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Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Deserter to Power
Game of Thrones: King of Harrenhal— Garth Greenhand Stat Panel
Jorah and Daenerys were nothing. Just two homeless dogs wandering in a foreign land.
But... a dragon?
The Unsullied Legion?
These two terms chilled the heart far more than the charred wight corpse.
Robert Baratheon, who moments ago had been filled with heroic ambition to march north and smash the army of the dead, saw the smile freeze on his face before vanishing entirely.
He turned his head inch by inch.
His eyes, bloodshot from wine and rage, became cloudy and dangerous once more.
He stared fixedly at Lynn.
His gaze was full of suspicion and shadow.
"Is what he says true?"
Robert's voice was terrifyingly low, like the final growl of an enraged lion before it strikes.
"Lynn."
"Where is your dragon?"
"I want an explanation for everything he just said!"
The temperature in the entire hall seemed to drop to freezing point in that instant.
Ned Stark's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.
His worst fear had come to pass.
Robert's current state was clearly unstable.
Erratic, moody.
He would flip like this from time to time.
If Lynn couldn't give a reasonable explanation now, he wouldn't survive today.
Ned wanted to speak, but found he had no defense to offer.
He could only hope Lynn had a good solution.
Everyone's eyes—some gloating, some suspicious and fearful—focused on Lynn once again.
They wanted to see how this Northern boy, who had just turned the tables, would face the King's lethal interrogation.
Lynn remained calm.
He didn't even glance at Littlefinger, who sat in his wheelchair with a victor's smile.
He simply met Robert's murderous gaze and nodded frankly.
"Yes, Your Grace. I have a dragon."
He admitted it.
So easily, so decisively.
A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room.
"And, I also command eight thousand of the finest soldiers in the world. They are called the Unsullied."
Lynn's second sentence made everyone's heart skip a beat.
Madness!
This Northerner must be mad!
He dared to admit to possessing such a powerful private army right in front of the Iron Throne, to the King's face!
"Everything I have done, I have done for you, Your Grace."
"For the entire realm."
Lynn's voice echoed in the dead silence of the hall, clear and firm.
"Your Grace, you saw it just now. That was merely one wight, a single scout for the Army of the Dead."
"Beyond the Wall, there are hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, in that army!"
"What do we have to fight them?"
"The cobbled-together levies of the realm? An army of a few thousand that barely has enough food for winter?"
"Or those unreliable sellswords?"
"No, Your Grace. That is not enough!"
"We need an army that does not fear death, an army that obeys orders absolutely!"
"So, I brought you the Unsullied!"
"We need a fire hot enough to burn away all evil!"
"So, I brought you a dragon!"
Lynn's gaze burned, looking straight at the sullen Robert.
"The Unsullied Legion will fight for you, Your Grace!"
"And my dragon... its fire will burn only for you!"
"They are not my private property, Your Grace."
"They are the sharpest swords in your hand against the Long Night!"
Robert's expression didn't change as he questioned again.
"Then how do you explain Jorah and Daenerys?"
"A damned slaver and a remnant of House Targaryen! Are you truly trying to replace House Baratheon?"
Lynn faced the interrogation without panic.
"Ser Jorah Mormont is the heir of the previous Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont. Jeor saw me as his successor and gifted me his ancestral sword, Longclaw. My relationship with him is significant."
"But my relationship with House Mormont cannot be the key to pardoning Jorah; that would smack of cronyism."
"When I first arrived in Essos, Ser Jorah sought me out voluntarily to atone for his sins, attempting to serve the Seven Kingdoms once more."
"He could have run, but he didn't."
"He knew he risked hanging, but he found me anyway."
"And Jeor Mormont guarded the Wall for the realm for many years. I believe Jorah's sins have been atoned for. Your Grace should give him a chance to turn over a new leaf."
Lynn's words cleverly skirted the main issue, making Robert impatient.
What he wanted to know wasn't about some Jorah, but the other one.
Daenerys!
The other remnant of House Targaryen!
Lynn seemed to see through Robert's petty focus.
"As for Daenerys..."
"Actually, I intended to present her head to Your Grace as well, but ultimately I decided to spare her."
Robert's eyes bulged, and a second later he roared.
"Lynn! Do you have any idea what you are doing?"
Lynn responded, neither humble nor arrogant.
"Of course I do, Your Grace."
"It is known that dragons are the symbol of House Targaryen. Throughout history, only Targaryen blood has successfully controlled these powerful magical creatures."
"And even Targaryens themselves sometimes failed to restrain such proud beasts."
"Therefore, if I killed Daenerys, the dragon would have to be put to death as well."
"But by keeping Daenerys, not only can we keep her under surveillance and extinguish any hope of restoration, but we also sever the pure Targaryen bloodline."
"Most importantly, this makes the dragon controllable, usable for the Seven Kingdoms."
"You could say it kills multiple birds with one stone."
"Does Your Grace not wish to possess a dragon that can conquer all directions for the realm?"
The muscles on Robert's face twitched. His brain, occupied by suspicion, was spinning fast.
How could a King refuse the allegiance of a dragon?
He dreamed of owning a dragon!
That was the glory only Aegon the Conqueror possessed!
But reason told him dragons were uncontrollable, a massive threat capable of overturning his rule!
Just as Robert was locked in internal conflict, Lynn changed the subject.
"Of course, Your Grace."
"Armies and dragons both need feeding."
"And I hear the realm's treasury is... somewhat tight."
He glanced pointedly at Littlefinger in his wheelchair.
The smile on Petyr Baelish's face froze.
Lynn took a small pouch wrapped in white silk from his tunic.
Under everyone's suspicious gaze, he walked step by step up the stairs to the Iron Throne.
"Halt!"
Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, instinctively moved to block him, but Robert stopped him with a look.
Lynn walked up to Robert and respectfully presented the silk pouch.
Robert took it suspiciously and opened it.
Inside was powder as white and fine as snowflakes, glittering with a crystalline luster in the torchlight.
"What is this? Some poison from Lys?"
Robert asked gruffly.
"No, Your Grace. This is white sugar from Astapor."
Lynn smiled.
"Taste it."
As soon as he said it, Lynn acted as if he remembered something.
"Oh, wait."
"For Your Grace's safety, someone should test it first."
"After all, hearts are unpredictable."
Lynn's gaze landed squarely on Petyr Baelish in the wheelchair.
"Lord Littlefinger was the most suspicious of my loyalty just now. Surely he cares most for Your Grace's safety."
"Why not let Lord Littlefinger taste this for Your Grace, to prove its purity?"
Instantly, everyone's eyes shifted from the small bag to Littlefinger's face.
The smile on Petyr's face vanished completely.
He felt as if a venomous snake had locked onto him.
Robert paused, then let out a burst of coarse laughter. He thought the suggestion was brilliant!
"Yes! Exactly!"
Robert pointed a fat finger at Petyr, almost poking his nose.
"You! Come here!"
"Don't you love sharing my burdens? Share this burden now!"
"Taste this for me!"
Petyr's face went from white to green, then green to purple.
He was pushed in his wheelchair by two Gold Cloaks to the foot of the Iron Throne.
Looking at Lynn's faint smile, he wished he could flay the man with his eyes.
But he had no choice.
With a trembling hand, he pinched a small amount of white powder from the bag Robert held out.
The powder was finer than anything he had ever seen.
He closed his eyes, steeled his heart, and put the powder in his mouth.
In an instant.
Petyr's eyes snapped open!
A sweetness so pure and domineering exploded in his mouth!
This wasn't honey, nor any sweet he had ever tasted.
It was a taste that would drive every noble mad!
He wasn't stupid.
He instantly understood the value of this thing!
This was a mountain of gold that could overturn the trade landscape of all Westeros!
And this mountain of gold was now in Lynn's hands!
Robert hesitated.
Looking at Lynn's frank gaze, he finally extended a thick finger, pinched a bit, and put it in his mouth.
In that instant.
Robert Baratheon's eyes went wide!
On his face, bloated from indulgence, appeared an expression of disbelief and delight!
Seven Hells!
What is this taste?
It was a sweetness of ultimate purity!
Like the sweetest berries of summer, or the richest honey of early spring, exploding instantly on his taste buds!
It was a sweetness that made the soul shiver!
The nobles of Westeros craved sweets.
Here, sugar production was extremely difficult, requiring massive labor and technology, making it expensive and unaffordable for commoners.
By consuming sweets, these nobles could visibly demonstrate their economic power and social status.
And in social events, sweets were often used as important items to show status and treat guests.
Therefore, owning and eating large amounts of sugar was seen as a symbol of prestige.
He had lived half a lifetime, drank bitter Dornish red, eaten honey-roasted boar, but never had he tasted such incredible sweetness!
He couldn't wait to grab a large handful and stuff it into his mouth, chewing like a greedy bear.
"Seven Hells..."
Robert mumbled incoherently, his eyes shining.
"It is called white sugar, Your Grace."
Lynn's voice carried a hint of seduction.
"It will become a cargo more precious than gold."
"I have secured exclusive production of it in Astapor."
"And I am willing to supply the Crown exclusively at cost."
"Whether you resell it or use it otherwise, the wealth it brings will be enough to fill every deficit in the treasury, enough to arm ten armies against the White Walkers!"
"Your Grace, are you still worried about funding the war?"
"I have brought you a gold mine that can never be emptied!"
Robert was completely stunned, his mind reeling.
Dragons.
Armies.
Wealth.
This kid had packaged everything he dreamed of and delivered it right to his face!
Robert suppressed his joy and asked the most fatal question with feigned seriousness.
"Then Lynn, answer me."
"Are you willing to hand the dragon over to King's Landing?"
This was a move with all benefits and no harm.
Not handing over the dragon wouldn't be enough to prove Lynn's loyalty.
Handing it over meant Lynn's loyalty was sound, and House Baratheon would gain a dragon for free.
Lynn looked amused.
Was there actually someone wanting to babysit a dragon now? Does he want to be the next Robb?
If someone was willing to raise the dragon for him—especially King's Landing, which had "money to burn" and "loved prestige"—he couldn't ask for more. He'd agree with both hands and feet.
Lynn said immediately, "Of course, no problem. Once I return to Essos, I will send the dragon over as soon as possible."
"However, I still have a use for Daenerys..."
Robert showed an expression every man understood.
He knew Lynn had already given enough. If he pushed for more, wouldn't he just be the next Mad King?
"Haha... Hahahaha!"
A deafening roar of laughter exploded in the Iron Throne room!
Robert threw an arm around Lynn's shoulder, his fan-like hand slapping Lynn's back hard.
"Good lad! Ned! Look at the good lad you raised!"
"He's more useful than a whole ship full of Varyses and Littlefingers!"
Robert's face was flushed with excitement. He held the white sugar high and roared at the court full of shocked officials.
"Do you see?"
"A bunch of cowards who only know how to gossip behind backs!"
"While you argue until you're red in the face over a few coppers, this young man has conquered a city for me and brought a mountain of gold!"
He pointed fiercely at Littlefinger in the wheelchair, eyes full of contempt.
"Petyr!"
"You told me he was a threat! A traitor!"
"Bullshit!"
"He is the greatest hero under my command!"
The smile on Littlefinger's face vanished completely, replaced by dead grey.
He couldn't understand how his fatal strike had turned out like this.
Robert's brain was spinning fast.
He had to tie this young man, this dragon, this gold mine, firmly to his war chariot!
With the strongest chains!
"Marriage alliance!"
The word popped into Robert's brain.
"Yes! Marriage!"
He slapped his thigh in excitement.
"That's the best way!"
Cersei Lannister's face turned pale instantly.
"My daughter! Myrcella!" Robert roared.
He remembered that his daughter seemed to be under Lynn's "protection."
"This is practically fate arranged by the Seven!"
"Lynn! You shall marry my daughter, Princess Myrcella Baratheon!"
A marriage to a princess could buy the loyalty of a lordship, but marrying Lynn was different.
His dragon could conquer two, maybe more lordships.
He understood that much.
Boom——!
The entire Iron Throne room exploded!
Lynn was to marry the King's only daughter?
"Your Grace! This cannot be!"
Grand Maester Pycelle was the first to object.
"He... as far as I know, Lord Lynn is already betrothed to House Stark's daughter!"
"Betrothed?"
Robert looked like he'd heard a joke.
"So what?"
"Have you forgotten what I said before?"
Robert looked around at everyone, his voice carrying unquestionable dominance.
"I said Lynn can marry as many as he wants! If he wants a hundred, I allow it!"
"He will marry my daughter, and he will marry the Stark girl too!"
"Marry Myrcella first, then the Stark girl!"
"It is decided!"
Robert looked at the dumbfounded Lynn and grinned.
"What, boy, are you unwilling?"
What could Lynn say?
He slowly dropped to one knee.
"It is my honor."
Outside the door, a small figure heard everything clearly.
Arya Stark.
She leaned against the cold wall, her small body trembling slightly.
Lynn had succeeded.
He had survived.
Father could no longer stop their marriage.
Huge joy surged in her heart, but then, another name pierced her heart like a needle.
Myrcella.
That blonde Lannister girl who always wore pretty dresses and looked like a doll.
Lynn was to marry her first.
A sour jealousy surged uncontrollably.
Lynn looked at Robert's satisfied face, then at Cersei and Jaime, whose faces were green in the corner.
Finally, his gaze landed on Littlefinger, who looked utterly lost.
Lynn gave him a meaningful smile.
Since Baelish insisted on seeking death, he couldn't blame Lynn for not being polite!
Then Lynn looked around the throne room and spoke loudly.
"Lord Baelish is very well informed."
"However, what you know is only what's on the surface. I never tried to hide it."
"But I know some of Lord Baelish's unknown secrets... or past."
"For example, the cause of Lord Jon Arryn's death."
"Lord Baelish, how do you explain that?"