Cersei's demands—Lynn naturally couldn't agree. So he brushed her off with a vague "I'll consider it" excuse.
Leaving, Cersei's steps were unsteady. She straightened her spine. Used all her strength to maintain a queen's pride and dignity. But only she knew: beneath that gorgeous facade, her body still trembled slightly. Completely conquered.
Cersei didn't dare look back. Feared seeing Lynn's calm, all-knowing eyes. Those eyes would remind her of everything that happened in that room. Her shameful surrender and submission.
When the heavy oak door closed behind her, severing that gaze she both feared and uncontrollably craved, Cersei finally collapsed. Leaned against the cold wall. Gasped for breath.
Her hands unconsciously moved to her chest. But her mind quickly cleared. She'd come with House Lannister's last pride. Tried to trade her body and secrets for an equal transaction with Lynn. But the result? One-sided crushing.
Cersei gathered herself. Headed toward the Red Keep.
Lynn wasn't sleepy. He stood by the window. Night wind dispersed the room's ambiguous mix of power-lust and desire.
Cersei was a clever woman. A qualified gambler. After confirming she couldn't defeat her opponent, she decisively placed her bet. Used Lannister wealth, the king's life, the future heir's promise—to buy a seat at the new table.
Lynn was satisfied. He needed Lannister food and iron to arm his barren lands. Needed Cersei as a piece to stir storms in King's Landing's quagmire.
As for Robert's fate... irrelevant to Lynn. He should've exited long ago.
Lynn's gaze fell on Longclaw on the table. The Valyrian steel sword flowed with cold light in moonlight. Seven days hence—the duel. Mountain vs. Hound.
Not just Petyr Baelish's trial. But a gift to Dorne. Once the Mountain died, Sunspear's Martells would favor him. A potential, powerful ally. Everything proceeding perfectly according to his script.
Just then—knock, knock, knock. Light knocking again.
Lynn frowned slightly. This late—who? Arya? Worried Ned?
"Come in."
The door opened gently. Not anyone he expected. Leading was an elderly woman with a carved cane. Thin frame. Deep green gown, hem embroidered with gold-thread rosebuds. Silver-grey hair impeccably groomed. Wrinkled face, but eyes sharp as an eagle's.
The Queen of Thorns. Olenna Redwyne. House Tyrell's true power.
Beside her—a girl beautiful as a spring rose. Also in green. Brown curls cascading like a waterfall. Features exquisite as a painting. Lips holding a perfect smile. Brown eyes holding both girlish innocence and wisdom beyond her years.
Margaery Tyrell. Highgarden's rose. Destined to bloom brightest in this game of thrones.
Lynn's eyes flashed surprise. He hadn't expected Highgarden's two mistresses to visit at night.
"Late disturbance—Lord Lynn's pardon." Lady Olenna spoke first. Voice vigorous. Bearing long-held authority. Her gaze swept the study. Landed on Lynn. Those sharp eyes held undisguised scrutiny.
"No matter." Lynn nodded. Gestured for them to sit. "What urgent business brings you at night?"
"Young man, skip the pleasantries." Lady Olenna waved dismissively. Sat down. Set her cane aside. "We're all sensible people. Beating around the bush wastes time."
Blunt. Almost rude. "I came for sugar."
Lynn smiled. He knew: that small bag of white powder couldn't escape the Queen of Thorns' eyes.
"Grandmother is always so direct." Margaery's soft voice rang out. Like a clear spring. Eased the room's tension. She smiled at Lynn—a smile to make any man's heart flutter.
"Lord Lynn, your gift to His Grace amazed all of Highgarden. We've never seen anything so pure, so sweet." She approached the table. Studied Lynn curiously. "You must control its source or production method, yes?"
"More or less." Lynn was noncommittal. He watched this old-young pair. One verse, one chorus. Perfect coordination. One aggressive, one gentle as water. Highgarden's roses—truly legendary.
"Highgarden is the Seven Kingdoms' richest land." Lady Olenna reclaimed the conversation. Her fingers tapped the armrest rhythmically. "We have endless food, wine, and an army any lord would envy."
Pride in her tone. "Your North, your Gift—very cold, very poor. Your wildling subjects need food. Your Unsullied need equipment. All this needs money. Lots of money."
"The Lannisters are rich, but their money reeks of lions." Lady Olenna's lips curled disdainfully. "And their grain can't feed your hundreds of thousands of hungry mouths."
Lynn's eyebrow raised. This old lady pinpointed his biggest predicament in one sentence. Precisely jabbed the Lannisters' weakness. Casterly Rock had gold mines but insufficient farmland. And Lynn most lacked: food.
"So?" Lynn asked with interest.
"So, we discuss business." Lady Olenna's eyes gleamed shrewdly. "House Tyrell will become your white sugar business's only partner in Westeros."
"Only?" Lynn repeated. Smile deepening. "My lady, the king is also interested in my sugar."
"Robert?" Lady Olenna snorted. "He only cares about wine and women. That sugar in his hands—gone in three days as snacks. He's a warrior, not a merchant. As for the Lannisters..."
She glanced at Lynn. "That fool Cersei probably wants to swallow you whole. Cooperate with you? Don't joke."
Lynn didn't refute. He knew: the Queen of Thorns spoke truth. At least, what everyone believed was truth.
"What can House Tyrell give me?" Lynn threw the question back.
"Anything you want." This time—Margaery spoke. She stepped forward. Those beautiful brown eyes earnestly met Lynn's.
"Food. We can supply all grain, fruit, vegetables you need for the coming winter to your Gift—unlimited quantity, thirty percent below market price. Plus trade routes. House Tyrell controls all Reach ports and merchant ships. We can open a golden route from Oldtown straight to Eastwatch. This route—unhindered by King's Landing or Lannisters."
"Finally—an ally." Margaery's voice lowered. Carried stunning allure. "Highgarden will always stand behind you. Whether in the Small Council or future battlefields. Of course, this is with you personally—nothing to do with the whole North. Your enemies are all Highgarden's enemies."
Big stakes. Food, routes, armies. House Tyrell laid almost all core resources on the table. Compared to this, Cersei's "alliance" bought with her body and empty promises seemed petty.
"Conditions?" Lynn asked gravely. No free lunch.
"We want full agency for Astapor white sugar in Westeros." Lady Olenna said decisively. "All sugar must go through Highgarden to the Seven Kingdoms. Profit—we take seventy, you thirty."
Outrageous. Lynn smiled. "My lady, you forget. The sugar is mine. Production and transport—mine. You just talk, and take seventy percent?"
"Young man, business doesn't calculate that way." Lady Olenna shook her head. "You have sugar but no sales channels. You have armies but they're far in the North—beyond reach. We have networks across the Seven Kingdoms. Wealth beyond measure. We can turn your sugar into real gold dragons fastest."
"Sounds fair." Lynn nodded. But suddenly shifted: "But what if I already have a partner?"
Lady Olenna and Margaery's faces changed slightly. "The Lannisters?"
"No." Lynn shook his head. Stood. Walked to the great Westeros map. Finger lightly tapped Pentos. "Pentos's magister—Illyrio Mopatis. He provided ships and initial supplies. In exchange, he has exclusive white sugar trading rights in Essos."
Brief silence. Lady Olenna's eyes grew heavy. "Seems we all underestimated you, Lord Lynn."
Margaery sighed softly. Watched Lynn's tall figure. Admiration deepened. This man—more unfathomable than she'd imagined.
"So, seventy-thirty—I can't accept." Lynn turned. Sat again.
Margaery's smile froze slightly. Lady Olenna's sharp eyes narrowed. "Young man, greed isn't a good quality. Without Highgarden, your sugar rots in warehouses."
"My lady, you misunderstand." Lynn shook his head. "Business is never one side's charity." His finger traced an invisible line on the map.
"First, Magister Illyrio of Pentos—he has exclusive Essos trading rights. This profit pays for his ships, supplies, and opening East-West trade routes." Lynn's finger moved. Landed on King's Landing.
"Second, King Robert. His Grace favors me. Granted me lands. Released my vows. Even marrying Princess Myrcella to me. In return, I must ensure House Baratheon gets their share from this business. This is both promise and protection money. I think you understand better than I, my lady."
Lady Olenna said nothing. But her furrowed brow said everything.
Lynn's finger finally pressed heavily on the vast land beyond the Wall—the Gift. "Finally, most importantly: My people. Hundreds of thousands of wildlings. They need food, clothes, weapons to face the coming Long Night. Most white sugar profits will go here. To buy grain, cultivate wasteland, build towns."
Lynn turned. Met Lady Olenna's increasingly grave eyes. "My lady, now tell me—this cake divided three times, how much remains? Worth House Tyrell staking everything?"
"I'm thinking of you, my lady."
Deathly silence. Margaery looked at Lynn. She and her grandmother only saw the glittering gold mountain behind white sugar. But this man had already planned every gold brick's use.
Illyrio was his sword—to pry open Essos markets. King Robert his shield—to block the Seven Kingdoms' attacks. And he himself—the Gift's guardian, using this wealth to water a new northern kingdom.
"So all you said was just toying with us?" Lady Olenna's voice carried anger. She felt like an overconfident merchant rushing to discuss big business, only to find the shelves empty. And he'd negotiated half the night with nonexistent goods.
"No, I never toy with friends." Lynn sat again. "Quite the opposite. I've prepared a bigger gift for House Tyrell."
"Oh?" Lady Olenna raised an eyebrow. Anger replaced by curiosity. "What gift could be more tempting than white sugar?"
"Of course there is." Lynn's lips curved mysteriously. "A gift that could change all Westeros's future." He looked at disbelieving Olenna and thoughtful Margaery. Slowly spoke:
"My lady, what's most precious in Westeros? Gold? Power? Armies?"
"Food." Before Olenna answered, Margaery spoke softly. Hit the mark.
"Correct." Lynn looked at her approvingly. "Especially when winter is coming. Highgarden is Westeros's granary—no question. But your food is still subject to seasons and climate. More importantly, fresh food can't be preserved long. Once years-long winter comes, even rich Highgarden must tighten belts. Other places—everyone starves. No exceptions."
"And I have a solution."
Lynn's words stirred tremendous waves in Olenna and Margaery's hearts. Solve food storage? Impossible! For millennia, neither Citadel maesters nor experienced farmers solved this puzzle. Drying, pickling, smoking... These methods extended shelf life but ruined taste and nutrition. And costly—couldn't be widely adopted.
"You're joking?" Lady Olenna's voice trembled imperceptibly. If Lynn spoke truth, the implications far exceeded white sugar. It meant: whoever mastered this technology controlled the Seven Kingdoms' lifeline!
Imagine: when everyone starves, you produce mountains of food. Those starving people would grant any request! Even putting you on the Iron Throne!
"I never joke about this." Lynn pulled out parchment. Pushed it to the table's center. "A completely new food preservation method. I call it... canned food."
Margaery took the parchment. Huddled with her grandmother. Studied carefully. Simple lines showed a container they'd never seen. A cylindrical jar, top completely sealed. Detailed production process noted beside it.
Place processed food in jars, add high sugar or salt, heat to expel air, then seal. That simple?
"This... really works?" Margaery's tone full of doubt.
"Air?" Lady Olenna keenly grasped the key. "You mean air spoils food?"
"You could say that." Lynn nodded. This era didn't understand microorganisms. Using air to explain—simplest, most direct.
"These cans can extend food shelf life to two years, even longer—enough to preserve through a complete winter. In cold storage, even better. Imagine, my ladies."
Lynn's voice carried temptation. "When all Westeros sinks into long, cold winter, everyone gnawing hard bread and bitter salted meat—your tables have fruit fresh as summer harvest, and stew with succulent meat chunks. Imagine when the king's army marches, soldiers complaining about insufficient supplies—your army enjoys hot meat anytime, anywhere."
"This is the real gold mountain. One that could elevate House Tyrell above all houses."
Lady Olenna's breathing quickened. Her wrinkled face flushed with extreme excitement. She stared at the parchment. As if it wasn't paper but a key to power's peak.
Margaery was equally shocked by Lynn's vision. She looked up at this calm man. Those beautiful eyes shining. She realized: she'd still underestimated him. This man's ambition and wisdom—more terrifying than his dragon and armies.
"What do you want?" Finally, Lady Olenna found her voice. Unprecedentedly grave. Technology that could change the Seven Kingdoms' situation—the price would be unimaginable.
"I provide technology and the North's market." Lynn held up two fingers. "House Tyrell provides capital, raw materials, and Reach production workshops. We establish a new merchant guild, specifically for canned food production and sales. As for profit..."
Lynn smiled. "We split fifty-fifty."
Fifty-fifty. This time, Lady Olenna didn't hesitate. "Deal!" She said decisively. Compared to a gold mountain that could change the world, fifty percent profit was a generous number she couldn't refuse.
"Pleasure doing business." Lynn extended his hand.
Lady Olenna looked at his hand. Didn't shake it. Just looked deeply at Lynn. Then gripped her cane. Stood. "Specific details—I'll have Margaery discuss with you."
She left without looking back. This Queen of Thorns—shrewd all her life—needed time to digest tonight's events.
In the room: only Lynn and Margaery remained. The atmosphere—somewhat delicate.
"Lord Lynn, you always bring surprises." Margaery walked before Lynn. Those beautiful eyes held curiosity, admiration, and something even she couldn't name.
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