King's Landing.
When this heart of Westeros first appeared completely before Lynn, the first smell he encountered—stench.
A complex odor mixing tens of thousands' excrement, rotting fish, leather tanning acid, and cheap spices—fermenting in humid air, nearly suffocating.
The Kingsway—after entering the gates—became cramped dirt streets.
Ragged commoners mixed with well-dressed merchants, guards, whores—forming a noisy, chaotic tableau.
"It stinks here!"
Arya wrinkled her small nose, face full of disgust.
The King's Landing she imagined—the magnificent royal city from minstrels' songs.
Not this giant, filthy slum before her eyes.
Lynn's hundred North-born men also seemed out of place.
They rode silently, gripping weapons, vigilantly surveying crowds casting curious or hostile glances.
Their fierce, solemn aura—stark contrast to King's Landing's marketplace clamor—made surrounding crowds instinctively clear a path.
Through the stinking Flea Bottom, the column finally reached Aegon's High Hill.
The Red Keep—that massive fortress built of red stone—finally revealed its fierce, imposing entirety.
At the Red Keep gates, Lynn's party was stopped.
"Who goes there!"
Gold Cloak guards' tone carried capital dwellers' particular arrogance.
Lynn dismounted, ignoring that guard, only directing his gaze toward a man wearing captain's insignia on the wall.
"Night's Watch. By order of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, urgent business with the Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark."
That captain—seeing Lynn and his disciplined column behind him, glimpsing those two clearly extraordinary longswords at Lynn's waist—dared not delay, hurriedly sending someone to report.
Soon after, Eddard Stark appeared at the gates with several guards.
He'd thinned somewhat. Darkened. Brows carrying undisguisable weariness.
When he saw Lynn, those grey eyes flashed with complex emotion.
But quickly covered by lordly dignity.
"Lynn." Ned's voice steady as always.
"Father!" Arya cheered, jumping from her horse, fluttering like a little bird into Ned's arms.
Ned held his daughter tightly, face finally showing genuine smile.
He patted Arya's back, then gaze fell on Lynn again.
"Follow me."
He asked nothing more, only leading Lynn through layers of guarded courtyards, straight into the Tower of the Hand.
The moment the heavy oak door closed—
The dignity belonging to Warden of the North, Hand of the King—like a punctured balloon—instantly deflated completely.
He yanked open his collar, pacing the room irritably.
That usually composed face now written with frustration and anger.
"Lynn! Do you know how I've spent this past month?!"
Ned nearly roared, voice extremely low—like a beast trapped in a cage.
"I—Eddard Stark, Duke of Winterfell, Warden of the North!"
"I've had to visit brothels every day! Those stinking smithies!"
"Just yesterday—to inquire about a bastard—I had to stay in a room with a whore!"
"Gods above, I swear I did nothing, but that feeling... like my honor was thrown in mud and trampled repeatedly!"
He clutched his hair, looking nearly collapsed.
"The Small Council—I haven't attended once!"
"Petyr Baelish—that man looks at me like I'm some fool from the North!"
"Varys—that damned eunuch smiles at me with such mockery every time!"
"I'm going mad! All of King's Landing thinks I'm an incompetent drunk who ignores governance!"
Ned stopped pacing, slamming his fist on the table, looking at Lynn with anguish.
"My honor—House Stark's honor—I've nearly lost it all!"
Lynn listened quietly to his complaints, face expressionless, only silently pouring himself water.
When Ned finally finished venting, he slowly spoke.
"Lord Eddard, have you heard the phrase 'the seed is strong'?"
Lynn had greensight—whether anyone eavesdropped, one scan would tell.
Now he was emboldened.
Ned's eyes sharpened.
"Of course. I believe Arryn couldn't have left such words without reason."
"I secretly followed Jon Arryn's trail, found several of Robert's bastards."
"One—apprentice at a smithy—named Gendry."
Lynn picked up the thread, guiding Ned.
"That boy... looks exactly like young Robert, doesn't he?"
"Black hair. Blue eyes. Stubborn as a bull."
Lynn picked up the book Jon Arryn had been reading before death from Ned's desk—The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.
"This book records the Baratheon bloodline over centuries."
"Every Baratheon—no matter who they wed—their children have black hair."
Ned seemed to understand something, voice carrying barely perceptible tremor.
"Black hair... always black hair."
He raised his head, staring hard at Lynn.
"But Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen... all golden-haired."
The room fell deathly silent.
King's Landing's clamor outside—as if isolated in another world.
Ned's breathing grew heavy. Those honest eyes filled with shock and fury.
He finally understood.
He finally understood what Jon Arryn's "strong seed" meant.
He also finally understood.
Why his foster father—also his dear friend—suddenly died in King's Landing!
"They're not Robert's children."
Ned's voice—cold as Northern ice.
"They're Lannisters."
"Little lions in stag's clothing!"
"Correct."
Lynn nodded.
He knew—Ned understood.
"So Jon Arryn had to die."
"Because he discovered this secret that could overturn the entire kingdom."
Ned's body trembled slightly with rage.
"Cersei... Jaime... how dare they!"
"Should I tell Robert?"
"If I reveal the truth, will it cause serious consequences?"
Ned stood abruptly. Though angry, he still consulted Lynn first.
"Telling or not—little difference." Lynn shook his head.
"Tell Robert his queen betrayed him? His three children are bastards—products of her and her own brother?"
"No."
"You have no proof, Lord Eddard."
"Your accusation will only be seen as slander against the Queen and princes."
"Then you won't save Robert—you'll drag all of House Stark, even the entire North, into irredeemable abyss."
"The Lannisters will retaliate madly."
Lynn's words—like ice water poured on Ned's fury.
He slumped back down, face full of pain and struggle.
"Can't speak, can't stay silent!"
"Then... what should we do?"
"Continue your performance, Lord Eddard."
Lynn's lips curved slightly upward.
"Keep playing your role. Let them all think you can't discover anything. Completely disappoint them."
"Next—leave everything to me. Give me your full support!"
Lynn stood, walking to the window, looking at the tournament grounds being constructed in the distance.
"But before that—I need an identity."
"One that lets me move freely in King's Landing. Makes those great lords look me in the eye."
Ned followed his gaze, confusion flashing in his eyes.
"The Hand's Tournament—the best stage."
Lynn turned around.
"I'm entering the tournament."
"What?" Ned thought he'd misheard.
"You? A Night's Watchman? You're not even a knight—how can you enter?"
"So I need your help."
Lynn approached him, gaze burning.
"I need qualification to enter."
"The joust champion receives the King's knighthood."
"I'll win before all Seven Kingdoms' nobility. Take the title of first knight. Gain Robert's favor."
Ned was stunned by Lynn's bold—nearly insane—words.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, yet found himself speechless.
Win the Hand's Tournament in King's Landing?
Where the Seven Kingdoms' finest knights gather!
Jaime Lannister, Loras Tyrell, Sandor Clegane...
Each a renowned warrior.
Lynn—a Night's Watchman who killed wildlings beyond the Wall—on what grounds?
"This is too insane." Ned murmured.
"Insane?" Lynn smiled.
"This is only step one."
"Once I gain status, we begin step two."
"Gather evidence while... dividing our enemies."
"In King's Landing—many lions. But not everyone's named Lannister."
Lynn looked at Ned's shocked face, slowly revealing his ultimate goal.
"I'll make the Lannisters—in King's Landing—betrayed and isolated."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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