Autumn winds swept across the Seven Kingdoms, beginning their journey southward from the cold North. Yet the Reach remained a vibrant land of blooming flowers and lush greenery, seemingly untouched by the chill of the coming winter.
The Reach was second only to the North in territorial size. Its name came from the Mander River and its many tributaries that flowed throughout the region. With fertile soil, abundant rivers, and a favorable climate, the Reach had long been known as the breadbasket of Westeros.
At the heart of this prosperous land stood Highgarden.
The castle, built primarily from white marble, appeared pure and almost flawless beneath the autumn sun. Green banners bearing the golden rose of House Tyrell fluttered from its towers, overlooking the Mander River below. Even at this time of year, flower boats continued to glide peacefully along its waters.
The Mander originated in the hills near Stonetree in the northeastern Reach before flowing westward past Highgarden and eventually emptying into the Sunset Sea near the Shield Islands. It was the longest and widest river in Westeros.
Within Highgarden's magnificent walls, flowers bloomed everywhere. Gardens, ponds, fountains, and artificial waterfalls transformed the castle into a green paradise. Stone carvings and marble colonnades decorated the courtyards, while grapevines and roses climbed the walls and sculptures. Many of the ancient buildings were covered in ivy, giving Highgarden an almost dreamlike appearance.
In one of its gardens, Olenna Redwyne and her granddaughter, Margaery Tyrell, walked among the rose bushes.
The sweet fragrance of flowers filled the air.
"With that pesky spider gone from Highgarden's flowerbeds, our conversations have become much more comfortable," Lady Olenna said. "We no longer have to summon a jester to sing for us or hide ourselves deep inside the gardens."
Olenna was a frail old woman with white hair. She was the widow of the former Lord of Highgarden, Luthor Tyrell, and despite her age, the sharpness of her mind had not diminished in the slightest.
"You always knew about the spider in the flowerbeds, Grandmother," Margaery replied with a smile as she gently held Olenna's arm.
Margaery was dressed in green, the traditional color of House Tyrell. At fifteen or sixteen years old, she was slender and beautiful, with brown hair and brown eyes. Her appearance and charm had already earned her the reputation of being the Light of Highgarden.
"What good was knowing before?" Olenna snorted. "The spider itself wasn't powerful. What gave him strength was the Iron Throne behind him."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Varys was a eunuch with no roots or real foundation. He merely borrowed the shadow cast by the throne. Chaos was what gave him power. Yet that spider actually believed himself to be some great figure. He even dared to make plans against that boy from House Baratheon."
Olenna's voice carried obvious disdain.
"Still, the spider has already been caught. Those little spiders clinging to him have no reason to remain alive. As long as they follow the rules, I'll let them go. But if they dare interfere with House Tyrell, I'll crush them without hesitation."
"Varys was far too malicious. He actually tried to assassinate Gendry," Margaery said with a sigh. "The Storm's methods are extremely ruthless, but his luck is equally extraordinary. He managed to escape without suffering any serious injuries."
"It wasn't merely luck," Olenna replied. "That boy is ruthless, but he also possesses schemes, patience, and tactical ability far beyond ordinary people."
She paused before continuing.
"The Storm and Varys were already enemies. Once Stannis and Barristan were given important positions, Varys knew he had no chance of escaping death. Yet the spider still showed some courage. Instead of running, he chose to spill blood inside the Red Keep, hoping to plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos once again."
"Gendry brought the conflict directly into the royal court, luring his enemies deep before destroying them," Margaery said thoughtfully. "Just as he did with Khal, the Kingslayer, and Marajo. Varys invested everything into that assassination attempt, but lost everything instead. The Little Birds and his other minions were all eliminated by the Storm."
"You are becoming quite clever, child."
Olenna looked at her granddaughter with satisfaction.
"Your father has commanded soldiers for decades, yet I have never seen him understand tactics like this. Always look at the entire board first. Only then should you consider the road ahead."
"Gendry won," Margaery said simply.
"Exactly. The victor always receives the greatest praise."
Olenna smiled faintly.
"It was the same when we gained this city through the Dragon Rider. No one cared about the defeated Green Hand family afterward."
She glanced toward the castle.
"Your father is buzzing around like a fly simply because he received the position of Master of Coin. Yet the Lord of Highgarden still doesn't understand how dangerous the game of power can be. I've warned him many times. It's easy to climb onto a deer, but getting off is another matter—especially when the deer is wild."
Margaery remained silent.
"Lord Mace has lived for decades, yet he still behaves like a fool," Olenna continued. "And his young master is different. Brave, cunning, and certainly not lacking in ruthlessness. He is far more frightening than his father ever was."
She slowly raised the royal edict in her hand.
"A new family is rising. Gendry Baratheon, the liberator. If the Crownlands, Harrenhal, and the Stormlands are united, the royal family's power will soar."
"Will Lord Stannis agree to this?" Margaery asked. "He has always been as rigid as steel."
"After the war, there will be no shortage of empty castles," Olenna replied. "The Westerlands, Riverlands, and Crownlands will all have vacant positions. Besides, the Hand of the King position has already satisfied Stannis."
Olenna lowered her voice.
"But I have another secret to tell you, granddaughter."
Margaery looked at her curiously.
"Dragons."
Margaery's eyes widened.
"Merchants from Qarth who arrived at Oldtown claim that dragons may reappear—and that they could belong to Gendry and Daenerys."
"Why didn't anyone from House Hightower inform us?" Margaery asked in surprise.
"Of course they wouldn't tell us," Olenna scoffed. "But the information has some credibility. Those sorcerers who sing about prophecies aren't necessarily lying. And that Red Comet in the sky is certainly abnormal."
She smiled coldly.
"House Hightower is too proud. They consider themselves the Lords of the Hightower. Apart from making money, they have a habit of ignoring summons they don't consider important."
Olenna tapped her cane lightly against the ground.
"But we have eyes in Oldtown. Your great-uncle Morrin Tyrell commands the Oldtown garrison, while another great-uncle, Gormon Tyrell, is an Archmaester at the Citadel."
House Tyrell was a large and flourishing family, with relatives spread throughout the Reach and beyond.
"Dragons..." Margaery murmured.
A strange light appeared in her eyes.
The word alone was captivating.
It had been dragons that destroyed the Green Hand family and allowed House Tyrell to rise so quickly.
"But how could someone from House Baratheon possibly ride a dragon?" Margaery asked.
"Because Baratheon is the Dragon Rider's bastard," Olenna replied. "That makes him the person closest to dragon blood. And the High Septon, that shameless flatterer, claims the boy blacksmith is favored by the Seven Gods. Perhaps the gods really will grant him another miracle."
She sighed.
"Your brother Garlan is already married, while Loras is obsessed with knighthood and has little interest in women. That leaves Willas and you."
"Thank you for worrying about me, Grandmother."
"It's not much trouble. But we need to find suitable marriage alliances."
Olenna's expression became serious.
"The old royal families would be the best choices. Why haven't I found a suitable match for Willas within the Reach? Because House Tyrell already has enough alliances here. What we need now is an inter-regional marriage."
She looked at Margaery.
"And I'm thinking the same way about you."
Margaery thought for a moment.
"There really aren't many men of suitable age who can compare with our position."
"Renly was once an option, but he was a fool. The young Lord Arryn is too young, and the North is far too cold."
Olenna shook her head.
"Among the great houses, there aren't many suitable candidates."
Margaery listened quietly. She knew her grandmother had overlooked the most obvious candidate—but Gendry already had Daenerys.
"I originally wanted you to go to King's Landing," Olenna explained. "You could become close to Daenerys and establish a good relationship with the future queen. If we found a suitable young lord from one of the Seven Kingdoms, I could arrange a marriage for you."
She sighed.
"But if dragons truly return, everything becomes more complicated. A royal family controlling two territories while possessing a Dragon Rider would become exceptionally powerful."
"Are you saying I should get close to him and make him fall in love with me?" Margaery asked after thinking for a moment.
Olenna stared at her.
"Do you like him?"
She paused.
"Do you understand him, child? The young stag?"
"Everyone likes him," Margaery replied. A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "He's tall, handsome, strong, victorious in every battle, and possesses tremendous authority."
Olenna's eyes suddenly sharpened.
"You're not telling me everything."
Her voice became serious.
"Gendry may be generous and brave, but he isn't Robert. And he already has a wife. He isn't merely a warrior. He's a natural force of power. That's why he can stand above others in this chaotic world."
She took Margaery's hand.
"But precisely because of that, I don't dare let you fall into his net."
"Promise me, child. You don't need to use those methods. Just be yourself."
Margaery remained silent.
"If the Storm were an ordinary king—someone we could manipulate—I would gladly help you. The Dragon Rider and the power surrounding him are certainly tempting."
Olenna's expression darkened.
"But Gendry cannot be controlled. Even if you become infatuated with the idea of becoming a great hero, you must know when to withdraw. Staying away from the center of the storm may be the safest choice."
"I will go to King's Landing," Margaery finally said. "For the prosperity and future of House Tyrell."
King's Landing had always been filthy and unpleasant, but it was also the center of power in the Seven Kingdoms.
The eye of the storm.
Olenna looked at her granddaughter and felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as though she were looking at her younger self.
Margaery possessed insight, ambition, and determination.
But how she would perform once she reached King's Landing was something only time would reveal.
Far away, along the Kingsroad, the countryside was slowly recovering from the devastation of war.
Small villages appeared along the road, most consisting of simple huts made from wooden planks and mud. Country septons, pig farmers, and women working in vegetable gardens had begun to return to their daily routines.
After the Northern Knights and Claw Peninsula Knights cleared out most of the remaining bandits and enemy forces, the fleeing villagers had gradually begun returning home.
The villages were slowly regaining their vitality.
Then a strange group appeared on the road.
A large group of dirty and disheveled men, women, and children walked southward.
They were members of the Beggars' Brotherhood.
They sang hymns with great devotion, their voices rolling across the road like distant thunder.
They prayed for the Warrior to protect them and for the Crone to illuminate their path.
There were around thirty of them.
A group of bearded men wearing coarse robes walked at the front. Some were barefoot. Behind them came ragged women and children carrying pigs and sheep. Several men carried axes, while most held crude wooden clubs.
A group of Northern knights wearing blood-red cloaks approached them.
"Who are you?" one of the knights demanded.
"Noble knights!" a burly man holding an axe shouted. "We are a gathering of the poor, children of the Seven Gods!"
A seven-pointed star had been carved into his chest.
"We are heading to the capital, to the Great Sept of Baelor!" a woman pulling a wooden cart shouted. "We seek the King's protection!"
The cart was made of rough, splintered wood.
Inside it lay a pile of skulls and broken bones.
"Join us, friends!" cried a thin man wearing a tattered monk's robe. A crystal hung from his neck. "We need every warrior!"
"Join you?"
The Northern knights burst into laughter.
"We are children of the Old Gods. We worship the trees. Besides, we're currently clearing out the remaining bandits. The country is becoming peaceful again. There's no reason for us to march to King's Landing."
"Sparrows have strong hearts," the monk replied.
"Sparrows?"
The Northerners looked confused.
"A sparrow is a bird."
The monk smiled faintly.
"Sparrows are the most common and humble of birds. We are the most common and humble of people."
He pointed toward the capital.
"Thank you for helping the Sparrows, but we still need to see the King. The King is a blacksmith and a warrior descended from noble blood. He will help us."
The monk had a lean, angular face, a short, grizzled beard, and sparse hair combed backward into a small knot.
His bare feet were filthy, hard, and rough like the roots of an ancient tree.
"Then we wish you good luck."
The Northern knights turned their horses and continued northward, no longer paying attention to the Sparrows.
"You are not knights!" some of the Sparrows shouted angrily. "You are false knights! Northern barbarians!"
A few even rolled up their sleeves, apparently preparing for a confrontation.
The Northern knights stopped and slowly turned around.
Their hands moved toward the hilts of their longswords.
Seeing this, the barefoot monk immediately stepped forward.
"Calm yourselves."
He raised his hands.
"The Seven Gods light our path. The Father judges us, and the Warrior gives us strength."
The Sparrows gradually settled down.
Then, without another word, the group continued southward.
Their destination was King's Landing.
And unknowingly, they were heading directly toward the heart of the coming storm.
________________________________________
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