Ned was so shocked by Lynn's final words he couldn't speak for a long while.
Make the Lannisters betrayed and isolated in King's Landing?
Easy to say—but House Lannister had entrenched itself in King's Landing for years.
Cersei was Queen. Jaime a Kingsguard. Their father Tywin Lannister—Westeros' wealthiest, most feared lord.
Shaking this golden lion—easier said than done.
"This is too insane..."
Ned muttered. He'd lost count how many times he'd said this to Lynn.
"How do you plan to enter the tournament? The joust is a knight's stage. You..."
Ned suddenly paused, remembering Lynn's identity.
Night's Watchman.
A Night's Watchman—forget knightly title—in southern nobles' eyes, they're no different from criminals.
"I cannot grant you knighthood."
Ned's voice somewhat strained.
"House Stark keeps the Old Gods. Knighthood is a Seven's ritual. I cannot keep vigil in a sept, nor receive the Seven's blessing."
An unavoidable dead end.
Someone without knightly title—couldn't even qualify to enter the joust.
Lynn's plan—obstructed at step one.
Lynn looked at Ned's troubled face, only speaking calmly.
"Then let someone qualified approve my entry."
Ned froze. "Who?"
"The King."
The King certainly qualified—but these two words made Ned's eyelids twitch hard.
"Robert?"
He almost reflexively objected.
"Impossible! He now... he's completely biased against me."
"He thinks I'm some country bumpkin who only knows how to stay in the North, ignoring his governance completely."
"If I ask him to make an exception now, he'll just think I'm fooling around!"
Clearly, Ned's month of absurd behavior in King's Landing had greatly shocked Robert too.
"He will."
Lynn's tone certain.
He approached Ned, black eyes staring directly.
"Because I can give him what he wants most."
Eddard Stark—suppressed too long in the Tower of the Hand—finally steeled himself, leading Lynn into the Red Keep's council chamber.
He had Lynn leave those two overly conspicuous Valyrian steel swords in the Tower of the Hand.
In King's Landing—especially before Robert Baratheon—anything Targaryen-related was taboo.
King Robert sprawled in a wide chair.
That mighty frame that once hammered Rhaegar's breastplate flat—now corroded by wine, women, and comfortable living into bloated fat.
He held a wine cup, impatiently listening to Master of Coin "Littlefinger" Petyr Baelish report the Hand's Tournament budget.
"Just do it! Why so much nonsense!"
Robert glanced toward the door. Ned stood there awkwardly. He immediately changed tune, tone becoming mocking.
"Fifty thousand golden dragons? Just to watch tin cans crash into each other on horses?"
Robert's roar echoed through the chamber.
"Are you trying to empty my treasury?!"
"Your Grace, this isn't merely a tournament—it's to demonstrate royal glory, and welcome the new Hand's appointment..."
Littlefinger wore his trademark smile, explaining unhurriedly.
"Can glory fill bellies?!"
Robert waved, smashing his cup on the floor.
"I only see my money flowing away!"
His gaze swept the ministers present, finally landing on Ned at the door, dissatisfaction nearly overflowing.
Originally he'd wanted to hold a grand tournament for Ned.
But Ned's various behaviors made him furious!
This fellow was even more absurd than himself!
This damned tournament—cancel it!
"Ned! Finally willing to leave those brothels?"
Robert's tone unfriendly.
"How is it you have time to come here?"
Ned's face flushed red, fists clenched in his sleeves, knuckles cracking.
Robert waved, dismissing the ministers.
Now—only Robert, Ned, and Lynn remained.
Lynn stepped forward.
"Your Grace."
Robert squinted those eyes somewhat clouded by alcohol, scrutinizing this unfamiliar young man.
Tall, upright, carrying the North's unique cold aura.
"Who are you?" Robert frowned.
"Lynn. Member of the Night's Watch. By Lord Commander Mormont's order, come south to King's Landing."
"Night's Watch?"
Robert snorted, leaning back in his chair, looking uninterested.
"Here for men and money again? The Wall hasn't collapsed yet?"
"No, Your Grace." Lynn neither servile nor overbearing.
"I came to King's Landing to enter the tournament."
The moment these words left his mouth—the entire chamber seemed to quiet.
Robert—as if hearing the world's greatest joke—froze briefly, then erupted in deafening laughter.
"HAHAHA! A crow wants to enter the tournament?"
"Ned, is this a jester you brought from the North?"
"Your Grace, I need your permission." Lynn ignored his mockery.
"I want to enter the joust as a Night's Watchman."
"Moreover—if I win the joust championship, I hope you'll personally knight me."
The King wasn't merely a knight—he possessed supreme authority to grant knighthood, unrestricted by convention, bearing ultimate honor.
Laughter stopped abruptly.
Robert's facial fat quivered.
He sat upright, re-examining Lynn with scrutinizing gaze.
"A crow wants to be a knight?"
His voice deepened.
In Westeros, any knight could knight another, following the Seven's rituals.
Night's Watch members already included knights.
Moreover, the Night's Watch oath didn't explicitly forbid members being knighted.
The oath's core: take no wife, hold no lands, father no children.
Becoming a knight itself didn't directly violate these three.
Knighthood was honor and duty—not land or marriage.
"Wear no crowns, win no glory."
This might be the only conflict.
Knighthood itself carried certain "glory"—but quite subjective.
So Lynn qualified for knighthood!
"On what grounds? Because you killed a few wildlings?"
Robert grasped the key point—Lynn indeed qualified. He asked curiously.
"No." Lynn shook his head.
"Because I can eliminate the kingdom's last threat for you."
"A threat across the Narrow Sea."
Across the Narrow Sea?
Robert's breathing instantly grew heavy.
Those clouded eyes—bit by bit ignited flames named "hatred."
"Targaryen?"
He nearly ground out these words through clenched teeth.
"Correct." Lynn nodded.
"Viserys Targaryen. That so-called 'Beggar King.'"
"I'll cross the Narrow Sea. Bring you his head."
Lynn's voice calm—yet like a boulder thrown into a dead lake, stirring thousand-layered waves.
Eddard Stark looked at Lynn's back in disbelief.
He never imagined Lynn would propose such a trade!
He'd always believed Daenerys and Viserys were insignificant threats.
Always secretly advising Robert not to hunt these two.
Could it be...
Must it come to this?
This was no longer a request—but a trade.
A trade with Targaryen remnants' lives.
And this trade—for himself!
Ned's mind churned in chaos.
"You?"
Robert stared hard at Lynn, as if to see through him.
"Alone?"
"Alone!"
"Good!"
SLAM!
Robert struck the armrest, standing from his chair!
His bloated body—as if instantly infused with the warrior soul that hammered Rhaegar at the Trident!
Drunkenness and weariness swept from his face, replaced by almost cruel excitement.
"Good! Well said!"
Robert strode before Lynn, massive hand heavily slapping his shoulder.
"Boy, I don't care who you are or where you're from!"
"Just bring me that dragon whelp's head—forget a knight's title!"
Robert's voice thundered through the chamber, making Ned's eardrums ache.
"I'll make you a lord! Give you a castle! Whatever you want!"
"Night's Watch oath forbids marriage?"
"I permit you ten wives!"
"Have all the children you want!!"
"I'll let you register! Enter the tournament! Every event!"
"I want to see—what a man who dares kill Targaryens is made of!"
Robert's face showed that long-absent warrior's exhilarated smile.
He looked at Lynn, extremely satisfied.
Lynn's words—struck right at Robert's heart.
He dreamed of killing the Targaryens across the sea!
Eddard Stark stood frozen—thunderstruck.
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