When the Lightning Lord, Beric Dondarrion, and the red priest Thoros left, they took with them the letter Lynd had written to Stannis—along with a pardon, in case they encountered noble patrols who might otherwise arrest them along the way.
This version of the Brotherhood Without Banners was very different from the one Lynd had known in his previous life. Beric and Thoros weren't just targeting Tywin's mad dogs—they were going after any nobles who turned their swords on the common folk. Whether in the Riverlands or the North, many such lords had been captured or killed by them. That was why, when Lord Tywin issued a bounty on them, even his enemies among the Riverlands and Northern nobility added their own coin to the reward.
It was no exaggeration to say the Brotherhood had become the enemy of all nobles. Anywhere they went—anywhere nobles or their private armies were stationed—they faced attack. And the only reason they had survived this long, aside from their own abilities, was because of the shelter and support they received from the common people.
But with the war over and peace returning to the Riverlands, the farmers had begun to rebuild their homes. In times like these, anyone who kept calling for bloodshed would only provoke the resentment of the people. And once that happened, the Brotherhood would lose its most crucial support.
Without the protection of the smallfolk, they would end up just like the Kingswood Brotherhood—once powerful, now wiped from memory by the unified wrath of the realm's nobility.
So even without Lynd's suggestion, it was likely they would have eventually requested to go to the Wall themselves.
...
After Beric and Thoros departed, no more visitors came, which struck Lynd as strange. Others could be excused—but the Red Viper? Lynd had expected Oberyn to seek him out directly. It was the only way to ensure his revenge in King's Landing succeeded.
But Oberyn clearly had other ideas. He didn't visit, didn't send word, didn't even send a messenger.
"I think Prince Oberyn is afraid you won't support him taking revenge on Lord Tywin," Sansa guessed the next day, after Lynd casually mentioned it.
"Why would he think that? I've said I wouldn't interfere in the Seven Kingdoms' internal disputes," Lynd replied.
"But you also said that no conflict should affect the war effort against the White Walkers at the Wall," Sansa explained. "Lord Tywin plays a key role in stabilizing the realm. If Prince Oberyn were to take revenge on him, it would surely stir up unrest. And then, as the witness to the peace treaty, you'd have to step in and prevent the situation from spiraling. Which means..."
"Why does everyone think Tywin is so important?" Lynd interrupted, chuckling. "All men must die, Sansa. Tywin's just a man. His death wouldn't shake the realm nearly as much as people think."
Sansa's eyes lit up, as though something had just occurred to her. But she said nothing further. Instead, she asked if she could go for a walk. Lynd told her to take a squad of the Chosen along with her. Although House Tyrell's arrival had brought some stability back to the capital, King's Landing was still dangerous in many corners, and caution was never wasted.
...
Once Sansa left, Lynd made his way to the courtyard where the Redemption Sisters stayed, intending to check on Cersei.
It had to be said—Cersei's will was far stronger than most. The confession ritual administered by the Redemption Sisters was enough to break battle-hardened warriors, yet she still refused to lower her proud head.
"I told you from the start—you're a plague. They should've dealt with you back when that fat pig Robert knighted you!" Cersei snarled from her bed, curled tightly against the wall with a blanket wrapped around her. Her lips trembled on a pale face twisted with rage, eyes locked on Lynd with fury. "They should've killed you then and there!"
Lynd picked up a nearby chair and placed it beside her bed, sitting down calmly.
"The confession ritual the sisters used yesterday is a rite of repentance," he said. "Anyone who enters the Redemption Sept must undergo it. It doesn't end until the person has truly repented for all the wrongs they've done."
"I have nothing to repent for," Cersei said through clenched teeth.
"If that were true, you wouldn't be like this now. You'd be talking to me like a sane person," Lynd replied, glancing at her. "The ritual doesn't invent guilt—it draws it out. It magnifies the things buried deep inside you that cause guilt, even if you didn't feel it at the time. Maybe when you did those things, you felt nothing. Maybe even now you tell yourself it wasn't wrong. But your soul knows better. It judged you a long time ago. That guilt is in you, buried deep—but it's there. Maybe it would've stayed hidden your whole life. But not anymore."
As he spoke, Lynd rose to his feet, walked over to a nearby table, and brought over a censer. He placed it beside Cersei's bed, letting its faint smoke curl into the air.
"Take it away, take it away! I am the Queen—I order you to take it away!" Cersei shrieked like she had seen something unimaginably terrifying, pressing herself into the corner of the bed, as if she could vanish into the wall itself.
Lynd ignored her screams and calmly explained, "The incense in that brazier is crafted through a secret process. Its core ingredient is an oil extracted from the fur of a certain beast found on the continent of Essos. It draws out the guilt buried deep within the soul—forcing the user to relive the moments that birthed it, over and over again. The visions don't fade. The fear they provoke only intensifies with repeated exposure. And if you never truly repent for your wrongs, eventually that fear will overwhelm your mind completely. You'll go mad. Not Queen Cersei... but Cersei the Fool."
"My father won't let you do this," Cersei said, trembling.
"You still don't get it?" Lynd replied. "When Lord Tywin made those promises, he already saw you as a piece to be sacrificed. Jaime has agreed to return and inherit Casterly Rock. Tywin wants his heir to rebuild the family name without interference. And you—your influence over Jaime is too strong, and entirely poisonous. You started this war with your scandal, your lust. How do you think Tywin sees you now? As his daughter? No. The one who probably wants you dead the most right now isn't your enemy—it's your own family. The people closest to you."
"No... no!" Cersei was foolish in most things, but when her survival was at stake, she could suddenly become quite sharp—just like now.
She wanted to deny Lynd's words, but she couldn't. Because one thing he said had struck home: when Tywin first locked her up in the Red Keep, he told her outright that he wished she had died instead of Kevan.
At the time, she'd dismissed it as bluster. But now, after Lynd's analysis, she couldn't ignore it. Tywin really did want her dead. And to keep his own hands clean, he'd handed her over—just like this.
The terror of death shattered her pride in an instant. She scrambled toward Lynd, hugging his arm, pressing herself against him, her entire demeanor changed. She was no longer filled with hatred—now she was begging.
But Lynd simply pulled his arm away and grabbed her chin.
"You couldn't even seduce Lord Eddard," he said coldly. "What makes you think you can seduce me? Honestly, I feel sorry for Jaime. Last night, he risked everything—even the possibility of breaking with me forever—just to sneak in and try to save you. And here you are, ready to trade your body to buy your life. How is that different from a whore? No—there is a difference. Your name and your title would excite certain men far more than a common prostitute ever could."
"You and Eddard Stark—neither of you are men," Cersei spat. She could see there was nothing in Lynd's eyes, no emotion, nothing human. It was like being stared at by a block of stone. Angry and ashamed, she shook off his hand, climbed back into bed, and glared at him coldly.
Lynd only smiled, said nothing more, and turned to leave the room.
"Double the dosage," he said clearly, speaking loud enough for her to hear. "No interruptions. She must complete the confession ritual before the wedding."
The moment his words fell, Cersei's voice erupted from the room—loud, vulgar, shrieking like a fishwife on the street.
But her insults meant nothing. The Redemption Sisters had heard Lynd's command, and they entered without hesitation. Soon, Cersei's screaming turned to pleading. Then the pleading became raw, anguished screams.
None of it reached beyond the courtyard. Every building here was specially constructed for silence—no sound escaped these walls. No matter how loudly Cersei screamed, no one outside would ever hear.
Lynd hadn't originally planned for her to complete the ritual so soon. He'd just wanted her to experience the first step of the Redemption Sept's process. But after hearing Patchface's song the day before, he had a sinking feeling—something fated might still come to pass.
And if Joffrey really did die... then as Queen, Cersei wouldn't be able to enter the Sept any time soon. She would remain regent until a new heir took the Iron Throne and was formally crowned.
So Lynd had no choice. She had to complete the foundational confession ritual before the wedding.
This kind of confession couldn't change who she was. Cersei would still be Cersei. But it could change her faith. And soon enough, she would become a devout follower of the Faith of the Seven.
As long as she became a devout follower of the Seven, then, as one of the Seven's chosen, he would be able to exert direct influence over Cersei, preventing her—still holding the regency—from behaving as recklessly as she had in his past life.
While Lynd was handling Cersei, the Lannister brothers, Jaime and Tyrion, were each being dealt with as well—one by Tywin, the other by Joffrey.
After Jaime left Lynd the night before, he began planning how to break Tyrion out. Worried that Lord Tywin or Joffrey might have bought off the people around him, he didn't summon his usual men. Instead, he went to the docks and hastily hired a few mercenaries, without alerting either Bronn or Podrick.
In Jaime's eyes, Bronn was the kind of man who would sell anyone out for the right price, loyalty meaning nothing to him. Betraying Tyrion would take no more than a handful of gold.
As for Podrick, although he served Tyrion, he had been assigned by Tywin. Jaime suspected Podrick might be Tywin's eyes and ears as well.
Thus, he chose to handle the rescue on his own.
At first, everything went smoothly. Jaime eliminated the guards outside Tyrion's residence, woke his brother—who was still deep in sleep—and without much explanation, hoisted him over his shoulder and rushed toward the docks. There, he had a small boat ready. If they could reach the Kingswood on the far bank, they would be safe. The Kingswood was within Lynd's sphere of influence—neither Tywin nor Joffrey would dare to send men into Lynd's territory to retrieve them.
Unfortunately, Jaime underestimated both Joffrey's hatred for Tyrion and his son's cunning. Before they even made it through the Mud Gate, they were intercepted by Gold Cloaks Joffrey had stationed there. Both were quickly captured and dragged back to the Red Keep.
Jaime, of course, wasn't seriously punished—Tywin simply placed him under house arrest. Tyrion, on the other hand, was thrown into the dungeons of the Red Keep, where he would remain until the day of the wedding. Afterward, he would face a formal trial for treason.
This time, Tyrion could feel Joffrey's hatred for him as clearly as the cold stone walls around him. He knew that if Joffrey presided over his trial, there would be no hope of survival. Sitting alone in the dungeon, he couldn't help but regret not listening to Bronn earlier, when there had still been a chance to escape.
He also harbored a deep resentment toward Jaime. Jaime's impulsive rescue attempt, though well-intentioned, had ruined whatever plan Bronn had arranged. Now even Bronn, if he still wanted to help, could do nothing. All Tyrion could do was wait to die.
"My lord, I think you'll need this now. After all, your time is running short."
Just as Tyrion was praying in despair for a miracle, Varys suddenly appeared from the shadows, holding a jug of wine. He pushed it through the small opening used for delivering food at the bottom of the cell door.
"I didn't expect you to be the first to visit me." Tyrion grabbed the bottle, pulled out the cork, and took a few deep gulps. Then he glanced toward the door and asked, voice tinged with worry, "Varys, do you know something?"
But Varys gave no answer. He simply melted back into the shadows, standing there as still and silent as a statue.