Deep Night.
When Winter passed over the Kingsroad, night had fallen.
Winter disturbed no one. It descended silently onto the ruins atop Rhaenys's Hill.
The Dragonpit.
Once the Targaryen dynasty's place of glory. Now only rubble remained. The massive dome had long collapsed. Exposed the black void of night sky. Grotesque dragon bone sculptures cast twisted shadows in moonlight.
The moment Winter landed, dozens of silent figures emerged from shadows.
Lynn's guards in King's Landing. They'd waited long. Had even cleared a sufficiently spacious area. Prepared large quantities of livestock as Winter's food.
"Watch him."
Lynn dismounted. Left only a simple command.
"Yes, my lord."
Lynn helped the still-wobbly Myrcella down from the dragon's back.
"Winter, I'll have food sent regularly. Stay here obediently. If you want to go out and play, or if food isn't enough and you hunt yourself—do it under cover of night. Don't let anyone see you. Otherwise your old man's in deep trouble."
Winter nodded with human-like understanding. Then curiously surveyed this massive dragonpit.
Afterward, Lynn and Myrcella changed into prepared ordinary cloaks. Silently melted into King's Landing's night.
The Red Keep.
When they stepped back into the Keep's oppressive corridors—
A white-cloaked figure leaned against the corner leading to Maegor's Holdfast. As if specifically waiting for them.
Jaime Lannister.
The instant Lynn and Myrcella entered King's Landing, someone reported. Jaime deliberately waited here for Lynn.
His handsome face had lost its usual flippancy. Replaced by complex scrutiny.
"Lynn."
Jaime's gaze passed Lynn. Fell on Myrcella behind him. His eyes softened momentarily. But quickly returned to coldness.
"Ser Lannister."
Lynn responded calmly.
"His Grace has retired. The Queen... is in poor spirits."
Jaime spoke flatly. Yet carried undisguised warning.
"I advise you: best not disturb her now."
"Thanks for the warning."
Lynn ignored his warning. He simply took Myrcella's hand before Jaime. Brushed past him.
Passing Jaime, Jaime looked at Myrcella. Opened his mouth. Seemed to want to say something. But the words reached his lips. He swallowed them back.
After all, Myrcella was his daughter. Not caring would be a lie...
Jaime watched their retreating backs. Unconsciously gripped his sword hilt tighter.
He couldn't see through this man from the North. Like unfathomable fog. Silently permeating every corner of King's Landing. Playing everyone like puppets.
Most unsettling: he found he could no longer easily read his sister's thoughts as before.
Since Lynn came to King's Landing, Cersei wouldn't let him touch her anymore.
This troubled him. And he couldn't figure out where the problem lay.
The Tower of the Hand.
Lynn first escorted Myrcella to her room next to his. Then turned. Walked toward the Hand's Tower's other side.
The Master of Coin's Tower.
Once Petyr Baelish's nest. Every corner seemed to still carry his scent of conspiracy and lies.
But now, the owner had changed.
The room blazed with light.
Sansa Stark sat behind the massive desk belonging to the Master of Coin. She wore a deep blue gown. Auburn hair meticulously pinned back. Exposed her smooth forehead and slender neck.
That face once full of innocence and fantasy now carried exhaustion and focus beyond her years.
Before her: ledgers and parchment scrolls piled like mountains. She clutched a quill. Delicate brows furrowed tightly. Seemed troubled by some complex numerical problem.
When Lynn pushed the door open, Sansa didn't even notice.
"Seems our Master of Coin has encountered a small problem."
Lynn's voice made Sansa's body tremble. She looked up sharply.
Seeing Lynn, those blue eyes instantly burst with joyful light. All exhaustion swept away!
"Lord Lynn!"
Sansa instinctively stood. Moved toward him as before.
Sandor also emerged slowly from shadows. Knelt on one knee.
When Lynn left King's Landing abruptly, he had nowhere to go. Knowing Lynn and Sansa's good relationship, he could only find Sansa. Protect her safety to repay Lynn's kindness.
"Sit."
Lynn nodded to Sandor. Then walked to face Sansa. Casually pulled out a chair and sat. Gaze swept the chaotic ledgers on the desk.
"How does being Master of Coin feel?"
"Like... like falling into a bottomless pit."
Sansa's face showed distress. Voice carried a hint of grievance.
"I used to think managing money meant moving gold dragons from one bag to another. But now I've discovered: the realm's finances are like thread tangled by a cat. Can't find the beginning. Every expenditure is like a lie. Every income like a trap."
Sansa pointed at one ledger. Said indignantly:
"These accounts are clearly wrong... Look here. The armory reports needing three hundred new suits of armor. Budget: three thousand gold dragons. But I sent someone to check. They just hammered old armor, painted it black, and called it new! Isn't that just cheating?!"
"And here—the throne room consumes fifty gallons of Dornish red daily. But King Robert's been drinking only ale lately!"
Sansa grew more agitated. That pretty face flushed red with anger.
Lynn listened quietly. Smiled slightly.
Sansa's learning to think. Learning to question.
"Sansa, this is King's Landing. Here, behind every gold dragon crawl ten greedy worms."
"Then what should I do?"
Sansa looked at Lynn helplessly.
"I can't just arrest them all, can I?"
"Why not?" Lynn countered.
Sansa froze.
"Remember: you're now Master of Coin. Behind you stand me. House Stark. You don't need evidence, Sansa. You only need suspicion."
Lynn looked at her.
"Starting tomorrow, send the armory supervisor and the banquet hall steward to the black cells. No trial needed. No reason needed. Just tell everyone: the Master of Coin suspects them of embezzlement."
"Kill the monkeys to scare the chickens. Kill two real big worms. That'll teach those little chickens: this coop has a new owner."
Sansa—sharp as ice—instantly understood Lynn's meaning.
So... power can be used this way?
A strange excitement rose from her heart. She liked this feeling.
"I... I understand."
Sansa nodded vigorously.
Lynn's Chambers.
After comforting Sansa, Lynn returned to his room.
He'd barely sat when a servant silently appeared at the door. Handed over a wax-sealed letter.
The envelope bore no markings.
Lynn opened it. The paper held only a few scrawled lines. Handwriting messy yet full of playful irreverence.
[My dear friend:
On behalf of myself and the sun-darkened beauties of Astapor, I extend most sincere greetings.
I must say: you're a genius.
Life here is far more interesting than I imagined.
Your Targaryen queen understands rule better than any king I've seen.
Grey Worm and his Unsullied understand discipline better than Lannister armies.
And your loyal Bear Island knight—his fervor burns hotter than a miser watching gold.
Of course, what surprises me most is your white sugar.
Pentos's magister is absolutely in love with the stuff. So am I, naturally.
Illyrio will trade grain, weapons, anything we want for it.
Thanks to you, if not for the bay's blockade, Astapor would be richer than any Westerosi city.
Only drawback: the wine here is terrible.
If you have another stroke of genius, could you send a few barrels of Arbor gold?
Your most loyal friend,
Tyrion Lannister.]
Lynn finished reading. Lips curved slightly.
Seems Tyrion's recovered. Walked out from his blow. Specifically ran to Essos to find himself.
By his tone, he's decided to settle in Slaver's Bay.
With Tyrion—that clever dwarf—assisting Daenerys, plus Jorah and Grey Worm supporting her, establishing a foothold in Astapor shouldn't be difficult.
And his white sugar trade had become the economic lifeline supporting this newborn regime.
Now, Lynn had a solid base on the eastern continent. And short-term, Astapor's development momentum was fierce. No need to rush managing affairs there.
Lynn held the letter to the candle flame. Watched it turn to ash.
Just then—
The door was violently pushed open from outside.
Cersei Lannister didn't even knock. Barged straight in.
She wore a black silk gown. Golden hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders. That beautiful face had lost its usual pride and composure. Only inexplicable fury remained.
She walked straight to Lynn. Those lovely green eyes stared at him fixedly. Like a lioness about to devour prey.
"As you wished. Your wedding to Myrcella is in three days."
Cersei's voice sounded squeezed out.
"I know."
Lynn answered calmly.
"You'd better pray."
Cersei stepped forward. Body nearly pressed against Lynn's.
She didn't attempt any seduction. Those green eyes held only purest hatred and warning.
Clearly, she wasn't just angry about Myrcella. Also about Lynn's indifference when she tried offering herself for the Master of Coin position.
Her father Tywin had already agreed to support Lynn's new Gift. But that day Lynn just played DEAD!
Infuriating!
"Lynn, you'd better pray that at the wedding and after, my daughter won't shed a single tear because of you."
"Otherwise—"
Cersei's voice dropped low. Yet brimmed with madness capable of tearing people apart.
"I promise: I'll personally burn everything you care about."
"Your North. The Gift. Wildlings. Starks. Unsullied. And your damned dragon."
"I'll turn them—one by one—all to ash."
[END CHAPTER 209]
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