GOT: I Plunder Skills — Chapter 399 - The Reward for Brienne
The farce in the courtyard ended with Maester Archibald muttering to himself, his faith seemingly in ruins.
The aftermath, however, far exceeded anyone's expectations.
The next day, the boy Lynn had saved with "Needle" became the talk of all Winterfell. Countless people flocked to his doorstep just to catch a glimpse of the rescued child with their own eyes.
As for Lynn himself , he was completely deified.
In the simple worldview of the Northern common folk, who else but a god could make the dead walk and drag the dying back to life? For a time, the claim that Lynn, the King in the North, was an avatar of the Old Gods was on everyone's lips.
Even Ned Stark, after seeing the healed wound on the boy with his own eyes, could only stare at Lynn like he was looking at something that shouldn't exist. He stood there a long time without saying a word.
To all of it, Lynn just smiled.
After several busy days, he finally had some rare leisure. He walked alone through the corridors of Winterfell, enjoying the quiet that had settled over the castle in the wake of the blizzard. Sunlight streamed through the tall stone windows, throwing patches of light and shadow across the floor.
Down the colonnade ahead, a few figures caught his eye.
Margaery was sitting on a stone bench, a book open in her hands, absorbed in whatever was on the page. Behind her stood a figure so tall she seemed almost out of place , solid and still as an iron tower.
Brienne.
She wore dull grey chainmail, a longsword at her hip. Her face, which had never been called beautiful, held nothing but vigilance. Her gaze moved steadily across every corner of the colonnade, cataloguing threats that weren't there, missing nothing.
Lynn stopped walking.
He realized he had been neglecting her. Not intentionally , but the fact remained.
From Highgarden to King's Landing.
It was Brienne who had escorted Margaery the entire way, shielding her through a journey riddled with danger, turning aside threats both open and concealed. Without her, Margaery might never have reached King's Landing at all.
Lynn had never forgotten that. He simply hadn't found the right moment.
The thought that had been forming in the back of his mind finally took shape.
He looked at Brienne's calloused hands, worn from years of gripping a sword, and at her eyes, steady with the kind of loyalty that didn't waver. He knew that for a warrior like her, gold and land would feel like an insult.
There was only one thing she had ever wanted.
Lynn walked over.
"Margaery."
She looked up the instant she heard his voice, set the book aside, and a warm smile broke across her face. She stood and came to him like a butterfly finding somewhere to land, slipping into his arms.
Brienne saw him and immediately bowed. "My lord."
"Brienne." Lynn looked at her steadily. "Come with me."
Brienne blinked. She glanced between him and Margaery, uncertain.
Margaery was equally curious, watching Lynn with bright eyes.
He offered no explanation. He simply took Margaery's hand and walked deeper into Winterfell. After a brief hesitation, Brienne fell into step behind them.
They crossed the courtyard, passed the training grounds, and arrived at the oldest and most sacred place in the castle.
The Godswood.
Winter sunlight filtered through bare branches and fell across the snow in pale, clean shafts. The grove was utterly still.
Lynn stopped before a massive heart tree. The weirwood's pale trunk bore a carved face — red as blood, its eyes weeping sap like old tears , watching them in silence.
"Brienne."
Lynn turned around.
"Brienne of Tarth."
Her heart jumped. She straightened instinctively.
"You are loyal. You are brave. You keep your word." His gaze dropped to the longsword at her hip. "You hold every virtue a true knight should have — and more honor than most of the men who dare to call themselves one."
Brienne's breathing shifted. She didn't understand why he was saying this, not here, not now.
"So I have decided to give you the honor you deserve."
Lynn drew the sword at his hip.
It was not an ordinary sword.
It was Ice , the Valyrian steel blade Ned Stark had placed in his hands, symbol of the highest authority in the North. The moment it cleared the scabbard, a bone-deep cold bled into the air around them.
Margaery's hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes were bright and knowing.
Brienne went still. She stared at the legendary greatsword, then at Lynn's face, and her mind went blank.
"Kneel."
His voice carried the kind of quiet authority that left no room for argument.
Something moved through Brienne's body , not thought, not decision. Her tall frame began to tremble. She looked up at him, and the steadiness that always lived in her blue eyes gave way to something she couldn't name. Confusion. Disbelief.
"My lord..." Her voice came out rough. "I... I am just a woman."
The bitterness in those words carried years behind them.
No woman in all of Westeros had ever been made a knight. It wasn't done. It was a blasphemy against the Seven, an offense against everything knighthood stood for.
"I know," Lynn said.
Simple. Certain.
"But I make no distinction between men and women. Only between warriors and cowards." He held her gaze. "And you are one of the finest warriors I have ever seen."
"Kneel, Brienne."
She broke.
Her tall frame dropped to the snow , not gracefully, but with the full weight of everything she had carried for years. The chainmail struck the frozen ground with a heavy, muffled crack. Two tears ran down her face, not beautiful, not elegant, falling onto the white snow and melting small dark pits where they landed.
She had wanted this her whole life.
She had taken every laugh, every sneer, every dismissive glance, and kept walking. She had told herself the dream was impossible. Told herself to let it go.
And yet here was this man, holding Ice above her, prepared to make it real.
Lynn raised the blade and rested the flat of it gently on her right shoulder.
"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."
The blade moved to her left shoulder.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
It returned to her right.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."
The oldest knighting words in Westeros. The most solemn.
When the last word fell, Lynn drew the blade back and sheathed it.
"Arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth."
Brienne raised her head slowly. Tears had blurred everything. She got to her feet, dragged the back of her hand hard across her face , then, with every ounce of strength she had, dropped to one knee again.
This time no one had told her to.
"I, Brienne of Tarth, swear this oath." Her voice was steadier than it had any right to be. "My sword, my life, everything I am — I will fight for you."
"Until death."
Lynn looked at her and gave a single, satisfied nod.
He helped her to her feet. Then he let his gaze drift to Margaery beside him, and his thoughts moved outward , to Daenerys. To Sansa. To Arya. To Myrcella.
He could protect them.
But he couldn't be everywhere at once. He couldn't stand beside every one of them at every moment. He needed something more , a force of absolute loyalty and unquestioned skill, dedicated to guarding the women who mattered most to him.
The thought settled into place, fully formed.
"Ser Brienne."
"My lord." She answered immediately.
"I have decided to rebuild the Kingsguard."
His voice carried through the quiet of the Godswood and dissolved into the cold air among the trees.
➤ Next: Lord Commander of the Kingsguard