King's Landing at night.
A breeding ground for desire.
Lynn's establishments had a new scent tonight.
A silk merchant—a regular—was distracted.
The girl beneath him worked hard.
But his nose kept twitching.
No more stench of sweat and cheap perfume.
Instead—a clean, fresh soap fragrance he'd never smelled before.
Not overpowering.
But it scratched at his mind like an invisible cat's claw.
Afterward, he gave an extra silver stag.
Almost unconsciously.
"What... what fragrance did you use today?"
The girl blinked. Then smiled proudly.
She picked up a pale yellow block from the bedside basin.
"It's a divine gift from Lord Lynn. Called soap."
"Divine gift?"
The merchant scoffed.
But when he took the bar—smelled that unique scent—
—his eyes changed.
He noticed the girl's once-rough arms now had an unusual smoothness.
An inexplicable urge surged.
"Is this... for sale?"
Lynn's Study
Lynn closed his ledger.
The clamor of King's Landing outside faded.
His mental focus sharpened.
The trial by combat was postponed indefinitely.
Robert found an excuse to step down—but something's wrong.
The king's condition is worse than he shows.
Not just overindulgence.
That flushed face. Clouded eyes. Mood swings.
Chronic poisoning.
Time to see the full board.
Greensight.
Lynn closed his eyes.
This time, no specific anchor.
Just his consciousness—spreading toward the Red Keep.
Toward the fat figure drunk on the Iron Throne.
BUZZ—
His awareness was ripped away.
The world became a web of countless threads.
He saw Robert.
Rewind.
The vision blurred backward.
A cupbearer pouring Robert's wine.
A flash in his fingernail.
The cupbearer returning to his quarters.
Taking a tiny vial from a seemingly empty wall—perfectly camouflaged.
The vial passed through countless hands.
From dockside cargo ships to the Red Keep.
Lynn's vision crossed the Narrow Sea.
Pierced through crashing waves.
A gray island shrouded in mist.
Braavos.
A black-and-white temple stood at the island's heart.
Inside—no statues.
Only a vast pool.
And walls lined with faces.
The House of Black and White.
Headquarters of the Faceless Men.
A figure in black-and-white robes—face obscured—
—handed a small vial to another faceless man.
At their feet—a heavy coin chest.
Filled with gleaming gold.
Not gold dragons.
Lynn saw the distinctive square mark on the coins.
Iron Bank of Braavos.
His mental thread followed the chest's trail.
Rewind again.
The vision pierced across Westeros.
Froze on a castle bathed in golden-red sunset.
Casterly Rock.
Deep in the castle's study.
A tall, stern old man with thinning golden hair—
—tossed a loan receipt from the Iron Bank into the fireplace.
Tywin Lannister.
Lynn's eyes snapped open.
Well played, Tywin.
Well played, Lannister.
The old fox never expected Cersei to survive the trial.
He borrowed a fortune from the Iron Bank—enough to bankrupt a duchy—
—to buy Robert's life.
"The Strangler."
Colorless. Tasteless.
Slowly destroys the body. Mimics natural death.
Even Grand Maester Pycelle couldn't detect it.
When Robert "dies of illness," Joffrey takes the throne.
Tywin becomes regent—grandfather of the king.
De facto ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
Then he repays the Iron Bank with the realm's taxes.
A perfect loop.
A ruthless masterpiece.
If I didn't have greensight, I'd never know.
The Faceless Men's reputation is well-earned.
But...
Lynn's lips curled into a smile.
I've seen your trump card, old lion.
You've played well.
But from the vision—Robert dies in two years.
Two years to build my strength.
More than enough time.
The Price Hike
The next day.
News exploded across King's Landing.
All of Lynn's establishments doubled their prices.
Highway robbery!
Drunks in taverns cursed.
Swore they'd never return.
That night—
—Lynn's establishments were packed.
More crowded than ever.
"Did you hear? The girls at Mermaid on Silk Street—it's like they're different people!"
"Not just Mermaid! I went to Rose Garden on Eel Alley. Seven hells, the girls there are cleaner than my wife!"
A jeweler who'd just left grinned.
"That scent—not perfume. Something clean. Makes your head spin. I went three times in one day!"
Habit is the most terrifying thing.
Once men tasted that clean touch—that fresh scent—
—they couldn't tolerate filth elsewhere.
The louder they cursed, the faster they paid.
Phase Two
Lynn's estate.
He launched his second plan.
Steward Rob packaged the finest soaps in luxurious silk boxes.
Each bar had a story—written by Sansa herself.
The pink rose soap came with parchment:
[Highgarden Love: Legend says in the homeland of the Rose Knights, maidens bathe in the first dewdrops of dawn mixed with rose petals. Their skin becomes smooth as silk, and they radiate a fragrance that captivates every knight.]
"Will... will this actually sell?"
Sansa's cheeks burned.
The flowery prose felt embarrassing.
"Princess."
Lynn looked at Myrcella—who'd fallen in love with bathing.
"Tomorrow, take Sansa and Arya to the Red Keep. Visit the noble ladies you're close with."
"Make sure they smell you."
"When they ask—"
Lynn smiled.
"Give them the silk box. As a gift."
The Spider's Visit
Night fell again.
Lynn sat in his study. Reviewing astonishing accounts.
One day. Profits tripled.
A soft voice drifted from the doorway.
"Ser Lynn. You're a natural merchant. What a waste you didn't pursue trade."
Varys.
The eight-legged spider.
Standing there—when, Lynn didn't know.
Hands tucked in sleeves. Gentle smile.
"You've stirred the entire city's desires."
Lynn closed the ledger calmly.
"Lord Varys. You didn't come at this hour to discuss business."
Varys's smile deepened.
He stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
Gravely.
"I've observed—His Grace's health worsens daily."
"If I'm not mistaken, his wine cup holds something more intoxicating than wine."
Varys's bottomless eyes locked onto Lynn.
"My little birds fly through every corner of the Red Keep."
"Yet they smell nothing."
He paused. Tone meaningful.
"Ser Lynn. You seem to discover things we cannot."
"Can you tell me what you've seen?"
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