After dismissing the bedraggled nobles from the hall, Lo Quen returned with "Jorah" and Jaelena to a chamber deep within the tower.
"Well done, Chai Yiq," Lo Quen said, glancing at the "Lord of Bear Island" beside him, a faintly satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
"Jorah" smiled in return.
He slipped a hand into his sleeve, fingertips brushing against a smooth ruby.
A faint glow flickered, and the burly Northern lord dissolved like smoke, revealing Chai Yiq's flawless face.
This was the keystone of the plan.
By having "Jorah" openly provoke the Seven Kingdoms' nobles and flaunt his ambition before them, their hatred for the exiled knight of Bear Island was now stoked to a blaze—leaving no room for reconciliation.
And the "Lynesse" Jorah thought he had seen on Bloodstone—the woman who haunted his every dream—had been nothing more than Lo Quen's illusion, shaped by the ruby.
The real Lynesse Hightower had never left the Torturer's Deep.
No one understood Jorah Mormont's twisted, pathological "love" for Lynesse better than Lo Quen.
To him, she was the sort of woman who might fall in love with her drillmaster during training or with the barber trimming her hair. Her affection was cheap, shallow, fleeting as a summer storm.
When Jorah basked in the glory of his tourney victories, she married him without hesitation.
When Bear Island's coffers emptied, she slipped just as quickly into another man's arms.
Yet Jorah adored this selfish woman with blind, consuming devotion, taking bitter for sweet.
It all sprang from the marrow-deep, incurable instincts of a lapdog.
He knew full well Lynesse did not love him, yet still he supported her endlessly, terrified she might suffer even the smallest slight.
So when the ruby-crafted "Lynesse" expressed "concern" for his safety, Jorah was overwhelmed, cherishing that false tenderness as if it were priceless treasure.
Lo Quen had seized this weakness perfectly. "Lynesse's safety" became an invisible chain around Jorah's neck, binding him to send desperate pleas for aid to the Iron Throne—luring the Seven Kingdoms' host into a carefully laid snare.
Chai Yiq frowned slightly. "Then Jorah Mormont has now utterly alienated the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms, leaving him no path back. But, my lord, what greater purpose lies in making him such a target?"
A glint sparked in Lo Quen's eyes, his smile deepening. "Jorah still has his uses. Westeros may look united as iron, but within it seethes with fault lines—like a powder keg stuffed with dry kindling. All it takes is a single spark...
Jorah is one piece we'll use to set the North aflame.
Though he is only the former Lord of Bear Island, with no lawful claim to the Wardenship of the North, that hardly matters. We can 'grant' House Mormont such a claim. Then Jorah Mormont, a son of the North, can march under the banner of 'reclaiming his homeland'—and win the North for us.
As for how to make him fight? His 'beloved wife' Lynesse remains in our hands. The finest whip and reins one could ask for. He has no choice."
Jaelena's brows drew together, her voice edged with doubt. "But my lord, why let him rule the North at all? This man has already betrayed us once, and he despises us. Giving him power would only raise a tiger to our own peril."
Chai Yiq gave a faint nod, plainly sharing the concern.
Lo Quen let out a cold laugh. "Rule the North? Who says he'll live to see that day?"
Jaelena and Chai Yiq exchanged a quick glance, a look of sudden understanding flickering between them.
So that was it.
Jorah Mormont was destined to be nothing more than a sacrificial pawn, valuable only for kindling war and drawing hate.
Lo Quen's thoughts turned darker.
Jorah was a piece meant for the North.
For the rest of Westeros, he held another card to play—those nobles taken prisoner.
Several names on that list had already begun to sketch a grander design in his mind.
He turned to Jaelena, his tone calm. "Jaelena, let us 'invite' the esteemed Warden of the Stone Way, Lord Anders Yronwood, to share some fine Tyroshi wine with us. I suspect he'll be interested in discussing Dorne's future."
Jaelena understood at once and ordered the Dragon Soul Guards outside to fetch the man from the dungeon.
Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed.
Two silent Dragon Soul Guards marched in, escorting a blond man with his hands bound tightly behind his back.
Haggard, his once-fine clothes soiled and torn, his eyes flickered with both defiance and naked fear.
He was Anders Yronwood, Lord of Yronwood.
"Lord Yronwood, I must apologize for the indignity."
Lo Quen's lips curved in a warm smile. "Quickly, unbind him."
Anders Yronwood swept the room with wary eyes, taking in Lo Quen's cheerful expression and the armored figures of Jaelena and Chai Yiq standing behind him.
His face remained taut, his silence heavy.
The guards stepped forward and briskly loosed the ropes from his wrists.
Lo Quen gestured with elegant courtesy.
"Please, take a seat, my lord."
Anders's expression darkened. After a moment's pause, he complied, lowering himself stiffly into the chair opposite Lo Quen.
Lo Quen lifted a fine glass bottle and poured him a measure of Tyroshi pear brandy. The air immediately filled with its rich, intoxicating fruit aroma.
Anders's gaze strayed unwillingly to the spread laid out on the table: a fat goose roasted to golden crispness, its belly stuffed with apples, set beside warm bread thick with blackberry jam, fragrant with wheat.
His stomach betrayed him with a faint growl.
Since his capture, he had not tasted a proper meal.
"Lord Yronwood," Lo Quen said lightly, his tone as if hosting an honored guest, "please, do not stand on ceremony. This meal was prepared for you. Eat freely."
Anders's eyes flicked toward the Dragon Soul Guards looming like iron statues at either side. Feeling the thin prison garb clinging to his body and the emptiness of his hands, he knew any thought of resistance or escape was folly.
He drew a steadying breath, swallowed down his hunger, and spoke in a low, firm voice. "Eastern man, let's not waste words. What is it you truly want?"
Lo Quen lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug, his smile unchanging, though his gaze grew razor-sharp.
"Very well, my lord. Since you value candor, I'll be direct. You must have heard my views on the Seven Kingdoms in the hall just now. I have only one question: when I conquer Westeros, will you, Anders Yronwood, stand at my side?"
Anders stiffened, caught off guard by such a blunt attempt at defection.
His angular face flushed hot with fury, and he nearly growled his answer.
"Eastern man, you're mad with delusion! I, Anders Yronwood, am no spineless cur like Jorah Mormont! You expect me to betray my country and kneel to a foreigner? Better you kill me here and now!"
Lo Quen did not so much as blink at the outburst. His voice was calm, smooth, yet carried an inescapable pull.
"Do not be so quick to refuse, Lord Anders. Think carefully—when Westeros bows beneath my banner, I could name you… Warden of Dorne."