"The Redwyne Straits are just ahead." Garlan Tyrell dismounted and reached out to help Margaery down from the carriage.
The endless green fields came to an abrupt end here, replaced by a vast expanse of azure sea.
The sea breeze blew against her face, carrying a salty, damp scent that stirred her golden hair.
Crossing this strait would lead to The Arbor, the seat of House Redwyne.
While the sailors were busy readying the ship, coiling ropes, and hoisting sails, Garlan stood beside Margaery, gazing at the faint outline of the island on the horizon, looking somewhat puzzled:
"Margaery, if we are to persuade the various lords, why not go to Oldtown first, which is closer to Highgarden? Mother hails from House Hightower, and in terms of blood relation, they are no less distant than House Redwyne."
"Why must we bypass the closer option, skip Oldtown, and come to House Redwyne first?"
Margaery glanced at him.
Her second brother had quite a reputation in The Reach for his swordsmanship and courage, but his political sensitivity was not particularly high.
Their mother, Lady Alerie, was indeed the daughter of the Lord of Hightower, and in terms of blood, they were indeed closer than to House Redwyne, which their grandmother Olenna hailed from.
But the problem was that House Hightower's influence in The Reach was second only to House Tyrell; they were true old-blooded nobility.
Persuading them would be no easy task.
And there was an even more critical reason... As the Paramount Lords of the region, the actual influence of House Tyrell was far inferior to that of the Lannisters of the Westerlands, the Starks of the North, and even the House Tully of The Riverlands.
The reason was simple: those old-blooded noble families of The Reach held themselves in high regard and looked down upon House Tyrell in their bones, viewing them as former "stewards of House Gardener" who had only been granted the capital of The Reach by submitting to Aegon the Conqueror.
Even though House Tyrell had served as the High Lords of The Reach for nearly three hundred years, the old-school nobility, led by House Florent, still refused to submit to their authority.
Among them was House Hightower.
Although House Hightower maintained a veneer of respect and did not challenge House Tyrell's authority as recklessly as House Florent did.
Yet, whenever Margaery spoke with them, she could always sense that arrogance seeping from their bones.
The masters of the Hightower once held the title of "Kings of the High Tower."
Going there rashly would most likely just result in being shut out.
It was better to come to House Redwyne first.
Unlike House Hightower, although House Redwyne was also of noble lineage—tracing their origins back to Gilbert of the Vines, son of the legendary Garth Greenhand—
they maintained close ties with House Tyrell, with numerous marriages, frequent commercial exchanges, and deeply intertwined interests.
Securing the support of House Redwyne was equivalent to gaining a naval force not inferior to the Iron Fleet or the Royal Fleet.
With this bargaining chip in hand, when she later went to lobby other great houses, she could greatly increase the weight of House Tyrell's position.
These calculations spun through her mind, but she did not tell her second brother, who was single-mindedly devoted to the martial arts.
She merely smiled slightly: "We are going to the more distant places first; visiting the others one by one on the return journey will be the same."
Garlan did not ask further, nodded, and boarded the ship with her.
The oars cut through the azure water, and the ship slowly pulled away from the dock.
Garlan stood by the ship's rail, watching the coastline gradually recede, and as if remembering something, his tone carried a hint of dissatisfaction:
"Loras is becoming increasingly unreasonable. I heard that you encountered some disturbances on the way back from King's Landing, and yet he actually stayed behind in King's Landing, leaving you to return to The Reach alone?"
Margaery shook her head: "It was I who asked him to stay."
Loras indeed had not returned with her.
After Renly died, he was both sorrowful and furious, and his whole demeanor had become much gloomier.
However, as time passed, he seemed to have found a new solace in King's Landing.
Margaery had seen him interacting with that Prince of Dorne several times.
After deciding to return to The Reach to persuade her father, she saw the hesitation and reluctance in Loras's eyes, so she took the initiative to ask him to stay in King's Landing.
She hoped this brother could act as House Tyrell's eyes and ears in King's Landing... although it was highly likely he would just be hanging around with that Prince of Dorne.
But that was still better than letting him sink into the gloom of Renly's death, unable to pull himself out.
Garlan listened, snorted, and said nothing more.
The Redwyne Straits were not very wide. The Arbor was not far from the continent of Westeros.
The ship cut through the waves to the rhythmic chants of the sailors, and before long, the lush, green outline of The Arbor became increasingly clear.
On the shore, a white lighthouse came into view; it was the landmark of House Redwyne's domain.
The ship slowly docked.
On the pier, a tall young man was already waiting there.
He wore a deep blue velvet coat, with the grape vine sigil of House Redwyne embroidered on his chest.
It was the eldest son of Lord Redwyne, Horas Redwyne.
"Margaery, Garlan." Horas stepped forward a few paces, a proper smile on his face, and nodded in greeting to them both. "The journey must have been tiring. Father has already prepared a banquet in the castle, waiting for the two of you."
"How could it be tiring when we get to taste the golden wine of The Arbor?" Margaery smiled back, lifted her skirts, and followed Horas up the stone steps toward the island.
The sea breeze blew through the grape trellises on the shore, making a rustling sound.
In the distance, the castle of House Redwyne shimmered in the afternoon sun.
On this island, famous for its fine wine, the air seemed to be permeated with a faint scent of grapes.
But Margaery knew that her mission on this trip was by no means as relaxing and pleasant as tasting fine wine.
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