Lynn gazed calmly at the famous "Spider" of the Seven Kingdoms before him.
Varys's gentle smile, illuminated by the candlelight, appeared somewhat unfathomable.
"What you see, Lord Varys, is what truly matters."
Lynn did not answer his question directly. Instead, he pushed a wine cup towards him.
"You have been weaving your web in King's Landing for over a decade. Surely, it is not merely to catch a few flies."
Varys's hands, tucked within his sleeves, paused slightly. A flash of surprise flickered in his bottomless eyes.
He took the cup but did not drink. He merely brought it to his nose and sniffed gently.
"Excellent wine."
He praised.
"A vintage from the Arbor, yet it carries a fragrance that does not belong to Westeros."
"Much like you, Ser Lynn. Full of secrets."
Lynn did not respond to the comment, continuing his own train of thought.
"Lannister, Stark, Baratheon..."
"These great houses are like pieces on a cyvasse board, fighting to the death for a rusted iron chair."
"They only see the victory or defeat before their eyes. Yet no one notices that the board itself is rotting away."
Varys's smile gradually faded, his expression turning serious.
"The ledger of the royal treasury is a colossal joke."
"The nobles live in a dream of drunkenness and debauchery, while the smallfolk struggle on the brink of starvation."
"And what is more terrifying..."
Lynn's gaze seemed to penetrate the walls, looking toward the distant North.
"The Long Summer has passed."
"A winter that will engulf everything is descending."
"When that time comes, the Long Night will be endless. Harvests will fail, the people will suffer, and the starved will litter the fields. What meaning will there be in arguing who sits on the Iron Throne?"
Varys fell completely silent.
He looked at Lynn, this overly young Black Knight, his eyes filled with unprecedented shock.
This was exactly his intent.
The Long Night of Westeros would be very long indeed.
He needed to assist a wise king.
Only such a king could lead his people through the long winter, not a wineskin like Robert.
He would only drag the Seven Kingdoms into the abyss!
Varys had thought Lynn was another Littlefinger.
A smarter, more ruthless player.
But now he realized he was wrong.
Lynn's goal, from the very beginning, exceeded his imagination.
"You serve the realm, Lord Varys."
Lynn's voice struck a chord in Varys's heart.
"So do I."
"Our goal has always been the same."
"That is, for this kingdom to survive."
"His Grace the King's illness may be a conspiracy of the Lion, or perhaps the will of the gods."
"But that is not important."
Lynn said, enunciating each word.
"What is important is that after he falls, Westeros must not fall into chaos."
"The death of a king is a tragedy."
"But a civil war sweeping the Seven Kingdoms is a catastrophe."
Varys finally understood.
Lynn had tacitly accepted the King's death; he did not intend to warn Robert.
What he wanted to do was to maintain a delicate balance across the continent as much as possible after the King's death, avoiding total chaos.
What a grand vision!
What daring!
"In the forest, some old trees are destined to fall."
After a long time, Varys spoke softly, his voice tinged with a sigh.
"A wise gardener will not waste effort trying to prop them up."
"He will only ensure the soil is fertile enough to grow new, stronger saplings."
He gave Lynn a deep look and downed the wine in one gulp.
"Farewell, Ser Lynn."
"If you need anything, feel free to find me."
"My little birds will do their utmost to serve you."
With that, Varys's figure silently merged into the darkness outside the door, as if he had never been there.
Lynn watched the direction he disappeared, saying nothing.
Everything he had just said was what Varys wanted to hear, but it was undeniable that these words overlapped greatly with his true thoughts.
Now, he and the Spider had reached a fragile understanding.
Varys would not help Robert, but he would not hinder Lynn either.
He wanted Robert dead, and that was enough.
Lord Tywin's poison would buy Lynn at least two years of precious development time.
---
A fragrant breeze swept through King's Landing.
This wind, carrying the scents of rose, lavender, and mint, easily pried open the strongest doors of the Red Keep and drifted into the nostrils of every noble lady.
Princess Myrcella was like a golden butterfly just learning to fly.
Following Lynn's instructions, she made herself fragrant every day.
Then, taking Sansa and Arya with her, she shuttled through the various courtyards and drawing rooms of the Red Keep.
"Myrcella, my dear, what is that scent on you? It smells better than the roses in the garden!"
"Oh my, your skin... how is it so smooth!"
At first, the noble ladies were merely curious.
But when Myrcella gave a bar of "Stormlands Rhapsody" soap, packaged like a jewelry box, as a gift to a lady, the entire circle of noblewomen exploded.
It wasn't just a bar of soap.
It was a gift from a princess, a symbol of status, a ticket to a more elegant, cleaner, and decent "high society."
The threshold of Lynn's manse was nearly worn down by the noble ladies and their servants who came upon hearing the news.
The smile on Steward Robb's face almost never disappeared.
His happiest daily activity was counting the gold dragons flying in like snowflakes.
"My Lord!"
Robb respectfully presented a ledger with a gilded cover to Lynn.
"In just three days!"
"Our limited release of three hundred bars of Lady's Special Reserve soap sold out completely!"
"The price of each bar was bid up to an astronomical fifty gold dragons or more!"
"After deducting all costs, we made a net profit of 15,000 gold dragons!"
Lynn had to admit, he had underestimated the purchasing power of these noble ladies.
His original projection was to sell one for a single gold dragon, and he would have been satisfied. He didn't expect the effect to be surprisingly good.
A large part of this was due to Myrcella's influence.
However, right now it was just the novelty.
Once this period passed, the price would stabilize.
Fifteen thousand gold dragons!
Sansa sat nearby, holding a small bottle of newly blended jasmine essential oil.
Hearing this number, her small hand trembled, nearly knocking the bottle over.
Her mind went blank.
A few months ago, she thought the tens of thousands of gold dragons her father spent to repair a castle was an astronomical figure.
But now, Lynn had earned enough money to repair several Winterfells in just a few days, relying on a few bars of soap she had personally "curated"?
This feeling was more shocking than any hero's epic she had ever heard.
She looked at Lynn.
The man was calmly flipping through the ledger, as if those ten thousand gold dragons were no different from four copper stars in his eyes.
As if he had expected it all along.
"Well done, Sansa."
Lynn's gaze moved from the ledger to her.
There was a hint of approval in those deep eyes.
Although Sansa was a bit naive, her contribution could not be denied. At least he admitted he didn't have such literary talent.
"I like the name 'Winter Rose' very much."
Two blushes instantly flew onto Sansa's cheeks, and her heart pounded uncooperatively.
This satisfied her more than any praise.
She found that she seemed to enjoy this feeling of creating wealth with wisdom and creativity more and more.
It was far better than being an appendage to some prince, competing for attention at boring banquets.
The entire circle of noble ladies in King's Landing was stirred by a small piece of "soap."
The Princess's gift became the capital for all noble ladies to show off.
That gentle, clean touch, that charming fragrance lingering on the skin, was a joyful experience they had never had before.
Countless noble ladies sent servants to Lynn's manse, indirectly trying to buy this "alchemical wonder."
But Steward Robb, following Lynn's instructions, smiled and refused them one by one.
"Apologies, My Lady."
"This soap is Ser Lynn's exclusive secret recipe. Production is scarce, given only to friends, and not for sale to the public."
The harder it is to get, the more precious it becomes.
Scarcity increases value.
For a time, a small bar of soap became a luxury more coveted than jewelry and silk.
The entrance to Lynn's manse was busy with traffic.
Some lower-status noble ladies were even willing to spend a hundred gold dragons just to buy a limited edition "Highgarden Love."
Sansa became thoroughly busy.
She was no longer the lady who only knew how to recite poetry, but had become a true "perfumer" and "brand planner."
She gave each soap a moving story and name.
"Winter Rose," "Starfall Night," "Stormlands Rhapsody"...
These imaginative names made the noble ladies flock to them, willingly emptying their husbands' purses. The men complained bitterly, yet painfully opened their wallets.
They could no longer tolerate the smells from before.
---