Chapter 33: Whose Favor is Better. Part I.

Year 291 After Aegon’s Conquest.

The Seven Kingdoms. The Reach. Highgarden.

Highgarden was no ordinary stronghold, the likes of which stood by the hundreds across the lands of the Seven Kingdoms. Oh no, this citadel was the quintessence of everything the Reach represented. Mighty white stone walls, affluent streets paved with cobbles, and houses with walls the color of freshly fallen snow. The city streets were steeped in greenery, and along the stone causeways, wealthy artisans and merchants paced with dignity, accompanied by dozens of servants, each dressed more lavishly than some knights of the Riverlands. Yet this respectable, wealthy crowd would instantly part ways the moment a company of noble knights appeared in the distance, shining in the luster of their polished plate or staggering the imagination with the richness of their surcoats.

The Reach was the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms; the harvests on this land, blessed by the Seven, were so bountiful that grain was supplied not only to other regions of the vast country but beyond its borders to the fabulously wealthy Free Cities. Because of this, many peasants could leave the plow and, having saved enough coin, head to the cities to become apprentices and masters of various crafts, traders, sailors, or even warriors who had a chance to prove themselves in battle and win their knightly spurs. Yes, the Reach was very rich. Only the Westerlands, with its gold and silver mines, could rival this region.

And there, in an inconspicuous gazebo surrounded on all sides by thickets of beautiful flowers and shrubs, a leisurely conversation was taking place, one that would decide the future fate of the entire region.

"Mother, what is there even to think about? We must act! It is thanks to the Targaryens that our House now rules the entire Reach, and we simply have no right to sit idle knowing that Prince Viserys is currently fighting alone somewhere in that barbaric Essos, winning glory and gold. Sooner or later, he will surely gather a glorious host and return to Westeros to take what is rightfully his. I simply will not be able to look my true liege in the eye if I do not aid him in this noble endeavor!" a middle-aged man spoke passionately.

Mace Tyrell, Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden, was a man of no great distinction, a fact he understood perfectly well. He had no talent for governance, no gift for command, and he had no interest in the sciences. Yet, he did possess one talent. He was excellent at choosing people who could compensate for his shortcomings, and Mace, having grown up in the capital of chivalry, knew well how to speak to a man to win his trust.

His vassals loved him, his knights honored him for his generosity, and even the smallfolk considered him a kind and good ruler. Yes, there were those who were dissatisfied, mostly the lords who shared blood with the Gardeners, the Kings of the Reach whose line ended after Aegon’s Conquest. These noble aristocrats seethed with malice that the Tyrells, who had once been mere stewards, had been placed above them. Previously, these malcontents remained silent as long as the Targaryens' power was firm, but when the Baratheons took the Iron Throne and removed the Tyrells from any significant state positions... these dissenters raised their heads, openly ignoring certain invitations to Highgarden and discussing Mace’s "upstart" lineage in their castles.

There was only one way to curb these bold vassals. But for that, influence over the King and the Small Council was necessary, so that a small regional war would simply be overlooked. That was where the problems began. Tywin Lannister and Jon Arryn found this state of affairs beneficial. Both were satisfied with the discord in the Reach, and these men, holding real power at court, quietly supported the dissatisfied—sometimes with gold, sometimes with knights who suddenly decided to move from the Vale or the Westerlands to the Reach to take service with the likes of the Florents, Tarlys, and Peakes.

This caused sharp resentment among the Tyrells, but in truth, they could do nothing. At the first breach of the King’s Peace, Robert Baratheon would seize the opportunity with both hands just to spite the "damned roses" for the Siege of Storm's End. And fighting against all Seven Kingdoms alone—not the best idea, even if you can field an army of seventy thousand spears.

And now, such an opportunity! To return the Targaryens to the throne, who would be duty-bound to grant a seat on the Small Council for the aid, where one could quietly bring the overreaching vassals to heel, if they didn't lose their heads in the coming war first.

"Judging by the news Lord Varys shared and the rumors our merchants gather, Viserys has managed to create an invincible army that crushes all his enemies regardless of their numbers. Yes, those rumors about a dragon are likely a fiction cleverly devised by the Prince to terrify his foes, but if we, along with the Martells, support the legions of the Blood Dragon..." Willas mused.

"Men. All you want to do is play at war," grumbled an elderly lady, waving a wrinkled hand.

Olenna Tyrell, mother of the current Lord Paramount of the Reach, took a sip of wine and looked thoughtfully at the golden rose, the Tyrell sigil, embroidered on the doublet of her eldest grandson. Willas was a clever boy, showing great promise, unlike his oaf of a father.

The young man had severely injured his leg in a tourney, and as a result, he had only been able to walk with a cane for several years, and even then, not very quickly. But that same blow seemed to have not only broken the Highgarden heir's limb but also knocked the knightly nonsense out of his head. While Mace’s eldest son had been smart before, he had been mostly obsessed with tourneys and veterans' war stories; now, the young man had settled down, immersed himself in affairs of state, and become an excellent assistant to his grandmother, who was, in fact, the true ruler of the Reach.

The still-beautiful woman, now past fifty, pondered while the two dark-haired men waited obediently, not daring to distract their elder relative.

"How quickly time flies and fashions change. Only recently, modest, high-collared dresses were in favor, and House Targaryen seemed like a thing of history." After taking a sip from her glass, Olenna Tyrell smirked. "Yet now I sit here wondering what words to write in a letter to interest yet another dragon in a beautiful rose. Marriages with Targaryens have come back into fashion, it seems."

"Grandmother!" the young man exclaimed joyfully, slapping his thighs with a dazzling smile. "You’ve finally decided."

"I decided long ago, otherwise I would have already written to the Old Eagle telling him how much he’s been misled by a certain cunning Spider. Heh! Even I have heard the rumors of how carelessly they treat the threat brewing in Essos back in King’s Landing." Shaking her head, the Queen of Thorns took another sip of wine from her crystal glass.

Yes, wine. It was all that remained of life's small joys for her. Her husband had long been in the earth, and taking young lovers for a lady of her high standing was simply mauvais ton. It would only tarnish her reputation. But the noble vintage reminded her of her youth spent at home, in beautiful, sunny the Arbor, where the best wines in the Seven Kingdoms were made. Yes, there were also her grandchildren whom she loved immensely, but... couldn't a beautiful, defenseless woman have a right to one small weakness?

"Only the Martells are planning to marry their princess to Viserys. And as far as I know, active discussions are already underway on that front," the young man said, his spirits sinking slightly, to which his frowning father merely nodded.

Mace generally preferred to speak as little as possible in his mother's presence. One could easily provoke another stinging barb directed his way, which the sensitive nature of the Lord of Highgarden bore with obvious difficulty.

"Yes, grandson, that is a problem. But a solvable one," Olenna smiled.

"Oh no! Whatever they are, they are our allies!" the heir of the Reach waved his hands.

"What are you on about, Willas? Do you truly think I would stoop to poisoning a young child of the Dornish sands?" the woman smirked, but seeing a serious nod in response, she only grimaced.

"That would be far too clumsy. The Sand Snakes would realize in a heartbeat who benefits from the death of Doran Martell's daughter, and as for breaking a budding alliance that serves us so well, no thank you, spare me that." Waving her hand, the woman paused for a moment in thought. "But the riddle is indeed not an easy one."

"Perhaps we should consider a marriage between Daenerys Targaryen and Loras? He is, I believe, only a year older than the Princess; they would make a fine match. And that would settle the matter of securing the alliance. The Martells will place their princess, and we will gain the blood of our future kings in our line."

"It is doubtful Viserys would give up such a prize," Olenna shook her head. "I have ordered many books from the Citadel, knowledge from which may be of use to us soon. And in one of them, written back in the days of Old Valyria, it speaks directly of the connection between blood and the power dragonlords hold over their pets. I am certain Viserys, since he has managed to bring back a dragon, is also aware of this."

"What? You believe these rumors, Mother? But..." Mace started to panic, but fell silent under Olenna’s heavy and commanding gaze.

"I do not believe rumors," the matriarch of House Tyrell cut him off coldly. "But I do believe the words of a full dozen men loyal to me unto death, who saw with their own eyes a massive fire-breathing monster flying over Astapor, growing larger with every passing month. That is why I have decided to support the Targaryen. His army is not so strong against the tens of thousands of knights of the Seven Kingdoms. But what are those knights against a dragon? Nothing. Ash to be scattered by the wind," Olenna finished harshly.

"If he truly has a dragon, why have I not yet heard of Targaryen banners being raised over the walls of King’s Landing?" the heir of the Reach smiled tensely.

"Perhaps the messengers are still on the road," the Queen of Thorns smirked. "But speaking seriously, a dragon will help destroy armies, take cities and castles. But can it conquer Westeros? No. Besides a dragon, the Targaryens need a numerous army that can occupy cities and fortresses, controlling what has been won. They need people who will rule, collect taxes, and sit on the Small Council. Viserys needs us, and we need him."

"And we return to the question of the wedding," Willas broke the silence after a pause.

"Yes. And we return to the question of the wedding," the woman nodded, sipping the tart vintage. "And I have something to propose on that account," the Queen of Thorns smiled enigmatically.