Lord Renly found him later that evening, standing on a balcony overlooking the Mander, watching the moonlight play across the water.
"You made quite an impression," Renly said, joining him at the rail. "Lady Margaery has not stopped talking about you since the dance ended. Her grandmother seems intrigued, which is remarkable in itself. Olenna Tyrell is not easily intrigued."
"I said nothing particularly remarkable. I simply spoke honestly, which apparently passes for novelty in certain circles."
"Honesty is always novel in politics. Most people find it deeply unsettling." Renly produced a flask from somewhere within his doublet and offered it to Alexander, who declined with a shake of his head. "I have news. News that I was saving for a private moment."
"The prince's nameday."
Renly's eyebrows rose. "How did you know?"
"You mentioned that you had arranged something with the King for next year. The timing of this visit, the emphasis on establishing good relations with the Tyrells, the care you have taken to present me in the best possible light. It all suggested that something significant was being planned, and a royal celebration would explain the pieces." Alexander turned from the view to face Renly directly. "Prince Joffrey's fifteenth nameday would be such an occasion. You have arranged for it to be held at Sapphire Palace."
"I have. With Robert's enthusiastic blessing, I might add. He seems to find the idea of a celebration away from King's Landing deeply appealing, and when I mentioned your resort and the entertainments you could provide, he was immediately interested." Renly's smile was satisfied. "It will be the social event of the decade. Every major house will attend. The prince will be feted in style, the king will have an excuse to eat and drink and forget his responsibilities for a fortnight, and House Tarth will be the centre of the realm's attention."
"A tourney, I assume?"
"Naturally. Robert insisted on that. He may not fight in tourneys anymore, but he still loves to watch them. The greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms, competing for glory and prize money on the beautiful Sapphire Isle." Renly's tone suggested he was quoting from some imaginary announcement. "It will be magnificent."
"A tourney is expected," Alexander said. "But we could do something more. Something that would be remembered long after the prizes have been spent and the wounds have healed."
"What did you have in mind?"
"The ancient Valyrians held great games, competitions that went beyond single combat to encompass every form of physical and mental achievement. Racing, wrestling, archery, swimming, even contests of poetry and music. The Ghiscari of old Essos did something similar, gathering athletes from across their city-states to compete in demonstrations of excellence. What if we revived that tradition? Not just a tourney, but a festival of competition. The Olympic Games of Tarth."
Renly was silent for a moment, processing the suggestion. His political instincts, Alexander knew, were excellent. He would see both the opportunities and the risks immediately.
"It would be expensive," he said finally.
"Yes. But the expense would be offset by the prestige. Every lord who attended would remember Tarth as the place where something unprecedented happened. Every knight who competed would carry stories of the event back to their home regions. The name 'Olympic Games' would become associated with House Tarth in perpetuity, a legacy that would outlast any single celebration."
"Robert would love it. He has always complained that tourneys are too limited, that they favour the same types of competitors year after year."
"And the common folk could participate in certain events. Not the knightly competitions, naturally, but races and wrestling and other contests that do not require noble birth or expensive equipment. It would make the celebration feel inclusive, a gift to the entire realm rather than just the nobility."
Renly's smile was growing as the implications became clear. "You have thought about this before."
"I have thought about everything, Lord Renly. It is what I do."
"And you waited to mention it until after we had secured the Tyrells' goodwill."
"Mace Tyrell loves spectacle. He will see the Olympic Games as an opportunity to showcase Reach hospitality and Reach athletes. His support will help convince any sceptics on the small council, and his resources will help offset the costs." Alexander allowed himself a small smile. "I may have mentioned the concept to Lady Margaery during our second dance of the evening. I believe she found it intriguing."
Renly laughed, a genuine sound of delight. "You are a devious creature, Alexander Tarth. I am very glad you are on my side."
"I am on my own side, Lord Renly. But for the moment, my interests and yours are aligned, which is nearly as good."
"Nearly as good. I appreciate your honesty, at least." Renly took a drink from his flask. "Very well. I will present the Olympic Games proposal to the small council when I return to King's Landing. With the Tyrells' backing and the King's enthusiasm for anything that involves competition and feasting, I expect it will be approved without significant opposition."
"Excellent. I will begin planning the details immediately. We have perhaps little over an year before the nameday, which is adequate time if we start now."
"You really do think of everything, don't you?"
"I try. The consequences of failing to anticipate are usually worse than the effort of preparation."
They stood together in comfortable silence for a time, watching the moonlight on the water and listening to the sounds of the feast continuing behind them. The future that Alexander had been working toward was taking shape, piece by piece, alliance by alliance. The Olympic Games would be a showcase for Tarth's capabilities, a demonstration of what the island had become and what it could offer the realm. It would also be an opportunity to assess the major players in the kingdom, to observe their interactions and rivalries, to gather information that would be useful when the real game began.
Because the real game was coming. Alexander could feel it in his bones, that sense of approaching change that had been with him since he first understood what he was and what he knew. The peace that Robert Baratheon had imposed on the Seven Kingdoms was fragile, held together by the King's personal relationships and the exhaustion of those who had fought in his rebellion. It would not last forever. It might not last much longer at all.
When it broke, Alexander intended to be ready.
* * *
The remaining days at Highgarden passed in a blur of negotiations, conversations, and the careful cultivation of relationships that would pay dividends for years to come.
Alexander spent hours with Willas Tyrell, discussing everything from agricultural techniques to military strategy to the philosophy of governance. Willas was everything the rumours had suggested and more: intelligent, thoughtful, genuinely interested in ideas for their own sake rather than merely for the advantages they could provide. They spoke as equals, despite the difference in their ages, and Alexander found himself genuinely enjoying the conversations in a way that he rarely enjoyed social interactions.
"You should visit the Citadel," Willas said, during one of their late-afternoon discussions. "Your mind would benefit from the libraries there, and the maesters could teach you things that even your remarkable self-education has not covered."
"I have considered it. The knowledge available there would be valuable, certainly. But I am reluctant to spend a year or more away from Tarth during such a critical period."
"What period? The realm is at peace. Your projects are progressing well. Surely a brief absence would not be catastrophic."
"Peace is temporary," Alexander said. "It always is. And my projects require constant attention to maintain their momentum. A year away could set back plans that have taken years to develop."
"You speak as though you are expecting war."
"I am expecting change. War is one form that change might take. Political upheaval is another. Economic crisis, natural disaster, the death of a king. Any of these could disrupt the stability we currently enjoy." Alexander paused, choosing his words carefully. "I prefer to be prepared for multiple scenarios rather than assuming that the current situation will continue indefinitely."
Willas studied him with the thoughtful expression that Alexander had come to recognise as his default state. "You know something. Something specific. Something that drives all this preparation."
"I know many things. Whether any of them are relevant remains to be seen."
"That is not an answer."
"No. But it is all I am prepared to offer." Alexander rose from his chair. "I should prepare for the evening meal. Lady Margaery has requested my company for a walk in the gardens beforehand, and I do not wish to keep her waiting."
"Of course." Willas did not press further, but his eyes remained thoughtful as Alexander departed.
The walk with Margaery was pleasant, as their conversations had been throughout the visit. She was intelligent and curious, genuinely interested in the world beyond Highgarden's walls, and she asked questions that revealed a mind that was far more sophisticated than her age might suggest. They spoke of books and politics and the peculiar challenges of growing up in the public eye, and Alexander found himself sharing more than he had intended, drawn out by her genuine interest and her ability to listen without judgment.
"I will miss you when you leave," she said, as they paused beside a fountain that was famous throughout the Reach for its beauty. "I do not often find people I can talk to honestly. Most people want something from me, and they shape their words accordingly."
"Most people want something from me as well," Alexander acknowledged. "It is the nature of our positions. But I have found that honesty, even strategic honesty, is more satisfying than constant performance."
"Strategic honesty. I like that phrase. It captures something true about how we must navigate the world." Margaery turned to face him, her expression serious. "Will you write to me? After you leave?"
"If you wish."
"I do. I would like to continue our conversation, even across the distance."
"Then I will write. And I will look forward to your responses."
They stood together in the fading light, two young people who had found in each other something unexpected and valuable. Alexander did not know what their relationship would become, whether it would remain friendship or develop into something else, whether it would survive the pressures of politics and time that had destroyed so many connections between people of their station. But he knew that it mattered, that this small moment of genuine connection was worth preserving, regardless of where it led.
"Come to Tarth," he said. "For the Olympic Games. See what we have built, and decide for yourself whether the stories are true."
"I will," Margaery promised. "And you must show me everything. The wall, the distilleries, the glowing lights that people whisper about. I want to see the reality behind the legend."
"The reality is usually less impressive than the legend. But it is also more interesting, because it is true."
"Truth again. You do return to that theme persistently."
"It is the foundation of everything I am trying to build. Without truth, nothing else matters."
Margaery smiled.
They parted as the sun set behind the towers of Highgarden, and Alexander returned to his chambers to prepare for dinner. The negotiations were almost complete, the relationships established, the groundwork laid for the next phase of his plans. Tomorrow, he would send a raven to Tarth, where work awaited that would occupy the islands every moment until the Olympic Games commence.
But tonight, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The visit had been a success, more successful than he had dared to hope. The Tyrells were new allies now, bound to Tarth by trade and interest and the beginning of personal connections that might prove more durable than any contract.
The Game was coming. But Alexander was no longer playing alone.
He was building a team, one carefully chosen ally at a time.
And when the board was finally set, when the pieces began to move in earnest, he intended to be ready.
Outside his window, the gardens of Highgarden glowed in the lantern light, beautiful and dangerous and full of possibilities.
Alexander smiled, and began to plan.
* * *