Margaery's ship had already turned into a tiny white dot on the horizon, eventually disappearing completely.
Myranda stood behind Lynn, adjusting his heavy bear-fur cloak.
"My Lord, will she deliver your message?"
"She will."
Lynn was certain.
"She is a smart woman, she knows how to choose."
"A woman who knows when to bend and when to stretch is often more useful than a hundred knights."
"However, the Tyrells won't be persuaded so easily."
Myranda nodded, seeming to understand yet not quite.
She just felt that the way the Highgarden woman looked at the Lord made her very uncomfortable.
Lynn said no more; his gaze crossed White Harbor, casting toward the distant south.
...
King's Landing, The Red Keep.
In a dark secret passage, Varys carried a small oil lamp.
His steps were soundless, like a ghost.
He stopped before a secret chamber door and pushed it open.
Inside the secret chamber, on a stone table, a rough clay jar sat quietly.
It was the "can" Lynn had sent.
A ragged little boy stepped out from the shadows, bowing to Varys.
"Grand Maester Pycelle has seen it. He said it's just ordinary salted meat, nothing special."
The little boy's voice was high and thin.
"He even tasted a bit and said it was too salty, something only Northern savages would like."
"Hehehe..."
Varys let out a soft chuckle, his fat body trembling slightly.
"Pycelle is old, his brain is rusted. What does he know?"
Varys walked to the stone table, using his powdered finger to gently stroke the rough surface of the clay jar.
He had been studying this thing for days.
Finally, he had to use an iron chisel and great effort to pry it open.
The food inside was dried venison, wrapped in some kind of fat, emitting a rich meaty aroma.
More importantly, it showed no signs of spoilage.
"How many times have I told you, make the best use of everything."
"How can food be wasted?"
Varys picked up a piece of venison and stuffed it into the little boy's mouth.
The little boy resisted slightly at first, but soon his eyes lit up, and he wolfed down the meat.
"Is it good?"
"It's good!"
The little boy nodded vigorously.
Varys smiled, a somewhat strange smile on his face.
He knew the value of this thing.
This thing represented not just food.
It was survival.
It was the only hope for people to live when the Long Night came.
And now, this hope was firmly in the hands of that young man in the North.
"The Lion of Lannister, the Rose of Tyrell, the Stag of Baratheon..."
Varys muttered to himself.
"You are still fighting tooth and nail for that prickly Iron Throne, unaware that the true King has already prepared enough food for the winter."
He could foresee it.
When the Long Night descended, when famine swept the Seven Kingdoms.
All lords would kneel before that man, begging for a piece of bread to fill their bellies.
By then, who would be the true ruler of Westeros?
"No..."
Varys's eyes flickered.
"The situation cannot remain this stable."
"Peace will only waste more time."
"Lynn needs to unite Westeros as soon as possible!"
He needed chaos.
A great chaos enough to sweep the entire South.
Only in chaos would he have the chance to find a lifeline for the "true" kingdom in his heart.
"How is King Joffrey's mood lately?"
Varys looked at the little boy.
"Very bad."
The little boy answered.
"He smashed his mother's favorite vase and whipped a guard who said he wasn't as brave as Stannis."
"He says Lord Tywin treats him like a puppet, and the Tyrells look down on him too."
"Is that so?"
A satisfied smile appeared on Varys's face.
A foolish, arrogant, and resentful king.
Truly the best pawn possible.
"Go, my lovely little bird."
Varys leaned close to the little boy's ear, whispering in a seductive tone.
"Go tell our King."
"Tell him that in King's Landing, people sing of Renly Baratheon's romantic affairs, but no one remembers Joffrey's bravery."
"Tell him the 'Knight of Flowers' of House Tyrell is just a sissy who likes men, and he's about to marry his mother Cersei."
"Tell him again, a true King never fears war."
The little boy nodded, half-understanding.
"Go."
Varys patted his shoulder.
"Let our King find a bit of the Stag's bloodlust."
The little boy turned and quickly disappeared into the dark secret passage.
Varys watched the direction he left, the smile on his face becoming increasingly eerie.
Go, my poor little King.
Go prove your "bravery" to your grandfather, your uncle, and everyone who looks down on you.
Use your rage to thoroughly muddy this stagnant water!
...
One month later, Dragonstone.
Lynn's bedroom was warm as always.
He had just finished today's meditation; soon he could revive another twenty thousand undead troops.
Knock, knock.
Two light knocks came from outside the door.
Not Myranda; her knock was more forceful.
"Who is it?"
"A friend."
A slightly raspy voice came from outside, indistinguishable as male or female.
Lynn got up and opened the door.
No one was outside.
Only a breeze carrying the chill of snowflakes blew in.
Lynn smiled, closed the door, and turned around.
In the center of the room, unbeknownst to him when, stood a figure in a grey cloak.
Jaqen H'ghar.
"You're here."
Lynn walked to the table.
"I am here."
"And I have completed a task."
Jaqen placed a coarse linen sack on the table.
The sack was untied, and a head rolled out.
It was the Lord of the Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy.
His greedy eyes stared wide, his face frozen with the terror and confusion of his final moments.
Lynn glanced at the head and nodded.
"It seems your mission was successful."
"I merely took what did not belong to him."
Jaqen's gaze fell on an open clay jar on the other side of the table.
"I have walked through Volantis, stepped through Pentos, and traversed the shadows of Braavos."
Jaqen's voice carried confusion.
"I have seen the wealth of kings and the poverty of slaves."
"But I have never seen anyone who could conquer hunger."
"And you," Jaqen looked up at Lynn, "you did it."
"I now believe you might truly be the one from the prophecy."
Lynn smiled, not responding.
He knew Jaqen wanted to say more than this.
"I am returning to Braavos."
Jaqen said.
"I came here to say goodbye."
"And for a question."
"What question?"
"What do you want?"
Jaqen looked into Lynn's eyes.
"Wealth? Power? Or... the power of gods?"
Lynn put down his water cup.
"I want everything."
"Everything?"
Lynn's undisguised greed silenced Jaqen.
"I heard the House of Black and White holds some interesting knowledge."
Lynn's voice was soft.
"About blood magic, about dark magic, and those powers considered taboo by believers of different gods."
Jaqen's body moved slightly under the cloak.
"I can tell you, the House of Black and White indeed has what you want."
His voice returned to its previous blandness.
"But they do not belong to mortals."
"To obtain them, a corresponding price must be paid."
"Price?"
Lynn smiled.
"I am never stingy with the price."
"No."
Jaqen shook his head.
"That is not a price measurable by money."
"The believers of the House of Black and White serve Death."
"What they pursue is the balance of the world."
"And you," Jaqen's gaze seemed to penetrate the castle walls, seeing the giant dragon shuttling through the clouds.
"Your existence itself is an imbalance."
"Your dragon is even more a tool for breaking balance."
Jaqen's words chilled the air in the room by a few degrees.
"The people in the House are very wary of you."
"They believe dragonfire will burn away the peace of death."
"You are already strong enough. If those things are given to you, the whole world will lose balance; they cannot do it."
"So, you want to tell me I can't get those things?" Lynn's tone remained calm.
"No." Jaqen shook his head again.
"I am merely stating a fact."
"If you want the knowledge, you must prove to them you are not a threat."
"Or..."
Jaqen's voice dropped lower, and he looked at the jars.
"Offer this 'gift' that even gods cannot refuse."
With that, Jaqen glanced at the jars, said no more, and bowed slightly to Lynn.
Then, he walked toward the door, leaving only a sentence echoing in the air.
"I must go."
"I hope you can let more people survive."