The clamor and commotion of the Throne Room were shut behind heavy oak doors.
In the corridor, the torchlight stretched their shadows, one tall, one short, tightly intertwined.
Arya clutched Lynn's sleeve tightly, not saying a word.
She had many questions she wanted to ask.
For example, where had he been for the past month, what had he done, why did he have a dragon, and why was he involved with Astapor.
But all the questions eventually converged into one name.
It was like a fishbone stuck in her throat, making her extremely uncomfortable.
Myrcella.
The golden-haired princess of House Baratheon.
Arya looked up at Lynn's smiling face, his eyes appearing especially gentle in the firelight, and the grievance she had just suppressed surged up again.
She pouted, said nothing, but just pulled Lynn towards the Tower of the Hand's kitchen.
The kitchen was steaming, and the cooks were busy preparing for the dinner.
Seeing Arya and Lynn, they all stopped their work and bowed respectfully.
Arya, familiar with the place, took a roasted chicken still dripping with oil from the grill and two loaves of bread from a basket, then pulled Lynn into a small spice storage cubicle nearby.
The cubicle was narrow, filled with a warm scent of cinnamon, cloves, and pepper.
This reminded Arya of the time Lynn taught her sword fighting, and they hid behind the door together.
Arya handed the roasted chicken and bread to Lynn, while she hugged her knees and huddled in a corner, like a small, wronged animal.
Lynn tore off a chicken leg, took a bite, and the rich aroma of oil filled the air.
"Not eating?"
Lynn offered the other chicken leg to Arya.
Arya shook her head, burying her face deeper.
"You..."
Her muffled voice came from between her knees.
"Are you really going to marry her?"
"Who?"
Lynn asked, feigning ignorance.
"Myrcella Baratheon!"
Arya suddenly looked up.
Her grey eyes were red, like an angry rabbit.
"That golden-haired princess!"
"It's the King's command, I can't refuse in front of everyone, can I?"
Lynn spread his hands helplessly.
"But you shouldn't have agreed!"
Arya's voice was on the verge of tears.
"You clearly... you clearly promised Father you would marry me..."
Her voice grew softer with each word, and her cheeks became redder.
Lynn looked at her, so angry, anxious, and shy, and couldn't help but smile.
He put down the roasted chicken, leaned over, and gently pinched her puffed-up cheek.
"Are you jealous?"
"Who... who's jealous!"
Arya, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, fiercely slapped his hand away, but dared not look him in the eyes.
"I just... I just think no one from House Lannister is any good!"
"Hmm, you're right."
Lynn nodded in agreement.
"That's why I must marry her."
Arya was stunned, not understanding what he meant.
"Think about it," Lynn coaxed.
"The King's only daughter, the jewel of House Lannister, marrying me, the King-Beyond-the-Wall of the North."
"What does this mean?"
"It means that even if House Lannister hates me to the bone, they'll have to publicly accept this relationship, even if they hold their noses."
"Not only can they not stab me in the back, but they'll also have to pray that I live well."
"Because if anything happens to me, their precious princess will become a widow."
Arya blinked.
It seemed... that made sense.
"This is called a hostage."
Lynn used the simplest and crudest terms to explain the essence of this political marriage.
"Just like I'm holding Joffrey's sister in the North."
"Now, Tywin Lannister, that old lion, won't be able to lay a hand on me, and I'll have plenty of time to develop in peace."
"After all, the Free Folk are all waiting to be fed."
Arya nodded, half-understanding, but the sour feeling in her heart still hadn't dissipated.
"But... you still have to marry her first."
Arya mumbled softly.
"That's just a process, Arya."
Lynn's voice softened.
He reached out and pulled Arya into his arms.
"I promise you, as soon as things in King's Landing are settled, I'll take you back to the North."
"Then, in Winterfell, under the Heart Tree, witnessed by all the Northmen, I will marry you."
Arya's body stiffened for a moment.
She buried her face in Lynn's chest, feeling his familiar warm scent, and tears fell uncontrollably.
"You said it..."
"I said it."
Lynn interrupted her, lowering his head to kiss the top of her head.
Hearing the assurance, Arya let out a giggle, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, looking both pitiful and adorable.
She looked up at Lynn, then suddenly opened her mouth and bit his shoulder, not too hard, not too soft.
"This is punishment!"
Arya announced fiercely.
"For agreeing so readily just now!"
"Alright, my fault."
Lynn laughed and ruffled her hair.
Watching the little girl finally regain her vitality, grabbing a chicken leg and devouring it, Lynn's face broke into a smile.
But his gaze, through the small window, was directed towards The Eyrie.
Littlefinger requested a trial by combat; this pawn was now useless.
He had hoped Littlefinger could stir up trouble.
He hadn't expected Littlefinger to be so ineffective, repeatedly causing him problems, so there was no need to keep Littlefinger around.
What he needed was an obedient and controllable person, not a mad dog that only wanted to bite him.
And that eagle, manipulated by Littlefinger, was probably going mad too... The Eyrie.
High up on the Giant's Lance, reaching into the clouds.
Lady Lysa Arryn was shaking her frail son in an almost frenzied manner.
"Petyr... Petyr, he's going to die! He's going to die!"
Her once beautiful face was now contorted with extreme fear, her voice shrill like a crow's wail.
"Mother... I can't breathe..."
Robert Arryn, the boy who would never grow up, was shaken purple in the face, crying out in terror.
"Shut up!"
Lysa pushed him away, letting him fall to the ground.
Her gaze was fixed on the raven scroll from King's Landing on the table.
Every word on it made her soul tremble.
Petyr was accused of poisoning Jon Arryn!
He demanded a trial by combat!
His opponent was that devil from the North named Lynn!
And Petyr's champion was none other than the Mountain!
Lysa didn't understand their skill levels, but she knew Petyr was finished, completely finished!
That man named Lynn, he was like an omniscient god, exposing all of Petyr's schemes to the light of day!
He even described the details of her poisoning her own husband with perfect clarity!
Petyr was her only reliance, her hope for the future, the man she would betray everything for!
But now, he was going to die!
And she, the murderer of her own husband, would soon face reckoning!
"No... no..."
Lysa frantically tore at her hair, pacing back and forth in the room.
She couldn't just sit and wait for death!
She had to save Petyr!
She must save him!
That's right!
The army!
The Eyrie had the finest knights in the Vale!
"Order!"
She shrieked at the door.
"Gather all the sworn bannermen! I will march! I will go to King's Landing!"
The guards and handmaidens outside the door exchanged glances, not daring to respond.
Send troops to King's Landing?
Under what name?
To rebel against the King?
Don't be ridiculous, that's not funny at all.
Lysa Tully was the daughter of Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.
Although she did not directly become a Lord, she became the Lady of The Eyrie through marriage, and after Old Arryn's death, she effectively ruled the Vale.
"My Lady, please calm down!"
The elderly Maester Colemon stumbled in, his face full of worry.
"Calm down? How can I calm down!"
Lysa grabbed his collar, her fingernails almost digging into his flesh.
"They're going to kill Petyr!"
"They're going to kill my beloved!"
Maester Colemon looked at the frenzied Lysa, a deep sense of powerlessness rising in his heart.
The Vale was about to be dragged into the abyss by this madwoman... Night fell.
The room Lynn was staying in was Ned's former study in the Tower of the Hand.
He wasn't sleeping.
He sat by the window, looking out at the sleeping King's Landing.
Knock, knock, knock.
A light but urgent knock sounded at the door.
Lynn didn't turn around, simply saying in a faint voice.
"Come in."
The door opened, and a figure in a black cloak slipped in, then quickly closed the door.
She removed her hood, revealing a beautiful face that appeared somewhat pale in the moonlight.
Cersei Lannister.
The most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.
She wasn't wearing the elaborate gown symbolizing her status as Queen, but rather a dark, practical outfit for movement.
Yet, the inherent arrogance and scrutiny in her gaze remained undiminished.
"You're quite composed."
Cersei's voice carried a hint of mockery.
She surveyed the House Stark study, as if inspecting her own territory.
"Otherwise?"
Lynn turned around, placing the dagger on the table.
"Your Majesty the Queen, a late-night visit, surely not just for a drink with me?"
"Don't call me Queen!"
Cersei's voice suddenly rose, a flicker of fire igniting in her green eyes.
"In front of you, what kind of Queen am I?"
Like an enraged lioness, she advanced on Lynn, her high chest heaving with anger, making one dizzy to watch.
"You destroyed Jaime's confidence, crippled Petyr, and played Robert, that fool, like a puppet."
"Now, you even want to marry my Myrcella!"
"Lynn! I truly want to crack open your head and see what on earth is inside!"
Lynn looked at Cersei, his expression still calm.
"What I want, hasn't Your Majesty already given it?"
"A marriage alliance, an ally."
"Ally?"
Cersei sounded as if she had heard the biggest joke.
"You've trampled the honor of House Lannister underfoot, and you call that an ally?"
"It's still an ally."
Lynn's gaze fell on her, with a hint of playfulness.
"At least on the surface, we are family now, aren't we?"
"You..."
Cersei was so choked up she couldn't speak.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
She knew that anger was useless in front of Lynn.
"Myrcella... what do you plan to do with her?"
This was her true purpose for coming tonight.
"She will be my wife, the future Lady of the North, and will enjoy all the honor she deserves."
Lynn's answer was watertight.
"Why should I believe you?"
"You have no choice."
Lynn stood up.
His tall figure cast a shadow, completely enveloping Cersei.
Lynn walked up to Cersei, lowered his head, almost touching her ear, and spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"Because I know your little secret."
Cersei's body stiffened abruptly.
"You... what do you want?"
Cersei's regal arrogance was shattered in that moment.
"I don't want anything."
Lynn stepped back, re-establishing the distance.
"I just want to remind you, Cersei."
"We are allies, so we should act like allies."
"Control your father, control your brother, and control yourself."
"Stop playing those petty, undignified tricks."
Lynn's gaze turned cold again.
"Otherwise, I don't mind letting everyone in the Seven Kingdoms know whose blood truly flows in the veins of King's Landing's prince and princess."
Cersei's face was ashen.
She looked at Lynn before her, a sense of powerlessness she had never felt before surging within her.
After a long pause, Cersei finally found her voice.
"The duel... you will win, won't you?"
Her tone no longer held accusation, but rather a hint of anticipation that she herself hadn't noticed.
If Lynn won, Petyr would die.
That schemer who knew too many of her secrets and tried to put her to death would completely disappear.
"You hope I win?" Lynn smiled.
Cersei didn't answer, just gave him a deep look, her expression extremely complex.
There was hate, fear, humiliation, and even a strange emotion she couldn't quite articulate.
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