The clamor and commotion of the Iron Throne room were shut behind the heavy oak doors.
In the corridor, the torchlight elongated their shadows—one tall, one short—twisting them together tightly.
Arya clutched the hem of Lynn's tunic, saying nothing.
She had so many questions.
Where had he gone for over a month? What had he done? Why did he have a dragon? And how was he connected to Astapor?
But all those questions eventually merged into one name.
Like a fishbone stuck in her throat, it was unbearable.
Myrcella.
The golden-haired Baratheon princess.
Arya looked up at Lynn's smiling face, at his eyes that looked exceptionally gentle in the firelight, and the grievance she had suppressed welled up again.
She pouted, remaining silent, but pulled Lynn toward the kitchens of the Tower of the Hand.
The kitchen was steaming hot, cooks busy preparing the evening meal.
Seeing Arya and Lynn, they stopped their work and bowed respectfully.
Arya familiarly grabbed a roast chicken, still dripping with oil, from the spit, snatched two loaves of bread from a basket, and dragged Lynn into a small pantry used for storing spices.
The pantry was narrow, filled with the warm scent of cinnamon, cloves, and pepper.
It reminded Arya of the time Lynn had taught her swordplay, when they would hide behind doors together.
Arya shoved the chicken and bread at Lynn, then curled up in the corner hugging her knees, like a wronged little beast.
Lynn tore off a drumstick and took a bite, the savory oil filling his mouth.
"Not eating?"
Lynn offered the other drumstick to Arya.
Arya shook her head and buried her face deeper.
"You..."
Her muffled voice came from between her knees.
"Are you really going to marry her?"
"Who?"
Lynn asked knowingly.
"Myrcella Baratheon!"
Arya jerked her head up.
Her grey eyes were red, like an agitated rabbit.
"That blonde princess!"
"It was the King's command. I couldn't exactly refuse in front of everyone, could I?"
Lynn spread his hands helplessly.
"But you can't accept it either!"
Arya's voice cracked with tears.
"You... you promised Father you would marry me..."
Her voice grew smaller, and her cheeks turned redder.
Lynn couldn't help but laugh seeing her angry, anxious, and shy all at once.
He put down the chicken, leaned over, and pinched her puffed-up cheek.
"Jealous?"
"Who... who's jealous!"
Arya swatted his hand away like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, but she didn't dare look him in the eye.
"I just... I just think no one from House Lannister is any good!"
"Mm, you're right."
Lynn nodded in agreement.
"That's exactly why I need to marry her."
Arya froze, not understanding.
"Think about it," Lynn coaxed.
"The King's only daughter, the jewel of House Lannister, married to me, the King Beyond the Wall."
"What does that mean?"
"It means even if the Lannisters hate my guts, on the surface, they have to pinch their noses and accept this relationship."
"Not only can they not stab me in the back, but they also have to pray I live a long life."
"Because if something happens to me, their precious princess becomes a widow."
Arya blinked.
It seemed... logical.
"It's called a hostage."
Lynn explained the nature of this political marriage in the simplest terms.
"Just like how I kept Joffrey's sister in the North."
"Now, that old lion Tywin Lannister can't move against me, and I have ample time to develop in peace."
"After all, those free folk have mouths waiting to be fed."
Arya nodded, seemingly understanding, but the sour feeling in her heart hadn't dissipated.
"But... you still have to marry her first."
Arya mumbled.
"That's just a formality, Arya."
Lynn's voice softened.
He reached out and pulled Arya into his arms.
"I promise you, once things in King's Landing are settled, I'll take you back North."
"Then, at Winterfell, under the heart tree, with all the Northmen as witnesses, I will marry you."
Arya stiffened.
She buried her face in Lynn's chest, feeling his familiar warmth, and tears fell uncontrollably.
"You said it..."
"I said it."
Lynn interrupted her, kissing the top of her head.
Hearing the promise, Arya finally let out a wet laugh, tears still hanging on her lashes, looking both pitiful and adorable.
She looked up at Lynn and suddenly opened her mouth, biting his shoulder—not too hard, but not too soft either.
"That's your punishment!"
Arya declared fiercely.
"For agreeing so quickly just now!"
"Fine, my fault."
Lynn laughed and ruffled her hair.
Watching the little girl finally regain her vitality and tear into a chicken leg, a smile appeared on Lynn's face.
But his gaze looked through the small window toward the direction of the Eyrie.
Littlefinger demanding a trial by combat meant that pawn was useless.
He had hoped Littlefinger would muddy the waters.
He hadn't expected Littlefinger to be so useless, causing trouble again and again. There was no need to keep him.
He needed someone obedient and controllable, not a mad dog that only wanted to bite him.
And the falcon played in Littlefinger's palm was probably going mad too.
---
The Eyrie.
Atop the Giant's Lance, piercing the clouds.
Lady Lysa Arryn was shaking her sickly son in a near-manic frenzy.
"Petyr... Petyr is going to die! He's going to die!"
Her face, once fair, was now twisted with extreme terror, her voice shrill as a crow's wail.
"Mother... I can't breathe..."
Robert Arryn, the boy who never grew up, cried in terror, his face turning purple from the shaking.
"Shut up!"
Lysa shoved him away, letting him fall to the floor.
Her eyes were fixed on the raven scroll from King's Landing on the table.
Every word on it made her soul tremble.
Petyr accused of poisoning Jon Arryn!
He demanded a trial by combat!
His opponent was the devil from the North named Lynn!
And Petyr's champion was the Mountain!
Lysa didn't know their skill levels, but she knew Petyr was finished, completely finished!
That man named Lynn was like an omniscient god, exposing all of Petyr's plots to the sunlight!
Even the details of her poisoning her own husband were laid bare!
Petyr was her only reliance, her hope for the future, the man she had betrayed everything to have!
And now, he was going to die!
And she, the murderer who killed her husband, would soon face reckoning!
"No... No..."
Lysa tore at her hair frantically, pacing the room.
She couldn't sit and wait for death!
She had to save Petyr!
She must save him!
Right!
The army!
The Eyrie had the finest knights in the Vale!
"Orders!"
She screamed out the door.
"Call the banners! I want to march! To King's Landing!"
The guards and maids outside looked at each other, daring not to respond.
March on King's Landing?
Under what pretext?
To attack the King?
Stop joking; this wasn't funny.
Lysa Tully was the daughter of Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun. Though she wasn't a ruling Lord herself, she ruled the Vale as the Lady of the Eyrie after Jon Arryn's death.
"My Lady, please calm down!"
The elderly Maester Colemon shuffled in tremblingly, his face full of worry.
"Calm down? How can I be calm!"
Lysa grabbed his collar, her nails digging into his flesh.
"They are going to kill Petyr!"
"They are going to kill my love!"
Looking at the manic Lysa, Maester Colemon felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
The Vale was about to be dragged into the abyss by this madwoman.
---
Night deepened.
Lynn was staying in the room that had been Ned's study in the Tower of the Hand.
He wasn't asleep.
He sat by the window, looking out at the sleeping city of King's Landing.
Knock, knock, knock.
A soft, hurried knocking sound.
Lynn didn't turn around, simply saying lightly:
"Come in."
The door opened, and a figure in a black cloak slipped in, quickly closing the door behind them.
She pulled back her hood, revealing a beautiful face that looked somewhat pale in the moonlight.
Cersei Lannister.
The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
She wasn't wearing the gorgeous gowns befitting a Queen, just simple dark clothes for ease of movement.
But her innate arrogance and scrutiny hadn't diminished in the slightest.
"You're certainly calm."
Cersei's voice held a trace of mockery.
She looked around the Stark study as if inspecting her own territory.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Lynn turned around, placing a dagger on the table.
"Surely Your Grace didn't visit me late at night just for a drink?"
"Don't call me Your Grace!"
Cersei's voice rose sharply, a flame igniting in her green eyes.
"In front of you, what kind of Queen am I?"
Like a provoked lioness, she approached Lynn step by step, her heaving chest dizzying to behold.
"You destroyed Jaime's confidence, crippled Petyr, and played that fool Robert like a fiddle."
"Now, you want to marry my Myrcella!"
"Lynn! I really want to crack open your skull and see what exactly is inside!"
Lynn looked at Cersei, his face remaining calm.
"Didn't the King already give me what I wanted?"
"A marriage alliance, an ally."
"Ally?"
Cersei looked as if she'd heard a massive joke.
"You trample the face of House Lannister under your boot and call that being allies?"
"That is still an ally."
Lynn's gaze rested on her with a hint of amusement.
"At least on the surface, we are family now, aren't we?"
"You..."
Cersei was choked into silence.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
She knew anger was useless against Lynn.
"Myrcella... how do you intend to treat her?"
This was the real reason she came tonight.
"She will be my wife, the future Lady of the North, enjoying all the honor she deserves."
Lynn's answer was watertight.
"Why should I believe you?"
"You have no choice."
Lynn stood up.
His tall figure cast a shadow, completely enveloping Cersei.
Lynn walked up to her, lowered his head, and whispered in her ear, in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"Because I know your little secret."
Cersei's body went rigid.
"You... what do you want?"
Cersei's queenly pride was shattered in that instant.
"I don't want anything."
Lynn took a step back, creating distance again.
"I just want to remind you, Cersei."
"We are allies, so act like it."
"Control your father, control your brother, and control yourself."
"Stop playing those petty, underhanded tricks."
Lynn's gaze turned cold again.
"Otherwise, I don't mind letting the entire Seven Kingdoms know whose blood the Prince and Princess of King's Landing really carry."
Cersei's face was dead grey.
Looking at Lynn, she felt a powerlessness she had never known before.
After a long time, Cersei found her voice.
"The duel... you will win, right?"
There was no longer questioning in her tone, but a hint of expectation she hadn't even noticed herself.
If Lynn won, Petyr would die.
That conspirator who knew too many of her secrets and tried to put her to death would vanish completely.
"You hope I win?" Lynn smiled.
Cersei didn't answer. She just gave him a deep look, her eyes complex to the extreme.
There was hate, fear, humiliation, and even a trace of something else she couldn't quite name.