The golden dragons of King's Landing had never flowed so willingly from the noblemen's purses to the same place as they did now.
Ser Lynn's mansion had become a sanctuary for all the women in King's Landing.
At this moment, Lynn, Sansa, and others were gathered around a long table in the backyard.
"The Winter Rose series sold eighty boxes last week, with a profit of four thousand gold dragons."
Sansa read the numbers from the ledger, her beautiful face flushed with excitement.
She had completely shed the shyness and unease she had when she first arrived in King's Landing, replaced by a confident, strategic demeanor.
Her voice was clear and articulate, perfectly embodying the air of a guild mistress.
"The Nightfall in Starfall formula needs adjustment; the jasmine essential oil is too light and can't balance the richness of the fragrant wood."
"Also, we should launch a men's series."
Sansa put down the ledger and looked at Lynn.
A spark of wisdom flickered in her blue eyes.
"The men of King's Landing, they also need dignity."
"They might not pay for floral scents, but what if it's a scent that symbolizes strength and status?"
Lynn watched her with a smile, saying nothing, only gesturing with his eyes for her to continue.
"For example, using Northern pine, mixed with the scent of leather and strong liquor, we could call it 'Wolf's Blood.'"
"Using sea salt from the Stormlands, mixed with the scent of earth after rain, we could call it 'Antler.'"
"We could even grind volcanic rock from Dragonstone into powder and add it to the soap base, calling it 'Dragon's Breath'!"
Arya and Myrcella listened, utterly bewildered.
They couldn't understand how these strange-sounding scents could be associated with "fragrance."
But Lynn nodded.
Sansa had changed.
She was no longer the little princess who only hid in songs and fantasies.
Power and money were the best catalysts.
She was growing at an astonishing rate into a competent, even top-tier, businesswoman.
She had learned how to read people, how to create demand, and how to package a simple commodity into a symbol of identity and desire.
"Very good," Lynn finally spoke.
"The men's series will be entirely your responsibility."
"However, the soaps for commoners should not remove a large amount of fishy smell; they must be clearly distinguished from the soaps for the upper class."
Validated, Sansa straightened her back, her face radiating an unprecedented glow.
This feeling of creating value and controlling the situation with her own hands was far more intoxicating than being a prince's accessory.
Arya and Myrcella went to attend to their own affairs.
Sansa, however, walked alone towards the Hand's Tower.
She was going to see her father.
She was going to personally tear apart the destiny that had long been predetermined for "Sansa Stark"...
Inside the Hand's Tower, Ned Stark was frowning over a pile of official documents.
The aftermath of clearing out the City Watch, appeasing the affected nobles, and the eternally mismatched mess of the royal treasury... all of it exhausted him.
"Father."
Sansa's voice came from the doorway.
Ned looked up, and seeing his eldest daughter, the weariness on his brow eased slightly.
"Sansa, come here."
Sansa did not, as usual, nestle by her father's side.
She simply stood a few steps away, quietly watching him.
"Father, I don't want to marry Joffrey anymore."
Her words were soft, but they instantly froze the smile on Ned's face.
"Sansa, do you know what you're saying?"
"I know."
Sansa's gaze did not waver in the slightest, her resolve making Ned feel a sense of unfamiliarity.
"I used to think that a prince should be as the songs describe: brave, righteous, and benevolent."
"But the Joffrey I see is only cruel, cowardly, and foolish."
"He would have his Hound kill a drunkard for offending him."
"He would show his most venomous face over the outcome of a tourney."
Ned listened intently to every word Sansa spoke.
He knew all of this, hadn't he?
"Marrying him, my life would only be imprisoned within the Red Keep."
"To become a pretty vase, a tool for childbirth, watching his atrocities every day, enduring his stupidity, until I wither or go mad."
"Father, that is not the life I want."
A flame ignited in Sansa's eyes.
"Ser Lynn taught me that a woman's worth should not be solely determined by marriage."
"I can use my mind to create wealth, to earn respect."
"I can have my own career, I can decide my own life."
"This is the life I want, not to be an accessory to Joffrey Baratheon."
Ned was utterly speechless.
He looked at this daughter, both familiar and strange, his heart a mix of emotions.
He was proud of his daughter's growth, yet also terrified by her "treasonous" words.
This was not just breaking off an engagement.
This was challenging the King's authority!
Just as Ned didn't know how to respond, a hurried footsteps interrupted the father and daughter's confrontation.
A Kingsguard appeared at the doorway, his expression solemn.
"Lord Hand, His Majesty the King summons you and Ser Lynn; proceed to the Throne Room immediately!"
...The atmosphere in the Throne Room was as oppressive as the calm before a storm.
Robert Baratheon sat on the grotesque Iron Throne like an enraged bull.
His face was a purplish red from anger and alcohol, and at his feet lay shattered wine cups and toppled attendants.
"Bastards! A bunch of bastards!"
In the past few days, Robert had become increasingly irritable and erratic.
Sometimes he would even lash out at Ned.
He saw Ned and Lynn enter, his roars echoing through the vast hall.
"Look! All of you, look!"
Robert violently threw a roll of parchment to the ground.
"Rumors! Everywhere are damned rumors!"
"The entire King's Landing is saying I'm a fool who can't even control his own wife!"
"They say Cersei poisoned Jon Arryn!"
"They say I covered for that poisoner!"
Littlefinger's poisonous scheme was fermenting.
He used the cheapest weapon to repeatedly trample the King's dignity underfoot.
Robert was a man who valued his reputation.
He could not tolerate his subjects mocking him.
"Trial by combat!"
Robert's fist slammed heavily on the armrest of the Iron Throne.
"Now! Immediately! At once!"
"I want to shut everyone up right now!"
Ned's face became incredibly grave.
"Your Majesty, but you have already ordered a postponement..."
"I changed my mind!"
Robert roughly interrupted him.
"I have decided that Lynn will be Cersei's champion!"
He stared intently at Ned, his bloodshot, cloudy eyes full of fury.
"Who will be my champion?!"
"Who dares to step forward and fight for the King's honor?!"
Robert's roar challenged everyone present.
However, the Throne Room was utterly silent.
The nobles bowed their heads, fearing the King's gaze.
To challenge the Queen?
That was tantamount to making an enemy of the entire House Lannister!
Even if one won, what would be gained?
Offending Lord Tywin meant no good days ahead.
Losing meant instant death.
No one was a fool.
"Useless! A bunch of tail-wagging dogs!"
Robert cursed in disappointment.
At that moment, a voice spoke up.
"I will fight for the King."
Everyone simultaneously turned to look.
A thin man in worn leather armor stepped out from the crowd.
He appeared to be in his thirties, his face showing the wear and tear of a hard life, and a plain longsword hung at his waist.
He looked like a mercenary who had wandered the countryside for years, or an unlucky, unknown knight.
He walked to the center of the hall, ignoring the contemptuous glances of the surrounding nobles, and knelt on one knee before Robert's throne.
"Your Majesty, my name is Donal, an unknown wandering knight."
"I have no illustrious family background, nor any songs sung about me."
"I only have this sword, and a heart loyal to the King."
"If you do not disdain me, I am willing to use my life to defend your honor."
His words were unadorned, yet carried the desperate resolve of a man with nothing to lose.
Robert was stunned.
He looked at the man kneeling before him, and in his cloudy eyes, initial surprise was immediately replaced by immense euphoria!
"Hahahahaha!"
Robert's wild laughter echoed through the Throne Room.
"Good! Well done!"
He actually stepped down from the Iron Throne himself, pulled the knight named Donal to his feet, and slapped him heavily on the shoulder with his fan-like hand.
"See! You fat, cowardly fools!"
Robert pointed at the awestruck nobles, cursing loudly.
"An unknown wandering knight has more guts than all of you!"
"Donal, is it? I'll remember you!"
Robert's face was beaming with the excitement of finding a kindred spirit.
"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! You and Lynn will duel right here in front of the Throne Room!"
"If you win, I will make you a Kingsguard! I will give you land! I will give you gold!"
The King's promise elicited a low gasp from the surrounding nobles.
Kingsguard!
That was the highest honor for a knight in the Seven Kingdoms!
This was too hasty.
Ned Stark watched this farce, his brows furrowed in a knot.
He looked at Lynn beside him, but found no expression on Lynn's face.
He just quietly watched the man named Donal, his gaze deep, lost in thought...
Leaving the Throne Room, walking back to the mansion.
Ned's worries finally spilled out.
"This is ridiculous."
"Allowing an unknown wandering knight to represent the King in a trial by combat? Robert won't be able to command respect!"
Lynn's voice, however, was calm.
"He just needs someone to uphold his pitiful pride too much."
"But that man named Donal..."
"Lord, don't worry," Lynn interrupted him.
"I will handle it."
"This Donal is not as simple as he appears."
"Tomorrow's trial by combat will definitely be exciting."
Ned looked at Lynn's confident demeanor, and the anxiety in his heart inexplicably subsided a great deal.
Back at the mansion, Lynn ignored Arya and their questions, and went straight into his study.
He sat in his chair, the scenes from the Throne Room replaying in his mind.
The man named Donal.
Everything was too coincidental.
So coincidental it was like a meticulously choreographed play.
Just when the King's dignity was at its lowest, when he most needed a way out, a perfect "loyal subject" appeared out of nowhere.
Eloquent, loyal, of humble origins, perfectly highlighting the cowardice of the nobles and satisfying Robert's pathological vanity.
This scent... it was too familiar.
Was it aimed at him?
But the news of his going through the motions was only known to Robert, Ned, and Cersei, and perhaps Varys.
Cersei couldn't be; if he lost, she would die too.
That endearingly naive Ned?
He also lacked sufficient motive.
Varys?
He knew his intentions, so he shouldn't target him.
Never mind, no more guessing.
Then I'll use Greensight to see your true colors.
Donal... Lynn softly called out the name in his mind.
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