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Lynn looked at Myrcella.
Her green eyes were burning.
He'd been tracking Robert's movements through his Green Sight all along. He already knew about Cersei being struck.
The slap Robert left on Cersei's face hadn't just woken the queen up. It had shattered the last fragile warmth this girl had ever held toward the word "father."
Robert's plan was vicious and stupid in equal measure. He'd underestimated the hearts of people and overestimated his own grip on them.
Lynn reached out and drew Myrcella into his arms.
Her body was rigid. She'd been pushed well past the edge of fury, and Robert pinning all of Petyr's crimes on Lynn alone had been shameless beyond words.
"Alright. I know."
Lynn's voice carried something that could settle a person down.
"You and your mother did well. This intelligence is critical to me."
The body in his arms finally softened, just a fraction. Myrcella pressed her face into his chest. The smell of leather and pine eased the tension coiled in her nerves.
"He hit Mother."
Her voice was muffled. There was a sob underneath it.
"He also wants to kill you."
"I know."
Lynn patted her back slowly.
"Don't worry. He won't succeed."
"No one — no one — is going to separate us. Not even Death himself."
He said it like a vow. The most solemn kind.
He raised his head, his gaze passing over her shoulder to the deep dark beyond the window.
It was time to take stock of what he had.
Lynn closed his eyes and let his consciousness sink inward.
The virtual panel materialized before him, radiating its faint blue glow.
[Name: Lynn]
[Strength: 12 (2%)]
[Agility: 11 (61%)]
[Constitution: 10 (0%)]
[Spirit: 26 (1%)]
[Skills]
[Single-Handed Sword (Master) 52/2000]
[Horsemanship (Expert) 311/1000]
[Garlan-style Lance Technique (Expert) 31/1000]
[Light Sword (Expert) 3/1000]
[Ice Magic (Expert) 402/1000]
[Arthur-style Dual-wielding Swordsmanship (Proficient) 41/500]
[Unarmed Combat (Proficient) 0/500]
[Skinchanger (Proficient) 150/500]
[Green Sight (Proficient) 0/500]
[Archery (Skilled) 0/100]
[Herbology, including Poisons (Skilled) 0/100]
[Disguise Art (Human-skin Mask, Voice Mimicry) (Novice) 0/10]
[Assassination Techniques (including Hidden Weapons) (Novice) 0/10]
[Remaining Experience: 3364.2]
[Breakdown: 496 (Original) + 1368 (Astapor Slave Escort) + 1500 (The Mountain) + 0.2 (Viserys) = 3364.2]
Plenty of experience. Good.
That 0.2, though.
Lynn almost laughed. It meant Viserys's final "gift" was going to travel with him for a very long time. Experience spent on upgrades always cost at least one point. Zero-point-two meant he might never be able to spend it at all.
In its own way, that was Viserys's version of a lasting presence.
Lynn shook the thought out of his head.
His attention settled on [Disguise Art].
A skill picked up from the Faceless Men.
Lysa Arryn, that madwoman, wanted revenge for Petyr Baelish. But what if the Vale's vassals were to hear the "still-living" Petyr confess his own crimes with their own ears?
Nothing would collapse their will to fight faster than that. It would be the key to flipping those lords or bringing them to heel afterward. A critical pivot point in the entire campaign.
Useful meant worth investing in.
The problem was Petyr's head was almost certainly with Lysa right now, and without human skin he couldn't make a mask. But he could throw some experience at it first and see what upgrading actually gave him. Even if he was wrong, the loss would be minimal.
He decided to try it.
[Consumed 10 experience. Disguise Art upgraded to (Skilled) level!]
[Consumed 100 experience. Disguise Art upgraded to (Proficient) level!]
A strange flood of knowledge poured through his mind.
In an instant, Lynn felt himself master countless techniques for altering his face and voice. Then the critical part landed.
He didn't need human skin anymore.
With the right oils and dyes, he could perfectly replicate another person's face. Combined with his already formidable spirit stat, mimicking someone's voice and mannerisms was effortless. Trivially easy.
If he wanted, he could run a whole performance of the true and false Robert.
Or the true and false Renly.
Renly was out of the question, obviously. He had no interest in Loras taking notice of him.
Proficient was still on the crude end, but Lynn had a feeling that once the level climbed higher, he'd be able to mirror every subtle movement of a target, right down to their specific habitual micro-expressions. For now, though, experience was tight and there were other skills waiting. Good enough was good enough.
[Remaining Experience: 3254.2]
His focus shifted to [Green Sight].
When he'd looked in on the Eyrie before, he'd felt something from that frail little Vale heir, Robert Arryn. A faint but pure mental ripple. The boy had the potential to become a Greenseer. His mind was deeply undeveloped, and for the Three-Eyed Crow, that kind of target would be far easier to take hold of.
A perfect candidate.
Maybe he should upgrade Green Sight and get a clearer read on the situation. More importantly, if he could push his Green Sight past the Three-Eyed Crow's level, he might be able to watch what the old bird was doing without ever being noticed.
[Consumed 500 experience. Green Sight upgraded to (Expert) level!]
The darkness behind his eyes sharpened instantly.
He felt himself more tightly woven into that invisible web of consciousness spread across the world. He could faintly hear that small boy far away in the Eyrie, crying and muttering in his sleep.
He could actually perceive what was happening inside someone's dreams.
That was a little unsettling.
After a thorough look, Robert Arryn would do. The boy could handle what the Three-Eyed Crow needed him for. But that also meant Robert Arryn's existence was now useful to the crow, and that could become a problem down the road.
Something to think about carefully later.
He'd never considered the Three-Eyed Crow an ally. Even the Night King was more straightforward by comparison. The crow felt like something that was using him. But there was nothing to be done about it — he coveted nature magic himself. It was going to be necessary to survive the Long Night.
Fine. There was still plenty left.
[Remaining Experience: 2754.2]
The last of the experience, Lynn poured entirely into [Ice Magic] without a second thought.
Magic was the bedrock of everything. His greatest advantage when standing against entire armies. At a high enough level, he could coat every soldier in the front line with ice armor in the middle of a battle. He'd back infantry against cavalry any day with that.
Lysa wanted to build dragon-hunting scorpions. Fine. He'd encase Winter in ice armor, the bolts would fail, and the trump card she was counting on would mean nothing.
He stopped thinking and acted.
[Consumed 598 experience. Ice Magic upgraded to (Master) level!]
[Consumed 2000 experience. Ice Magic upgraded to (Grandmaster) level!]
Power detonated through his spiritual world.
If his Ice Magic before had been a stream, a lake, then now it was a polar sea — roaring, vast, and without end.
He felt like a single thought could drop a blizzard on King's Landing.
He could even resurrect the dead in the North. Create White Walkers. Build an army from corpses.
The reason he hadn't done it in Essos was simple: creating White Walkers required children under ten. Children transformed that way could absorb combat techniques left behind by their creator. Adults didn't have that kind of malleability. Lynn could have done it without losing sleep over it, he'd have just taken children from among his enemies. Sentiment was never a constraint he operated under, not when it came to people who wanted him dead. But raising those White Walkers to fighting age required a sustained investment of spiritual energy, and that had always been the bottleneck. Probably the same reason the Night King couldn't mass-produce them. Otherwise he would have steamrolled Westeros a long time ago.
But now, with Ice Magic at Grandmaster level, everything had changed.
Lynn could feel it.
Without children, without any of that. He could now convert fully-grown living adults directly into powerful White Walkers, at the cost of spiritual energy.
"I should be able to match the Night King now, shouldn't I?"
He murmured it to himself, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
[Ice Magic (Grandmaster) 0/5000]
[Remaining Experience: 156.2]
[Next level is 'Legendary' — the pinnacle of skill, the highest level!]
Lynn opened his eyes slowly.
For just a moment, something ice-blue flickered in the depths of his gaze and was gone.
He looked down at the girl still nestled against his chest, still quietly worrying about her family, and felt something warm move through him. He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Myrcella's smooth forehead.
"Alright. Stop worrying."
"Your father... King Robert. He'll pay for his stupidity soon enough."
His voice was calm. Completely calm. But Myrcella felt her heart contract without knowing why. She lifted her head and looked into those bottomless eyes, and she understood. He already had a plan.
"I..."
She opened her mouth. She wanted to say something, but couldn't find the start of it. She wanted to help him. Whatever was within her power.
"You don't need to do anything."
Lynn stroked her golden hair. He'd already guessed.
"When I leave, I'll find a way to get you out of King's Landing. It isn't safe here anymore. Robert will try to keep you as leverage against me. We need to move before he thinks of it."
...
Even though it was night, Lynn didn't stay long. He had too much left to do. He said what needed to be said and left.
He had to see Ned.
Ned would be preparing to head north. With war coming, it was time to let go of the Hand's position.
The bridal chamber was quiet again. Only Myrcella remained.
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the place where Lynn had been sitting. The air still held something of him. The unease and fear that had been coiled in her chest since the night began had dissolved after that kiss, after that promise.
What replaced it was something she hadn't felt in a long time.
Peace.
She trusted Lynn. Completely. Without condition.
Then someone knocked at the door.
Softly. Carefully, almost.
"Myrcella?"
Jaime Lannister's voice.
Myrcella blinked, then got up and opened the door.
Her "uncle" was standing outside. He'd already taken off the golden armor. Just a simple white shirt now. That face that always wore a trace of easy, careless charm was carrying something else tonight. Something complicated.
"...Uncle?"
She was surprised.
"Could I... come in for a moment?"
There was a carefulness in Jaime's voice that he probably didn't even know was there.
Myrcella nodded and stepped aside.
Jaime walked into the bridal chamber with all its festive red. His eyes moved over the furnishings and something like confusion flickered across his face. He'd never seen a room like this before. But it was clear Lynn had put real thought into it.
Finally, his gaze settled on Myrcella's face. Seven parts Cersei, three parts something entirely her own. He looked at her clear green eyes. The killing fury that had burned there earlier was gone. What was left was softer. A young woman's worry.
"Lynn told you everything?"
Jaime spoke first.
"Yes."
Myrcella nodded.
"Then you..."
He stopped himself.
He wanted to ask if she was frightened. Whether she wanted Lynn to stay. But when he reached for the words, they felt hollow. Things had already moved beyond the point where those questions meant anything. Asking them was pointless.
"I trust Lynn."
Simple. Resolute.
Jaime went quiet.
He looked at her. This girl he had watched grow up, his "niece." She wasn't the little girl anymore who used to trail behind him and call out Uncle in that bright voice. She had grown. She had someone she loved, and she had her own certainty about it.
An ache moved through Jaime's chest that he couldn't quite name.
Part of it was the particular grief of a father watching his daughter belong to someone else.
But part of it was something older. He thought of himself. Of that forbidden love with Cersei that the world would never accept. Of the innocent boy he had thrown from a tower with his own hands. He had broken his vows, carried the name Kingslayer, all for her. He'd believed he could protect Cersei. Protect their children.
And now Cersei bore bruises from a drunkard's fist, and his daughter was about to face separation from her husband, maybe permanent.
He felt useless.
He couldn't protect his sister. He couldn't protect his own child.
What kind of Kingsguard was he?
Jaime looked at Myrcella's face. The trust written there, the love for Lynn that she wasn't hiding or measuring.
A mad impulse rose in him.
He didn't want to hide anymore. He didn't want to face his own daughter while wearing the laughable mask of "uncle" for one more day.
"Myrcella."
"I..."
Jaime drew a slow breath.
Those green eyes, identical to Cersei's, fixed on her face.
"I am not your uncle."
Myrcella went still.
She looked up at him. His face was etched with pain and something that had been struggling to get out for a long time. Her mother had told her the truth already. She had known for a while. But hearing it now, from his mouth, in his voice, it still knocked the air out of her.
"I am your father."
Jaime Lannister. Proud his entire life. In this moment, he let it all go.
"Your mother and I brought you into this world."
"I'm sorry, Myrcella."
"I made you carry a filthy secret from the moment you were born."
"I'm sorry. I truly am."
Myrcella just looked at him. At this man who was her uncle in name and her father in blood. She didn't cry. She didn't demand answers. She only looked at the pain and remorse moving through his eyes.
A long moment passed.
Then Myrcella slowly reached out and took hold of his hand. It was trembling slightly.
"I know."
Her voice was quiet. Calmer than her years had any right to be.
"Mother told me everything. A long time ago."
Jaime's whole body shook.
He stared at his daughter as if he couldn't trust what he was seeing. He had prepared himself for tears. For accusations. For hatred. He had thought through every version of this moment.
He had not thought through this one.
"Then you..."
"I hated you."
She said it clearly. No flinching.
"I hated why you brought me into this world. I hated why you made me live inside a lie."
"But I don't hate you anymore."
A sorrow moved through her green eyes that cracked something open in his chest.
"Because I understand. What's done is done. Regret doesn't change it." She paused. "Some love in this world is simply beyond anyone's control."
"I choose to forgive you."
"We're a real family, aren't we?"
Myrcella let go of his hand, turned, and walked to the window. The moon outside was cold and clear.
"You're telling me this now because you're going north with Lynn."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
"Will you protect him?"
She turned to face him. There was fire in her eyes now, and underneath it, something that looked almost like pleading.
"Will you protect him the way you'd protect me?"
Jaime looked at his daughter. At the love for Lynn written openly across her face, held back by nothing.
He smiled.
There was bitterness in it. And relief. But more than either of those, something that could only belong to a father looking at his child.
He stepped forward and reached out, just like he used to when she was small, and ruffled her golden hair.
"He's my son-in-law. I swear on my honor."
"As long as there is a single breath left in Jaime Lannister — no one touches a hair on his head."
➤ Next: Resignation from the Kingsguard
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