"Lord Lynn!"
Joffrey shot to his feet when Lynn entered.
A smile plastered on his face.
He feared and revered Lynn in equal measure now.
Lynn had shown him what it meant to live like a king. And during that storm with Littlefinger, Lynn had toppled the Master of Coin without breaking a sweat.
In Joffrey's eyes, Lynn was omnipotent.
"The prince seems in good spirits today."
Lynn smiled. His gaze flicked briefly to Lyana.
She caught it immediately. Curtsied—barely perceptible—and stepped aside obediently.
"Of course!"
Joffrey puffed his chest.
"My man—the Hound—he killed the Mountain!"
"All of King's Landing is singing my praises now!"
"Oh? Is that so?"
Lynn's lips curved into an enigmatic smile.
"Then His Highness should reward his brave warrior generously."
"Naturally!"
Joffrey waved grandly.
"I've already decided. Once he heals, I'll make him Lord Commander of the Kingsguard!"
Jaime Lannister's face flashed in Joffrey's mind. He quickly corrected himself.
"No! I'll have Father knight him! Make him a true knight of honor!"
Joffrey was already imagining it: parading around Sansa Stark with a knight who'd slain the Mountain at his side.
"I'm afraid... this lovely Lady Lyana might not agree."
Lynn's tone shifted. He looked at Lyana.
Lyana froze. Then understood instantly.
Joffrey followed Lynn's gaze.
Confusion crossed his face.
"Lyana? What's wrong?"
Color drained from Lyana's face.
Her beautiful blue eyes widened with horror.
Her body trembled. She instinctively shrank behind Joffrey.
"I... I..."
Her voice cracked. Tears welled.
"Your... Your Highness..."
"That Hound... his face..."
Lyana looked like she'd remembered something unspeakable. Tears spilled.
"I heard... his face was... burned by his brother. Shoved into a brazier... And he killed his own brother..."
"He's a monster... A monster who murdered his own flesh and blood..."
"That half of his face... it's like... like a demon from hell..."
Her performance was flawless.
The fear, the revulsion—utterly convincing. No one could see through it.
Joffrey's brow furrowed instantly.
His pride and excitement evaporated in the face of Lyana's tears.
He couldn't stand seeing her cry.
"Don't be afraid, Lyana. I'm here."
Joffrey pulled her into his arms. Tried to comfort her clumsily.
"But... Your Highness, the thought of living in the same castle as that monster... I can't sleep... I'll have nightmares about his face..."
Lyana buried her face in his chest. Sobbed pitifully.
Joffrey's expression darkened completely.
He held the trembling girl. Thought of Sandor's grotesque, scarred face.
Disgust surged from his gut.
Right. Sandor is a monster.
Ugly. A kinslayer.
Why should he keep such a creature around?
It would only terrify his beloved Lyana.
And if Sandor could kill his own brother today, who's to say he wouldn't kill Joffrey tomorrow?
He's just a guard. Replaceable.
But Lyana? There was only one Lyana in the world.
"Stop crying."
Joffrey patted her back. His voice carried finality.
"I promise. You'll never see him again."
He shoved the door open. Stormed out.
Didn't even acknowledge Lynn.
One thought consumed him:
Make Sandor Clegane—that ugly freak—disappear from his sight.
Forever.
Lynn watched Joffrey's furious retreat. Glanced at Lyana—still sniffling, but a flicker of triumph in her eyes.
He smiled, satisfied.
This piece was even more useful than expected.
Meanwhile.
Sandor was heading back to the Maester's Tower.
Limping through the Red Keep's corridors, he was sketching his future in his mind.
He wasn't anyone's dog anymore.
He was Lord Lynn's warrior now.
He'd heal. Then use his sword to clear every obstacle in Lynn's path.
Then he ran into Joffrey.
Furious. Storming toward him.
"Your Highness."
Sandor bowed instinctively.
Joffrey didn't even look at him. Walked right up. Eyes full of undisguised contempt.
Sandor froze.
Before he could react, Joffrey's shrill, cutting voice rang out.
"Sandor Clegane."
"As of now, you're no longer my guard. I don't want to see your disgusting face in the Red Keep again."
"Get out of King's Landing. And never come back."
Sandor's body went rigid.
Get out?
Because of my face?
He turned slowly. Looked at Joffrey's cruel, indifferent expression.
Absurdity washed over him.
He'd just fought for his life in the arena. Nearly died.
And now—because he was ugly—this little shit he'd sworn to protect was tossing him aside like garbage.
How fucking ridiculous.
How fucking ironic.
He'd done so much dirty work for this boy. Things no one should ever know about.
And this was the result?
Hilarious.
Sandor looked at Joffrey. His gray eyes held unprecedented calm.
The calm of a man who'd seen through everything. And let it all go.
He grinned at Joffrey. A smile uglier than crying.
Then turned. Dragged his injured leg. Limped toward the Red Keep's exit without looking back.
From this moment, he had no ties to the Lannisters. Or the Baratheons.
He was free.
Free to fulfill his oath. To serve Lord Lynn.
Not this pathetic little bastard.
Fuck it all.
After Joffrey Left.
Lynn walked to Lyana's side.
She still wore that pitiful, tear-streaked expression.
"Well done."
Lynn's tone was flat.
Lyana's sorrow vanished instantly.
She straightened. Her face returned to its usual cold efficiency.
Only a single tear at the corner of her eye remained—adding an eerie, seductive edge.
"You're too kind, my lord."
"Sandor is useful. I didn't want him wasted because of Joffrey's stupidity."
Lynn explained simply.
"He's free now. He can do more valuable work for me."
Lyana understood immediately.
"Go. Your next task is to comfort your temperamental prince."
Lynn waved dismissively.
"Remember: keep him hating Sansa. Keep him obsessed with you. Make him believe you're the only person in the world who understands and worships him."
"Your existence is the linchpin of my plan. Don't disappoint me."
"Yes, my lord."
Lyana bowed.
Then turned. Her face instantly shifted back to fragile helplessness. She hurried after Joffrey with tiny, delicate steps.
Lynn stood alone for a moment. Then walked toward the other side of the Tower of the Hand.
Sansa's room.
The door was ajar. Inside, the light was dim.
Lynn pushed it open.
Sansa wasn't in bed. She was curled in an armchair by the window.
Wrapped in thick blankets. Like she was enduring Winterfell's coldest winter night.
She didn't turn. Just stared blankly out the window.
Her beautiful blue eyes were dull. Lifeless. Like stagnant pools.
Lynn didn't speak. Walked straight to her side.
As he approached, Sansa's blanketed body jerked. Like a startled fawn.
"Lord Lynn..."
Seeing him, a flicker of light returned to her eyes.
"Will I... end up like him?"
She finally asked the question that had frozen her heart.
"Petyr Baelish..."
"He was Master of Coin... and the king just... killed him... like chopping meat..."
Sansa couldn't hold it in anymore.
She buried her face in the blanket. Muffled sobs escaped.
"Will I... be chopped into meat too?"
Lynn took a sip of water. Looked at her calmly.
"No."
Simple. Direct.
Sansa lifted her head. Tear-streaked face full of disbelief.
"Why?"
"Because he was stupid. And you're not."
Lynn stood before her. Looked down.
"At least, under my guidance, you won't be that stupid."
Sansa froze.
"Baelish didn't die because of the king's madness."
Lynn's voice was clear in the dim room.
"Or not entirely."
"He made three fatal mistakes."
"First: he overestimated his control of the board."
"He thought he could provoke a war between the Lannisters and me. Then profit from the chaos."
"Even seven days ago, when the truth came out—even yesterday,
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