"I'll arrange everything."
Tyrion gazed at the dawn light outside the window.
"Once I've dealt with a few loose ends in King's Landing, I'll go to Essos to find you."
"I'll be waiting in Pentos," Lynn said, offering nothing more.
There was no need to waste words with someone so clever.
Tyrion tilted his head back, drained the last mouthful of wine, and turned to leave.
His short figure cast a long shadow in the morning sunlight, no longer looking quite so hunched.
Yet peaceful moments never lasted long.
While the people of King's Landing were still absorbed in tales of the Black Knight, another undercurrent was spreading madly through the city's dark corners at an even greater speed.
"Have you heard? There's been a breakthrough in Lord Jon Arryn's death!"
"It was the Queen, of all people!"
"By the Seven! Is that really true?"
"Absolutely! My cousin's wife's brother works in the Red Keep. He heard it himself!"
Rumors were the deadliest poison in King's Landing.
They needed no evidence, much less logic.
All they needed was a sufficiently explosive hook. True or false, it could spread to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms within a day.
Through Greensight, Lynn learned the truth.
All of this had been spread by Petyr Baelish, the former Master of Coin.
Though he had lost all his wealth, he had never lost his most effective weapon.
Like a great rat lurking in a sewer, he was using what he did best to drag the city into an abyss of chaos!
The ladder might carry him upward, or it might take him down.
But he could no longer afford to care.
The Throne Room.
The atmosphere was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.
Robert Baratheon sat upon the menacing Iron Throne.