs and exchanged glances among the nobles, this knighthood was sure to be the subject of heated discussion in the halls of power at the Red Keep.

Now that Robert had knighted him in front of the banquet's assembly, Lynd felt a renewed sense of pride, as though he had reclaimed something previously lost. The joy in his heart surged, filling him with a quiet satisfaction.

The nobles around them soon gathered to offer their congratulations. Whether their words were sincere or merely polite, they each displayed the decorum expected in such circumstances.

"I never thought you'd become a Knight so quickly. It's only been a few months since you became my squire," said Vortimer, stepping forward to clap Lynd on the shoulder. His tone carried a deeper meaning as he added, "But remember, becoming a Knight is only the first step. You still have much to learn. Don't forget your initial aspirations."

Lynd, ever respectful, did not let his elevation change his demeanor toward his former mentor. Bowing slightly, he replied, "I humbly accept your teachings, Lord Vortimer."

Satisfied, Vortimer gave a small nod, though he seemed on the verge of saying more. Judging the timing unsuitable, he simply remarked that they would speak further back at camp.

Garlan Tyrell also approached to congratulate Lynd and began leading him toward Lord Tyrell for an introduction. But before they could move, Robert's voice cut through the hall.

"Lynd the Bear Hunter, would you like to become a Kingsguard?"

The question, though spoken in a calm tone, carried enough weight to silence the entire hall. Every noble turned their attention to Lynd, their expressions ranging from astonishment to scrutiny.

Even Lynd was caught off guard. Becoming a Kingsguard had never been part of his ambitions, but he could not ignore the honor inherent in the offer. For many Knights, joining the Kingsguard was the pinnacle of glory, symbolizing not only personal prestige but also access to the very heart of power in the Seven Kingdoms. Kingsguard members often wielded influence that extended beyond guarding the king, sometimes shaping policies or even serving as Hand of the King or Regent.

Yet for Lynd, the title felt like a gilded cage, and he could already sense the invisible pressure from the room—pressure born of his humble origins. Unlike a Knight from a noble house, whose appointment would have caused little stir, Lynd's ascension to the Kingsguard would shatter deeply entrenched power structures. He was not just a commoner; he was a hunter by birth, a status lower than even a peasant's. For such a man to achieve knighthood was already an anomaly; to grant him a place in the Kingsguard would be a direct affront to the noble hierarchy of Westeros.

Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, recognized the potential fallout immediately. He stepped forward, attempting to dissuade Robert from his bold proposal. However, Robert silenced him with a raised hand, then turned back to Lynd.

"I'll ask you again," Robert said, his voice steady. "Will you join the Kingsguard?"

Lynd hesitated only briefly, aware of the countless eyes fixed on him. He could feel the mounting tension in the hall, and he chose his words carefully. Bowing his head slightly, he said, "I am deeply honored by Your Grace's offer, but I cannot accept. The title of Kingsguard is far too heavy for me. Besides," he added, "the Red Keep is not a place for someone like me. I prefer the freedom of the outside world."

Robert's swollen, battered face shifted into a look of resignation. He sighed heavily, muttering, "How could I not understand that?"

He paused, then turned away, his disinterest in the banquet now apparent. Without another word, Robert exited the hall, leaving a trail of hushed whispers in his wake.

As the tension dissipated, the nobles in the hall collectively exhaled in relief. Their expressions toward Lynd softened considerably, particularly those of Jon Arryn and his allies. They clearly interpreted Lynd's refusal as a gesture of humility, a recognition of his place within the existing order. To them, it seemed Lynd had shown wisdom by declining an honor that could have disrupted the delicate balance of power.

In truth, however, Lynd had no interest in joining the Kingsguard. What many saw as the ultimate honor, he viewed as a prison. He valued his freedom too much to trade it for a lifetime of servitude, no matter how prestigious the position.

The banquet gradually returned to its lively rhythm. Yet, Lynd's newfound status brought subtle changes. Where he had been ignored before, now minor nobles and Knights approached him with smiles and small talk, clearly reassessing his worth. Though some of their intentions might not have been genuine, Lynd recognized the shift in perception.

Even Lord Tyrell's attitude toward him changed, though only slightly. The gap between a Knight's squire and a newly minted Knight was still vast in the eyes of a powerful noble like Lord Tyrell.

Yet Lord Mace Tyrell seemed to interpret Lynd's refusal of the Kingsguard offer as a demonstration of loyalty to House Tyrell.

During their brief conversation, Lord Tyrell even hinted that Lynd needn't worry about any lingering consequences from selling cavalry positions without authorization.