Tywin Lannister rode on his horse, not looking back.
Behind him, dozens of his personal guards were all wounded, their armor stained with blood and dust.
They were like a pack of wolves with broken spines, silently leaving the city that once belonged to them.
The news had already spread.
The King deposed the Hand.
Joffrey, that little madman, had given his grandfather, who held power over the court, a resounding slap in the face in the most foolish, most public way possible.
Tywin's face showed no expression; no joy or anger could be seen on that face carved from rock.
But the captain of the guards who had followed him for years knew that the calmer the Lord was, the fiercer the anger burned in his heart.
They didn't return to Casterly Rock but stopped at a secret stronghold in the Crownlands.
"My Lord, what do we do now?" the captain asked.
Tywin dismounted, took the waterskin handed by a squire, and drank a mouthful.
"Return to Casterly Rock."
"And King's Landing..."
"King's Landing? Let that little madman and his new Queen play by themselves."
A trace of exhaustion flashed in Tywin's pale green eyes.
He lost.
He didn't lose to Joffrey's madness, nor to those Gold Cloaks who steered with the wind.
He lost to that young man far away in the North who had never shown his face.
He figured it out.
Sansa Stark.
Lianna.
Even that Varys.
They were all Lynn's pawns.
Lynn disrupted the entire chess game of King's Landing, forcing him, the strongest opponent, out of the center of power.
"That Northern bastard..." Tywin muttered to himself.
He finally understood now that he had underestimated this enemy from the very beginning.
"Send someone to Highgarden." Tywin ordered.
"Tell Mace Tyrell, if he still wants the roses of House Tyrell to bloom, come to Casterly Rock to see me."
"Yes, My Lord."
The captain turned and left.
Tywin looked up, gazing at the northern sky.
...
Highgarden.
Warm sunlight spilled over the blooming gardens, the air filled with intoxicating floral scents.
But the atmosphere in the council hall was colder than the northern wind.
"Bastard! Madman! Mongrel!"
The obese Duke Mace Tyrell smashed the golden goblet in his hand viciously onto the floor.
"That little beast! How dare he! How dare he humiliate House Tyrell like this!"
A royal decree from King's Landing lay in the center of the table.
Written in sharp handwriting were terms enough to make any Highgarden native burn with anger.
Pay double the taxes.
Publicly declare a clean break with the traitor Tywin Lannister.
This was no longer humiliation; this was rubbing House Tyrell's face in the dirt!
"Father! We must strike back!"
Loras Tyrell, known as the "Knight of Flowers," stood up, his face full of humiliation.
"We should assemble the army immediately and let that little madman know the Rose of Highgarden is not something he can pluck at will!"
"And then?"
An old and lazy voice came from the shadows in the corner.
The Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna, sat in a large armchair, toying with a flower in her hand.
"And then take our most elite knights of Highgarden to die beneath the walls of King's Landing?"
Her gaze swept over her foolish son and impulsive grandson.
"Are your heads filled with straw?"
"We cannot stand alone without aid!" Loras argued.
Lady Olenna sneered.
"Don't forget who forced Tywin away."
"It was Lynn."
"That little madman Joffrey is just a knife in Lynn's hand."
"If we fight Joffrey now, we fight Lynn."
Mace Tyrell's fat face shook.
"Then... then what should we do?"
"Are we really going to do as he says? Where will House Tyrell put its face?"
"Face?" Lady Olenna threw the rose in her hand onto the table.
"When your head is hanging on the city wall, face is worthless."
Her eyes became sharp.
"Our situation now is much more dangerous than you imagine."
"Tywin has fallen; the alliance between the Lannisters and us is no longer possible."
"Joffrey, that little madman, now treats us as soft persimmons he can squeeze at will."
"And that true dragon in the North is waiting for us to make a mistake."
Silence fell over the council hall.
Mace and Loras were speechless.
They finally realized that House Tyrell had reached the edge of a cliff.
"Where is Margaery?" Lady Olenna asked.
"Still on the way, Grandmother," Loras answered.
"She should be arriving at Oldtown soon."
"Good."
Lady Olenna's fingers tapped lightly on the table.
"She is our only hope."
"Pass my orders."
Lady Olenna said wearily.
"First, prepare double the taxes, send someone to deliver them to King's Landing, to Joffrey."
"Second, in the name of House Tyrell, proclaim to the Seven Kingdoms that we are irreconcilable enemies with the traitor Tywin Lannister."
Mace Tyrell's eyes widened.
"Mother! Are you crazy! How can we..."
"Shut up, you brainless fool!"
Lady Olenna interrupted him.
"This is to show our attitude to Lynn!"
"We must let him see that we are willing to bow our heads!"
"Only by stopping our wavering does Margaery have a chance of success!"
She stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the blooming roses in the garden.
"Joffrey wants victory, we give him victory."
"Let him continue dreaming his King dream on that iron chair."
"And we,"
A shrewd light flashed in Lady Olenna's eyes.
"We will place all our bets on the North."
"On the man who can decide our future."
"Highgarden's wealth, the South's granaries..."
"These will all be our gifts to Lynn."
...
Dragonstone.
Lynn stood at the highest point of the castle, overlooking his territory.
Beneath his feet, this ancient fortress was undergoing astonishing changes.
Countless emerald green vines, like living giant pythons, drilled out of the ground, wrapping around the black stone walls.
These vines were stronger than the toughest ropes, their roots digging deep into the cracks of the rocks, turning the entire castle into a living fortress.
This was the result of his Nature Magic.
These vines could not only reinforce the walls but also turn into cages to trap enemies when needed.
In the clearing behind the castle, patches of green fields appeared out of thin air.
Potatoes, turnips, cabbages...
These crops grew and matured at a speed defying natural laws under his will.
Teams of wights marched in neat steps, harvesting these fresh vegetables and transporting them to the cannery workshop.
The entire Dragonstone operated with incredible efficiency.
Lynn turned and walked into the castle armory.
In the armory, rows of brand new weapons were neatly arranged.
Iron spears, battle axes, longswords...
These were all forged day and night by wildling smiths using iron ore shipped from the South.
Although the craftsmanship was rough, they were sharp enough, and strong enough.
His army of the dead was being armed bit by bit.
Lynn picked up a longsword and swung it casually.
The blade cut through the air, making a slight whistling sound.
"The farce in the South isn't messy enough yet," he muttered to himself.
"I should drag Renly and Stannis into the water too."
House Tyrell had bowed its head, and Joffrey, that little madman, was completely out of control.
Although Tywin retreated to the Westerlands, he would definitely not let this go.
But Lynn felt the waters of Westeros were still not muddy enough.