Jorah and Daenerys were nothing-just two beaten strays wandering a foreign land.
But a dragon?
An army of Unsullied?
Those two phrases sent a deeper chill through everyone than the charred wight had moments earlier.
The smile on Robert Baratheon's face froze, then vanished. Only moments ago, he had been brimming with confidence, ready to lead his army north and crush the army of the dead.
He turned his head inch by inch.
His eyes, bloodshot from drink and rage, grew clouded and dangerous again.
He stared fixedly at Lynn.
His gaze was dark with suspicion.
"Is what he said true?"
Robert's voice was terrifyingly low, like the final growl of an enraged lion before it struck.
"Lynn."
"Where is your dragon?"
"I want an explanation for everything he just said!"
The temperature in the hall seemed to plummet to freezing.
Ned Stark's heart sank.
What he had feared most had finally happened.
There was clearly something wrong with Robert's current state.
He was erratic, his moods unpredictable.
He became like this from time to time.
If Lynn could not give him a reasonable explanation now, they truly would not get through this day.
Ned wanted to speak, but found he had no defense to offer.
He could only hope Lynn had a good way out.
Every gaze settled on Lynn once again, some filled with malicious delight, others with doubt and fear.
They wanted to see how this boy from the North, who had just turned the tables, would face the king's deadly questions.
Lynn remained calm.
He did not even glance at Littlefinger, who sat in his wheelchair wearing a victor's smile.
He simply met Robert's almost murderous gaze and nodded openly.
"Yes, Your Grace. I have a dragon."
He admitted it.
So easily. So bluntly.
A chorus