The carriage wheels crushed the soft dirt road of The Reach, making a dull and rhythmic sound as it slowly headed northeast toward Dragonstone.
The scenery outside the window gradually changed from the rose-embroidered splendor of Highgarden to continuous stretches of green fields.
Wind seeped in through the cracks of the window, carrying the bitter scent of vegetation and dispersing some of the silence within the carriage.
Margaery sat in the velvet-padded carriage, slowly withdrawing her gaze from the fields outside and lightly stroking the plain dark patterns on her skirt with her fingertips.
Only three days ago, the afternoon sun in The Reach was still lazily warm, and the sweet fragrance of roses throughout the courtyard lingered.
Her grandmother Olenna's cold and stern expression as she gripped her rose cane, and her father Mace's face, flushed red and stifled like a bloated pufferfish, still appeared vividly before her eyes.
This trip to Dragonstone was, to her, not the "legitimate marriage alliance" her father spoke of, nor the "family gamble" in her grandmother's eyes, but a choice she had made alone.
She wanted to see for herself whether that Targaryen descendant was truly a returning true dragon or a mad tyrant.
Loras Tyrell, clad in silver-white armor with a longsword at his waist, led over a hundred elite guards of House Tyrell, riding steadily on both sides of the carriage.
There was still a lingering hostility in his eyes, yet he strictly performed his duties as a guard throughout the journey, scanning the surroundings alertly, wary of potential ambushes and keeping an eye on his sister.
This was the shared entrustment of his grandmother and father; he had to ensure Margaery's safety, and there was no room for the slightest mistake on this journey.
When the party reached the edge of a sparse wild forest beside the Rose Road, the path ahead was suddenly blocked by a group of ragged, gaunt people.
"My Lady, those blocking the road ahead are all refugees fleeing the fires of war; judging by their attire, most are from the Stormlands."
The captain of the guards stepped forward quickly and reported in a low voice, while scanning the bloodless group with alert eyes, fearing they might suddenly attack.
Margaery's heart sank slightly at that moment.
She knew all too well what the scene before her meant. On this journey, she had already seen several such groups of refugees.
The further they went, the closer they got to the scorched earth of the Stormlands ravaged by war, and the more frequent the refugees became, slowing their progress as a result.
They were all commoners fleeing south from the edge of the Stormlands toward the relatively stable Reach to seek refuge.
Every haggard face and every faint cry spoke silently of the cruelty of these chaotic times.
She took a slow breath, suppressing the chill in her heart, and gently pulled back the carriage curtain with her fingertips.
"Stop the carriage."
"You must not!" the guards and Loras urged in unison.
The guard's face was full of disgust and worry: "My Lady, these people are covered in filth. There might be disease or villains among them. It's better to bypass them quickly; there's no need to delay here!"
Loras also frowned: "The road ahead is dangerous. We need to reach Dragonstone as soon as possible. We shouldn't waste time on irrelevant people."
Margaery, however, gently raised her hand and stopped them both.
Showing no distaste for the sour smell and filth of the refugees, she calmly instructed the attendants behind her: "Take out all the spare rations on the carriage and distribute them to the elderly and children, one portion per person. No withholding is allowed."
The attendants looked at each other but dared not disobey. They could only follow orders, bringing over grain bags and distributing them one by one.
The refugees were first stunned, then erupted in cries of gratitude, kneeling and bowing in thanks, shouting, "Lady Tyrell is merciful."
Margaery stood aside, quietly watching this scene, her fingertips tightening slightly.
In her heart, there was both pity for these suffering people and a crystal-clear political calculation.
She understood better than anyone in Highgarden that the power of the iron throne never relied solely on the support of nobles; the hearts of the people were also its foundation.
Her father only knew how to cling to royalty, and her grandmother only knew how to weigh the interests of the nobility, but they both forgot that the foundation of the Seven Kingdoms was these millions of commoners.
The ration she gave today was not in exchange for temporary gratitude, but for the reputation of House Tyrell and the most solid foundation of public support should she ascend to the throne in the future.
In chaotic times, the alliances of nobles are fragile, but the reputation among the common people can spread very, very far.
In less than a quarter of an hour, the rations were distributed. The refugees bowed in thanks and cleared the way, and Margaery prepared to re-board the carriage.
But just then, a rapid sound of hooves approached from afar. A fast horse, shrouded in dust, charged toward the party like mad. The rider was drenched in sweat and looked extremely panicked—clearly an urgent messenger.
"Stay your hand, Tyrell mission! Urgent message from Highgarden!" the rider shouted, rushing close and rolling off his horse. He crawled to Margaery, holding a dust-stained secret letter in both hands, his voice trembling: "My Lady, something terrible has happened!"
Margaery's heart sank abruptly, and a sense of foreboding instantly swept over her entire body.
She took the secret letter, her fingertips trembling slightly. The moment she opened the envelope and scanned the handwriting, her face turned deathly pale. Her originally gentle and calm eyes were instantly filled with shock and disbelief, and her hand holding the paper shook uncontrollably.
Seeing this, Loras immediately spurred his horse closer and asked in a deep voice, "Margaery, what happened? What does the letter say?"
The surrounding guards also tensed up instantly. A dead silence fell over the scene, with only the sound of the wind and everyone's breathing.
Margaery slowly raised her eyes, looking hollowly toward King's Landing in the northeast. Her voice was light as the wind but carried a bone-chilling coldness as she spoke the contents of the secret letter word by word:
"Aegon Targaryen's army has already conquered King's Landing... Baratheon and Lannister have been completely wiped out. King's Landing has changed hands, and the iron throne has returned to the Targaryens."
Loras's pupils constricted, his face full of shock.
But before he could speak, Margaery's next words were like a thunderclap, leaving everyone stunned where they stood.
"Furthermore, that Prince Aegon has already issued a decree in King's Landing... abolishing all hereditary privileges and land rights of the nobility in the Seven Kingdoms."
As these words fell, there was a dead silence.
Abolishing noble privileges?
This was no restoration of a true dragon; this was overturning the entire order of the Seven Kingdoms and trampling all nobles underfoot!
Loras was completely bewildered and asked urgently: "Abolishing noble privileges? Has he gone mad! Then we... Margaery, are we still going to Dragonstone? This is simply walking into a trap!"
Margaery did not reply.
She continued to look toward King's Landing, her fair face expressionless, but her heart was already in turmoil.
Her original plan was completely disrupted. She thought she would be facing a restorer seeking noble support, but she hadn't expected a destroyer who wanted to subvert all nobility.
To go forward was to face a new master who abolished nobility, with life and death uncertain; to retreat was to return to Highgarden and spend her life as Renly's confined widow, with no further possibility of becoming queen.
The wind grew colder, ruffling her hair and unsettling the certainty of this journey.
Margaery slowly closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the shock in her eyes had faded, replaced only by extreme calmness and calculation.
She took a deep breath, suppressing all the waves in her heart, and turned to the attendants and guards beside her, her voice firm and without the slightest hesitation:
"Pass down the order: the party is to set up camp here. We will neither advance nor return for now."
Loras wanted to argue further but was stopped by a look from Margaery.
Standing there, gazing toward King's Landing from afar, she knew that from this moment on, her fate and the fate of Highgarden had completely changed.
...
At the same moment, in the rose garden of Highgarden, the afternoon sun was still lazily warm, but the sweet fragrance in the air had long been swept away by the bloody scent brought by the raven.
The raven that had flown urgently from King's Landing landed on the stone table in the courtyard, shaking off the dust and the news that would turn House Tyrell upside down.
The moment Olenna finished reading the letter, she gave no one room for argument.
Her wrinkled face was terrifyingly grim. Her cane struck the stone floor heavily, her voice cold as if tempered in ice: "Immediately dispatch the three fastest horses in the manor and select the most elite cavalry. Have them catch up with Margaery's mission at all costs!"
"You must intercept her and bring her back before she enters Aegon Targaryen's sphere of influence!"
The messenger took the order and galloped away.
Mace Tyrell paced anxiously in the courtyard, cold sweat seeping from his forehead.
He stopped, his voice trembling with fury, completely devoid of the high spirits he had when advocating for the marriage alliance half a day ago. His stance had reversed unexpectedly:
"Madness! This Aegon Targaryen is simply mad! It's one thing to conquer King's Landing and slaughter the Lannisters and Baratheons, but he dares to abolish the hereditary privileges of all nobles?"
"This is overturning the thousand-year-old order of the Seven Kingdoms! He will draw the collective attack of every noble in all of Westeros!"
Panting heavily, he paced anxiously in the courtyard, his tone decisive, with no more praise for the true dragon:
"Mother, we must never support this madman again! We should immediately send word to join Tywin Lannister and all the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms to raise an army and wipe out this rebel who subverts the order! He is not fit to sit on the iron throne!"
Olenna sat on the carved oak chair, her fingertips gripping the rose cane so hard her knuckles turned white. Her face still maintained the composure of the Queen of Thorns, but the coldness in her eyes was deeper than usual.
She looked up at her anxious, foolish son. Her tone was devoid of emotion, yet every word punctured Mace's naivety, filled with the sharp sternness of disappointment:
"Contact Tywin? Unite the nobles? Do you want Highgarden to follow the Lannisters and be burned to ashes by the dragon?"
Mace was taken aback by the question.
Olenna rose slowly, her cane tapping on the stone floor with a dull thud that seemed to strike Mace's heart:
"The urgent letter states clearly that the Three-headed Dragon under Aegon's command has a shadow that can cover half a town when it flies. A single breath of dragonfire leveled the gates of King's Landing. The armies of Lannister and Baratheon didn't even have a chance to resist before they were instantly annihilated."
"No matter how strong Tywin's Western forces are, in the face of a dragon, they are nothing more than a pile of bones waiting to be burned."
"You think uniting the nobles will win? Those nobles are each selfish; seeing the dragon's power, they'll likely hide as fast as they can. Who would actually go to their deaths with Highgarden?"
Mace was left speechless, his face turning from red to white. He wanted to argue but couldn't find a single word, so he stood there helplessly, holding his breath, returning to his stupid and useless self.
Olenna didn't look at him again, her gaze turning toward the road leading northeast outside the courtyard, her eyes revealing an irrepressible anxiety and worry for the first time...
That was an emotion she felt only for Margaery.
"I sent the fastest cavalry, but Margaery's mission left long ago..." she murmured softly, her tone carrying an unease she was reluctant to admit, "No one can say for sure if the cavalry can catch up."
"And even less whether my granddaughter... has already entered Aegon's sphere of influence."
By now, all of Highgarden's deployments were set, and the cavalry had already departed. No matter how shrewd or skilled in political intrigue she was, she couldn't control the situation from afar.
Previously, she was wary of Aegon's madness and blocked Mace's recklessness; now that Mace wanted to desperately join the enemy in opposition, she could only recognize the dragon's deterrent and dared not move rashly.
Positions reversed, the situation was utterly ruined.
Olenna closed her eyes gently, and when she spoke again, her voice was filled with endless gloom:
"Now, whether they catch up or not is up to fate. And Margaery's path, in the end... can only be chosen by herself."
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