Gold dragons had never flowed so willingly from noble purses into one place.
Lynn's estate.
The holy site in every King's Landing woman's heart.
Lynn, Sansa, and the others sat around a long table in the courtyard.
"Winter Rose series—eighty boxes sold last week. Four thousand gold dragons profit."
Sansa read from the ledger. Her pretty face flushed with excitement.
She'd shed her initial timidity completely.
Replaced by confident command.
Her voice was crisp. Organized.
Like a merchant guild mistress.
"Starfall Night's formula needs adjusting. Jasmine oil is too faint—can't balance the sandalwood."
"Also, we should launch a men's line."
Sansa set down the ledger. Looked at Lynn.
Her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.
"King's Landing's men—they need respectability too."
"They won't pay for flowers. But what about scents symbolizing power and status?"
Lynn smiled. Said nothing. Gestured for her to continue.
"For example—Northern pine mixed with leather and liquor. We'll call it 'Wolf Blood.'"
"Stormlands sea salt mixed with rain-soaked earth—'Antlers.'"
"Or Dragonstone volcanic rock ground into powder, added to the soap—'Dragon's Breath'!"
Arya and Myrcella stared blankly.
How could these weird smells be "fragrant"?
But Lynn nodded.
Sansa has changed.
No longer the princess hiding in songs and fantasies.
Power and gold are the best catalysts.
She's growing at an astonishing rate—
—into a qualified, even top-tier merchant.
She's learned to read hearts. Create demand. Package simple goods as symbols of identity and desire.
"Good."
Lynn finally spoke.
"The men's line is yours. Full authority."
"But—keep the commoner soap cheap. Don't remove the fishy smell. Distinguish it from the upper-class soap."
Sansa straightened. Her face glowed with unprecedented radiance.
This feeling—creating value, controlling the situation—
—far more intoxicating than being a prince's ornament.
Arya and Myrcella left to handle their tasks.
Sansa walked alone toward the Tower of the Hand.
She would see her father.
Tear apart the destiny meant for "Sansa Stark."
Tower of the Hand
Ned Stark frowned over piles of documents.
Cleaning up the City Watch aftermath. Appeasing affected nobles. The treasury's eternally mismatched ledgers...
Exhausting.
"Father."
Sansa's voice came from the doorway.
Ned looked up. Saw his eldest daughter.
His fatigue eased slightly.
"Sansa. Come here."
Sansa didn't nestle beside him as usual.
She stood a few steps away. Watched him quietly.
"Father. I don't want to marry Joffrey anymore."
Her words were soft.
But they froze Ned's smile.
"Sansa. Do you know what you're saying?"
"I do."
Sansa's gaze didn't waver. Firm enough to feel alien.
"I used to think princes were like the songs—brave, just, kind."
"But the Joffrey I've seen—only cruel, cowardly, and stupid."
"He'll have his Hound kill a drunk for offending him."
"He'll show his most vicious face over a tourney loss."
Ned listened carefully to every word.
How could he not know?
"If I marry him, my life will be imprisoned in the Red Keep."
"I'll be a pretty vase. A breeding tool. Watching his atrocities. Enduring his stupidity. Until I wither or go mad."
"Father. That's not the life I want."
A flame ignited in Sansa's eyes.
"Ser Lynn taught me—a woman's value shouldn't be decided by marriage alone."
"I can use my mind to create wealth. Earn respect."
"I can have my own career. Decide my own life."
"That's what I want—not to be Joffrey Baratheon's accessory."
Ned was speechless.
He stared at this familiar yet strange daughter.
Pride mixed with fear.
This isn't just breaking an engagement.
This is challenging the king's authority.
Before Ned could respond—
—hurried footsteps interrupted.
A Kingsguard appeared. Expression solemn.
"Lord Hand. His Grace summons you and Ser Lynn to the throne room. Immediately."
The Throne Room
The atmosphere was oppressive.
Like the eve of a storm.
Robert Baratheon sat on the jagged Iron Throne like a raging bull.
His face was liver-red from fury and alcohol.
Shattered cups and toppled servants at his feet.
"BASTARDS! A pack of bastards!"
Robert's temper had worsened lately. Increasingly erratic.
Sometimes he even raged at Ned.
Seeing Ned and Lynn enter, his roar echoed through the hall.
"LOOK! All of you, LOOK!"
Robert hurled a scroll to the floor.
"Rumors! Damn rumors everywhere!"
"All of King's Landing says I'm a fool who can't control his own wife!"
"They say Cersei poisoned Jon Arryn!"
"They say I'm protecting that viper!"
Littlefinger's poison was fermenting.
He'd used the cheapest weapon to grind the king's dignity into the dirt.
Robert cherished his reputation.
He couldn't tolerate his subjects mocking him.
"TRIAL BY COMBAT!"
Robert's fist slammed the throne's armrest.
"NOW! Right now! Immediately!"
"I'll make them all SHUT UP!"
Ned's face darkened.
"Your Grace, but you already ordered a postponement—"
"I CHANGED MY MIND!"
Robert cut him off brutally.
"I've decided—Lynn will be Cersei's champion!"
He glared at Ned. Bloodshot eyes.
"Who'll be MY champion?!"
"Who dares stand for the king's honor?!"
His roar challenged everyone present.
The throne room fell silent.
Nobles bowed their heads. Avoiding the king's gaze.
Challenge the queen?
That's making an enemy of House Lannister.
Win—and you've offended Tywin. Your life is hell.
Lose—and you're dead on the spot.
No one's that stupid.
"COWARDS! Tail-wagging DOGS!"
Robert cursed in disappointment.
Then—a voice.
"I will fight for the king."
Everyone turned.
A man in worn leather armor stepped from the crowd.
Thin build. About thirty. Weathered face.
A plain longsword at his waist.
A mercenary. Or a down-on-his-luck hedge knight.
He walked to the hall's center.
Ignored the nobles' scornful looks.
Knelt before Robert's throne.
"Your Grace. My name is Donnar. A nameless wandering knight."
"I have no noble lineage. No songs sung of me."
"Only this sword. And a heart loyal to the king."
"If you'll have me—I'll defend your honor with my life."
His words were plain.
But carried a desperate man's resolve.
Robert froze.
Stared at the kneeling man.
Shock. Then overwhelming joy.
"HAHAHA!"
Robert's laughter shook the hall.
"GOOD! Well done!"
He descended the throne himself.
Hauled Donnar up. Slapped his shoulder like a bear paw.
"SEE?! You fat, gutless cowards!"
Robert pointed at the silent nobles. Cursed.
"A nameless wandering knight has more balls than all of you!"
"Donnar, was it? I'll remember you!"
Robert's face glowed with kinship-found excitement.
"Tomorrow! Right here! You and Lynn—duel before the throne!"
"Win, and I'll make you a Kingsguard! I'll give you land! Gold!"
The king's promise drew gasps.
Kingsguard!
The highest honor for knights in the Seven Kingdoms!
This is too rash.
Ned Stark watched the farce. Brow knotted.
He glanced at Lynn.
Lynn's face was expressionless.
Just staring at the man called Donnar.
Eyes deep. Unreadable.
After the Throne Room
Walking back to the estate.
Ned's worry spilled out.
"This is absurd."
"A wandering knight of unknown origin representing the king in trial by combat? Robert can't command respect like this!"
Lynn's voice was calm.
"He just needs someone to prop up his pitiful self-esteem."
"But that Donnar—"
"My lord. Don't worry."
Lynn cut him off.
"I'll handle it."
"This Donnar isn't as simple as he looks."
"Tomorrow's trial will be very interesting."
Ned looked at Lynn's confident demeanor.
His anxiety eased inexplicably.
Back at the estate, Lynn ignored Arya's questions.
Locked himself in his study.
Sat in his chair. Replayed the throne room scene.
That man called Donnar.
Too convenient.
Like a carefully staged play.
Just when the king's dignity hit rock bottom—when he needed a way out—
—a perfect "loyal subject" falls from the sky.
Impassioned. Devoted. Lowborn.
Perfectly contrasts the nobles' cowardice. Satisfies Robert's sick vanity.
This stinks.
Too familiar.
Is this aimed at me?
Only Robert, Ned, Cersei—and maybe Varys—know I'm going through the motions.
Can't be Cersei. If I lose, she dies.
That adorably naive Ned? No motive.
Varys? He knows my intentions. Shouldn't move against me.
Forget guessing.
Let's use greensight to see your true colors.
Donnar...
Lynn whispered the name in his mind.
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