The Small Council chambers in the The Red Keep at night were as oppressive as ever.
The dragon skulls hanging on the walls cast grotesque shadows in the firelight, overseeing these most powerful people in Westeros gathered around the table.
But tonight, there was an lingering scent of blood in the air.
The smell seemed to seep from the stone ground of the tourney arena, pass through the thick walls, and penetrate this room, which symbolized the kingdom's highest authority, clinging to everyone's nostrils.
Robert Baratheon sat askew on the iron throne, which belonged to the King.
He had changed his clothes, but the strong smell of wine and the exhilaration after the slaughter still clung to him greasily.
He toyed with a golden goblet inlaid with rubies, his cloudy eyes scanning everyone present, filled with suspicion and impatience.
Ned Stark sat in the Hand's seat, his back straight.
His face was expressionless, and no emotion could be discerned in his gray eyes.
Lord Renly Baratheon, master of ships, Robert's youngest brother.
He was dressed, as always, in an exquisitely luxurious velvet coat.
But the face that usually held an elegant smile was now clouded with undisguised disgust.
He looked at his brother, his gaze like that of someone looking at a filthy and irredeemable wild boar.
Varys, master of whisperers.
The plump eunuch still wore his loose silk robes, his hands tucked into his sleeves.
A gentle and humble smile hung on his face, but the small eyes hidden behind the fat were as sharp as a hawk's, missing no detail on anyone's face.
Grand Maester Pycelle, old and slow.
He huddled in his seat, his long white beard almost touching the table, as if he might fall asleep at any moment.
But everyone knew that this old dog's ears were sharper than anyone else's.
Finally, there was Lynn.
He sat calmly in his seat, as if the tense, almost solidified atmosphere around him had nothing to do with him.
He was just waiting.
Waiting for this drama, whose script was already written, to unveil its final act.
"Cough..."
Robert coughed heavily, drawing everyone's attention.
"Petyr Baelish, that despicable traitor, is now being judged by the Seven Gods in hell."
Robert's voice was rough.
"But the kingdom cannot be without a master of coin."
"Today, we shall choose a new person to manage my purse!"
Robert's gaze swept over everyone, finally landing on Ned.
The challenge and warning in his eyes were undisguised.
Ned remained expressionless, as if he hadn't seen it.
"Your Grace,"
Queen Cersei spoke.
She wore a black gown tonight, her golden hair pinned back, revealing her long, fair neck.
A touch of appropriate worry graced her beautiful face.
"The position of master of coin is crucial."
"I believe the new candidate must be someone we can absolutely trust."
Cersei's voice was still soft and pleasant, like a clear spring, temporarily easing the oppressive atmosphere in the room.
"I recommend my uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister."
"He has always assisted my father in managing the finances of the Westerlands, is experienced, and loyal to the crown; he is the most suitable candidate."
Kevan Lannister.
Lord Tywin's own brother.
A capable man, but one who always lived in Tywin's shadow.
Making him master of coin would be tantamount to handing the kingdom's purse directly to Casterly Rock.
A clever plan.
Lynn glanced at Cersei out of the corner of his eye.
This woman would never miss an opportunity to seize power.
As Cersei spoke, Lynn felt a soft, warm touch on his calf.
The sensation was like a slippery silk, with a subtle tickle.
Lynn didn't move, not even lifting an eyelid.
He knew who it was.
Cersei's foot.
That foot, clad in exquisite silk slippers, was now like a beautiful snake, slowly and steadily exploring upwards along his calf.
The curve of the toe, through a layer of fabric, gently traced circles on his muscle lines.
The pressure was neither too light nor too heavy, both provocative and maintaining the decorum expected of a noble.
She was seducing him, and also testing him.
Cersei needed Lynn's support.
If Lynn seconded her proposal, given his current standing with Robert, the matter would almost certainly be settled.
In return, the noble Queen wouldn't mind letting him taste a pleasure only a King could enjoy on some late night.
Lynn's face remained calm and unruffled.
He even found it somewhat amusing.
This foolish woman still thought such a low-level physical transaction could move him.
Cersei simply didn't understand that true power was never slept into.
The foot became bolder.
It bypassed his knee and reached the inner thigh of Lynn.
That was the most sensitive area.
The tip of her slipper brushed his groin, subtly circling, each touch carrying a strong insinuation.
Cersei's beautiful face now wore a confident and disdainful smile.
She believed no man could refuse such temptation.
Lynn finally made a move.
He didn't pull back his leg; he merely leaned forward slightly, picked up the empty wine glass on the table, and then made a silent toast in Cersei's direction.
His eyes were calm and profound.
Cersei's foot stopped.
She understood Lynn's gaze.
There was no desire, no greed, not even refusal in his eyes.
It was the gaze of someone watching a play.
Lynn was telling her that he would not interfere.
He would watch her perform, and everyone else perform, quietly like an audience member.
Cersei's heart sank.
She didn't understand.
Why?
Were the friendship of House Lannister and her body as Queen not enough to move him?
If Lynn wished, she would let him ride her as he pleased.
What else did Lynn want?
Cersei subtly withdrew her foot.
She picked up her wine glass, concealing the hint of surprise and unwillingness in her eyes.
"Ser Kevan is indeed a good candidate."
Varys's oily voice chimed in.
"However, for him to travel all the way from the Westerlands would likely take quite some time."
"The treasury of King's Landing cannot wait that long."
He seemed to agree, but was actually opposing.
Lynn and he were currently on the same front; he couldn't stand by and let House Lannister monopolize power.
"Then who do you think is suitable?" Robert asked impatiently.
"Your Grace, in my opinion, the most important quality for the new master of coin is integrity."
Varys bowed humbly.
"He must be like a blank slate, without any stain, without any background."
"Only then can he serve Your Grace wholeheartedly, without having to curry favor with anyone."
This fat eunuch was spouting more airtight nonsense!
"Enough!"
Robert slammed the table, spilling wine from his goblet.
"I don't want to hear any more of your nonsense!"
His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth across everyone's faces, like a beast searching for prey.
"Do you all think I'm a fool?!"
"Where in this world is there such a perfect person?!"
Robert's roar echoed through the council chambers.
His emotions had once again spiraled out of control.
Ned completely ignored the raving Robert.
A flicker of undisguised disgust and worry crossed Renly's face.
A faint, imperceptible sneer played on Cersei's lips.
She loved seeing Robert in this frantic state.
The crazier he got, the faster he would die!
Just as everyone thought this meeting would end in another meaningless argument.
A smile suddenly appeared on Robert's frenzied face.
That smile sent shivers down everyone's spines.
Robert remembered what Lynn had told him earlier in the day.
That brilliant idea that made him tremble with excitement!
Yes!
That's it!
"I found him."
Robert spoke slowly, his voice tinged with a morbid excitement.
"I found a master of coin who is absolutely loyal and can become my trump card!"
Everyone was stunned.
Robert slowly rose from the throne.
He savored the feeling of everyone looking at him with confused and awe-filled eyes.
He was the King!
He was the one who decided everything!
"I declare,"
Robert's voice was clear as a bell.
"From today onwards, the new master of coin of the kingdom is..."
He paused deliberately, enjoying everyone's extremely tense expressions.
Then, his gaze fell upon Ned Stark.
"Sansa Stark!"
These words exploded in the dead silent council chambers!
The sneer on Cersei's face instantly froze.
Her beautiful green eyes widened abruptly, filled with disbelief.
She suspected she was hallucinating.
What did Robert say?
Sansa Stark?
That little girl from the North, who only dreamed of being a Lady?
As master of coin?!
He was mad!
He truly was completely mad!
Renly Baratheon's mouth slightly agape.
That face, which always maintained its elegance, for the first time showed such a discomposed expression.
He looked at his brother, his gaze like that of someone looking at a monster from another world.
Grand Maester Pycelle's drowsy eyes also snapped open instantly.
His long maester's chain rattled loudly due to his violent trembling.
Was this right?
Varys.
The plump eunuch, who always wore a mysterious smile, also lost his smile.
His small eyes actually revealed undisguised shock.
He prided himself on controlling all the secrets of King's Landing, and he prided himself on seeing through everyone's thoughts.
But what was happening before his eyes had completely surpassed his understanding.
This was completely illogical!
Ned Stark had already learned everything from Lynn on the way here, but to deceive others, he still appeared "shocked."
"Haha... Hahahahahahaha!"
Robert burst into a frenzied laugh, looking at everyone's wonderfully varied expressions.
He pointed at Ned, pointed at this man who was once his brother.
"What do you think, Ned?"
"This is my compensation to you!"
"And my warning to you and Catelyn!"
"Let your daughter manage my purse!"
"Let her report the whereabouts of every golden dragon to me every day!"
"Let her spend the rest of her life testifying to the 'loyalty' of your House Stark!"
Robert's laughter echoed through the empty council chambers, filled with cruel delight.
The entire Small Council chambers had completely erupted into chaos.
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