The air in King's Landing seemed still charged with the frenzy of the tourney.
In streets and alleys, bards wove the Black Knight's legend with clumsy rhymes.
Drunks in taverns debated the glory of that final lance thrust, spittle flying.
And at noble banquets, the name "Lynn" became the most fashionable topic of conversation.
When Lynn pushed open the door to the room that once symbolized Littlefinger's schemes and desires, this was exactly the scene he saw.
Several clerks were sweating profusely as they flipped through ledgers.
The books were piled high like a small mountain.
The air smelled uniquely of old parchment, ink, and money.
Arya was shuttling between the piles of ledgers like a mouse in a grain store, her grey eyes shining with curiosity.
Sansa looked out of place.
She stood rigidly at the door in her sky-blue gown.
She couldn't understand why Lynn would come to such a place.
Especially knowing that part of this wealth came from those filthy brothels, a wave of physiological disgust rose in her heart.
"My Lord."
A middle-aged man with a goatee, looking shrewd and capable—formerly Littlefinger's chief steward—bowed humbly, handing a thick ledger to Lynn.
"All the deeds and accounts for the properties are here."
"A preliminary estimate puts the fixed assets you took over from Lord Baelish—including seven brothels, three warehouses at the docks, two estates outside the city, and a dozen shops—at a total value of around fifty thousand gold dragons."
"In addition, we have just tallied your total winnings from the tourney..."
The steward's voice trembled slightly.
"After deducting the payouts to other bettors, you and Lord Stark have a net profit of two hundred and thirty-four thousand gold dragons!"
Gasp—
Even the clerks, used to seeing large sums, sucked in a cold breath at this number.
Two hundred and thirty thousand gold dragons!
One hundred and eighty thousand from the bets, plus the forty thousand purse.
This sum was enough to arm an army of ten thousand men!
Within the Seven Kingdoms, apart from House Lannister, perhaps no other House could easily produce such a massive amount of cash!
Sansa's mind went blank.
She grew up in Winterfell and had no clear concept of money.
But she knew her father had spent only a few tens of thousands of gold dragons to repair parts of the castle.
That was wealth her father had saved for a long time.
And Lynn, in just one day, had earned enough gold to build several Winterfells?
This was more absurd than any hero's epic she had ever heard!
"How much revenue do these properties generate monthly?"
Lynn wasn't overly excited, as if the two hundred thousand gold dragons were just a number to him.
"My Lord, after deducting all expenses, the net profit is roughly three thousand gold dragons a month," a clerk answered quickly.
Lynn nodded.
Littlefinger had just expanded his business empire, only to have it snatched away before it fully matured. He must be furious.
Three thousand a month meant thirty-six thousand gold dragons a year.
And that didn't count the intelligence value and influence these properties brought.
Littlefinger had operated for over a decade, climbing to Master of Coin by deceiving Lysa and following Jon Arryn.
He had profited for years to amass this fortune.
Now, it all belonged to Lynn.
Lynn walked to the window, looking down at the crowded street.
These gold dragons were his capital for heading to Essos, the first bucket of gold for building his future power.
"Arya."
Arya ran to Lynn immediately like a little soldier.
"From today on, come here every afternoon."
Lynn pointed at the mountain of ledgers.
"Learn from the clerks how to read accounts, how to manage people, and how to make money beget money."
"Really?"
Arya's eyes instantly lit up like morning stars.
"Ser Lynn!"
Sansa finally couldn't hold back.
"How can you let Arya touch these... these filthy things!"
"Filthy?" Lynn turned his head.
He knew what Sansa was referring to.
Mostly the brothels.
"Arya certainly has the necessity, and the right, to handle my assets. After all, we have an agreement."
Hearing this, Arya looked smug and stuck her tongue out at Sansa.
She was going to marry Lynn; naturally, she needed to help him manage the family business.
Lynn looked at Sansa's pretty face, written with naivety.
"Lady Sansa, do you think gold dragons are dirty, or is power dirty?"
"I..." Sansa was speechless.
"The dress on your body, the bread you eat, which of these wasn't bought with these 'filthy' things?"
"Heroes in songs don't need to eat, but knights in reality do."
"Your future husband, Prince Joffrey, and his mother, Queen Cersei, sit on the throne not because of beauty, but because of House Lannister's 'endless' gold mines."
"I..."
"Gold dragons aren't dirty or clean."
"It depends on whether the person using them is dirty."
Lynn walked up to her, his black eyes bottomless.
"I'm letting Arya see this not to make her like it, but to make her understand it, see through it."
"That way, she won't be deceived by others using these things in the future."
Sansa looked at Lynn. The unworldly innocence faded from her beautiful blue eyes, replaced by a trace of confusion and thought.
Just then, hurried, heavy footsteps came from the stairs.
A Kingsguard in golden armor appeared at the door, a respectful expression on his face.
"Ser Lynn! His Grace the King summons you!"
---
Red Keep, Throne Room.
Robert Baratheon sat irritably on the menacing Iron Throne, holding a nearly empty wine cask.
At his feet lay several squires who had passed out drunk.
The entire hall reeked of strong wine.
Seeing Lynn enter, a light finally appeared in Robert's cloudy eyes.
"You're finally here!"
His roar echoed in the empty hall, making ears ring.
"I heard you stripped Littlefinger down to his breeches? Made nearly two hundred thousand gold dragons?"
"Thanks to your blessings, Your Grace." Lynn bowed slightly.
"Bwahahaha! Well done!"
Robert let out a coarse laugh.
"I've always found that slippery fellow annoying! You've vented my spleen for me!"
After the laughter, Robert's face darkened.
He smashed the wine cask onto the floor with a loud clang.
"You've earned enough coin."
"You've earned enough fame."
Robert walked down from the throne, his massive bulk carrying astonishing pressure as he approached Lynn step by step.
"Now, it's time to work for your King!"
His bloodshot eyes stared dead at Lynn, his voice filled with unquestionable command.
"I've had Grand Maester Pycelle prepare a ship. The best ship in Westeros!"
"And assigned you fifty of the finest royal sailors!"
"When do you leave?"
"I want the heads of those two Targaryen spawns! Now! Immediately!"
The King's rage was like a volcano about to erupt, scorching the air in the Throne Room.
Lynn's heart sank.
He knew he couldn't delay any longer.
Otherwise, once the King's patience ran out, all his fame and wealth would turn to bubbles.
"Rest assured, Your Grace."
Lynn knelt on one knee, his voice steady.
"I will depart within half a month at the latest, and return with the heads of the Targaryen remnants for you."
"Good! Good! Good!"
Robert said "Good" three times.
He helped Lynn up, his massive hand slapping Lynn's shoulder heavily again.
"I'll be waiting right here for your good news!"
"When you return, I'll throw you an even grander feast!"
Lynn left the Throne Room.
The heavy oak doors closed behind him, shutting out the smell of wine.
In the long corridor, sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting dappled shadows.
Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the end of the corridor.
Varys.
The Spider looked as harmless as ever, hands in sleeves, a gentle smile on his face.
"Congratulations, brave Ser Lynn."
Varys's voice was soft as silk.
"You are now the wealthiest man in King's Landing."
"Not for long."
Lynn didn't stop walking.
"Oh?"
Varys caught up, walking beside him.
"Does Ser Lynn plan to burn all that money?"
Lynn smiled but didn't answer.
The smile on Varys's face deepened.
"Do not forget our agreement."
Lynn paused.
He turned, looking into Varys's bottomless eyes.
"Of course, Lord Varys."
---