The beautiful Reach, with Highgarden Castle built of white marble, exuded purity and cleanliness.
Highgarden's towers were the highest points in the castle, offering views of all the estates and fields within leagues, where wild flowers and golden Roses bloomed.
Highgarden's Godswood was equally renowned, featuring three heart trees collectively known as "The Three Singers," rumored to have been personally planted by the green hand.
The House Tyrell gathered in the Godswood today, not for the scenery, but to discuss confidential information. One letter came from King's Landing, another from Across the Narrow Sea.
The Godswood was chosen partly for its secrecy and partly to avoid the Spider's spies.
Willas, the disabled heir of Highgarden, first read the letter from King's Landing, sent by his younger brother Loras, to his grandmother The Queen of Thorns, his father Lord Mace, his brother Ser Garlan, and his sister Margaery.
"This mad dog," Lord Mace roared after hearing the contents of Loras's letter. The Mountain had nearly killed his beloved youngest son, confirming the madness of House Lannister.
"Loras is still a Child who hits people with sticks, and The Mountain is Tywin's most trusted dog, much older than Loras. Even Tywin's dog is so brazen; look at what King's Landing has become." The Queen of Thorns said with displeasure. While Loras had used underhanded tactics to defeat The Mountain, The Mountain's fury led him to attempt to kill the Child of a great lord, and he then walked away with impunity, truly arrogant.
"The Seven Gods be praised," Margaery said, referring to how The Hound, out of hatred, had blocked The Mountain's attack.
"But that brute is truly terrifying," Lord Mace commented. "Loras was lucky this time."
Ser Garlan echoed, then shook his head. "In a Longspear joust, The Mountain might not be the best, but on the battlefield, he is absolutely the most dangerous. The Mountain is so brazen, yet the King turns a blind eye; this matter is truly..."
"Grandmother, my brother also mentioned something else: that we should fully support Lord Renly's cause," Willas continued.
"I think this is feasible," Lord Mace said after some thought. "Robert has always looked down on us anyway, and there's no place for us in King's Landing. If Prince Joffrey takes the throne, it will be House Lannister's world. We might as well join Renly in a big endeavor; there will be great prospects in the future."
"What claim does Renly have to that ugly, cold iron throne?" The Queen of Thorns asked her son in a low voice. "He is only the third son, and his brother even has his own Child."
"Robert also has no claim. We have soldiers and grain, and the warriors of the Stormlands have always been fierce," Lord Mace said earnestly.
"Enough, you fool! Look at your fat head; do you think the iron throne is that easy to grasp?" The Queen of Thorns sharply remarked.
"I also believe we should wait for the situation to stabilize before making our move," Willas agreed with his grandmother.
While House Tyrell was deeply involved with Renly, supporting him both openly and secretly, conspiring to seize the iron throne was too reckless and required extreme caution.
"I hear the Riverlands are about to become a bloody battlefield; we should be more prudent," Ser Garlan said. "House Stark and House Lannister have many grievances, and House Arryn resents losing the warden of the east position. Furthermore, ever since Eddard the Hand's wife's failed attempt to kidnap The Imp, House Lannister has been brewing a major conflict with House Tully. These events will likely trigger a great war between House Lannister and House Arryn, House Tully, and House Stark."
"Isn't it a good thing if they fight?" Lord Mace asked. "If the lion, trout, falcon, and Direwolf truly form a united front, then what chance do we have?"
"I remind you, Lord Mace," The Queen of Thorns said, looking at her son, "you are choosing a dangerous game. We must win in the end and not rush into it. Kingdom and honor are important, but even more important is our House, for its everlasting foundation."
"Yes, Mother," Lord Mace lowered his head, yet felt that his own thinking was not problematic. Their side still held a significant advantage.
"My little Rose, don't be like your foolish father. Let me ask you, how many people have designs on the iron throne and a claim to it?" The Queen of Thorns asked, making her son step back a little, as she held her granddaughter's hand.
"Prince Joffrey, who represents the King's will and the support of House Lannister. Lord Renly, who has the territory of Storms End and a good relationship with us. And one more, Gendry Across the Narrow Sea. The King of the Two Cities is not only the King's bastard but also seeks to connect with the remaining Targaryen through marriage."
"Very good, my dear granddaughter," The Queen of Thorns nodded with satisfaction. "But you missed one person, Lord Stannis. Lord Renly dislikes being subservient and dislikes House Lannister. But Lord Stannis harbors resentment towards both Robert and Renly."
"With the situation so chaotic, why rush into it?" The Queen of Thorns said, looking at her son and grandchildren. "We have abundant grain and many soldiers. No matter which side, we are the winning weight, and we must not easily enter the game."
Lord Mace nodded, half-understanding, but still held his own thoughts.
"There's another letter," Willas continued reading. This letter was indeed from Gendry.
"I have long heard of Duke Tyrell's renown and yearn for it... I wish to hunt with you in The Kingswood to the south, and together hunt the stag."
Duke Mace Tyrell, already robust and ruddy, with brown curly hair and an Iron Hammer-shaped beard streaked with white, grew even ruddier upon hearing such praise in the letter.
"This kid writes a decent letter," Lord Mace praised, suddenly feeling that someone in the vast crowd could recognize his outstanding military talent.
"The Kingswood, jointly hunt the stag." The Queen of Thorns pursed her lips. She was a thin old woman, but full of thorns. "He has quite a big mouth. He's hinting at you: many people covet that iron throne, so don't act rashly. But how did I hear that this Child is fighting those horse people in Myr, who reek of horse?"
"You're right, Grandmother," Ser Garlan nodded. "Khal Drogo of the dothraki should be besieging Myr, and Gendry is about to fight them to the death."
"This young man is indeed true steel. Not only did he start from nothing, but now he's going to fight the Dothraki to the death. He looks more like a Baratheon offspring, unlike Renly who only knows how to dress up beautifully every day," The Queen of Thorns said with displeasure. "But can someone give me a drawing to see what the Child looks like for this poor old grandmother?"
"I have one," Ser Garlan pulled an Iron Hammer pendant from his pocket. Inside the pendant was a Myr-style portrait. "This thing is very popular in the Two Cities."
"He looks really good. Once he cleans up, he'll be even more popular than Renly." The Queen of Thorns looked at the vivid Myr-style portrait: a young man in armor with short black hair, handsome and dashing, with resolute eyes and hair as black as eternal night.
"How many warships does this King have?" The Queen of Thorns asked.
"At least over four hundred. The fleet controls the Myr Sea and the Stepstones," Ser Garlan affirmed, noting it was a considerable number.
"Then this Child's fleet strength is enough to contend with the Iron Islands, the Royal Fleet, and the Redwyne Fleet combined. As for soldiers, each of the Two Cities is prosperous, and they have those elite taxi soldiers." The Queen of Thorns assessed that, if they were to fight, this would be a very formidable enemy.
"Literally speaking, he indeed dominates a region. But I think only after the Battle of Myr concludes can we see the true strength of the Alliance of the Twin Cities."
"Let's be steady; we continue to be friendly with all parties," The Queen of Thorns mused. "No matter where the turmoil is, East or West, we will observe slowly first."
... In The Eyrie, the Catelyn sisters once again had a fierce argument.
Although Lady Lysa was younger than Catelyn, she had gained too much weight. Multiple pregnancies and miscarriages had ravaged her body and mind. Now she was fat, her face pale and bloated. She had the blue eyes of House Tully, but they were dim and moist, her gaze shifting, and her small lips lifeless.
"You are too presumptuous. Without permission, without even a greeting, you wanted to bring The Imp here, dragging us into your dispute with House Lannister..." Lady Lysa first angrily scolded Catelyn.
"And you call it my dispute?" Catelyn retorted again. "Little sister, from the very beginning, this was your business. You wrote that damned letter to me, saying that House Lannister had killed your husband."
"My purpose in writing was to warn you, to tell you to stay away from them! Not to tell you to confront them head-on! Gods above, Catelyn, do you know what the consequences of doing this will be?"
"We should take action, little sister, I've said it many times."
"Here, we will be safe. Even if Lannister brings troops into the mountains, through The Bloody Gate, they cannot breach The Eyrie. You've seen it yourself; no one can attack here," Lysa said confidently.
Catelyn was speechless. Lysa seemed terrified, unwilling to send out a single soldier proactively. Uncle Blackfish was indeed right.
"But now, that's not the most important thing." Lysa suddenly looked at Catelyn fiercely. "All these years, he still hasn't forgotten you. Your husband is even more malicious; he actually threw Petyr into the dungeon."
"What on earth is going on?" Catelyn was dumbfounded. Eddard had never told her about this, and wasn't Littlefinger their friend, willing to help them?
"You don't need to say anything more. It must be that petty Stark man, knowing that Petyr thinks of you, loves you." Lysa suddenly laughed viciously, looking at Catelyn.
"Little sister," Catelyn suddenly felt a chill down her spine. This wasn't the sister she knew; had she gone mad?
"Mama, Aunt Catelyn, what are you talking about?" Robert Arryn, the Duke of The Eyrie, stood by the door, clutching a tattered rag doll, his eyes wide as he looked at them. The Child was pitifully thin, smaller than other children his age, with a sickly face that trembled occasionally. Catelyn knew the maesters called this illness epilepsy.
"Auntie is a bad person," Lysa suddenly told her son.
"Make her fly," Robert said eagerly.
"That's a good idea." Lady Lysa stroked her son's hair, looking at Catelyn as she spoke.
"Petyr, Petyr is fine for now," Catelyn quickly said, as Lysa seemed to mean what she said.
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