Highgarden's little rose—carrying a belly full of surprise and a trace of lingering sweet fragrance—disappeared at the corridor's end.
Lynn returned to the window. Night wind brushed his cheek. That touch—warm, brief. Like an unreal dream. He had to admit: Margaery Tyrell was an extremely charming woman. Clever. Knew how to assess situations. Better yet—knew when to bare fangs, when to sheathe claws.
Cooperating with her would undoubtedly be pleasant. Only, tonight he'd seen too many women. Lynn rubbed his brow. Just preparing to close the window—hesitant knocking sounded.
Knock, knock. The sound paused. As if hesitating whether to continue. Knock.
Lynn's movement stopped. He knew this sound well. "Come in, Sansa."
The door opened a crack. A reddish-brown head peeked in. Seeing Lynn looking at her, Sansa Stark was obviously nervous. Her fingers gripping the doorframe tightened slightly. But she still gathered courage. Walked in. Then carefully closed the door.
She'd changed. This was Lynn's first feeling seeing her again. The girl before him still wore finely-made gowns. Beautiful reddish-brown hair neatly arranged—like Riverrun's waters rippling under sunlight.
But that girlish innocence and unrealistic fantasies seemed mostly ground away by King's Landing's cruel reality. Her posture no longer carried that timid, pleasing quality. Instead held more composure. Those blue eyes—like polished gems. Still clear, but no longer held naive ignorance. Instead settled something incomprehensible.
"Lord Lynn." Sansa curtsied to Lynn flawlessly. Voice soft. But no longer deliberately accommodating.
"Still awake this late?" Lynn's tone: gentle.
"Can't sleep." Sansa shook her head. Her gaze fell on Lynn. Carried cautious exploration. "I heard... what happened in the Iron Throne hall today. Father is very worried about you."
She didn't say she was worried. Instead pushed Ned forward. Seems King's Landing—this great dye vat—truly was the best teacher. It used the cruelest methods to teach this little bird—once only singing in cages—how to protect herself.
"Sorry to worry your father." Lynn walked to the table. Poured her water. "But everything's passed."
"Mm." Sansa took the cup. Let her suspended heart settle considerably. She didn't immediately drink. Just held the cup. Silent for a moment.
The room's atmosphere grew quiet. Sansa's gaze casually swept the room. She could smell faint flower fragrance lingering in the air—not belonging here. Very sweet. Like some southern flower. Her heart was inexplicably lightly pricked. Seemed other women had been here...
"I... I came to congratulate you, Lord Lynn." Sansa finally gathered courage. Raised her head. Met Lynn's gaze. "Congratulations on your upcoming marriage to Princess Myrcella."
Her voice light. Every word clear, standard. Like reciting prepared lines.
"This isn't really good news." Lynn shook his head. "Just a transaction."
"But... but she's a princess." Sansa's lips moved. "And you'll become her husband."
Lynn looked at her. Saw those blue eyes trying to maintain calm yet still betraying a trace of grievance. Understood.
"Sansa." Lynn's voice softened. "The king's decree—I couldn't refuse."
"I know." Sansa lowered her head. Looked at the water rippling in her cup. "I'm just... just thinking... Back then, Father also proposed to His Grace to dissolve my betrothal to Prince Joffrey... But His Grace... he disagreed. He said the Baratheon-Stark marriage was Westeros's peace foundation. Couldn't be changed."
"But now..." Sansa suddenly raised her head. Those blue eyes ignited a flame of hope. That light so bright, it animated her face. "Now you're marrying Princess Myrcella. This is also a Baratheon-North marriage. So... so my betrothal to Prince Joffrey, isn't it... isn't it no longer so important?"
Sansa finally spoke her true purpose tonight. She came seeking an answer. One that could free her from nightmares.
Lynn looked at her. Saw that face flushed with excitement, full of expectation. Couldn't help but feel approval. She was no longer that little girl who only cried to Father and septas for help. She'd learned to think. Learned to find that thread of survival in complex political marriages.
"You're right, Sansa." Lynn gave her the answer she most wanted to hear. "One marriage consolidates alliances. But two marriages serving the same purpose seem redundant. Even counterproductive. Your betrothal is indeed no longer as unbreakable as before."
Sansa's eyes blazed! Enormous joy instantly drowned her. Almost made her jump. Was she truly going to be free? Finally escape that prince—golden outside, rotten inside, who only used lies and cruelty to mask his cowardice! She wouldn't have to marry Joffrey!
"That's wonderful..." Sansa murmured. Eyes heating. Tears nearly fell. But she forcibly held back. Bit her lip hard. Suppressed that surging excitement. She couldn't cry. Before Lynn, she didn't want to show weakness again.
She looked at Lynn. This man who always created miracles when everyone was helpless. From that earth-shattering lance at the tourney, to teaching her business matters hand-by-hand, to today's tide-turning speech before the Iron Throne. He was like the most perfect hero in minstrels' songs. Powerful, wise, and... gentle.
Sansa's heart beat fast. Cheeks burning hotter. She knew she shouldn't have such thoughts. She was the North's duke's eldest daughter. Should be reserved, dignified. But she couldn't control it. Especially when Lynn approached. That tall figure completely enveloping her. That scent mixed with night wind and his unique aura drilling into her nostrils—Sansa felt her head dizzy.
"Wanting to dissolve the betrothal—reasons alone aren't enough." Lynn's voice pulled her from wild thoughts. "You also need proper timing and an irrefusable excuse."
"Timing? Excuse?" Sansa was confused.
"Right." Lynn nodded. "Seven days hence, after the duel ends, Petyr's crimes fully confirmed—the king's emotions will peak. That's when he's happiest, most generous. Then, go to your father. Have him—as Hand—use the logic I just taught you to petition the king."
"Tell him: since the North is already firmly bound to the royal house through my marriage to Myrcella, to show respect for House Baratheon, House Stark willingly relinquishes the betrothal to the prince. To facilitate House Baratheon's deeper union with other houses. The king won't miss this opportunity."
Sansa listened dumbfounded. She'd never imagined something so impossibly complex and difficult could become so simple, so logical in Lynn's mouth. She could even imagine: when Father spoke these words, how delighted King Robert would be.
Use Myrcella to secure the North. Then use Joffrey to secure other houses. A perfect plan no one could refuse!
"I... I understand." Sansa nodded vigorously. Felt she'd learned more tonight than the past dozen years combined. "Thank you, Lord Lynn."
Sansa spoke sincerely. Looked at Lynn's eyes. Those blue eyes brimmed with undisguised gratitude and worship.
"This is just the beginning, Sansa." Lynn looked at her face—radiant with excitement. Suddenly spoke.
"What?" Sansa froze.
"Escaping Joffrey is just your first step." Lynn's gaze deepened. "I've prepared a bigger stage for you. One that'll make all King's Landing look at you."
A bigger stage? Sansa's heart jumped. She thought of queens in songs. Noblewomen in the spotlight at grand feasts. Could it be...
"Sansa, do you want to become the most powerful person in King's Landing—besides the king?" Lynn's voice like a magical hook. Each word hammering her heart.
Most powerful person? Sansa's mind went blank. She'd never considered this question. In her past understanding, wasn't the most powerful woman Queen Cersei? But even as queen, Cersei was just a figurehead puppet. Even household knights like the Mountain only obeyed Tywin's commands. Didn't regard Cersei at all. She'd heard about the throne room incident.
Could women truly become the most powerful?
"No, not queen." Lynn—as if seeing through Sansa's thoughts—shook his head. "Queens depend on the king's favor. Need Lannister backing. Their power is hollow. Can be revoked anytime."
Lynn's gaze burned. He stared at Sansa. Slowly spoke: "True power belongs to whoever decides where every gold dragon in the realm flows. Whoever can fund the king's armies for war. Whoever can keep wine flowing in nobles' castles. The Master of Coin."
Sansa's breathing stopped. She felt her heart would leap from her chest. Lynn... What was Lynn saying?
"Petyr Baelish's position will soon be vacant." Lynn's voice—like a devil's whisper—rang in Sansa's ear. Made all her blood boil instantly.
"Sansa. I want you to sit in that chair."
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