Night drowned King's Landing in false quiet.
Maegor's Holdfast—once a fortress—now felt like Cersei Lannister's tomb.
When Lynn pushed open the heavy oak door, Cersei sat at her vanity.
She wore a crimson silk nightgown. Her golden hair was perfectly combed. Her face painted with delicate makeup.
As if the woman who'd collapsed that afternoon was just an illusion.
She watched Lynn in the mirror. Her blue eyes held no anger. No fear.
Only emptiness.
"You came."
Her voice was flat. Like she was stating a fact that had nothing to do with her.
Lynn closed the door. The bolt clicked into place.
He said nothing. Just walked to the table. Poured himself wine.
"Have you decided?"
His voice broke the silence.
Cersei didn't answer.
She stood slowly.
The crimson gown clung to her curves in the candlelight.
She walked toward him. Chin raised. Like a peacock heading to the altar.
"I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Daughter of Tywin Lannister."
She tried to salvage a scrap of dignity.
Lynn smiled.
He set down his cup. Reached out. Hooked a finger under the silk strap of her gown.
"Queen?"
His voice was mocking.
"A queen abandoned by her husband. Confined here. Who can't even decide her children's marriages?"
Cersei's body stiffened.
"What do you want? Say it."
"I want a promise."
Lynn's gaze drifted past her. To the pale moon outside.
"I want Myrcella."
Cersei's pupils contracted. Cracks appeared in her calm facade.
"NEVER!"
She screamed instinctively.
Myrcella. Her delicate golden rose.
No one would touch her.
"I'm not asking."
Lynn turned. His black eyes left no room for argument.
"You have no right to refuse."
He stepped closer. She backed away.
Until her back hit the cold wall.
Nowhere left to go.
"She's—"
"I know what you're going to say. She'll grow up."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"When I return from across the Narrow Sea—about three years from now—she'll be of age."
"I need a woman with Baratheon blood to solidify my position."
"Even if her blood has nothing to do with the Baratheons. Even if it's just in name."
Lynn didn't bother hiding behind words like "love" or "affection."
This was a transaction. Pure exploitation.
"Why not marry that wild girl from House Stark?"
Cersei hissed.
"You're so close to them!"
"Arya is mine. But that's different from a political marriage."
Lynn's tone was casual. Like discussing the weather.
"Marry Arya, and I'm Stark's son-in-law."
"Marry Myrcella, and I'm the king's son-in-law."
"You—"
Cersei pointed at him. Stunned by his audacity.
"Besides, a mother's promise is worth more than a queen's."
Lynn reached out. Stroked her trembling cheek.
"Promise me, Cersei."
Cersei closed her eyes.
Two hot tears finally slipped free.
She knew she had no choice.
But she still gritted her teeth.
"No. Not Myrcella."
"But... you can do whatever you want with me."
Each word drained her strength.
Lynn said nothing more.
The next second, he lifted her into his arms. Carried her toward the velvet-draped bed.
"Not now!"
Cersei finally struggled. Like a butterfly caught in a web.
"I'm not ready..."
"I'm the queen!"
"You Northern whelp—let me go!"
Lynn threw her onto the soft bed.
Looked down at her.
Not like she was a woman.
Like she was a trophy.
"I told you. I want your submission."
His voice made her soul tremble.
"Complete submission. Body and soul."
"Without both, it means nothing."
Lynn leaned down. Whispered in the ear of the realm's most beautiful woman.
"From today, your body belongs to me."
"I may never touch you again. May never even look at you."
"But without my permission, no one else can."
"You're still the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"But first, you're mine."
"Remember your place."
Dawn
When Lynn left Maegor's Holdfast, the sky was pale with dawn.
Gold cloaks still stood guard outside.
Seeing Lynn, they knelt in unison.
Northern guards. Trustworthy.
Lynn didn't look back at the gilded cage.
Just walked toward his estate.
Inside, Arya had fallen asleep on a mountain of ledgers. Drool on her chin.
She's so restless. This must've been torture.
Sansa sat in a distant chair. Staring blankly at the horizon.
She hadn't slept all night.
Seeing Lynn, she stood quickly. Her blue eyes filled with complicated emotions.
"Ser Lynn... you..."
"I'm fine. Go to bed."
Lynn didn't explain. Just headed for his study.
Sansa watched his back. Opened her mouth. Said nothing.
Just clutched her cloak tighter.
The Raven's Message
In the study, a raven from the North paced nervously.
Lynn untied the message tube. Unrolled the familiar parchment.
Robb Stark's handwriting.
Every line screamed frustration.
"Lynn! You bastard!"
"What kind of MONSTER did you leave me?!"
"You call that thing a dragon? I call it a BOTTOMLESS PIT!"
"It's only been a MONTH! It's already FOUR METERS LONG! Big as a mammoth!"
"You know what it ate yesterday? THREE SHEEP! THREE! Plus two basins of berries! Maester Luwin says its appetite is STILL GROWING!"
"Winterfell's flocks are almost GONE! The smokehouse is EMPTY! I'm seriously considering taking it to the Twins and letting it eat House Frey's livestock!"
"Seriously, if you don't send money soon, I'm releasing it into the Wolfswood to FEND FOR ITSELF!"
At the bottom, in a child's scrawl, was a crude drawing.
A tiny dragon. Claws out. Breathing fire.
Next to it: "Rickon" in wobbly letters.
Lynn smiled.
Four meters.
Not bad for a magical creature.
Faster growth than I expected.
From Castle Black to Winterfell. Winterfell to King's Landing.
Less than two months.
And it was already this big.
By the time he returned to Winterfell—another month—
—Winter would be a true war beast.
Riding a dragon across the Narrow Sea...
That'll be fun.
A soft knock at the door.
"My lord. A visitor wishes to see you."
"Not now."
Lynn just wanted to rest.
"But... his name is Tyrion Lannister."
Lynn paused.
The Imp?
What does he want?
"Let him in."
The Imp Arrives
A short figure appeared in the doorway.
Tyrion Lannister wore a well-tailored dark red velvet coat. A wry smile on his face.
His mismatched eyes—one green, one black—studied Lynn and the newly claimed study with curiosity.
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