As the handmaidens combed through the waterfall of silver hair, Lynn's gaze fell upon a book on the vanity, its cover studded with small gemstones.
It was bound in tanned purple leather, and the title was inscribed in High Valyrian: Songs of Dragons and Fire.
A collection of legends from Old Valyria.
Here is my chance.
Controlling Daenerys's body, he pretended to adjust the hem of her sheer purple silk gown. His fingertips ghosted silently across the table surface.
A quill and a small vial of black ink were deftly swept into her wide sleeve.
The movement was fluid and seamless.
Preparations complete, he was escorted back to the bedchamber, surrounded by chattering handmaidens.
"Princess, please rest a moment. Magister Illyrio will send for you shortly."
The maids curtsied respectfully and withdrew. As the heavy door clicked shut, the world finally fell silent.
Now!
Without a moment's hesitation, Lynn walked to the carved writing desk, opened the book of legends, and flipped directly to the blank flyleaf.
He controlled Daenerys's right hand, which trembled slightly from tension and the strain of his overloaded Spirit, forcing it steady as he dipped the quill in ink.
The nib scratched rapidly across the ancient parchment.
He couldn't write a blunt warning; that would just be dismissed as the ravings of a nervous bride-to-be.
What he needed to write was a prophecy.
A prophecy grand enough to overturn her understanding, one she would believe implicitly, filled with ultimate romance and epic grandeur.
Abandoning the Common Tongue, he turned to the older, more rhythmic High Valyrian, writing with the tone of an oracle:
[Zȳho perzys, naejot sȳndor ēngos hen vējes.]
(The blood of the dragon shall not be buried in the Dothraki sea.)
[Ñuho brōzi, daor syt dāriot qilōni hen Dothraki,]
(Your destiny lies not with the savage king who rides the stallion,)
[se ao hen glaesā iēdrosa, naejot dāriot zaldrīzesu hen drēje.]
(But with the True King from the Land of Always Winter, who commands the three-headed ice dragon.)
[Kostōbus sōnas mirre hen mirros,]
(He shall wake from the legend of falling stars,)
[Lentor lī qrōzī hae rūs, mirros hen hāros ao.]
(Crossing the sea of bitterness and poison, bringing the biting wind and frost of the North.)
[Hen perzys lī qelbot, glaesā lī zȳho perzys.]
(With a kiss of ice and snow, he shall awaken the burning blood within you.)
[Rhaenās, Daenerys, ōdrikot sȳz.]
(Look to the West, Daenerys. The Prince is in the West.)
Lynn scraped the bottom of his High Valyrian vocabulary to finish the last letter.
He placed the book in the most conspicuous spot on the desk, ensuring Daenerys would see it the moment she looked.
With that done, Lynn began to detach his consciousness.
The scene before him started to blur and twist.
However, just as he was about to fully withdraw...
BANG!
With a loud crash, the bedroom door was kicked open from the outside.
Viserys Targaryen.
The "Beggar King," with his flowing silver hair and eyes full of dark madness, burst in like an agitated beast.
The gentle, cultured mask he sometimes wore was gone.
In its place was impatience, his tone filled with unquestionable command and threat.
"Daenerys! Hurry up!"
"The Khal's bloodriders will be here any moment!"
"You had better act like a queen tonight!"
"Don't give me that look like your parents just died! Do you hear me?"
"You don't want to... wake the dragon, do you?"
Viserys's gaze swept over her like he was inspecting a piece of merchandise, greedy and critical, lingering on "Daenerys's" shapely form beneath the silk.
Through Daenerys's eyes, Lynn could clearly feel the body's instinctive reaction.
Heart pounding, limbs turning ice-cold.
It was a fear branded into her very blood.
Viserys had tormented her endlessly over the years.
This scum. Selling his own sister to restore his throne.
An animal!
Lynn controlled Daenerys, lifting her head inch by inch.
Those beautiful violet eyes quietly met Viserys's gaze.
Gone was the usual timidity.
Gone was the habitual submission.
That look... was so calm it made one's skin crawl.
The roar and threats on Viserys's face froze instantly.
He stared blankly at his sister.
Something is wrong.
That look is wrong!
In those violet eyes, there was no fear, no pleading, nothing.
Only a bottomless indifference, as if she were looking at...
A ridiculous fool?
It was a gaze of scrutiny from above, bordering on contempt.
Viserys felt as if a true dragon was staring at him. A chill shot from his tailbone straight to the top of his skull.
His oft-repeated threat about "waking the dragon" seemed so laughable, so pale and weak in this moment.
Seeing that he had thoroughly unnerved Viserys, and with his Spirit pushed to its absolute limit, Lynn finally withdrew his consciousness.
It was the agonizing pain of a soul being forcibly ripped from a shell.
Lynn's consciousness was like a stone fired from a sling, hurtling backward through an endless mental storm.
The outline of King's Landing flashed past in his fractured vision.
Finally, Lynn "crashed" back into his own body.
"Hah—"
Lynn opened his eyes, gasping for air, his forehead covered in a sheen of cold sweat.
The furnishings of the tower room in the Red Keep remained unchanged. Outside the window, the clanking of patrolling guards' armor could still be heard.
Nothing had changed.
But the exhaustion of projecting his spirit across the entire continent to inhabit another was overwhelming, threatening to drown his consciousness.
It was a hundred times harder than invading Jaime's mind.
He was hollowed out again.
It would take a long rest to fully recover his Spirit.
But, it was worth it.
The seed had been planted in Daenerys's mind.
The rest depended on the girl's own choice.
---