Autumn winds swept across the Seven Kingdoms, drifting south from the cold North. Yet Highgarden remained in full bloom, its city lush and green, still untouched by the chill.
The Reach was second only to The North in size, named for the River Mander and the many tributaries that flowed through it. The southern Reach, blessed with fertile soil, abundant rivers, and a mild climate, had become the breadbasket of Westeros.
Highgarden was built of white marble, looking almost pure and flawless. From its towers, bright green banners bearing the golden rose could be seen everywhere, overlooking the Mander below, where beautiful flower boats glided across the water. The Mander rose from the hills near Tumbleton in northeastern The Reach, flowed west through Highgarden, and emptied into the Sunset Sea near the Shield Islands. It was the longest and widest river in Westeros.
Olenna Redwyne and her granddaughter Margaery Tyrell stood among the rosebushes in the gardens of Highgarden, surrounded by a rich fragrance. The beauty of this place was unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms. Within its walls, Highgarden was a green paradise, with flowers blooming everywhere, and gardens, pools, and artificial waterfalls adorning the entire castle. Stone carvings, fountains, and marble colonnades filled the grounds, while vines and roses decorated the walls and sculptures, and ancient buildings lay covered in ivy.
"With no trace of those annoying little spiders in Highgarden's flowerbeds, we can finally speak at ease. No need to summon a fool to sing for us, or hide away in the depths of the garden," Lady Olenna said.
Olenna was a withered old woman with white hair, the widow of the former Great Lord Ros Tyrell of Highgarden.
"You knew about the spiders in the flowers long ago, Grandmother," Margaery Tyrell said with a smile, linking her arm through her grandmother's. Margaery wore green, which made her look especially lovely. She was fifteen or sixteen, brown-haired and brown-eyed, slender and beautiful, and was known as the Light of Highgarden.
"And what of it? The Spider was never powerful. The powerful thing was the Iron Throne behind him. Varys is nothing but a rootless eunuch steward who borrowed the shadow cast by power. Chaos gave him his strength. But the Spider truly began to think himself some great man, daring to attempt something grand and kill that little bastard of House Baratheon." Lady Olenna spoke with disdain. Though the rose was old, it was still covered in thorns. "Now the Spider has fallen into the net, and the spiders clinging to him need not live either. If they follow the rules, I will spare them. If they dare get in the way, I will crush them at once."
"Varys was far too vicious, actually trying to assassinate Gendry," Margaery sighed. "The Storm uses ruthless methods, has extraordinary luck, and came through unharmed."
"Not just luck. That little Smith is ruthless, and his cunning, methods, and patience all far exceed ordinary men. The Storm and Varys were never compatible. Once Stannis and Barristan were put to good use, Varys knew there was no escaping death. Still, the Spider had some courage. He did not run. Instead, he tried to spill blood in the Red Keep and plunge the Seven Kingdoms back into chaos," Lady Olenna said.
"Gendry brought battlefield tactics into the court of King's Landing. He lured the enemy in, just as he lured the Horselord, the Kingslayer, and Malaquo. Varys staked everything on the assassination, but lost it all. His little birds and claws were all killed by the Storm," Margaery said.
"You are clever, child. Your father led soldiers for decades, yet I have never seen him understand a single tactic." The Queen of Thorns looked at her granddaughter with satisfaction. "Look at the whole board, then see the road ahead."
"Gendry won," Margaery said.
"So he did. The victor in power deserves every praise. Just as we relied on the Dragonlord to gain this city, not the failed House Greenhand." Olenna nodded. "A Master of Coin position has your father buzzing around like a fly, yet the Great Lord of Highgarden still does not understand the dangers of the game of power. I warned him. It is easy to mount a stag, and hard to climb down. All the more when it is a wild stag."
"Lord Mace has lived for decades, yet still behaves like an idiot. As for his young master, he is brave, cunning, and certainly ruthless. Far more frightening than his father Robert. A new house, Gendry T.B. Breaker. If the Crownlands, Harrenhal, and the Stormlands are united as one, the power of the royal house will rise sharply..." Lady Olenna lifted the decree in her hand, a decree from King's Landing concerning the new king's coronation and certain celebratory rites.
"Will Great Lord Stannis agree?" Margaery asked. "He has always been like iron."
"After the war, there will be no shortage of vacant castles. The Westerlands, the Riverlands, and the Crownlands all have empty seats. Besides, the position of Hand of the King has already fed Stannis well enough," Lady Olenna replied.
"There is a secret I must tell you, granddaughter," Olenna said in a low voice. "Dragons. Qarthen merchants in Oldtown's harbor say that dragons may have reappeared, in the hands of Gendry and Daenerys."
"Why has no one from House Hightower informed us?" Margaery asked in surprise.
"Naturally, none of them would inform us. But there may be some truth to the rumor. Those warlocks singing prophecies are not necessarily all liars, and that red comet in the sky is just as abnormal." Lady Olenna snorted. "After all, House Hightower are proud lords of the High Tower. Aside from making money, they turn a blind eye to every summons. But we also have eyes in Oldtown. Your great-uncle Moryn Tyrell commands the Oldtown garrison, and your other great-uncle Gormon is a maester at the Citadel."
House Tyrell was a vast and flourishing family, with many branches and many people.
"Dragons." Margaery nodded, a bright gleam in her eyes. The word was deeply fascinating. In those days, it had been dragons that destroyed House Greenhand and allowed House Tyrell to rise.
"But how could anyone from House Baratheon ride a dragon?" Margaery asked in puzzlement.
"Baratheon was the Dragonlord's bastard. Now he is the one closest to dragon blood. That flatterer of a High Septon says the little Smith is beloved by the Seven, so perhaps he can show us a miracle or two."
"Your brother Garlan is already married, while Loras is absorbed in the way of knights and has no interest in women. Now my hopes rest only on your brother Willas and my sweetling," Lady Olenna said.
"You have troubled yourself on our behalf, Grandmother."
"It is no great trouble, but we must find a suitable marriage alliance. Those ancient royal houses would be best. Why have I not found a match for your brother in The Reach? Because we already have enough marriages in The Reach. I have considered finding Willas a marriage across regions, but that is far too difficult. As for you, I am thinking along the same lines."
Margaery thought for a moment. "There truly are not many who can compare with us and are of a suitable age."
"Renly was once an option, but he is a fool. The Arryn boy is too young, and the North is freezing cold. There are few suitable choices in the highest circles."
Margaery listened to her grandmother's analysis and knew she had skipped over the best candidate. But Gendry had Daenerys, after all.
"I originally intended to send you to King's Landing, have you enter Daenerys's circle, and build a good relationship with the future Queen. If a suitable young talent from the Seven Kingdoms appeared, I would make arrangements for you," Olenna said. "But if the shadow of dragons truly returns, the situation becomes even more complicated. A royal house that holds two territories and dragonriders will be exceedingly powerful."
"You mean I should get close to him, then make him fall in love with me?" Margaery asked after thinking it over.
"Do you like him?" Olenna asked her granddaughter. "Do you understand him? That young stag."
"Everyone likes him. He is tall, handsome, strong, powerful, undefeated in battle, and holds supreme power," Margaery answered, a blush rising on her face.
The Queen of Thorns' eyes suddenly sharpened, like the hooked point of a blade. "That is not all, child. Gendry is generous and fearless, but he is not Robert, and he has a wife. He is not merely a warrior. He is a born creature of power. That is exactly why he has risen above this chaotic age. And that is exactly why I dare not let you fall into his net."
"Promise me, child. You need not use such methods. Just be ordinary." The Queen of Thorns held her granddaughter's hand.
Margaery said nothing.
"If the Storm were an ordinary king, one we could use, I would gladly help you. The Dragonlord and power are indeed tempting, but the Storm cannot be controlled. Even if you are fascinated by a great hero, you must come away whole. It is best not to become entangled. Staying away from the center of the whirlpool may be better for you."
"I will enter King's Landing for the prosperity of House Tyrell, so it may endure and flourish," Margaery promised. That reeking King's Landing had never been a beautiful place, but it was the eye of the storm of power.
Olenna looked at her granddaughter, her mind briefly drifting. It was as if she were seeing her younger self. Her granddaughter had insight and resolve, but how she would perform in King's Landing could only be known once they arrived there.
...
Along The Kingsroad, some small villages consisted entirely of huts made from wooden strips and mud. Septons from country septs, craftsmen who raised pigs, and girls pulling onions from vegetable gardens had appeared once more.
As knights from The North and Crackclaw Point swept through the area, most of the Maimed and bandits were cleared away. Some villagers who had fled began returning to daily life, and the villages regained a little vitality.
A band of filthy, ragged Poor Fellows appeared on the road, singing hymns with thunderous devotion. They prayed for the Warrior's protection and for the Crone to light the road ahead.
There were about thirty of them, all dressed in rags. At the front were bearded men in coarse robes, some barefoot. Behind them came more ragged men, women, and children, along with sows and sheep. A few men carried axes, while most carried crude wooden clubs.
"Who are you?" asked a group of House Bolton knights in blood-red cloaks.
"Noble knights. We are the Poor Fellows, children of the Seven," shouted a burly man holding an axe, a seven-pointed star carved into his chest.
"We are heading for the capital, to the Great Sept of Baelor. We seek the King's protection," shouted a woman pulling a cart. In the middle was a two-wheeled handcart made of scrap wood, piled with skulls and broken bones.
"Join us, friends. We need every warrior," urged a thin man in a tattered septon's robe, a crystal hanging from his neck.
"Join you?" The northerners burst out laughing. They were children of the Old Gods, and worshipped the trees. "We are descendants of the First Men, but as it happens, we are already clearing out the Maimed and bandits. The realm is at peace now. There is no need to go to King's Landing."
"Sparrows have strong hearts."
"Sparrows?" the northerners asked in confusion. A sparrow was a bird.
"Sparrows are the most common and humble of birds, and we are the most common and humble of men," the septon replied.
"Thank you for helping the Sparrows, but the Sparrows still need to see the King. The King is the Smith and the Warrior come down to earth. The King will help us."
The septon had a lean, angular face, a short gray-brown beard, sparse hair combed back and tied into a knot, and blackened bare feet as hard and rough as tree roots.
"Then good luck to you." The northerners continued north, no longer looking at the band of Sparrows.
"You are no knights. You are false knights. Northern savages." The Sparrows grumbled, then spat. A few of the brothers looked ready to start swinging.
The northern knights looked at the Sparrows and wiped their swords.
The barefoot septon quickly calmed everyone. "The Seven light our path. The Father judges. The Warrior gives strength..."
The Sparrows continued south toward King's Landing.