Chapter 57: Roses in the Twilight
That same evening, in the rose gardens of Highgarden, Margaery Tyrell walked beside her grandmother beneath a sunset that painted the flowers gold and red. The air smelled of petals, water, and summer lingering beyond its proper hour. It was beautiful enough to be suspicious. The Reach always looked most harmless when it was arranging something.
“Is the news confirmed?” Lady Olenna Tyrell asked, leaning on her cane as they followed the path between trimmed hedges.
“Confirmed, Grandmother,” Margaery said. She glanced once toward the handmaidens. They were trusted and kept far enough away not to become inconvenient witnesses. “Our people in King’s Landing saw the Lannister army assembling. Baggage is being loaded onto wagons. The orders from the Tower of the Hand have not been declared openly, but Flio’s contacts among the merchant guilds heard enough. Tywin means to abandon King’s Landing and return west with his strength.”
“Abandon King’s Landing?” Olenna gave a dry little laugh. “No, child. He is throwing a hot stone into our lap and trusting we will be too polite to drop it on his foot. Cersei, Joffrey, the court, the debts, the starving city, Stannis watching from Dragonstone. A charming gift. Men are very generous when giving away problems they created.”
“Father seems pleased to receive the regency,” Margaery said carefully.
“What else fits in your father’s head besides titles, songs, and the sound of men praising him?” Olenna’s mouth tightened. “He thinks the gods have handed him power. He has not looked closely at the wrapping. There is always poison under sudden gifts. Especially when they come from Lord Tywin.”
Margaery lowered her eyes for a moment. Her father was not stupid, whatever some said when they mistook charm for sense. But he did enjoy being honored. Too much. Titles pleased him the way sunlight pleased flowers. Her grandmother preferred roots, thorns, and the things that survived after sunlight faded.
“What should we do?” Margaery asked. “Refuse?”
“Refuse? And let every lord say House Tyrell was afraid to rule what it spent years trying to reach?” Olenna shook her head. “No. We take the regency. We take it with banners, smiles, music, and all the proper nonsense men require before handing over power. Let your father walk into the Red Keep with his chest out and sit in that ugly chair. But listen carefully. We want the name and the convenience power gives. We do not throw ourselves into the pit.”
Margaery understood the shape of it. “The army stays near the Reach.”
“Most of it,” Olenna said. “Your father may have a guard large enough to look respectable in King’s Landing, but not enough to weaken us. Grain continues, but at market price or slightly above. Controlled flow. We cannot let King’s Landing starve and turn against us, but we also will not empty our granaries for a city that breeds riots like fleas.”
“And the Westerlands?”
“That,” Olenna said, stopping near a fountain, “is the true matter.”
The water murmured beside them. Beyond the garden walls, Highgarden remained peaceful, wealthy, and proud. Westeros had a habit of making peaceful places pay for distant wars, usually after the men in peaceful places finished congratulating themselves on being clever.
“When Tywin returns,” Olenna continued, “will he be a cornered beast or a tiger returning to its hills? And this Arthur Greyoak of Battania, is he a fire that burns bright and dies, or has he truly begun to overturn the board? The answer decides more than the future of House Lannister. It decides the balance of the kingdoms and our place in it.”
Margaery took a folded slip of paper from her sleeve.
“There is news,” she said softly. “Fragmented and not fully confirmed. His people appear to have stopped at Casterly Rock. They have not continued their offensive. Instead, they are building fortifications, clearing fields, restoring port trade, recruiting craftsmen and farmers, and putting roads and markets back into use.”
Olenna’s eyes narrowed.
“That is not the behavior of a bandit.”
“No,” Margaery said. “He acts like a lord managing territory. There are also rumors that he had contact with a local witch in the Westerlands. Some say she helped him take Casterly Rock.”
“A witch and a builder,” Olenna muttered. “That is an unpleasant mixture. A butcher is simple. A lord who understands foundations is more dangerous. If he can truly hold Casterly Rock and Lannisport, even without the whole Westerlands, he becomes impossible to ignore.”
She did not finish the thought. She did not need to. A new power holding Lannister gold and the largest port in the West would shatter old assumptions. Friend or enemy, it would force every house to measure itself again. Men hated measuring themselves when someone else had grown taller.
“Continue the investigation,” Olenna said. “At any cost. I want his true strength, his officers, his supply, his weaknesses, and the loyalties inside his army. I want to know if anyone near him can be bought, frightened, flattered, or divided. Also, tell our people in Randyll’s camp to keep their eyes open. They are to help the Lannisters resist the enemy, yes, but also preserve Reach strength and see clearly.”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“And write to Loras,” Olenna added. Her tone softened by a finger’s width, which was a great deal for her. “Tell him to fight bravely if he must, but more importantly, to come home alive. The future of House Tyrell needs every rose to bloom in the proper place.”
Margaery nodded, committing each word to memory.
The sun finally sank behind the distant hills, and the rose garden fell into twilight. Far to the east, Tywin had made his choice. In the Reach, the Tyrells had made theirs. Between them, in the mountains and gold roads of the Westerlands, Arthur Greyoak was building something that neither side understood well enough to safely dismiss.
The wind rose through the roses, soft and cool. It smelled sweet, which in politics usually meant someone had hidden the knife properly.
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