Chapter 15: Garden

Chapter 15: Garden

~o~

It had been some weeks since I first came to Highgarden. In those weeks, I was supposed to enjoy my time and get to know my future bride. Do you know which of the girls I spent the most time with? Simply, it was…

"See this here? This is a petunia, or at least, I think that is what my sister calls it. I don't really know what it is, but it's certainly something to look at!" A muscular man wrapped an arm around my back, his hand settling on my shoulder even as his face became the definition of carefree sunshine.

Mace Tyrell.

Wait, that wasn't one of the marriage candidates, right? Besides, he wasn't a girl, right? Indeed, he was a married man a decade older than me.

No, this wasn't the start of a yaoi doujinshi that Ebina would draw. My life hadn't become that rotten.

That didn't stop him from trying to become my best friend ever. This was the type of man that could only be categorized as a flunky, a man so devoid of any personality besides sucking up that it bordered on insanity. Every time I spent some time with one of the girls in some pre-arranged date, he would always manage to show up and interject himself into the conversation, despite attempts from my marriage candidates to get him to leave. Well, if I could say one thing, it was that the siblings were close enough that there were no repercussions from the not-so-polite attempts to get him to vacate the premise. And by not polite, I mean that they were practically screaming and yelling at him to leave by the end of the first week. The only reason he wasn't under house arrest—or bedroom arrest—was because Tywin had a hand in it. As if to encourage him, Tywin spoke to Luthor and subsequently got the Lord of Highgarden to simply allow Mace's acts to go on.

How did I know this?

That was because Tywin told me that to my face and commanded me to play nice. Commanded, not asked. As overbearing as Tywin could be at times—and as stern as his words tend to be—the amount of times that he had actually given me an explicit order was something that could be counted on one hand. I had seen him do it with everyone else, my siblings included, but for me, he usually stated what I should act like or do, though these tended to be more advice or suggestions than anything he would enforce. This time, though, was different. It surprised me so much that I automatically agreed before my brain even caught up. Not that I would have disagreed even if it did.

Though, times like these made me wish I had.

"I'd ask my wife about these things, but—gorgeous flower that she is—she is a little lacking in the head."

So says the pot.

"Don't misunderstand me. Hightower girls are a majestic lot with a valiant upbringing, but they are maybe a little too valiant. Emasculates us men, isn't it so?" Mace asked rhetorically. "That's why Tyrell girls, pure and demure, are the very essence of feminine wiles—virtues! Virtues, that's what I meant. With such pretty little heads on their shoulders, full of scholarly��uh scholarly things, I guarantee you that you'll find no better wife to raise your children than here in Highgarden. Your Lannister and Tyrell children!"

I was never going to live that phrase down, was I?

"Indeed, indeed. Janna and Mina had taken a liking to you. Once an arrangement has been set, I'm sure they wouldn't be so abstinent as to not let you try out the honey pot before the ceremony. Maybe even put a highborn child in there!" Mace's voice bellowed out loudly, as if he couldn't control it. Many of the guards were peeking my way, probably to watch my reaction more than anything else. I was also sure that anyone who had even the slight inclination to listen in would have already heard all of this, even beyond the boundaries of the garden. That was just how loud he was being about topics that he really, really shouldn't be loud about. "Don't worry. Unlike other brother-in-laws, I'll come around from time to time. They'll be calling me Uncle Mace in no time."

Just how often was he planning on visiting Casterly Rock?!

"Don't get that look on your face. You don't have to worry," Mace said. "You don't have to call me uncle, brother!"

I don't want to call you brother either.

"We're alike, you and I. Like petals on a flower. Like pork to a chop." He smiled, even as he spouted out nonsense. "Together, we can achieve anything. With the men and supplies of the Reach as well as the gold and weapons of the Westerlands, I'd say we're more than a match for even the crown!"

"Is that something you should really be saying loudly here?"

"Nonsense! Who's going to listen in?"

I gave a pointed glance at the guards and servants some distance away who were blatantly staring at us. They weren't even trying to hide it. Just how used to Mace's antics were they?

"All loyal to House Tyrell, and since I'm the heir, that means they're loyal to me." With his arm still around me, he patted my shoulder. "You worry too much. My mother is meticulous in this; she's personally spoken to practically the entire castle. If a spy somehow manages to get in…" He swung his other arm lightly into a chop in front of him. "You may not be aware, but my prowess with the sword is well known here. They call me the Bladed Petal of the Reach."

Somehow, I doubted it.

"I once slew five—no, ten bandits in a row on the borders of the Reach. That time, I dare say that I channeled the Warrior into me," Mace said. "Cut through them like chaff before a…before a…" He froze, his brain working to try to think what it was before giving up a moment later. "A sword! Well, it doesn't matter what the peasantry uses. What matters is what us noblemen wield!"

"The word you are looking for is 'scythe.'"

"Peasant weaponry is of no concern."

"That's a farming tool," I said. "Were they wearing armor?"

"That's…" Mace looked awkward for a moment before he laughed it off. "What armor could stand before such determination? I dare say that I might have been overwhelmed, had I not my trusty steed and sword at my side."

"What weapons were they using?"

"Devious four-prong tridents, axes with a crescent blade, and halberds with a sideway blade. Those bandits were truly clever with these nefarious designs."

"Pitchforks, scythes, and hoes."

"Ah, so that's what a scythe is. No wonder the chaff cannot stand before it."

"…do you even know what chaff is?"

"You don't know? It's a good thing you asked, otherwise you'd have embarrassed yourself in front of my father and the ladyfolk!" He leaned in again, as if it was a secret. "They're the smallfolk, of course."

Of course.

"It's almost time for me to meet your mother for tea." Reigning in my exasperation, I moved to the side, escaping from his arm that had been settled on my shoulder. Not that it was hard, seeing that he wasn't expecting it. Well, I didn't think he would stop me even if he did know. Mace's arm dropped limply to his side.

"Is it?" He gazed forlornly at me. "You'll be leaving in a few days. I'm sure my mother will understand if you prefer to spend more time with me instead."

I stared at him, wondering if he was serious. It was only a moment later that I concluded that he was completely and utterly serious. Left speechless, I did the only thing that I could do.

I walked away.

"I'll be here, just a shout away if you ever get bored with tea!"

~o~

The gardens of Highgarden were truly magnificent to behold. A marvel that would infuse a sense of peace and serenity, with colors that would dazzle many and serenade the rest.

And it did dazzle me, for a time. There was something different about seeing this kind of manicured garden in person that filled me with a sense of melancholy. Of course, after spending weeks here, I had become used to its beauty. That was the thing about art. Even the most enchanting artwork—with incredible photoshop shading—would only catch my attention for a period of time. After that, I needed more and more wondrous artwork to satisfy my needs, which was why I had a hidden folder filled with pictures of certain fetishes which will remain forever unspoken that kept growing and growing as time went on. I imagined that if the same were to happen here, the garden would take up the entire region. As it was, I had gotten more or less apathetic to the garden in general now.

Though, there was not much to do as I sat under a canopy within the garden. The chair was comfortable enough with its cushion, but the person who sat across the table with the tea sets on it was the one who demanded attention. That was because she was an older woman who was currently the wife of the Lord of Highgarden: Olenna Tyrell. The woman commanded a presence, similar to what a principal or director would have, though in her case, it was a notch or two higher. Or at least, that was what it felt like. She brought up her tea cup to her lips, but instead of drinking it, she merely sniffed at it as she swirled the cup.

"These tea leaves are some of the finest you can get in Westeros," Olenna said. "I should hope you don't let it go to waste."

I picked up my tea cup and brought it up to my nose. It smelled like boiled water. I took a sip. It tasted like boiled water.

"It tastes great."

"I wasn't born yesterday, child." Olenna tilted her cup and swung it to the side, spraying the watery content out into the rose bushes nearby. "If it can't be palated, then it's best served as fertilizer."

I merely set my tea cup back down on the saucer. While I knew that she did it to allow me to do the same, I wasn't going to follow along with that. The abrupt change of pace and the strangely accommodating attitude could have given her the feeling of a person who was naturally nice, but the way that her eyes seemed to stay stony didn't sit well with me. As a fan of spotting masks, I couldn't deny my instinct or my truth-seeing eyes; she was playing with me. Trying to get me off-guard or evaluating me from my response. I wasn't sure why, but it was antagonistic enough to annoy me. She probably saw the change in my attitude since her smile slowly dropped off her face.

"I assumed you know why I summoned you here," Olenna said.

"I don't," I answered truthfully.

"Yes, that is good to hear. Very good to hear." She nodded her head almost exaggeratedly, even as she kept her eyes on me. "It tells me that a gold dragon didn't happen to land into someone's hand in exchanged for loose lips."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

"I hope you've been enjoying your weeks in Highgarden since the last time we spoke," she said. "The girls simply cannot stop talking about you. What you said, what you ate, what privy you ambushed. Those silly girls. If I didn't know better, I'd think they would want to smell it."

I had known they were practically stalking me the entire time I have been here, seemingly appearing randomly to chat. The conversations tended to be me listening in on whatever they wanted to talk about and then placing some key words at particular moments in their monologue to give off the illusion that I was still listening to them. The whole problem with that was the fact that news from outside the castle walls took a fairly long time to travel between regions. That meant that each girl liked to rely on nearly the exact same noteworthy news to discuss with me so I would have to listen to the same thing three separate times.

But Hachiman, why didn't you interrupt them and say that you already heard about it? Well, why don't you do it?! Have you ever seen the way they seem to get crestfallen—or teary-eyed in Victara's case—and try to come up with something new on the spot, which tended—more often than not—to be about the weather. That awkward atmosphere that would soon follow with the girl eventually leaving in despair and you feeling guilty that you pretty much caused it.

"Oh, don't take that face, child. We both know that your farts will never be as fragrant as roses, even if my girls assure you otherwise." A maid at the side came to the table and poured a new cup of tea for her. Olenna, for her part, picked up the cup and took a slow sip of the tea, as if savoring it. "Tea?"

"No, thanks."

"A pity. This batch is actually brewed as properly as the previous." Olenna took another sip before she put down the cup. "My daughters are very taken with you."

"All I did was listen."

"And isn't that remarkable?" She shook her head. "If my eldest listened as well as you, I'd be satisfied despite how much of an oaf he is. Did you know that he's married to a Hightower girl with only butterflies in her head against my objections? It was a love match they say, but I will bet the only thing going through that boy's head is that dangling thing between his legs."

"It's the mistakes of youth."

"Mace is hardly a boy anymore." Olenna lifted her tea-cup up, but she paused for a moment before she rolled her eyes. "Even though he acts like one."

"He is the heir to Highgarden," I stated, more for the fact that this wasn't a situation where I could say anything else. Even though she was complaining about her son, her attitude would probably flip completely if an outsider did the same.

"Yes, due solely to the fact that he is my firstborn and only son, that oaf will be the Lord of Highgarden once Luthor is gone and buried." She finally took a sip of her tea before she placed it down delicately on the saucer. "I so do hope that I'll be dust and bones by then. Seeing Highgarden manhandled like his own personal toybox will be more than I can stomach."

"He seems to listen to you well enough."

"He listens when I'm watching him, but the moment I turn my eyes away, my words will fall out of his ears like drool," Olenna said exasperatedly. "Am I to spend the rest of my days being a raven? Will I need to follow him around and perch on his shoulder, pecking him on the neck and leaving droppings on him when he leaves unsatisfactory results, like I know he will? Shall I watch over him his entire life? Highgarden is just as likely to become Lowgarden if the qualities of his person were any indication."

She shook her head, as if in regret.

"But enough about that oaf. Tell me, child." Olenna leaned forward and dropped her chin on top of her folded fingers. "Which of my daughters are you interested in?"

"Daughters? Not going to include Victara?"

"If your father is any indication, the poor girl doesn't have a chance," she said. "He only acquiesced to her inclusion at my request, but I'm sure he spoke to you about it."

"He didn't."

"Really now? I'm surprised," Olenna said without any bit of surprise appearing in her expression. "I suppose that you Lannisters, with all your roaring, have never gotten around to whispering. Well, that makes this easier then. Do tell me which of my girls have caught your eye."

Janna, Mina, Victara. At this point, I had—even with Mace's interruptions—gotten to know the girls over the past few weeks. Janna was an outgoing girl, talkative about everything and nothing. Not outgoing like you would find her in a track club, but outgoing in that you would probably find her surrounding by a bunch of girls at a karaoke parlor. It wasn't a bad thing, but they weren't usually the type that I got along with, mainly due to the fact that those kind of girls would never have invited me out for karaoke. She had a bit of a desperation kind of aura around her, enough that she would probably have asked for a private karaoke booth just for her and her target. Instead of repulsing me, it gave the feeling that I should probably save her from becoming a Christmas cake. Well, she wasn't that close to that age, but the prime for a woman in Westeros was shorter. She was almost like Miura—well, that was if Miura was approaching Hiratsuka-sensei's age and getting desperate.

Mina was like that naive girl that tried to act more older than she was by imitating someone else, but not quite understanding enough to do it correctly. She was fumbling about, making mistakes without realizing it, yet when they were pointed out, she brushed it off casually, as if it was unimportant and to be glossed over. There was something about all of that which triggered a sense of nostalgia and, along with it, a sense of annoyance. Annoyance? But Hachiman, what could possibly be annoying about it? It was simple. She was the very definition of youth. The constant trial and error without a care for any of the consequences, brushing it off with the excuse that it was just a mistake from youth. What personality was there behind all that imitation used to try to find their "real" self? Did I have enough gems to put in the gacha and find out what random personality comes out in the end? I had gotten the sense that she didn't really know what she wanted, even about me.

Victara was a girl who you would find hidden in the corner of a classroom, neither talking nor participating in any group due to her excessive shyness. I had gotten the notion that she was a very private person, the type you would see reading alone in the library or eating lunch in the restroom stall. She was optimistic yet not at the same time, as if she was constantly trying to keep her expectations and hopes lower. I wouldn't say it was wrong, since she had the least chance of all the girls to gain Tywin's approval. However, that was the trick; she wasn't going to shy forever. You would think that a shy, cute girl would remain that way, but it was a facade in a similar vein to the cutesy act that performed by Iroha. These were the kind of girls that brought up that feeling that you had to protect them, yet if you stood in front of them to stave off the horrors, you wouldn't even be aware when she finally creeps up to you from behind. It was the equivalent of a Trojan horse. There could be riches in there or there could be an army of sweaty warriors with swords, waiting for their chance to strike. In that sense, she was the same as Mina: a gamble.

Even with what I thought of as my discerning eye, I could only uncover the mask of what I knew. Romance—in any expectation of the concept—wasn't something that I had experience with. Even diving in the collection of knowledge that I did possess, in regards to what anime and video games had shown me about romance, they were inherently flawed. There was often some grand adventure like defeating the demon king with the romance being a side plot. That was the fast type of romance, conducted with the suspension bridge effect where romantic feelings would blossom if both participants were in a stressful and dangerous situation. My other repertoire concerning romance consisted of slice of life visual novels with dating and eventually gaining stronger feelings as time went on. That required time. Time that I didn't have.

That left me with only one choice.

"I was thinking about Janna." It wasn't the best choice, but it was the only choice where I had some idea of what I was getting into. While she did have somewhat of a mask, the personality underneath should be near enough that it wouldn't be too different. Honestly, she was not the type of girl that I had imagined that I would marry, but then again, I had no expectation about marrying any kind of girl, in this life and the previous. Well, besides a girl being someone capable of accepting a house-husband, though that probably wasn't going to be a problem here.

"I imagine she'll be pleased."

"You don't sound happy."

"I can hardly say that I feel the same when there are questions that remain unanswered," Olenna said. "Seeing as how we will be family soon, I see no issue with speaking my mind. Your father assures me that your dalliance with that foreign religion is temporary, but anyone with a head sitting on their neck can see otherwise. Perhaps not the oaf lord and oaf heir, but anyone of any consequence."

"And that concerns you?"

"As concerned as any mother would be to marrying their daughter to a fanatic," she retorted. "I waited until now not to frighten you or your father off because, despite my misgivings, a marriage between the Great Houses of the Reach and the Westerlands is the most ideal alliance."

"I have…reasons…"

"Left, right, leave us. Take the maids with you as well and have the guardsmen stand outside the garden." One of the bodyguards started, glancing towards her.

"But my lady—"

"Enough! What do you expect a young boy and an old lady to do? Do you think me so decrepit that I can't fight off the lusty hands of a young boy? I'd be flattered by the attention, but Luthor still very much satisfies me in the bed chamber. A boy with a cock not yet grown will do little for me," Olenna said. "Be gone. I'll not hear another word. And take my oaf of a son away while you're at it; all he's been doing this entire time is staring at me from afar."

At her command, the two identical bodyguards—including the one who protested—gave a light bow and promptly left with the nearby servants in tow. There seemed to be a protest from Mace when they got to him—an argument half in bloom—before the two bodyguards simply took an arm each and dragged him away. Only when they were far enough out of hearing range did Olenna speak.

"Indulge me."

"You don't look that old."

"I don't mean in that way, but do keep them coming." Her expression became somber. "You do not strike me as being of the same ilk as the High Septon, but that just means that you have a different reason for supporting the Red Faith so publicly. Well, what is it? Greed, maybe? Money? Power? Lust? That red-headed girl who oft stands on the deck of your ship, looking yearningly in your general direction, is a pretty one."

"You won't believe me."

"I may or I may not. The Sevens know that I can't see the future and not for a lack of trying."

It never enter my head to lie to her. That was because I would eventually have to tell the truth, to prepare everyone for the apocalypse that I knew was coming. If I lied before then, it would be much harder to convince them afterwards. In light of everything, I should be stating my intentions outright, but now that I had come to this point, I was hesitating. It felt like I was holding up a sign that proclaimed that the end of the world was coming while everyone walking by would give me a wide berth on account of my inherent insanity. It would be easier to convince people when there was a crisis already in progress, but by that time, it would be far too late to do anything.

Still, did I really need to? If the Others were as formidable as Zaimokuza said they were, then why did the war take an entire generation? Shouldn't it had been finished in a few years. Maybe decades at most. The fact that it lasted at least sixty years felt like it was either the White Walkers just playing around or they were seriously incompetent. Just because they were zombie overlords didn't make them as brainless as zombies. Or at least, that was what it was supposed to be. If this was a web novel, the twist would be that they were former humans and that they were having copious amount of bedroom relations with random intact zombies. It would even be ideal for me, if I didn't care about humanity. As it was, that option—if it even existed—would only lead me to guilt, delusion, hallucination, and eventually self-destruction. It was a pain when you knew yourself so much that you could predict some semblance of your own future.

Putting that derail aside, from what I can guess, from how long the Long Night lasted and what Zaimokuza could vaguely remember of it, was that the proliferation of dragonglass deterred the zombie masters from taking to the field, forcing them to only rely on their undead hordes. If that was the case, it would be enough just to spread around dragonglass to deter the direct intervention of the White Walkers, which would prevent the worst losses. However, there would still be intense losses. There was no way to stop that unless everyone knew that they were coming. And it wasn't just in Westeros. The Long Night was a global terror event. From Pentos to Yi Ti, there had been legends. Azor Ahai, Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser. Different names for the same person. Considering the guy sacrificed his wife to make the sword, it was probably a guilt-induced trip around the world to make the sacrifice worthwhile.

I wanted a perfect victory, that one hundred percent completion. That was an impossible task. Even if I work myself to the bone, people were going to die. If I protected only those closest to me, if I allowed in-turn for Essos to fall, it wouldn't be long before the White Walkers freeze the waters of the Narrow Sea and cross it with their armies into Westeros. Still, the spread of the Red Faith in Essos was far higher than here so they stood a good chance of stalling, if not sending back the tides, as long as they were properly supplied. The thing about zombie armies was that it was a cascade effect. As long as a plague was nipped in the bud or quarantined, it wouldn't be a problem. Finding its origin was a whole different issue. From Westeros, it was in the North. From Essos, it was in the East. A task like that would be far simpler if airplanes existed. As it was, it was pretty much on the impossible side. You couldn't expect an army to search for long in the icelands of the North or in a desert with a name like the Grey Wastes. That was just asking for mutiny.

So I had to shore up what I had at home.

"The Long Night is coming." It felt weird to be saying that, to be telling that someone who was likely skeptical or outright disbelieving. It was like telling a teacher that your little sister stole your homework. Even if it was true, it wasn't like they were going to believe it anyways, at least not at first. "It's coming within this lifetime."

"I had heard that you were quite the reader, but writing from the Age of Heroes are saturated with exaggerations." Olenna picked up her tea cup, the temperature of the drink starting to become lukewarm in the mild weather. "Myths and legends. Fairy tales from a time far gone. They say bookish boys are attracted to the unnatural, and if you and Prince Rhaegar are anything to go by, the saying is true."

"I'm going to show you something. You might want to put the cup down or you might spill it," I said as I pulled back the sleeve of my right arm, exposing my skin halfway to my elbow.

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Watch." It only took a moment of concentration—something that had taken me long periods of practice to master—before my hand erupted into flames. The orange fire flickered with the movements of the wind, even as it danced around my hand, giving me nothing but a warm sensation. Her expression was stoic, but her eyes wavered and her hands shook. To her credit, that only occurred for a moment before she regained her demeanor.

"A decent parlor trick."

"It isn't." With my other hand, I reached across the table and took the teacup from her relenting hands. Bringing it over, I held it up as I placed my burning hand under it. It was at enough of a distance that it wouldn't melt the cup—or at least, I didn't think it would—but it was close enough that after a couple dozen seconds, steams began to emit from the tea inside. Only after that did I reach back over and place the teacup down on the saucer in front of her.

Olenna stared down at the cup, though I couldn't tell how she felt about it. It was only after a few moments that she finally reached down and picked it up. After feeling the many sides of the cup, as if to test its warmth, she brought it up to her lips and took a sip of the tea. After the sip and after she pulled back the cup, her tongue flickered out momentarily, as if to taste the heated sensation on her lips.

"Do you still think that it's myth and legends?"

"Yes," Olenna said without hesitation. "But I'll keep a more open mind about witchcraft. I suppose there's merit to the septon's talks after all."

"I see." It was frustrating, but not unexpected. I didn't think it would be easy, and as I expected, I was right. A person firmly entrenched in their opinion would have a hard time believing otherwise. I certainly wouldn't believe in Susanoo until he was right in front of me, no matter how many Shinto priests preach his existence. Convincing her would be like trying to convince myself, the "me" that never went through all this reincarnation mess. How was I supposed to convince her to believe me? The answer was simple.

I didn't even try.

"Believe what you want. I know what I saw, and I know what I have to do, but you have your answer now, don't you?" I extinguished the flames on my hand.

"I do," Olenna said with a reluctant nod. "But child, your zealotry is misguided. Even if it were in the service of the Seven, I'd say the same. Myths, prophecies, legends, and magic. They're all tales that should be buried and forgotten; all they lead to is madness. Your supposed doomsday will pass me by, and I'll simply be sitting here, drinking my tea on a day like any other with nary a worry. Though, maybe a bit chillier than normal."

"I'll be glad if it's wrong."

"Then we have that in common, in the least." She was still holding up the cup, feeling the warmth of it in her hands. "You should teach Left and Right how to do your fire trick. It'd be a marvelous present for your new in-laws."

"It's not something that can be taught."

"A pity." She placed the cup down on the saucer.

"Are you planning to reign in the alliance agreement?"

"If I was, then I'd have confronted you before you set your eyes on Janna. I care little about your obsession with misguided prophecies, as long as it does not concern the Reach or my daughter. Still, you shouldn't be so concerned with something that most likely will not occur even after I am dust and bones. The present demands your attention. You should be paying attention to Rickard Stark."

"The Lord of House Stark?"

"Are you asking or stating?" When I didn't reply, she continued speaking. "Yes, yes, the Lord of Winderfell, Warden of the North. One and the very same."

"Did something happen?"

"Tell me. What do you think of the alliances that the Starks are making?"

It wasn't a hard question. The news was widespread as it was. The four kingdoms in the north and east—the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and Stormlands—are smaller and more desolate than the Westerlands and the Reach. In consideration of that, the Targaryens had never paid much attention to these small constituencies, traditionally putting most of their attention and favor towards Westerlands and the Reach. The only kingdoms that suffered worse was Dorne and the Iron Islands, kingdoms that were practically ignored in most eras and simply ruled themselves. In that regard, having some of their family relations become friends during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, they sought to seal their alliance through marriage and fostering. It was an intricate enough web that I didn't want to get into, but sufficient to say, it bound all four kingdoms together into an alliance through marriage with the exception of the Vale, though I couldn't imagine them abstaining from the alliance in any case.

"It's not an alliance for military protection, and it's not an economic agreement since they need to import food from the Reach," I said. "It's a political bloc, so they can have more influence with the crown. They can try to grab more benefits that is more traditionally reserved for the Westerlands and the Reach and threaten the crown with sanctions if they implement unfavorable policies."

"My, my. What an astounding grasp of politics for a child who had never been to court. I'd have offered my daughter in marriage if she weren't already arranged to you," Olenna said with a casual air. "Did you know that the Riverlands made overtures to your father? The second son to the second daughter."

"This is the first I've heard of it." I didn't bother to hide the frown that came to my face.

"Is that so? I'd have thought it was your idea, to join the Stark's ambitions."

"Ambitions?"

"It is the first time that a Lord of Winterfell has fully turned his eyes to the politics of the south instead of the north," Olenna said. "Fueled by foolishness and rumors. They say that Targaryens without dragons are just simply madmen. Flesh and blood without scales and fire, who can be slain by the touch of a blade. I imagine that those words have embolden Lord Rickard Stark."

"Rebellion?"

"No, even he isn't that foolish," she responded. "Defiance."

"Withhold taxes to demand better treatment?" No, it couldn't be that simple. As I thought more on it, I turned my mind toward the end goal. Where would it end? If not a coup, then there was only one conclusion. "Self-governance. They want to rule over themselves, instead of by the will of a fickle king."

"I had hardly given you any clues, and yet you're correct. I doubt Mace would have gotten it on his twenty-fifth try," Olenna said wistfully. "Dorne has prospered, despite being a small kingdom with infertile land and an inconsequential population. That is due to the policies that they implement for themselves. Why then couldn't the North or the Vale or the Riverlands or the Stormlands do the same? Why, why, indeed."

"No king would allow that. The only reason that the Iron Island and Dorne are left alone is because they aren't worth it and it has been like this since ages ago. Even if the kingdoms were to suddenly become barren, they would still not allow it out of principle."

"And your father doesn't realize this," she said. "Normally, I wouldn't interfere, but you will become my son-in-law soon enough. It's best to keep the Westerlands out of the coming firestorm."

"Thank you for the advice." I bowed my head.

"Oh, I didn't do it for free." Olenna gave a mischievous smile. "When you leave in a few days, you'll be taking Janna and her attendants with you. She will be exuberant enough at your decision that she'll be unbearable otherwise, and I imagine that her sister and cousin will need time to get over their heartbreak."

"I don't see why not."

"Good. It'll let you spend more time with your betroth and allow her to learn the duties that are expected of a Lady of Casterly Rock."

After a few more pleasantries, I took my leave. It was a short walk before I got to the gate, but the moment that I took a step out of it, I found a bunch of guards—including Left and Right—standing outside along with quite a few servants. If it were only them, then I would have made my way past. However, the gaggle of people included two particular people. Mace Tyrell standing right besides Janna who was smiling from ear to ear. It honestly looked unnerving. Another glance around showed me that Mina and Victara were nowhere around. It looked like the news had already gotten out, though I couldn't tell if it was from one of the servants that had been nearby or Mace himself who may have good enough hearing to overhear it even from that much of a distance away when he was in the garden. Either way, it looked like I wasn't going to get out of here anytime soon. As I stepped forward, I could see the faces in the large and expectant crowd who were waiting eagerly for me to give a speech despite the fact that I was as skilled at speeches as I was at having a handsome face. Meaning I wasn't, if that wasn't obvious enough.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I ran.

~o~

A/N: Still sick with the cold, but I am getting better. Updates may still be slower until I completely get over my cold.