The next morning, what should have been a trial by combat, a clash of blood and glory, was indefinitely postponed by a royal decree.
The Royal Herald's voice echoed through the halls of the Red Keep.
The reason given was that His Majesty the King was unwell and needed rest.
The nobles and ministers throughout the court exchanged glances and whispered.
Unwell?
Everyone could see that Robert, that corpulent stag, despite being bloated and irritable from constant drinking, was strong enough to punch a bull to death.
This was more like an excuse.
A step down the King found for himself after a fit of rage.
Lynn stood behind Ned Stark.
Looking at the King on the Iron Throne, whose face was unnaturally flushed and eyes clouded, he understood completely.
It seemed Cersei could no longer sit still.
Once he returned, he would have to use his greensight to find out which expert Cersei had enlisted.
"Get out! Get out!"
Robert waved his arms impatiently, as if shooing away a swarm of annoying flies.
The ministers, as if granted a great pardon, hastily retreated.
Only Robert's heavy breathing remained in the empty Throne Room.
Ned looked at his dear friend, hollowed out by wine and women, and the worry in his brows deepened.
He wanted to offer advice but didn't know where to begin.
Lynn said nothing, merely bowed slightly, and then followed Ned out of the oppressive Throne Room... In the afternoon, Lynn's residence welcomed a special guest.
"Ser Lynn."
Sansa stood stiffly at the door, followed by an equally uneasy Arya.
Between them was a girl wearing a pale yellow dress, as delicate as a porcelain doll.
Myrcella Baratheon.
Her clear green eyes were filled with fear and unease.
She clutched the hem of her dress tightly, her small body trembling slightly, like a fawn separated from its mother's protection, full of fear of everything around her.
"She looks like she's about to cry."
Arya whispered softly into Lynn's ear.
Lynn ignored her and slowly walked up to Myrcella, crouching down to meet her gaze.
"Welcome, Princess Myrcella."
His voice was very soft and gentle.
Myrcella was startled by his sudden movement and instinctively recoiled.
"Don't be afraid."
A gentle smile appeared on Lynn's face.
"This is not a cage; from now on, it will be your other home."
"Can I... can I still see my mother?"
Myrcella asked timidly, her voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
"Of course," Lynn replied with certainty.
"You can go back to see her whenever you wish."
Lynn reached out and gently stroked her bright golden curls.
"From today on, you will stay with Arya and Sansa; they will teach you things you couldn't learn in the Red Keep."
At these words, Arya's eyes instantly lit up.
Sansa watched the scene, simply standing in silence, not saying a word.
Lynn looked at the little princess, who was frightened and at a loss, his heart completely calm.
Politics was never gentle.
And all he could do was be a little kinder to Myrcella.
Try to keep her out of the power struggles.
Lynn said no more, merely motioning for them to follow him into a prepared room nearby.
The room held a large long table with several clay pots and several bags of unknown materials on it.
"You are all noble ladies."
Lynn picked up a piece of parchment, his gaze sweeping over three equally puzzled faces.
"Tell me, how do you usually bathe?"
"Especially you, Your Royal Highness."
Myrcella's face flushed slightly.
"We scrub with fine sand and lye... sometimes we sprinkle some flower petals."
"That sounds like a terrible experience." Lynn shook his head... A few days later, a large cauldron was set up in the backyard of the residence.
Following Lynn's instructions, the steward Robb bought several large pieces of animal fat discarded by the butcher, and a large bag of wood ash swept from the fireplace.
Arya and Myrcella watched curiously from the sidelines.
They watched Lynn direct the servants to throw the fat into the pot, light a fire, and boil it.
A foul, gamey smell soon filled the air.
Sansa stood far away under the corridor, covering her nose with a silk scarf, her delicate brows tightly furrowed.
She truly couldn't understand why Lynn, the Black Knight revered by thousands, would suddenly be interested in such dirty, low-grade things.
Lynn, however, didn't care at all.
He poured the wood ash into another wooden bucket, added clear water, stirred it continuously, and then filtered it.
This process was repeated several times, eventually yielding a bucket of clear lye.
"My Lord, are you... brewing some kind of potion?"
Steward Robb asked cautiously.
He had never seen such a strange process.
"I am alchemizing."
Lynn replied without looking up.
Under everyone's gaze, Lynn slowly poured the bucket of lye into the already melted and boiling fat.
"Hiss--"
A violent reaction instantly occurred in the pot, the fat vigorously churning, emitting a large amount of white smoke.
The servants retreated repeatedly.
Only Lynn, holding a long wooden stick, stirred the pot unhurriedly.
As time passed, the foul, gamey smell gradually disappeared, replaced by a mixed scent of fat and lye.
The liquid in the pot also slowly changed from cloudy yellow to viscous, eventually solidifying into a block.
Lynn picked up a piece with the wooden stick and placed it in cold water.
Arya was very bold.
She curiously reached out a finger, dabbed a little foam, and rubbed it on the back of her hand.
"Wow! So slippery!"
She exclaimed in surprise.
"And... my hand is so much cleaner!"
Lynn smiled, scooped out all the blocks from the pot, and placed them on a wooden board nearby to dry.
"What is this called?" Arya asked, looking up with her small face.
"Soap," Lynn replied.
"Something that can wash a person clean from head to toe."
He picked up a pen and quickly wrote down the detailed steps and proportions for making soap on a piece of parchment.
Step one: Collect animal fat, boil and melt it.
Step two: Collect wood ash, add water and filter to prepare lye.
Step three: Slowly add the lye to the fat, stirring and heating continuously until saponified.
Step four: Add fragrance.
Step five: Cool, mold, and cut.
He handed the parchment to the steward Robb, who had been watching in astonishment.
"From today on, all our brothels must provide this soap to guests for free."
"Also, find a few nimble craftsmen and have them mass-produce this according to this formula for me."
"Remember, give those craftsmen the best treatment, do not let them reveal this formula, have them work on separate steps, and forbid them from contacting each other."
"Secretly have people keep an eye on them. If anyone dares to reveal a single word."
Lynn didn't finish his sentence, but Robb already understood Lynn's meaning.
"I want every noblewoman in King's Landing to go mad for this small bar of soap."
Steward Robb held the priceless "alchemy formula," his hands trembling.
He seemed to already see countless Golden Dragons continuously flowing into Lynn's pockets.
Sansa stood in the distance, looking at the man who was laughing and chatting amidst the grease and smoke.
In those blue eyes, there was a hint of infatuation that she herself had never noticed.
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