Looking at the handsome yet brainless young prince standing before him, Lynd smiled calmly and said, "Ruling a kingdom requires more than just noble blood and armies; it needs laws and institutions. Those are the true foundations of stability. Prince Joffrey, could you tell me exactly which law in the Seven Kingdoms demands that subjects hand over their treasures to their lord?"
"Prince Lynd, Joffrey..." Queen Cersei began, her face slightly tense, trying to intervene.
Lynd interrupted her with a firm look, saying clearly, "Your Grace, Prince Joffrey is already a grown man who will one day be king. It's essential he learns to think and act independently, rather than hiding beneath a woman's skirts."
"I'm not hiding beneath a woman's skirts! I'm the heir to the Iron Throne—the future king!" Joffrey snapped angrily, rising to his feet.
His sudden shout startled Myrcella, Sansa, and the other noble girls nearby, who had been peacefully playing moments ago.
"Very well," Lynd nodded patiently. "Then please answer the question. Which law states that a subject must hand over his treasures to his lord?"
Under Lynd's intense gaze, Joffrey reluctantly lowered his head and muttered, "I don't know... Isn't it just expected?"
"Good. Since you're uncertain, Prince, let's clarify it right now." Lynd turned towards an attendant nearby. "Summon Grand Maester Pycelle immediately, and have him bring along his assistant Maesters as well as a full copy of the kingdom's legal codes." Turning back to the tense noblewomen around him, he reassured gently, "Ladies, please be seated. Prince Joffrey and I are merely having a discussion about the laws of the realm—not an argument."
The ladies quietly resumed their seats, though none dared resume casual chatter, instead sipping tea quietly to calm their nerves.
Joffrey stood awkwardly, glancing towards Cersei for help. But even Cersei appeared subdued under Lynd's authoritative presence, unable to speak up. Refusing to openly yield, she quietly beckoned a handmaiden and whispered instructions to her.
Lynd knew exactly what the queen was planning but ignored it. Instead, he turned to the nervous Sansa Stark, smiling warmly. "It's been a long time, Lady Sansa. Last time we met in Winterfell, you were just a young girl. You've grown into an exceptional lady."
"It's an honor to see you again, Prince Lynd," Sansa replied politely, curtsying gracefully.
Lynd then turned to the blonde-haired girl beside her. "Princess Myrcella, I'm delighted to meet you."
"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Prince Lynd," Myrcella replied softly, performing a polite curtsy before asking curiously, "Did Prince Augustus not accompany you this time?"
"No, he didn't," Lynd smiled gently. "The little rascal is currently running wild on Ny Sar, either playing in the forests or fishing with the Old Man in the River. He's grown quite wild, actually. When you marry him someday, I hope you won't find his roughness troublesome."
Myrcella smiled sweetly. "Not at all. Prince Augustus's liveliness sounds wonderful." She asked with interest, "Could you please tell me more about Ny Sar and the Old Man in the River?"
"Of course," Lynd began warmly, sharing colorful stories about Ny Sar, the Old Man in the River, and the fascinating cities of Lorath. Soon, everyone listening was captivated, gasping in awe when he mentioned the stone men of Chroyane.
"Were those stone men cured of greyscale?" Myrcella asked compassionately.
"No," Lynd explained gently. "The potion we developed can halt the spread of greyscale, but it can't cure it. Contrary to popular belief, cutting off infected areas only causes it to spread faster."
Myrcella then asked earnestly, "My uncle Stannis's daughter, Shireen, suffers from greyscale. Can this potion help her?"
Lynd nodded reassuringly. "Indeed. After the potion was created, Lord Stannis immediately sent people to Summerhall to purchase a batch. It has reportedly been very effective for Lady Shireen, and recently a second shipment was delivered."
"May the Seven bless them," Myrcella prayed softly, "I hope a full cure can be developed soon to help all those suffering."
Lynd felt greatly pleased with Myrcella's sincere compassion. While kindness often became prey in the ruthless games of power, he knew his own domain would be stable enough by the time Augustus took control, needing no tyrannical leader. A strong ruler complemented by a kind-hearted queen could provide ideal balance.
...
As they spoke, Grand Maester Pycelle and his assistants entered the garden, each carrying thick tomes of legal codices.
After respectfully greeting Lynd, Pycelle asked uncertainly, "Prince Lynd, may I ask why you summoned me?"
"It's nothing serious," Lynd reassured. "Prince Joffrey and I were just having a minor disagreement about the laws of the realm." He briefly summarized their previous conversation, adding, "Grand Maester, is there any law in the kingdom stating that subjects must offer their treasures to their lords?"
"Of course not," Pycelle quickly replied, shaking his head firmly.
Lynd nodded approvingly. "Clearly, Prince Joffrey is not fully familiar with the kingdom's laws. As loyal subjects, we have a duty to correct such misunderstandings. Grand Maester Pycelle, please instruct the prince on the kingdom's most important laws. It doesn't matter if he memorizes them fully, but he must at least avoid such misunderstandings publicly in the future."
Pycelle stood stunned, realizing he'd been summoned over such a trivial matter. He opened his mouth, ready to object, but Lynd's authoritative look silenced him. Seeing Queen Cersei subdued as well, Pycelle resigned himself, reluctantly opened the books, and began instructing a bewildered Prince Joffrey.
The atmosphere grew immediately solemn. Even the most talkative noblewoman remained silent, feeling it inappropriate to joke or chat during such a serious discussion. Nearby, Myrcella and Sansa sat quietly on the grass, scarcely moving, as Pycelle's aged voice echoed through the garden.
...
"What's going on here? Did I accidentally stumble into the crypts beneath the Great Sept of Baelor? The atmosphere is as lively as a tomb!" Jaime Lannister's voice suddenly rang out cheerfully, breaking the somber silence.
Lynd turned calmly, unsurprised by Jaime's timely arrival.
Jaime feigned surprise. "Ah, Lynd, I was just looking for you. Let's talk outside for a moment."
Lynd nodded, apologized to those present, and followed Jaime out of the garden.
The moment Lynd vanished from sight, Pycelle's recitation ceased. Everyone present immediately relaxed, breathing easier, as if relieved of a heavy burden.
...
Outside, Lynd smiled knowingly at Jaime. "There's no need to keep up the charade. You've already rescued Queen Cersei and Prince Joffrey. You don't really have business with me, do you?"
Jaime stopped awkwardly. "Joffrey was merely curious about the Dragon Horn. He didn't actually want it."
Lynd chuckled softly, neither agreeing nor disputing. Changing topics, he asked seriously, "Speaking of horns, how exactly did the Horn of Winter stored in the Red Keep disappear? Wasn't it heavily guarded?"
Jaime looked equally puzzled. "Honestly, I don't know. Robert lost interest after examining it twice. Jon Arryn was responsible afterward. When Jon Arryn died, we discovered the box empty. We don't even know precisely when it went missing."
Lynd's mind flashed to two suspects immediately: Lysa Tully and Littlefinger Petyr Baelish. Given the security around Jon Arryn's treasury, only someone with unquestioned access could have quietly taken it—and that pointed squarely at Lysa Tully. Considering recent intelligence connecting Littlefinger to the Doomsday Cult, Lynd suspected Littlefinger had likely manipulated Lysa into stealing the horn.
"Is it truly that important?" Jaime scoffed dismissively. "Just an ancient artifact."
"Haven't you noticed the changing weather?" Lynd asked grimly. "Temperatures have risen steadily. Two winters ago, not even the North had snowfall, and reports say even the Wall's ice has begun melting."
"Isn't that good news?" Jaime questioned skeptically. "A long summer keeps the White Walkers at bay."
Lynd replied solemnly, "I received reports this year that White Walkers appeared in the Haunted Forest near the Wall, destroying an entire patrol."
Jaime frowned. "Couldn't wildlings have done it and simply blamed White Walkers?"
Lynd shook his head gravely. "Reports from the Frozen Shore also confirm White Walkers leading wights towards the Frostfangs. All signs indicate they're coming south, which means this long summer is nearing its end."
"But the Citadel just said the summer will continue," Jaime protested.
"I can assure you," Lynd interrupted firmly, "the long summer will end this very year. Winter is coming—and this winter could be exceptionally harsh. If the Horn of Winter was delivered to the White Walkers and repaired, the Wall could fall, opening the path south."
"Delivered to the White Walkers?" Jaime exclaimed incredulously. "Why would anyone do that?"
Lynd explained darkly, "Among humans, some worship White Walkers, believing their undead state superior to mortal life. That's the core of the Doomsday Cult secretly spreading in Westeros—they want to help the Walkers destroy the world."
"The Doomsday Cult worships White Walkers?" Jaime was stunned. "I thought they worshiped the God of Calamity?"
"It's just a disguise," Lynd clarified. "They use the God of Calamity to evade suspicion. But the Faith of the Seven will soon declare them heretics and purge their followers."
Jaime nodded grimly. "I'll inform my father. He'll support the Faith in rooting them out."
Lynd gave him a meaningful look. "I'm not just telling you this for cooperation. Winter is truly coming. Prepare yourself carefully."
With that, Lynd turned and walked away, leaving Jaime deep in thought.