Sansa's hand was cold, but her grip was tight.
"I'm not leaving."
She said it again.
King's Landing was hell. But only in hell could claws sharp enough to tear through anything be forged.
She didn't want to be a lady moved around like a game piece anymore.
Sansa was a Northern rose forced to bloom early in blood and fire.
Lynn felt the tremor in her palm. Saw the fear still lurking in her eyes.
But she didn't retreat.
"Good."
Lynn didn't try to persuade her further. He clasped her cold hand. Let his warmth slowly drive away the chill.
"Since you've decided to stay, remember this feeling."
His voice dropped low. Like a lover's whisper, but with a teacher's authority.
"Remember today's fear. Remember your father kneeling. Remember the king's mad face. These things will become your sharpest weapons."
Sansa nodded hard. Her nose tingled with emotion.
She looked at Lynn. At those deep eyes that seemed to see through everything. Felt the steady, powerful warmth from his palm.
That warmth felt like a barrier—separating her from all the blood and madness outside.
In that moment, she suddenly felt that as long as this man stood behind her, even if the sky fell, she'd dare to hold it up.
Sansa's body leaned forward involuntarily. Her tear-streaked face moved slowly toward Lynn.
She closed her eyes. Long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings.
She didn't know why she was doing this. Maybe gratitude. Maybe dependence. Or maybe... something she couldn't name.
These feelings, catalyzed by fear, grew wildly. Sansa just instinctively wanted to get closer to this warmth—the only thing that made her feel safe.
The air in the study thickened.
Lynn could smell the faint soap scent from her hair. He could feel her weak, rapid breathing. That breath—carrying a girl's unique fragrance—brushed softly against his face.
If he just lowered his head slightly, he could kiss those trembling, petal-soft lips.
But Lynn didn't.
He just watched Sansa quietly. Watched her nervous, expectant expression.
Then Lynn raised his other hand. Pressed his index finger gently against her smooth forehead. Stopped her approach.
"Not yet, my student."
His voice was soft, but it instantly extinguished all the romantic fantasies in Sansa's mind.
Sansa's eyes snapped open. Her face flushed crimson. The blush spread from her cheeks to her ears.
Seeing the hint of teasing in Lynn's eyes, she wanted to crawl into a hole.
Gods! What was I doing?!
Sansa's mind went blank.
"When you can truly control the Master of Coin's seal... when you can watch the king's blade without flinching..."
Lynn withdrew his hand. Ruffled her beautiful auburn hair.
"Then you'll have earned the right to ask your teacher for a reward."
Sansa froze.
She looked at Lynn. At his matter-of-fact expression. The embarrassment slowly gave way to something else.
Control the Master of Coin's seal...
Watch the king's blade without flinching...
That's what she should be thinking about now.
"I... I understand."
Sansa lowered her head. Voice barely audible.
But in her blue eyes, the fire of determination reignited.
Lynn smiled, satisfied.
Leaving Sansa—now emotionally stable—Lynn headed straight for the Throne Room.
Petyr Baelish was dead. The Master of Coin position was vacant.
He had to act while Robert's madness was still fresh. While everyone was still paralyzed by fear. This move had to be fast. Precise. Ruthless.
He hadn't forgotten his deal with Margaery.
The Throne Room.
A disaster.
Last night's feast hadn't been cleaned. The air reeked of food and vomit mixed together. Someone had gotten sick.
Robert Baratheon slumped on the Iron Throne like an exhausted boar.
No royal robes. Just filthy casual clothes. His tangled beard still had vomit in it. Even his crown sat crooked. He looked pathetic and absurd.
Clearly, he'd been the one who vomited.
Two Kingsguard stood like statues flanking the throne. Ignoring the mess.
Seeing Lynn enter, Robert's cloudy eyes flashed with irritation.
"What now?"
Hangovers, slaughter, and endless suspicion had drained the dying king completely.
"Your Grace, I'm here to report on the North."
Lynn spoke calmly. Ignored Robert's foul mood.
"The North again?"
Robert's brow furrowed. Wariness flickered in his eyes.
"What's that bastard Ned plotting now?"
"Quite the opposite, Your Grace."
Lynn spoke unhurriedly.
"Lord Eddard is utterly loyal. He's already preparing to write his wife, summoning her to King's Landing. But... a raven arrived from the North. There's been some minor trouble recently."
"Trouble?"
"Wildlings—or bandits—appeared near Winterfell. Raiding villages. Burning. Looting. Causing chaos. Lady Catelyn, as acting Lady of Winterfell, will need time to handle this 'rebellion' before she can travel to King's Landing."
Lynn delivered Ned's prepared excuse word for word.
Robert snorted disdainfully.
"Rebellion? Those Northern paupers who've barely seen iron? What the hell are the Starks doing? Can't even handle something this small?"
He clearly didn't believe it. But in his muddled brain, the excuse seemed plausible enough.
"Just flies. Nothing serious."
Robert waved dismissively.
"Let Catelyn deal with it, then come to King's Landing. You bothered me for this?"
"Of course not, Your Grace."
Lynn finally revealed his true purpose.
"I came for something far more important. Petyr Baelish is dead. But the realm can't go a day without a Master of Coin. The treasury is like a wine sack full of holes. If we don't plug them, every gold dragon will drain away."
Hearing "gold dragons," Robert's expression finally changed. He knew better than anyone how broke the kingdom was.
"What's your candidate?"
Robert narrowed his eyes. Scrutinized Lynn.
"Your Grace, I believe the new Master of Coin must meet three conditions."
Lynn held up three fingers.
"First: absolute loyalty. He must never embezzle like Baelish."
"Second: sufficient 'stupidity.' No schemes of his own. Every action under your control."
"Third—most important—obedience. He must be a card in your hand. A tool to intimidate those with ill intentions."
Lynn's three conditions seemed entirely in the king's interest.
Robert's curiosity was piqued.
Loyal, stupid, and a trump card? Where would such a perfect candidate exist?
"Speak."
"Lady Sansa Stark."
Lynn said the name calmly.
The air froze instantly.
Robert's interest vanished. Replaced by volcanic fury.
He shot upright in the throne. Bloodshot eyes locked on Lynn like he wanted to devour him.
"What the fuck did you just say?"
Robert's voice scraped through clenched teeth. Every word dripped with icy killing intent.
"You want me to hand the realm's purse to a Stark? Have you lost your fucking mind too?!"
He felt insulted.
"Your Grace, please calm yourself."
Lynn showed no fear. Instead, a mysterious smile played on his lips.
"I recommend Lady Sansa precisely because she's a Stark."
Robert froze.
"Think about it, Your Grace."
Lynn's voice carried a strange magic. Guiding Robert's chaotic thoughts. Subtly, he activated his Skinchanger ability—just a whisper—nudging Robert's sensitive, fragile nerves.
"Lady Sansa is just a girl. What does she know about finance? About balancing budgets? Nothing."
"If she takes that position, she'll be a helpless child. Completely dependent on you. On Your Grace's wisdom and guidance."
"Her seal would be in your hand, wouldn't it? She'd be your most loyal—and most 'stupid'—puppet."
The fury in Robert's eyes dimmed slightly. Replaced by contemplation.
"But that's not the most important part, Your Grace."
Lynn pressed on.
"What does Eddard Stark treasure most? His honor. And his two precious daughters."
"Put Lady Sansa in the Master of Coin position, and you've got House Stark's softest lifeline gripped tight in your fist. She's here. In King's Landing. Right under your nose."
"As long as she's in your hands, would Ned Stark dare move? If they show any sign of rebellion, you can chop off Sansa's head anytime."
"She's not the Master of Coin, Your Grace."
"She's your hostage to control the North."
Lynn's words struck a chord.
Hostage!
Of course!
Why hadn't he thought of that?!
Robert's breathing grew heavy. Cloudy eyes reignited with manic light.
This idea... was fucking genius.
"And, Your Grace."
Lynn's lips curved slightly. Delivered the final blow.
"What could better display your authority—better wash away Ned's offense—than making the North's proudest daughter manage your purse? Making her bow before you every day?"
"You don't even need to make her kneel. She'll report every gold dragon's movement to you daily."
"What glory! What power!"
"And you promised Sansa compensation. Isn't this perfect?"
Robert was completely convinced.
He looked at Lynn like he was staring at a monster.
He imagined Ned Stark's face turning iron-gray at the news. Imagined little Sansa in the Master of Coin's robes, kneeling before him in terror...
Indescribable pleasure shot from his heart to his skull.
"HA... HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Robert erupted in manic laughter.
The sound echoed through the empty Throne Room. Bone-chilling.
He descended from the throne. Walked to Lynn step by step. His massive hand slammed onto Lynn's shoulder.
"Lynn! You bastard!"
Robert's eyes gleamed with something close to admiration. And madness.
"You're... more Lannister than the Lannisters!"
"You're my most loyal subject!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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