He paused. "The only condition is that my heir be male."
Olenna's eyes glinted like polished steel. "So women are good for nothing more than bearing the next dragon?"
Aegon laughed, the sound sharp and amused. "That's not what I said. But I intend my legacy to live forever, my name, my bloodline, my flame. A daughter carries her husband's house forward. A son carries mine."
"Convenient logic," Olenna quipped, though the faintest curve of amusement played on her lips.
"I have no issue naming women to my small council," Aegon said, leaning back easily. "Or even appointing one as my Hand."
He met Olenna's gaze. "Even you."
The corners of her mouth twitched. "You'd regret it within a week."
"Possibly," Aegon admitted. "But the realm would run better than it has in a hundred years."
Her smirk deepened. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Your Grace."
He smiled faintly, but his eyes were already cooling again, the warmth fading like sunlight behind clouds.
"And what if your sons are disappointments?" Olenna asked softly. "What if only your daughters are worthy?"
Aegon's reply came without hesitation. "That will never happen."
"Confidence," Olenna said. "Or arrogance?"
"Belief," Aegon answered. "Children are the reflection of their parents' strength. The lowest equal their makers. The greatest surpass them. Mine will all surpass me, girl or boy. That I am certain of."
The room fell silent once more. Olenna regarded him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "You sound very sure of the gods' favor."
"I make my own favor," Aegon said simply.
He stood then, the chair scraping lightly against the marble. "I still have one more stop, Dorne. After that, I return to Essos to prepare for my war."
He looked down at Olenna and her family, his violet gaze as cold as dragonfire. "You've heard my offer. Bend the knee, and I'll take Margaery as my second wife. Refuse, and when I return, Highgarden will burn with the rest of the Reach."
"An hour," Olenna Tyrell said finally, her sharp eyes never leaving Aegon's. Her voice carried the poise of command, though beneath it was a flicker of something rare unease.
"We'll need an hour to speak, Your Grace. Then you'll have your answer."
Aegon studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. "You'll have it," he said. "One hour."
He stood and motioned to Baqo and Rahko, who stepped forward like shadows. The guards who lined the room stiffened as he passed, the sound of his boots echoing softly off marble floors.
"Show His Grace to a waiting chamber," Olenna said briskly. "And try not to anger him, we've still got use for our walls."
As Aegon and his bloodriders disappeared down the corridor, the door shut behind them with a soft click. The moment it did, Mace Tyrell exploded.
"Madness!" he barked, turning on his mother. "Pure madness! We can't ally with him! Dragons, fire, that mad blood, we should send ravens to King's Landing immediately."
"Do shut up, Mace," Olenna snapped, her tone sharp as a whip crack.
He faltered, puffing up his chest before deflating like a scolded child. Olenna turned toward her granddaughter, her face unreadable.
"Well?" she said after a moment of silence. "You've been staring into the middle distance since the dragons landed. I imagine it isn't the architecture that's captured your attention."
Margaery looked down briefly, then met her grandmother's gaze. There was a light in her eyes, not fear, but something dangerously close to wonder.
"He's not what I expected," she said softly.
"No," Olenna muttered dryly. "I imagine you were expecting a frothing madman with his grandsire's temper. Instead, you got a handsome young conqueror with dragons and charm to match. That makes him far more dangerous."
Mace frowned. "You make it sound like you admire him."
Olenna ignored her son completely. Her gaze remained on Margaery.
"Tell me the truth, child," she said, voice low. "You've already fallen for him, haven't you?"
The girl hesitated, but the faintest flush crept into her cheeks. "I haven't even spoken to him," she said, as if that mattered.
Olenna sighed. A long, weary sound, like a woman watching a storm she'd hoped to avoid roll across her gardens.
"Seven hells," she muttered. "You've gone and done it without a word."
Mace blinked in confusion. "Done what?"
Olenna's gaze sharpened. "She's already lost. The dragon's fire got her before he even opened his mouth."
"I'm not lost," Margaery said quickly. "I'm not some lovestruck child."
"No," Olenna said, "you're worse. You're a clever girl who thinks she can play with fire and not get burned."
Margaery didn't flinch. "I know what I'm doing. This isn't love, grandmother. It's an opportunity."
Margaery nodded. "He's not what I've heard about, like Joffrey. He's not like any lord I've met. He commands. And you heard him, he's going to be king, with or without our help. The question is whether the Reach will burn with the rest or stand beside him when the flames settle."
Olenna said nothing for a long while. Mace looked between them helplessly.
"He said I'll never be queen," Margaery continued quietly. "That he's already promised that title to his aunt. But I don't care."
Olenna raised a brow. "Don't care? You've spent your whole life preparing for a crown, and now you'd give it up?"
Margaery's voice was steady, her tone deliberate. "If I cannot be the queen, then I'll be the wife of a king, one the world will never forget. That's more than enough. And if his line truly endures… our house will be bound to dragonriders for generations. That's worth more than a crown."
Olenna stared at her granddaughter for a long, silent moment. Then she exhaled and rubbed her temples.
"Seven bloody gods," she muttered. "You're your father's daughter, but at least your ambitions aren't small."
Her expression hardened. "Very well. We'll bend the knee. The roses will bow before the dragon."
Mace sighed heavily, muttering something about madness again, but even he nodded. He knew better than to challenge his mother when her mind was made up.
Olenna turned to Margaery one last time. "You realize what this means, don't you? You'll never be queen. You'll share your husband's bed and his attention. The other wife will always outrank you."
Margaery met her gaze, calm and certain. "I know. And I think it's worth it."
Olenna studied her face for a moment longer, then smiled faintly, a small, resigned curve of her lips. "Then it seems the choice is made."