The next morning, the trial by combat that should have mingled blood and glory was postponed indefinitely by a written order from the king.
The Royal Herald's voice echoed through the hall of the Red Keep.
The reason given was that His Majesty was feeling unwell and needed to rest.
The nobles and ministers exchanged glances and whispered among themselves.
Feeling unwell?
Anyone could see that Robert, that fat stag, was healthy enough to kill an ox with one punch, aside from the bloating and irritability brought on by drinking all day.
It sounded more like an excuse.
A way for a king to back down after a fit of rage.
Lynn stood behind Ned Stark.
As he watched the king on the Iron Throne, his face unusually flushed and his eyes clouded, he understood perfectly.
It seemed Cersei could no longer sit still.
Once he returned, he would have to use greensight to see just what expert Cersei had brought in.
"Get out! All of you!"
Robert waved his arms impatiently, as though shooing away a swarm of annoying flies.
The ministers hurried away as if they had been granted a pardon.
Only Robert's heavy breathing remained in the empty Throne Room.
Ned looked at his dear friend, hollowed out by drink and debauchery, and the worry between his brows deepened.
He wanted to offer some advice, but did not know where to begin.
Lynn said nothing. He merely bowed slightly and followed Ned out of the oppressive Throne Room.
That afternoon, a special guest arrived at Lynn's residence.
"Ser Lynn."
Sansa stood stiffly in the doorway, with an equally uneasy Arya behind her.
Between them stood a girl in a pale yellow gown, as delicate as a porcelain doll.
Myrcella Baratheon.
Her clear green eyes brimmed with