The golden dragons of King's Landing had never flowed so willingly from the purses of highborn lords to a single destination as they did now.
Lynn's estate had become a sanctuary in the hearts of every woman in the capital.
At this moment, Lynn, Sansa, and the others were gathered around a long table in the rear courtyard.
"We moved eighty chests of the 'Winter Rose' collection last week. Net profit: four thousand Gold Dragons."
Sansa read the figures from the ledger, her lovely face flushed with excitement.
She had completely shed the timidity and unease that plagued her when she first arrived in King's Landing. In its place was the calm confidence of a commander strategizing in a tent. Her voice was crisp and organized; she looked every bit the mistress of a powerful trade guild.
" The formula for 'Starfall Nights' needs adjustment. The jasmine oil is too faint; it's being overpowered by the heavy scent of the balsam wood."
"Furthermore, it is time we launched a line for men."
Sansa set down the ledger and looked at Lynn. Her blue eyes sparkled with the light of intellect.
"The men of King's Landing crave dignity just as much as the women. They might not pay for the scent of flowers, but what if we offered them a scent that symbolizes power and status?"
Lynn looked at her with a smile, remaining silent but signaling with his eyes for her to continue.
"For instance, we use pine from the North, mixed with the scent of leather and strong spirits. We could call it 'Wolf's Blood.'"
"We use sea salt from the Stormlands, blended with the smell of wet earth after a rain. We call that 'The Antler.'"
"We could even take volcanic rock from Dragonstone, grind it into powder, mix it into the soap base, and call it 'Dragon's Breath!'"
Arya and Myrcella listened, dumbfounded. They couldn't comprehend how these strange, rugged descriptions could possibly be connected to "fragrance."
But Lynn nodded.
Sansa had changed. She was no longer the little princess hiding inside songs and fantasies. Power and gold were the best catalysts for maturity. She was growing at an astonishing rate into a qualified—perhaps even top-tier—merchant.
She had learned how to read hearts, how to create demand, and how to package a simple commodity into a symbol of status and desire.
"Excellent," Lynn finally spoke. "I give you full authority over the men's line."
"However," he added, "regarding the soap for the smallfolk—do not refine away all the rough tallow smell. It must remain distinct from the soaps intended for high society."
Receiving his affirmation, Sansa straightened her back, her face radiating a brilliance she had never shown before. The feeling of creating value with her own hands and controlling the situation was far more intoxicating than being a mere accessory to a prince.
While Arya and Myrcella went off to attend to their own affairs, Sansa walked alone toward the Tower of the Hand.
She was going to see her father.
She was going to personally tear apart the fate that had long been written for "Sansa Stark."
---
Inside the Tower of the Hand, Ned Stark sat frowning over a pile of official documents.
The aftermath of purging the City Watch, placating the implicated nobles, and the royal treasury's ledger that never seemed to balance... it all left him mentally and physically exhausted.
"Father."
Sansa's voice came from the doorway.
Ned looked up. Seeing his eldest daughter, the exhaustion between his brows eased slightly.
"Sansa. Come here."
Sansa did not nestle up to her father as she once might have. She simply stood a few paces away, watching him quietly.
"Father, I do not wish to marry Joffrey."
Her words were soft, yet they froze the smile on Ned's face instantly.
"Sansa, do you know what you are saying?"
"I do."
Sansa's gaze did not waver. It was so firm it made Ned feel as though he were looking at a stranger.
"I used to think a prince should be like those in the songs—brave, just, and kind. But the Joffrey I see is only cruel, cowardly, and stupid."
"He would have his Hound butcher a man just because a drunkard offended him. He reveals his most vicious face over the winning or losing of a simple tilt."
Ned listened intently to every word. He knew these things all too well.
"If I marry him, my life will be nothing more than imprisonment within the Red Keep. I would become a pretty vase, a tool for breeding heirs, forced to witness his atrocities and endure his stupidity every day until I wither or go mad."
"Father, that is not the life I want."
A fire seemed to kindle in Sansa's eyes.
"Ser Lynn taught me that a woman's value should not be determined solely by marriage. I can use my mind to create wealth, to earn respect. I can have my own enterprise; I can decide my own life. That is the life I desire, not to be an accessory to Joffrey Baratheon."
Ned was rendered speechless.
He looked at his daughter—familiar yet utterly changed—with mixed emotions. He felt pride in her growth, yet fear at her "treasonous" words.
This was not just breaking an engagement. This was challenging the authority of the King.
Just as Ned struggled for a response, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the standoff between father and daughter.
A member of the Kingsguard appeared at the door, his expression grave.
"Lord Hand. His Grace the King summons you and Ser Lynn to the Throne Room immediately!"
---
The atmosphere in the Throne Room was oppressive, like the heavy air before a storm.
Robert Baratheon sat upon the jagged Iron Throne like a rampaging bull. His face was the color of raw liver from rage and wine; broken goblets and cowering servants littered the floor at his feet.
"Bastards! A bunch of bastards!"
In recent days, Robert had become increasingly violent and erratic. At times, he even directed his fury at Ned.
Seeing Ned and Lynn enter, his roar echoed through the vast hall.
"Look! Look at this, both of you!"
Robert smashed a scroll of parchment onto the floor.
"Rumors! Everywhere, these damned rumors! The entire city is whispering that I'm a fool who can't even control his own wife!"
"They say Cersei poisoned Jon Arryn! They say I am shielding that venomous woman!"
Littlefinger's poisonous scheme was fermenting. He was using the cheapest of weapons to trample the King's dignity into the dirt.
Robert was a man who cared about his image. He could not tolerate his subjects mocking him.
"Trial by combat!"
Robert's fist slammed heavily onto the armrest of the Iron Throne.
"Now! Immediately! Right now! I want everyone to shut their mouths!"
Ned's expression grew incredibly solemn. "Your Grace, but you already ordered a postponement..."
"I've changed my mind!" Robert interrupted him roughly.
"I have decided that Lynn shall stand as Cersei's champion!"
He stared dead at Ned, his muddy eyes veined with red.
"Now, who will be my champion?! Who dares step forward to fight for the King's honor?!"
Robert's roar challenged everyone present.
Yet, the Throne Room remained dead silent.
The nobles lowered their heads, terrified of meeting the King's gaze.
Challenge the Queen? That was tantamount to making an enemy of the entire House Lannister. Even if one won, what could be gained? Offending Tywin Lannister meant the end of any hope for a good life. And losing meant death on the spot.
No one was a fool.
"Cowards! A pack of dogs that only know how to wag their tails and beg!" Robert cursed in disappointment.
Just then, a voice rang out.
"I will fight for the King."
Everyone turned in unison toward the sound.
A man walked out from the crowd. He was thin, wearing worn-out leather armor. He looked to be in his thirties, his face weathered by wind and frost, a thoroughly ordinary longsword hanging at his waist.
He looked like a mercenary who had spent years wandering the countryside, or a down-on-his-luck hedge knight.
He walked to the center of the hall, ignoring the disdainful looks of the nobles, and dropped to one knee before the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace. My name is Donnel. I am but a nameless hedge knight."
"I have no illustrious house name, nor songs sung of my deeds. I have only this sword, and a heart loyal to my King."
"If you do not find me unworthy, I wish to pledge my life to defend your honor."
His words were plain and unadorned, yet they carried the desperate resolve of a man with nothing to lose.
Robert froze.
He looked at the man kneeling below. In those muddy eyes, shock gave way to immense, manic joy.
"Hahahaha!"
Robert's laughter boomed through the Throne Room.
"Good! Good man!"
He actually stepped down from the Iron Throne, hauled the knight named Donnel up from the floor, and slammed a hand the size of a ham onto the man's shoulder.
"Do you see this? You bloated cowards!"
Robert pointed at the trembling nobles, screaming abuse.
"A nameless hedge knight has more guts than all of you combined!"
"Donnel, was it? I'll remember you!"
Robert's face was flush with the excitement of finding a kindred spirit.
"Tomorrow! Tomorrow, you and Lynn will duel right here before the Iron Throne!"
"If you win, I'll name you to the Kingsguard! I'll give you lands! I'll give you gold!"
The King's promise drew low gasps from the surrounding nobles.
The Kingsguard! That was the highest honor a knight of the Seven Kingdoms could achieve. This was far too rash.
Ned Stark watched this farce, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. He glanced at Lynn beside him, but found Lynn's face devoid of expression.
Lynn just watched the man named Donnel quietly, his eyes deep, his thoughts unreadable.
---
Leaving the Throne Room, on the road back to the estate, Ned's worry finally spilled over.
"This is absurd."
"Letting a hedge knight of unknown origin represent the King in a trial by combat? Robert won't convince anyone with this!"
Lynn's voice, however, was calm. "He just desperately needed someone to salvage his pitiful pride."
"But that man, Donnel..."
"My Lord, rest easy," Lynn interrupted him. "I will handle it."
"This Donnel is not as simple as he appears."
"Tomorrow's trial will certainly be interesting."
Seeing Lynn's confident demeanor, Ned's anxiety strangely settled.
Back at the estate, Lynn ignored the questions from Arya and the others and went straight to his study, locking himself in.
He sat in his chair, replaying the scene in the Throne Room over and over in his mind.
That man, Donnel.
It was all too coincidental.
It felt like a carefully choreographed play. Just when the King's dignity was trampled to the bottom, just when he needed a way out, a perfect "loyalist" fell from the sky.
Passionate speech, unwavering loyalty, humble origins—he was the perfect contrast to the cowardice of the high lords, perfectly satisfying Robert's morbid vanity.
This smell... it was too familiar.
Was this targeted at him?
But only Robert, Ned, and Cersei knew that he was just going through the motions. Perhaps Varys knew as well.
It couldn't be Cersei; she would die if he lost.
That tragically honorable Ned? He had no motive.
Varys? The Spider knew Lynn's intentions; he wouldn't likely move against him now.
Forget it, no use guessing, Lynn thought.
I'll just use Greensight to take a look at your true colors.
Donnel...
Lynn silently invoked the name in his heart.