Conquest Keep, Council Chamber.
Captain Khorane carefully pointed to a small, specially marked dot on the map at the southwest edge of Skagos. "As ordered, we've built a stone-and-timber tower atop the cliffs along the Bay of Seals, where the terrain is relatively even. Three hundred soldiers remain stationed there. The tower's vantage is excellent—wide enough to watch both the sea and part of the inland."
Moreo added with quiet pride, "There's a river nearby, making it easy to defend and hard to attack. We've stored enough provisions to last three months."
Lo Quen's gaze lingered on the small mark for a moment. A flicker of approval crossed his cold expression. "A fine choice. It blocks the southwest sea route and overlooks the island's interior. It will serve as our base of operations for the invasion of the North.
Send another thousand slaves there, along with sufficient food and tools. They have three tasks: strengthen the fortifications, kill every rockman who approaches the tower, and capture unicorns alive."
"As you command, Your Grace!"
Khorane and Moreo answered together.
As the two men withdrew and the heavy oak doors closed behind them, Lo Quen's eyes returned to the map.
The tower on Skagos marked his first firm foothold at the gateway to the North.
The campaign could begin.
A single thought surfaced clearly in his mind.
He needed a key—someone within the North to stir up chaos from the inside...
A name long buried in shadow came to him: Jorah Mormont.
That stubborn knight of Bear Island, who betrayed his house for a woman, fled across the Narrow Sea, and ended up as his prisoner.
After a year in chains, hatred must have fermented deep within him.
And his weakness—Lynesse—was firmly in Lo Quen's grasp.
...
Conquest Keep, lowest level of the dungeon.
The air was suffocating, thick with damp and the stench of filth.
The only light came from a narrow vent high in the wall, where faint moonlight filtered through.
Jorah Mormont huddled in a cold corner, his once-powerful frame now gaunt. His tangled beard hid most of his haggard face. The iron chains binding his limbs were heavy and frigid, tearing his skin raw and crusting with dark red scabs.
Only his eyes—sunken deep in their sockets—still burned with unyielding hatred.
Over a year.
A year of endless darkness.
What kept him alive was not only the longing for freedom but the hatred for that Easterner... and Lynesse.
How was she now?
What had Lo Quen done to her?
Each time he thought of it, pain gripped his chest so sharply it stole his breath.
Creak—
The heavy iron door opened, the sound echoing through the dungeon.
A figure stepped inside—Lo Quen.
Jorah's head snapped up, a low growl tearing from his throat as his chains clattered violently.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto Lo Quen with such ferocity it might have torn him apart if it could.
Lo Quen ignored the fury burning in his gaze.
He stepped to the cell door, looking down at the former knight through the thick iron bars.
"Ser Jorah, over a year has passed. It seems the dungeon meals haven't suited your taste."
Jorah lunged at the bars, gripping them tight. "You devil! Where is Lynesse?! What have you done to her?! Tell me!!"
Lo Quen tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Lynesse? Don't worry. She's quite well—better than well. I gave her enough gold to drown in. She lives richly and happily with my gold, perfectly content."
"You... you're lying!"
Jorah roared, though his voice trembled with doubt.
He knew Lynesse's heart—her hunger for luxury and comfort.
And the image Lo Quen painted cut into him like a blade.
"Lying?"
Lo Quen let out a quiet chuckle. "Why would I lie to a prisoner? Now, I'm giving you a choice, Jorah Mormont."
Jorah froze, his eyes locked on Lo Quen.
Lo Quen's tone was calm. "Khorane and Moreo are going to Skagos. You'll go with them."
"Skagos?!"
Jorah's voice broke in disbelief. That cursed island—feared by the North, haunted by tales of cannibal rockmen? He was to be sent there?
Lo Quen confirmed, "Yes. I'll also assign you two hundred men. Your task is to lead them, hold the new tower I've built, obey Khorane and Moreo's orders, and secure the area. Later, I'll have greater duties for you."
The two hundred men were carefully chosen, loyal only to Lo Quen, there to watch Jorah's every move.
"No! I won't go!"
Jorah's protest burst out instinctively. To him, it was exile—just another kind of death.
"I want to see Lynesse! Let me see her—just once!"
"See Lynesse?"
Lo Quen's gaze turned to ice. "Impossible. Not now. Do what I ask in the North, and if you perform well enough... perhaps someday I'll be merciful. But first, you'll have to prove your worth—prove that your life still serves a purpose."
He stepped closer. "If you refuse, or think of trying anything foolish... you wouldn't want your lady to suffer for it, would you?"
The words hit Jorah like a bolt of lightning. Strength drained from him.
His grip on the bars loosened, his hands sliding down until he sank against the cold stone wall.
He understood—he had no choice.
Lynesse was the chain around his neck, and Lo Quen held the other end.
For her sake, he could only yield—becoming the blade Lo Quen aimed toward the North.
"...I'll... go..."
His voice trembled with humiliation.
Lo Quen gave a small, satisfied nod. "Good. Someone will come for you soon."
A cold smile touched his lips as he turned away, leaving the broken knight slumped on the floor.
...
When Lo Quen finished with Jorah's matter, his spymaster, Meizo, approached. "Your Grace, the envoy from the Seven Kingdoms has arrived—Petyr Baelish."
Littlefinger?
Lo Quen's brow lifted slightly.
Tyrion sent him? Then things in King's Landing must be worse than expected.
When Lo Quen took his seat upon the throne in the King's Hall, Petyr Baelish entered, led by Meizo.
Littlefinger looked as polished as ever, dressed in a fitted dark velvet coat, his face wearing that familiar, well-measured smile.
Yet the moment he crossed the threshold, Lo Quen caught the flicker of awe in his eyes.
The grandeur of Conquest Keep was enough to make even Littlefinger pause.
The vast vaulted ceiling was painted with dragons in flight, while the pillars supporting it were polished black basalt, wrapped in intricate, lifelike carvings.