Littlefinger's Lesson
Littlefinger...
Back at the estate, Lynn's eyes turned cold.
Time to teach the mouse a lesson.
This sewer rat still won't give up.
Daring to strike at me.
He thinks losing his fortune means he can hide and keep stirring chaos?
The ladder is chaos.
Then I'll make your world utterly chaotic.
Lynn closed his eyes. His mental power instantly enveloped Littlefinger's current hideout.
Silk Street
Petyr Baelish sat alone in his third-floor study.
Once his vantage point to overlook King's Landing. Manipulate hearts.
Now—only desolation and bitter defeat.
He'd lost.
Lost again!
He couldn't understand.
Why did his carefully laid plans collapse step by step?
He only wanted to ignite war between lion and wolf. Profit from chaos. That's all!
But now—no war. And he's the biggest loser.
His rumors became powerless.
Robert, that fool, tried to clear Cersei's name through rigged trial by combat!
To ensure Robert won, I hired a Faceless Man—to make Cersei die!
But Lynn ruined my plan again!
Petyr raised his wine cup. But the liquid couldn't quench his anxiety and hatred.
Suddenly—
—an indescribable icy will pierced his brain without warning!
Petyr's body trembled uncontrollably.
His hand—moved on its own!
His right hand slowly set down the wine cup.
His legs took stiff steps. One. Two. Toward the window.
His body no longer belonged to him.
His hand pushed open the window.
Evening wind rushed in. Carrying street noise below.
Petyr's leg lifted. Stepped onto the windowsill.
Drunken guards patrolled the street. A vendor hawked cheap oat cakes nearby.
The world—so vivid.
Lynn could feel Petyr's subconscious resisting his actions.
Lynn increased his mental force.
Petyr leaped forward.
His body lost support. Weightlessness engulfed him.
One second before the fall—Lynn released his mind.
Petyr jolted awake.
But he realized in horror—
—wind roared in his ears. The world spun rapidly.
It's over.
His last thought.
THUD—!
A dull crash.
He didn't feel the expected skull-splitting pain.
His legs slammed heavily onto a cart carrying hay.
Then—indescribable agony exploded from his spine. Spread through his entire body!
"AAAAAHHH—!"
Control returned.
That soul-tearing scream finally broke through his throat.
He tried to struggle. Crawl up.
But discovered in horror—
—his lower body was completely numb.
He looked down. His legs twisted at grotesque angles.
Like two broken sticks.
He didn't die.
But he wished he had.
Petyr Baelish—former Master of Coin. King's Landing's shrewdest player.
Now—a dog with a broken spine.
Collapsed on a filthy hay cart. Wailing in despair.
Lynn slowly opened his eyes. Face pale with sickness.
Petyr's will was far weaker than Jaime's. Much easier to control.
But forcing an enemy to commit suicide triggered subconscious resistance.
This helped Lynn understand skinchanging's rules:
Controlling actions—no resistance.(Like Daenerys, Jaime.)Indirect death—no resistance.(Like the assassin.)Direct life-threatening acts—strong resistance. May fail or backfire!
But I had to teach that stinking rat a lesson.
Revenge must be immediate!
Departure Preparations
After recovering overnight—
—Lynn prepared to leave King's Landing.
The news made the estate's atmosphere subtle.
Sansa stared at the ledger. Distracted.
Their "soap empire" just started. Needs management. But Lynn's leaving.
Can I live up to his trust?
I don't want to fail.
I'm afraid he'll be disappointed.
Arya practiced swordsmanship excitedly in the courtyard.
Boring ledgers—after the initial novelty—quickly forgotten.
She preferred weapons.
The dull accounts? Now Sansa and Steward Rob's job.
The Enchanted Parchment
In the study, Lynn gathered three people.
Steward Rob. Sansa. Arya.
"After I leave, Sansa—you're in full charge. Rob will assist you."
Lynn's gaze fell on the steward.
Rob bowed respectfully.
Lynn returned his gaze to Sansa.
"The soap business—you lead."
"Whatever spices, packaging you need—tell Rob directly. He'll handle it."
"Remember—our goal is to make King's Landing's noblewomen dependent on it."
Sansa nodded solemnly.
"Arya." Lynn looked at his little wildcat.
"Your task—supervise the new guards."
"While I'm gone, the estate's security is yours."
"Problems you can't solve? Find your father."
"The Gold Cloaks can handle most issues."
"If even your father can't solve it—find Varys."
"He's trustworthy. For now."
"No problem! I'll remember!" Arya patted her chest confidently.
After arranging everything, Lynn drew a blank parchment from his cloak. Handed it to Rob.
"This is..."
Rob took it, puzzled.
"Every night, write matters needing my decision on this parchment."
Lynn's voice was calm.
"By morning—my instructions will appear on it."
Rob's pupils contracted.
He stared at the parchment. Then at Lynn. Mouth open. Speechless.
What... what sorcery is this?
Sansa and Arya leaned in curiously.
Just ordinary parchment. Nothing special.
But they knew—Lynn never did meaningless things.
"My lord... You..."
Rob's voice trembled. As if holding a holy relic.
Lynn didn't explain. Just patted his shoulder.
"Remember—this parchment's existence. Only you three know. No fourth person."
"Yes! My lord!"
Rob felt fanatical awe surge from his heart.
Such means—unheard of!
The Journey North
The departure party wasn't large.
Lynn. Myrcella. A small guard squad.
Lynn—now a peerless fighter—could ensure safety on small roads.
Other guards stayed in King's Landing to help Ned control the Gold Cloaks.
Most eye-catching—Lynn's magnificent black warhorse.
Storm.
Jet black. Not a stray hair. Powerful hooves. Larger than ordinary warhorses.
On Storm's saddle—a small figure.
Princess Myrcella.
She'd shed her gorgeous gown. Looked like an ordinary girl.
She gripped the saddle tightly. Nervous and uneasy.
Her first time leaving King's Landing. Her first long journey.
Her first time so close to a strange man.
Lynn gently pulled the reins. Storm neighed. Moved forward slowly.
Myrcella's body leaned back involuntarily—
—her entire back pressed against Lynn's broad, solid chest.
The little princess's cheeks instantly flushed red as ripe apples.
She felt the scorching warmth behind her. Smelled Lynn's scent—leather mixed with faint soap.
Clean.
Her heart pounded uncontrollably. Like a caged fawn.
Lynn noticed the little one's reaction.
But his gaze crossed the procession. Toward the Red Keep.
At the highest tower window—a golden figure flashed.
Cersei.
Lynn knew she was watching.
The Road North
The party traveled north. Left King's Landing's splendor and filth. Entered the vast Riverlands.
The wind grew colder.
Myrcella was excited at first. Curious about everything.
But the tedium of long travel quickly wore down her novelty.
Especially after a full day bouncing on horseback—her small frame couldn't take it.
"Uncomfortable?"
Lynn's voice came from above her head.
Myrcella shook her head. Didn't want him to think her delicate.
But Lynn reined in the horse.
He drew a thick fur cushion from his pack. Placed it on the saddle.
Then—he removed his black cloak. Wrapped Myrcella's small body completely from behind.
After finishing, he remounted.
Myrcella sank into the warm fur and cloak. Only her small head exposed.
An unprecedented sense of security enveloped her.
She peeked back. Could only see Lynn's sharp jawline.
"Thank you, Ser Lynn." Her voice barely audible.
"Sleep if you're tired."
Lynn's voice was flat.
But Myrcella thought—this was more comforting than any lullaby.
She leaned against Lynn's broad embrace. Smelled that reassuring scent. Her eyelids grew heavy.
Soon—she drifted into dreams.
In the dream—no Red Keep coldness.
No mother's despairing eyes.
Only warm darkness and a pair of strong arms.
Winter's Welcome
A month passed in tedious travel. Lynn trained his body in spare moments...
When the party crossed the Neck onto Northern soil—
—the air carried familiar bite.
"Winterfell!"
Myrcella poked her head out first. Pointed excitedly at the gray silhouette on the horizon.
Just then—
—a cloud-splitting roar echoed from above Winterfell!
Everyone instinctively looked up.
A massive shadow blocked the afternoon sun. Circled above the castle!
"What... what is THAT?!"
Myrcella's voice trembled.
A dragon!
A dragon over ten meters long—wingspan blotting out the sky!
Its scales shimmered glacier-blue in sunlight.
Massive wings—each beat stirred gales. Banners below snapped violently!
Myrcella's mouth formed an "O." Her green eyes filled with world-shattering shock!
She'd grown up hearing Targaryen dragon legends.
But legends—becoming reality?
And this dragon...
It had THREE HEADS!
Yes! Three!
One in the center. Two smaller ones on the sides. Like three entwined pythons!
Right now, the three heads were arguing with each other.
The left head wanted to fly east. The right insisted on west.
The middle head—largest—looked annoyed. Turned and spat a tiny flame at the left.
The left head yelped. Bit back at the middle.
The right head—seeing a fight—joined in enthusiastically. Roared at the brawling pair like cheering them on.
Three massive dragon heads—like three bickering kids—tangled in the sky.
The scene was absurdly comical.
"Winter..."
Lynn gazed at the airborne treasure. Wore a father's proud smile.
Looks like Robb fed it well.
It grew even more in this month.
Wonder what Robb's expression will be when we meet.
Probably heartbroken.
Keeping it at Winterfell must've been Robb's decision.
A dragon this huge—impossible to hide anyway.
Lynn raised his hand. Whistled sharply at the sky.
The three brawling heads froze.
They turned simultaneously. Six molten-gold vertical pupils locked onto the tiny figure below.
Next second—
—a roar full of grievance, longing, and boundless joy—
—shook the entire Northern sky.
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