Highgarden's gardens remained eternally spring-like, as if the wars and bloodshed of Westeros had never touched this paradise.
Sunlight filtered through the vines, casting dappled shadows on the exquisite flagstone paths, while harpists sang ballads of knights and princes, and a group of noble girls in luxurious silk gowns chatted, occasionally emitting trilling laughter like birds.
Each of these noble girls was beautiful, but the harpist's gaze always lingered on one particular girl — Margaery Tyrell.
She was known as the Rose of Highgarden.
And Margaery truly lived up to her name; among all the girls, she was the most radiant bloom.
Whether it was the curve of her lips, her neatly styled wavy hair, or her fingers toying with a handkerchief, everything made people want to look again and again.
Margaery seemed confident in her charm; she knew she was the center of attention wherever she went, and she enjoyed this feeling.
But she also knew that beauty alone couldn't make everyone like her, unless Margaery instructed her companion to pour a cup of sake, which the companion then brought to the harpist.
"Sister Margaery thinks you might be thirsty; have a drink before you continue singing."
Watching the shimmering, broken sunlight in the cup, the harpist's heart melted. He drained the cup and looked at Margaery, who met his gaze.
Although she showed no expression, to the harpist, she was smiling at him!
So, in his subsequent performance, he played even more vigorously, changing the theme of his music from singing about knights to praising beautiful princesses.
Amidst the melodious music, the girls began to discuss matters in King's Landing.
"Before long, our little rose will be queen. I wonder what our future queen thinks about that?"
"Thoughts?" A hint of mischief gleamed in Margaery's eyes. She suddenly reached out and playfully kneaded her companion's slightly plump cheek, making her companion look a little flustered.
"Later, I'll let the queen pinch your face and see what's different, haha~"
The noble girls burst into laughter, as if forming a beautiful harmony.
But just then, a maid hurried over, her urgent footsteps like a discordant noise disrupting the music.
"Lady Margaery, Lady Olenna wants to see you. She's waiting for you in the garden."
The current Steward of Highgarden was Margaery's cousin, known as 'Garth the Gross.'
The House Tyrell motto is "Growing Strong," and it is a vast family.
They didn't need to give positions like Highgarden Guards or Highgarden Steward to outsiders; their own family members were enough.
The House Tyrell even supported their collateral family members going to the Citadel to become Maesters, unlike Randal Tarly's family, who opposed their children becoming Maesters.
The House Tyrell even supported those collateral House Tyrell members going to the Citadel, and then returning to Highgarden after becoming Maesters.
In other words, Highgarden's Maesters were all Tyrells.
The House Tyrell was an upgraded version of the Frey Family!
When Margaery arrived in the garden, she saw her uncle Garth, her brother Willas, and Maester Loras gathered around a small, thin old woman, discussing something with serious expressions.
Margaery quickly walked towards them and greeted each of them.
"Uncle, Brother, Maester Loras."
"Lady Margaery."
"Margaery."
After greeting everyone, Margaery naturally stood closest to Olenna. Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, was using her wrinkled but remarkably steady hands to prune a rose bush, her sharp small scissors precisely snipping away excess branches, just as she had been politically pruning her entire life.
"Show it to her," Olenna said, and Loras handed the letter to Margaery.
Compared to Mace's doting on his children, Olenna focused more on their cultivation. Upon receiving news from King's Landing, she immediately summoned Margaery.
Margaery took the letter and began to read it carefully. Just a glance at the beginning, and her eyes involuntarily widened.
"— Jon Snow." Margaery read the name aloud, her brown eyes gleaming not with fear, but with intense curiosity and scrutiny. "Such an ordinary Northern name, yet he has accomplished deeds that are beyond the reach of all 'great' lords."
"What?" Willas smiled gently, a hint of teasing in his tone. "Our 'Queen's' dream is shattered once again, but you don't seem very sad?" He was referring to Margaery's engagement to Joffrey, which had long since vanished like smoke.
Margaery returned a smile brighter than the most vibrant rose in the garden, captivating the guards standing nearby. "Brother, a crown is certainly alluring, but isn't the man who can forge a crown even more interesting?" Her gaze returned to the letter. "From his initial emergence on the banks of the Green Fork, to slaying the Mountain and shaking the Westerlands, and now—he has almost single-handedly lifted Stannis from military defeat to political triumph. How will a thousand years of history books write this name?"
Lady Olenna, who had been silent, finally put down her scissors and let out an ambiguous hum. She looked at Garth beside her and said, "This lad reminds me of 'Bloodwolf' Cregan Stark." Her voice was hoarse yet clear. "When the Blacks and Greens were exhausted from fighting, he marched south from the North, delivering the decisive blow and establishing the new king, Aegon III. That period was known as the 'Winter Wolf's Reign.' Now, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms is held in the hands of a Stark bastard. The lords who pride themselves on bloodline and honor will have their faces swollen from the slap."
"Moreover, Grandmother," Willas interjected, his analysis always hitting the mark, "Jon's situation is even more complex than Duke Cregan's back then. He not only has to face external enemies but also deal with internal ones — such as his brother, Robb, who has crowned himself king."
At the mention of Robb, a flicker of almost imperceptible envy crossed Olenna's still bright eyes. Eddard Stark had died, but he had unleashed two such astonishing wolf cubs. Robb's achievements in the South were already dazzling, but by comparison, Jon's direct strike at the heart, dominating the entire situation, was undoubtedly more impactful.
Her greatest regret in life was not having produced such a capable, resilient, and decisive heir for the House Tyrell. Garlan was brave, Loras was proud, and Willas was intelligent but disabled. Only Margaery inherited all of her intellect, but alas, she was a girl.
"Can't the warm South produce resilient seeds?" Olenna murmured to herself. Immediately, her indomitable spirit resurfaced. She turned to Margaery and decisively ordered, "Write to your father. Tell him to stop acting like an indecisive fat pigeon! Tell him to immediately and clearly cooperate with Jon Snow's actions."
"Are we moving against the Lannister?" Loras confirmed.
"Of course!" Olenna's tone was unequivocal. "Now is not the time for false honor!
There aren't that many kinship ties to sort out between the Tyrell and Lannister families!"
Just then, the maid who had brought Margaery earlier rushed in again with a sealed letter. It was from Mace, asking his mother if pursuing Tywin would "damage his reputation." Olenna unfolded the letter, and after a single glance, the wrinkles on her face deepened with anger. She almost took a deep breath to suppress her displeasure, handing the letter away while complaining to her grandchildren, "That fool! He didn't care about damaging his reputation when he lost battles and advantages, but now that it's time to strike hard and consolidate our interests, he starts worrying about his fat face!"
The Queen of Thorns' scathing remarks made Willas and Margaery, the siblings, turn their heads away in unison, pretending not to have heard.
Maester Loras and Steward Garth also pretended to be talking.
For the House Tyrell, the future chessboard had become full of variables due to the sudden appearance of Jon Snow as a chess piece.
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