"Lord Varys. I believe you understand."
"Right now, you're asking me for a favor. Not the other way around."
Lynn smiled faintly.
"Oh, I'm well aware, Lord Lynn."
"How about I give you a little gift?"
"Consider it the foundation of our partnership."
"And once you confirm you've spared Daenerys, I can grant you one favor within my power."
Varys seemed prepared for this.
Lynn nodded.
"Go on."
Varys continued.
"The Hand's Tourney is coming. If you're entering, your goal must be the jousting championship. Otherwise, His Grace has no reason to let you cross the Narrow Sea."
"Your greatest opponent? Undoubtedly Ser Loras Tyrell. The Knight of Flowers."
Lynn's eyes flickered. He already knew what Varys's offering was.
"Did you know that this very afternoon, Lord Baelish was finding Ser Loras a new mount?"
Varys's voice dropped lower. A mysterious smile played on his lips.
"He's looking for a mare in heat."
"And in the joust, Ser Loras's most anticipated opponent happens to be the Lannisters' Mountain—Ser Gregor Clegane."
"The Mountain's warhorse is an ungelded stallion. Keeps its aggression. Violent temper."
"Now. Imagine what happens when a raging stallion catches the scent of a mare in heat mid-charge."
The outcome was obvious.
Littlefinger could turn even a tourney into a gambling table.
He wanted to ensure Loras won against the Mountain. Make a fortune on the bets.
This was a priceless token of goodwill.
Even though Lynn already knew about the scheme, it proved Varys's sincerity.
Varys genuinely wanted to cooperate.
He'd handed Lynn a golden opportunity.
"I accept your terms."
Lynn spoke slowly.
"The king will only see Viserys's head."
"Excellent."
Varys stood. His smile returned—gentle, harmless.
"Our coming partnership will be most pleasant."
He walked to the door. Hand on the handle. Then paused. Turned back.
"Oh, Lord Lynn."
"That Stark girl who brought your dinner. Quite the beauty."
"Did you know? She's been secretly making you a cloak. Hidden under her bed."
"Black. Embroidered with a direwolf sigil. Southern silk. The finest."
With that, Varys pulled the door open.
His plump figure vanished into the darkness. As if he'd never been there.
The room fell silent again.
Lynn walked to the window. Looked out at King's Landing's glittering lights.
Sansa.
That silly girl. Head full of princes and knights.
He pictured her blue eyes. Blue as a Dornish summer sky.
Something stirred in his chest.
She was foolish, yes. But her heart was kind.
Maybe she shouldn't marry Joffrey.
Lynn shook his head.
Not the time.
If Littlefinger wanted to play games at the tourney, Lynn would play along.
He'd win. Fair and square. So decisively no one could argue.
He'd make Littlefinger hand him that forty-thousand-gold-dragon prize himself.
And the betting winnings.
Lynn's lips curved upward.
He couldn't wait to see Littlefinger's face when he showed up riding the only mare in heat.
Decided. Storm, you're my girl.
That day, he could've picked faster horses. Stronger horses. More robust warhorses.
But he'd chosen a shire mare—not built for speed.
For this exact moment.
This mare was the only one in heat.
Littlefinger would never expect someone to ruin his plan before he'd even fully formed it.
Lynn had stolen his horse.
Getting another mare in heat? Not so easy now.
Lynn's eyes gleamed with mischievous excitement.
He walked to the window. The night breeze was cool.
He'd mapped the currents beneath King's Landing's surface.
Littlefinger wanted him dead.
Whether Lynn knew about his schemes or not, Littlefinger wanted to eliminate the man who'd ruined his plans three times over.
Varys wanted to use him.
Wanted to protect Daenerys.
The Lannisters were indifferent to him.
At least for now, they weren't enemies.
As for the Baratheons... they saw him as a savior.
This game was getting more interesting by the minute.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door again.
This time, the knock carried a young man's urgency.
Lynn frowned. Opened the door.
Outside stood Joffrey.
The prince had changed out of his finery. Now wore light hunting clothes.
His golden hair was messy. His face flushed with excitement and admiration.
"Lord Lynn!"
Joffrey's eyes practically glowed.
"I came to see how you're recovering!"
Behind him stood two Kingsguard Lynn didn't recognize. Not the Hound. Clearly the king's new assignments.
"I'm fine, Your Grace."
"Good! Good!"
Joffrey rubbed his hands together. Like a child with a new toy.
He leaned in. Whispered conspiratorially.
"I just begged Father!"
"He agreed!"
"Once you win the tourney, he'll knight you himself! And make you my personal guard!"
Joffrey puffed out his chest. Pride written all over his face.
"From now on, you're mine!"
"Even if you're a crow, no one in King's Landing—no, the whole realm—will dare look down on you!"
"Anyone who insults your birth? I'll punish them!"
The boy's promise echoed in the quiet corridor.
Lynn looked at the youth before him. Face full of sincerity. Seeing Lynn as his hero. His idol.
Then he thought of Joffrey's true parentage. His doomed fate.
A sense of absurdity washed over him.
Make him Joffrey's personal guard?
This world was full of surprises.
Ridiculous.
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