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Merry Christmas 🤍May today hold a quiet kind of warmth, soft moments, gentle light, and a little peace finding you exactly where you are
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The streets of Oldtown bustled with their usual morning commerce as Mace Tyrell's modest retinue passed through the city gates. He had deliberately chosen to travel with only twenty men—enough for security but not so many as to appear aggressive or presumptuous. First impressions mattered, his mother had reminded him before his departure, and arriving like a conquering army would send entirely the wrong message to the Hightowers.
"The tower is even more impressive up close," his captain observed as the ancient structure came into view, its white stone seeming to glow in the morning light.
Mace nodded, trying to calm the nervous energy that had been building throughout the journey. He was here to meet Lady Alerie, to evaluate a potential marriage that would bind two of the South's greatest houses. The alliance made perfect strategic sense—Tyrell agriculture and Hightower commerce creating an economic bloc strong enough to rival even the Lannisters' gold. But strategy was one thing. Actually meeting the woman who might become his wife was another entirely.
They were met at the base of the Hightower by Baelor Hightower, whose legendary charm was immediately evident in his warm greeting and easy smile. "Lord Tyrell! Welcome to Oldtown. I trust your journey was pleasant?"
"Uneventful, which is the best kind of journey," Mace replied, accepting Baelor's greeting with genuine friendliness. The Hightower heir was everything the rumors suggested—handsome, charismatic, putting visitors at ease with practiced skill. "Your city is as magnificent as the songs claim."
"You're too kind. Though I suspect Highgarden's gardens put our stone towers to shame in terms of beauty." Baelor gestured toward the entrance. "My father awaits you in his solar, along with my sister Alerie. He thought you might prefer to meet her sooner rather than enduring days of diplomatic pleasantries before the actual introduction."
Mace felt a spike of nervousness mixed with appreciation. "Your father shows consideration for my... impatience with excessive formality."
"He understands that some matters are better addressed directly," Baelor agreed, leading them through corridors that seemed to spiral upward endlessly. "Though I should warn you—my sister is... not conventional in her thinking. She has opinions, Lord Tyrell. Strong ones. Father has ensured she'll have real choice in this matter, which means you'll need to convince her, not just negotiate with our family."
"I wouldn't want it any other way," Mace said, surprised to find he meant it. His mother's lectures about women's agency had apparently taken deeper root than he'd realized.
The solar at the top of the tower was more library than receiving room, with books covering every available surface and scrolls stacked in careful organization that spoke of active scholarship rather than decorative collection. Lord Leyton Hightower rose from behind his desk—a tall man with the sort of sharp intelligence in his eyes that made Mace understand why this lord had ruled Oldtown so successfully despite his reclusive tendencies.
"Lord Tyrell. Welcome." Leyton's voice was hoarse but steady. "May I present my daughter, Alerie."
She stood by the window, and Mace's first impression was of someone who existed in thoughtful observation rather than performance. Pretty, certainly, with the Hightower features, but it was her expression that struck him—assessing him with the same careful consideration he was applying to her, neither nervous nor forward but simply... present.
"My lord," she said, her curtsy perfectly executed but somehow conveying respect rather than submission.
"My lady," Mace replied, finding his courtly training reasserting itself. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. I know such arranged introductions can be... awkward."
"They can be," she agreed, moving away from the window. "Which is why I appreciate that your mother and my father have agreed to give us actual time to determine if we're suited, rather than simply announcing a betrothal and expecting us to adjust."
Her directness was refreshing after years of courtly indirection. "I'm grateful for the same consideration. May I be equally direct, Lady Alerie? I'm here because the strategic alliance between our houses makes excellent sense. But I'm also here because I'd rather marry someone I can actually talk to than simply acquire a politically advantageous wife who resents me."
Something shifted in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or approval. "That's... remarkably honest for a first meeting, Lord Tyrell."
"My mother taught me that honesty, while sometimes uncomfortable, tends to create fewer problems than elaborate deceptions." Mace smiled slightly. "She's terrifying and brilliant in equal measure, and I've learned not to ignore her lessons."
Alerie's lips quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "I've heard of Lady Olenna's reputation. She sounds formidable."
"She is. She's also the reason I'm here asking questions rather than simply accepting what I'm told is good for House Tyrell." Mace glanced at Lord Leyton, who was watching their interaction with unreadable interest. "My lord, would you and Ser Baelor permit Lady Alerie and myself to speak privately? With appropriate chaperones, of course, but... this conversation feels like it should be between the two people actually considering marriage rather than conducted as a diplomatic negotiation."
Leyton's eyebrows rose slightly—genuine surprise crossing his features. After a moment, he nodded. "A reasonable request. Baelor, please arrange for Septa Unella to chaperone. The gardens would be appropriate—private enough for honest conversation, public enough for propriety."
Twenty minutes later, Mace and Alerie walked among the Hightower's modest gardens with a septa maintaining discreet distance behind them. The awkwardness of the formal solar had dissolved somewhat in the open air, replaced by something approaching genuine curiosity.
"You surprised my father," Alerie observed. "He expected more conventional courtship behavior—careful compliments, diplomatic discussions of house alliances, polite avoidance of anything substantial."
"Would you have preferred that approach?" Mace asked.
"Gods, no. I've had enough of men who think women want to be flattered rather than treated as if we have functional minds." She paused beside a flowering bush, her fingers brushing the petals absently. "What do you actually want from this marriage, Lord Tyrell? Beyond the political advantages our mothers and fathers have already calculated."
Mace considered the question seriously, recognizing it as a test of his honesty. "I want a partner," he said finally. "Someone who can help me be a better lord than I would be alone. Someone whose counsel I can trust because it comes from genuine insight rather than manipulation. And..." He hesitated, then continued. "Someone who doesn't look at me and see only my mother's puppet or a useful fool to be managed."
Alerie's sharp intake of breath suggested he'd struck a chord. "You're aware of your reputation, then."
"Hard not to be when even my own family sometimes treats me as if I need constant supervision." Mace's smile was self-deprecating. "I'm not brilliant like my mother or charismatic like some lords. But I'm not stupid, Lady Alerie, and I'm tired of being treated as if I am simply because I prefer straightforward approaches to byzantine schemes."
They walked in silence for a moment, the septa trailing behind like a disapproving shadow.
"What do you think of the northern developments?" Alerie asked suddenly. "The innovations everyone whispers about—their new trade networks, the quality of their crafted goods, the finished farming tools and weapons they're exporting that have half the realm uneasy?"
The shift in topic was clearly another test. Mace thought carefully before responding. "I think change is inevitable, and those who resist it blindly usually get crushed. But I also think not all change is beneficial, and distinguishing between genuine advancement and dangerous disruption requires more wisdom than I can claim." He glanced at her. "Why do you ask?"
"Because how you answer tells me whether you're someone who thinks or someone who simply accepts what he's told." Alerie's tone was matter-of-fact rather than cruel. "The North develops capabilities the South doesn't understand. Some lords want to suppress those developments, some want to copy them, some want to profit from them. Which approach do you think House Tyrell should take?"
"Why not all three?" Mace replied. "Study what they're doing to determine if it's actually useful or just impressive-looking theater. Develop our own versions of anything genuinely valuable. And yes, profit from the trade opportunities their innovations create rather than seeing them only as threats to our existing advantages."
Alerie stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "That's... actually sophisticated thinking, Lord Tyrell."
"I'm capable of it occasionally," Mace said with a slight smile. "My mother would tell you not often enough, but she has unusually high standards."
For the first time, Alerie's expression softened into something approaching a genuine smile. "I think I'm going to like Lady Olenna."
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Far across the city, in a chamber deep within the Citadel that appeared on no official maps, Archmaester Walton convened a meeting that would have horrified the more idealistic members of their order. The attendees were carefully selected—maesters whose pragmatism exceeded their dedication to pure scholarship, lords whose economic interests aligned with containing northern expansion, merchants whose profits had declined as White Harbor's trade grew.
"Gentlemen," Walton began without preamble, "we face a threat to the realm's stability that requires coordinated response. The North's innovations have disrupted trade patterns, undermined traditional economic relationships, and created capabilities that operate outside proper oversight."
Lord Hightower's steward—a man named Gormon who served as proxy when Leyton couldn't attend such meetings personally—leaned forward with interest. "The Citadel proposes action?"
"The Citadel proposes strategy," Walton corrected. "Direct opposition has proven... ineffective. The North's capabilities are real, their economic advantages tangible, their position too strong for conventional suppression. But every strength has corresponding vulnerabilities. We simply need to identify and exploit them."
A merchant lord from the Arbor—Ser Harlan Redwyne—cleared his throat. "What vulnerabilities? Their tools are superior, their preserved foods last longer, their training methods produce results. How do we compete with actual advantages?"
"We don't compete," Walton said with satisfaction. "We control the resources they need to maintain those advantages. The North can innovate all they wish, but they still depend on southern grain, southern timber from accessible ports, southern trade routes for their exports. If we coordinate to restrict those resources or inflate their costs..."
Understanding dawned across multiple faces simultaneously.
"You're proposing economic warfare," Gormon said slowly. "Raising prices on essential goods, restricting access to southern markets, creating conditions where northern innovations become too expensive to sustain."
"I'm proposing market coordination among allied interests," Walton replied smoothly. "Perfectly legal, entirely within our rights as independent economic actors. If the Reach's grain costs more for northern buyers, if the Arbor's ships charge premium rates for northern cargo, if Oldtown's merchants prefer southern trading partners... well, that's simply the market responding to changing conditions."
"And if the North finds alternative sources?" asked a Lannisport merchant whose presence suggested the Lannisters were interested but maintaining careful distance from direct involvement.
"There are no alternative sources at sufficient scale," Walton replied confidently. "The North has population, resources, and innovations. What they lack is agricultural surplus and convenient sea access. Force them to pay substantially more for basic goods, and their innovations become luxuries they struggle to afford rather than advantages they can build upon."
Ser Harlan frowned. "This would hurt common people as much as lords. Northern smallfolk who can't afford bread because we've inflated prices..."
"Will pressure their lords to negotiate more reasonable terms," Walton finished. "Economic pressure creates political pressure. Political pressure forces reconsideration of aggressive expansion. It's elegant, effective, and avoids direct confrontation that would make martyrs of northern innovators."
Gormon nodded slowly. "Lord Hightower would support such coordination. Oldtown's merchants have complained about White Harbor undercutting their prices. Restoring balance through market mechanisms rather than suppression appeals to his... practical nature."
"And House Tyrell?" Walton asked. "With the potential marriage alliance, would they participate in economic pressure against the North?"
"The marriage alliance isn't finalized," Gormon replied carefully. "And even if it proceeds, Lady Olenna is nothing if not practical about house interests. If economic coordination serves the Reach, she'll support it regardless of personal relationships."
The discussion continued for another hour, establishing frameworks and commitments. The Reach would restrict grain sales to northern buyers, increasing prices by thirty percent initially with further increases if the North didn't respond appropriately. The Arbor would prioritize southern cargo on their merchant fleet, creating shipping delays and higher costs for northern exports. Oldtown's merchants would coordinate to favor southern trade partnerships, limiting northern access to crucial southern markets.
It was elegant. It was legal. It was coordinated suppression wrapped in market language and economic justification.
"When do we begin implementation?" Ser Harlan asked.
"Immediately," Walton replied. "The North's lords gather for some kind of assembly at Winterfell. Let them celebrate their innovations while we quietly establish the economic framework that will contain their expansion. By the time they realize what's happening, the mechanisms will be too well established to easily disrupt."
After the meeting dispersed, Gormon remained behind with Walton, his expression thoughtful.
"You're certain this will work?" he asked. "The North has proven... adaptable. What if they find countermeasures we haven't anticipated?"
"Then we adapt in turn," Walton replied. "But economic warfare favors those who control the resources. The North can innovate all they wish, but they cannot conjure grain from nothing or create trade routes through sheer determination. Reality has limitations, and we're simply ensuring those limitations remain... constraining."
"When do we begin implementation?" Ser Harlan asked.
"Immediately," Walton replied. "Prepare official notifications and price adjustments. By tomorrow, the Reach, Arbor, and Oldtown merchants will enforce new terms for northern buyers. Let them think it is simply market fluctuations."