Margaery's fingers tightened within her sleeves; she knew the real test had arrived.
She looked up, her beautiful brown eyes meeting Aegon's gaze without hesitation. Her voice was soft and clear, possessing the gentle poise unique to a noble of Highgarden.
"Highgarden never intended to stand alone, let alone challenge Your Highness's authority. On the contrary, we wish to be your most reliable support, securing the hinterlands of The Reach."
She paused slightly, watching Aegon's expression calmly, but his young, cold face remained unreadable, showing no trace of emotion.
"House Crabb received Your Highness's generous reward because they earned it with the loyalty of their entire clan. This reward is reasonable and recognized by all in the Seven Kingdoms; no one will be dissatisfied." She first aligned with Aegon's intentions by affirming House Crabb's merits, avoiding the sharp point of directly asking for power.
Then she slowly stated her request: "The Reach has thousands of miles of fertile fields, the largest granary of the Seven Kingdoms, a wealthy population, and prosperous trade routes. If we could gain Your Highness's trust to let House Tyrell consolidate the forces of The Reach and stabilize the nobles, we can provide a steady supply of grain and implement your new policies in the South, preventing any chaos from arising."
"This way, Your Highness can focus on the situation in the North without worrying about the stability of the South. This is both a path for Highgarden and a consideration for Your Highness's overall strategy."
She spoke of practical value rather than empty words, tying Highgarden's request firmly to Aegon's ruling needs, showing the shrewdness and clarity of the Highgarden Rose.
The study fell into silence, save for the occasional crackling of wood in the fireplace. The warmth wrapped in silence only added to the sense of pressure.
Aegon watched her quietly, his deep purple eyes seemingly weighing the calculation and sincerity in her words.
After a long time, he slowly leaned back into his chair and tapped the armrest once, the crisp sound breaking the silence.
"Consolidate The Reach, following House Crabb's example?" His voice remained steady, but his tone carried a blunt scrutiny. "Lady Margaery, you speak very well, hiding the Tyrells' intentions perfectly."
Margaery's heart sank slightly, but her gentle expression did not fade; instead, her gaze became even more focused and sincere.
"However," Aegon's tone suddenly turned cold, a sharp light flashing in his purple eyes as an oppressive aura slowly spread, "the loyalty of the Crabbs was built on the lives of every man in their clan when the Targaryens were in peril. They had no choice but absolute loyalty to me."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze falling directly on Margaery, every word piercing: "But your House Tyrell attached itself to Robert after the War of the Usurper and supported Renly with your entire strength when he rose. You've played both sides for half a lifetime. Only when I took King's Landing with my dragon did you come here, seeking a stable position of power."
His tone was not harsh, yet every word was a fact, stripping away Highgarden's refined diplomatic veneer to reveal the essence of pursuing profit.
"Now that you feel my victory is certain, you bring the wealth of The Reach to negotiate?" Aegon shook his head slightly, his gaze showing undisguised detachment. "Margaery, on what grounds?"
The last three words were not loud, yet they were heavy enough to make Margaery's heart tighten.
Highgarden's wealth, armies, and foundations were never leverage for negotiation in the face of dragonfire and Aegon's new order; their past vacillation was the greatest obstacle in between.
What Aegon wanted was not a vassal, but unreserved loyalty—something Highgarden had never proven.
The gentle poise on Margaery's face finally stiffened for a brief moment. She struggled to calm her mind, a faint trace of panic flitting through her eyes before being quickly suppressed.
Aegon's words were too blunt, striking Highgarden's most fatal weakness; empty defenses were already useless.
The air in the study seemed to freeze, the firelight reflecting on Aegon's cold, hard profile, making him appear even more indifferent.
Standing in the hall, Margaery felt for the first time that this young prince would never be moved by beauty or words; he only believed in tangible loyalty and value.
After a brief silence, Aegon did not wait for her to speak before changing the subject, his tone returning to a calm but undeniable reality: "Lannister, Stark, and Tully are in a standoff in The Riverlands. Once my new policies are fully implemented, war will be unavoidable."
"I will not let those key players of the War of the Usurper go either."
"The Reach is the granary of the Seven Kingdoms. Your stance is Highgarden's stance."
He looked at Margaery's slightly pursed lips, his tone leaving no room for negotiation: "I can consider what you want, but Highgarden must first show sincerity—not through words, but through deeds."
"The Reach's grain, Tyrell's troops, and your choices in future battles will prove whether you are worthy of trust."
"Then," Aegon's voice was soft but carried a decisive weight, "we will talk about what Highgarden can get, and what you, Margaery Tyrell, can get."
This was not a promise, but a test.
Only by providing a proof of fealty would one be qualified to negotiate.
Margaery's heart sank to the bottom, but the resilience in her bones also surged up. Aegon had not refused, which meant he was giving Highgarden a chance.
She took a deep breath, suppressed all her churning emotions, and curtsied gracefully but with determination: "I understand Your Highness's meaning completely. Highgarden will use actions to prove our sincerity. Margaery takes her leave."
She said no more, turned, and walked out of the study with a calm and steady pace.
Aegon watched the closed door, his expression remaining flat.
He did not dislike Margaery's shrewdness, but Highgarden's past meant they had to endure a test before they were qualified to become his pawns.
"Summon Melisandre," he ordered softly toward the door, and a guard immediately left to carry out the command.
...
The Kingspyre Tower of Harrenhal was left with only charred ruins. Traces of dragonfire from Black Dread a century ago crawled across the stone walls, and the dome had mostly collapsed. The cold wind blew through the ruins with a piercing chill; the entire castle had long lost its former majesty, leaving only silence and gloom.
Tywin Lannister sat in the main seat, his gold and red armor particularly striking in the dim hall.
His back was straight as a pine, his hands resting on the cold stone armrests. He was expressionless, save for those green eyes, which were colder than the wind in the hall, hiding deep-seated endurance and calculation.
King's Landing had fallen, Joffrey was dead, and Cersei was captured.
As these three pieces of bad news struck, the Lannister generals all lowered their heads and held their breath, not daring to exhale for fear of provoking the Lion of the West.
In the dead silence, Amory Lorch nervously stepped forward, his voice trembling: "My lord, shall our army continue to garrison Harrenhal?"
Tywin slowly raised his eyes, his green pupils cold and waveless. His voice was low and icy, each word echoing through the hall: "Garrison this place? Do you intend to play doorman for the Riverlords, wasting our troops for nothing to withstand Targaryen dragonfire?"
The sentence carried the weight of a thousand pounds. Amory Lorch turned pale and quickly bowed his head, not daring to argue a single word.
Tywin withdrew his gaze and coldly ordered: "The main force is to evacuate Harrenhal immediately and retreat to the Westerlands. Do not delay for a moment."
Giving up the forward outpost and shrinking the defensive line to hold their home base was the most rational choice at the moment—preserve the Lannister foundation first, then plan for the future.
"Amory Lorch."
The knight prostrate on the floor trembled and quickly replied: "I am here!"
"You are to stay with five hundred soldiers under your command to temporarily hold Harrenhal. You need only keep a close eye on the movements of Riverrun and The Twins, gathering all intelligence on the North and The Riverlands."
"There is no need to die for the castle. You may evacuate if a large army approaches, but the intelligence must not be wrong."
"Yes! I will complete the mission even at the cost of my life!" Amory Lorch replied as if granted a great reprieve.
Tywin then coldly instructed: "Write letters to be sent by raven to the North and Riverrun. Inform Robb Stark and Edmure Tully that the previous feuds among the three parties were merely internal strife within the Seven Kingdoms. Now that Aegon has returned with dragons to overturn the old order, he is the true enemy of the Seven Kingdoms."
"If we continue to attack each other, it will only end in mutual destruction. Lannister is willing to enter a temporary truce with the North and The Riverlands, each holding our own borders to resist the external threat together."
There was no begging, only the most calculated weighing of interests. This was Tywin's endurance and the Lannisters' way out.
The maester took the order and left, followed by the generals one by one, leaving Tywin alone in the vast Kingspyre Tower.
The cold wind swept through the hall. He sat on the cold stone seat, showing no trace of defeat in his eyes, only a dormant sharpness.
As long as he remained and the Westerlands had not collapsed, this game was far from over.
...
In King's Landing, the study in the Red Keep was warm and cozy, a Stark contrast to the gloom of Harrenhal.
Aegon stood before the desk, his posture tall and steady. After Margaery's departure, the faint fragrance in the study was quickly replaced by the scent of paper and ink.
Melisandre walked in slowly, her red robes highlighting her fair skin. She bowed slightly with a respectful posture, her eyes hiding her awe of Aegon.
Aegon turned to look at her, his voice flat but carrying an unquestionable authority: "There is an important matter. I order you to depart immediately and return to the other side of the Narrow Sea."
Melisandre raised her eyes slightly and waited for instructions, her red robes undisturbed by her stillness, showing her complete compliance.
"After you return to Tyrosh, assist Triarch Luciana in attempting to hatch the dragon eggs." Aegon's tone was indifferent, but the content was of immense weight.
A glimmer flashed in Melisandre's eyes, but she showed no outward emotion, remaining bowed as she listened, only nodding slightly to acknowledge the command.
"I know that hatching rituals are often related to fire, but I strictly forbid any large-scale blood sacrifices. That would only disrupt the order of the Three Cities."
Aegon's purple eyes were sharp as he emphasized seriously, "Follow a voluntary principle. Establish fixed locations where commoners can voluntarily donate small amounts of blood in exchange for grain, coin, or tax reductions. No coercion is allowed."
"Proceed with this matter slowly; do not seek quick results. Discuss the details with Luciana and ensure everything is stable."
Melisandre bowed deeply, her voice soft and pious: "As you wish. I shall depart immediately and will not fail Your Highness's trust."
With that, she slowly rose and walked out of the study with steady steps, without any hesitation.
Leaving the Red Keep, Melisandre headed straight for the Port. The sea breeze was cool as she boarded a ship. Standing at the prow, she watched the receding coastline of King's Landing, her red robes fluttering slightly in the wind. Her eyes remained filled with calm certainty as she planned the tasks ahead for when she reached the Narrow Sea Realm.
The ship cut through the waves, sailing slowly toward the southeast of the Narrow Sea. The journey was peaceful, and before long, it approached Lys on the opposite shore.
The sea breeze at Lys carried a salty warmth, quite different from the chill of Westeros. The Port was bustling with merchant ships, filled with lively energy everywhere.
Arianne Martell stood on a high terrace overlooking the sea, watching the ships slowly entering the Port. Her long hair was brushed by the sea breeze and casually tied behind her head, fully displaying the radiance of a Princess of Dorne.
Her brow was slightly furrowed with a hint of suppressed indignation. She had traveled thousands of miles across the sea only to find it a wasted trip; Aegon had already left for Westeros, leaving her alone in Lys. In the past, she would have already sailed back in a rage.
But as her fingers unconsciously stroked the Sun and Spear emblem of Dorne in her sleeve, her brow slowly relaxed, and the indignation in her eyes faded, replaced by determination.
Dorne had been isolated for many years, and now that Aegon was sweeping across the Seven Kingdoms with his dragons, the entire landscape had changed. Leaving in anger now would only mean losing all initiative.
She could not leave; she had to stay in Lys to see Aegon's Narrow Sea Realm for herself, observe Triarch Luciana's methods, understand the true strength of this place, and see the dragon that had returned to the world under Daenerys's care, before seeking the most suitable path for Dorne.
Arianne's lips curled slightly with the pride and boldness unique to a Princess of Dorne. She turned and walked down from the terrace. Instead of ordering a return voyage, she headed toward the Princes Residence in the city, her posture upright and her gaze firm, determined to stay in this Narrow Sea city-state to watch the situation and wait for her chance.
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