( Arianne POV )
To Arianne, there was no doubt; the Water Gardens was almost certainly the most beautiful place in the world. However, Highgarden had tried its best to overturn this decision.
Ever since her arrival in the heart of the Reach, she was amazed at the beauty of this place, which she had only seen a glimpse of in her youth when visiting Tyene's mother.
The many walls of Highgarden were all made with pure, white stone, with mazes and gardens spreading everywhere between each wall. At the centre of it all was the inner court of Highgarden, filled with towers, old and new, which stood guard on top of the hill Highgarden was perched upon.
Every one of these towers is covered in leaves and its windows are richly decorated with images of roots, flowers, knights, and tales from the songs and the Seven-pointed star alike.
Never did Dorne have such a majestic castle, as large and beautiful as this one. Yronwood would be engulfed within the inner walls, and Sunspear would blush in front of the capital of the Reach's beauty.
Even her rooms in Highgarden, while certainly modest, were larger than the ones she had in Sunspear, and were covered in decorations, with cushions embroidered with the Tyrell sigil, or representing hunts or fields of roses.
While Sunspear's sept was imposing, surely the second largest in Dorne behind Yronwood, Highgarden dwarfed it tenfold.
Her hosts had told her that only the Sept of Baelor and the Starry Sept could compare to Highgarden, with its rows of stained-glass windows showing each of the Seven, the life of Hugor and Garth Greenhand, and the tales of the faith.
However, it wasn't the only faith represented at Highgarden, with the three majestic weirwoods being the heart of the castle's godswood. The Three singers, they were called.
Arianne never had the privilege of ever seeing any, weirwoods being hardly present outside of the North … but these … they were imposing to be sure … but they also had an eerie side to them.
Whenever she would walk alone or even with a few of her retinue, it was as though she was watched…or at least some kind of voices were trying to reach her. They were odd, indeed.
However, her favorite part of Highgarden was almost certainly the inner gardens. Although the mazes were certainly entertaining, the waters of the Mander cool and refreshing, the horses beautiful and splendidly adorned, it was by far the inner gardens that took her attention. In there, the Tyrells had certainly outdone themselves.
In every row, every hedge, and every corner, there was a flower or a tree that Arianne had never seen in her entire life. Some were gifts, seeds given from places such as Qarth and Yi-Ti from before the conquest.
There was an oak tree given to the Gardeners that was allegedly planted by a Stark king whom she could not remember the name, but that reigned in the North generations before the Conquest.
There were trees from the Summer Islands, too, which could grow in the coldest Reacher winters, protected by the glass from the winds and the snow. There were birds too, a wide variety, from peacocks to sparrows and more majestic eagles and falcons.
Some birds came from even further, with some parrots having come from a recent expedition to Volantis, and more vivid-colored birds whom she had forgotten the names of coming from traders from the Summer Islands and the shores of Sothoryos.
In addition, how could she forget the gardens of the Reach's capital without mentioning the flowers? There must have been hundreds, from tulips to sunflowers, each with their own single identity and color.
However, the main flower here was, of course, the rose. Moreover, there were so many to choose from here.
From winter roses to desert roses, from roses that could grow during the harshest of winters to roses that were so delicate that even touching them with your smallest finger would cause them to lose their petals.
Some smelled like the most expensive perfumes of Essos, while others' smell would cause even those with the strongest stomachs to turn.
There was another kind of rose in Highgarden, though, and these were the Tyrells. Arianne didn't really know exactly what to expect from them before coming, but a few moons with them had given her an idea of each of them. There was the knight, Garlan.
Infatuated with his Fossoway wife, Leonette, the man was a knight through and through, although he never openly admitted it. Tall, broadly built, and with a well-kept brown beard.
He knew his way around a sword to be sure and humiliated anyone who tried to defy him in combat, sometimes even besting several men at a time.
Then there was his father, Lord Mace. He was quite plump and, even though Arianne wouldn't openly say it, quite fat. The man was always jovial and boastful talking about tales of his youth where he apparently had won many tourneys, or of how he smashed the Usurper's forces at Ashford, on his lonesome if she believed his words.
However, she could tell that the head of the Tyrell family did not particularly like her; and she even overheard him say less than flattering things about Dorne and the Dornishmen, although he had said nothing about her personally.
At least her wife Alerie was much more cordial around her and often asked many questions about her own family and life in Dorne. She had even told her of her own visit to Dorne, a certain number of years ago, where she had seen Starfall as her father had considered Alyn Dayne as a possible betrothal for her.
Then there were the other girls of house Tyrell. The oldest, lady Olenna, was the smartest of the bunch, and also the most dangerous. Her small size and old age did not deceive Arianne.
If she had been raised in Dorne, people would have called her a viper for she spewed venom like a desert snake, her sharp tongue and straightforwardness definitely earning her the moniker of Queen of Thorns.
And while she was direct, it wasn't the case with her granddaughter, Margaery. Or should she call her Lady Baratheon? Well, it truly didn't matter now. Her husband was dead, that much was certain, although he had done his duty somehow.
Nevertheless, the Rose of Highgarden was still as beautiful as ever even while heavily pregnant, while her words were coated with honey, her sheepish attitude being impossible for Arianne to decide on whether she was really that naïve or whether it was all a show for her to better further her own desires.
She was herself surrounded by a flock of Tyrell cousins who were just as beautiful and sweet as her: Megga, Leona, Alla, and Elinor.
She was also the only Tyrell alive to have met her brother. And Arianne couldn't help but repress a small laugh as she described him as smart but rash and with a tendency of really getting on people's nerves.
There would also have been Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, who had a reputation that did reach as far south as Dorne, but he had been slain in the battle of Storm's End, breaking the hearts of a thousand maidens.
His remains had been brought back to Highgarden and buried beneath the crypts where he joined a hundred other Tyrells, who had fallen in battle, of old age … and in the sands of Dorne.
Indeed, Arianne had assisted the young knight's funeral, and she could feel the stares of the audience when Lyonel Tyrell's resting place was crossed.
That left only a single member of the Tyrell branch left. That man was to be her own betrothed, Willas. Physically, the man was quite striking. Dark-brown hair and brown eyes, a well-kept sculpted beard, and a smile that would make any maiden blush.
The only issue that she could see with him was his bad leg, as he had to walk with a cane, but that certainly didn't stop him from making love to her as well as any fit man would've, and more besides.
The man was smart, cunning, and with a deep knowledge of history, geography, religion, and other things that completely went over Arianne's head. He would get along perfectly with Quentyn, to be sure.
However, there was another face to Willas and the Tyrells in general. Something that she couldn't exactly put a finger on. There was this other face as if everything he did was completely calculated and just a ploy, a façade. After all, when they coupled, she did feel bliss and pleasure, of course.
However, she also felt that behind every kiss, every touch, every flick, there was a thought, a question, a calculation, as if it was all staged, part of a mummer's play and she was the puppet.
Similarly, she could not help but think whether these smiles and interest in her, were real? Was Lady Alerie really interested in her or did she have a deeper motive? Did the Queen of Thorns actually enjoy her company, or did she only do this to gain something? But gain what? Arianne didn't have anything to offer.
Dorne was not hers to have, and with Nymeria being with child, it wouldn't be long till Quentyn's line would be secure, if only even illegitimately for the moment. Likewise, Trystane was betrothed himself, and her five legitimate Martell distant cousins were alive and with children of their own.
Then what would there be to gain from her? Nothing, really.
This did reassure her somewhat. At least, she could take some solace in knowing that she wasn't completely alone in her new home for the moment. And her brother's words resonated in her head, too.
There is another choice. A slim chance, but slim is better than none.
A cousin lost beyond the seas in Essos. She could hardly believe it when she read the paper her brother had handed her.
Since then, this thought trailed in her mind: what would be the point? Uniting her with him would bring their house nothing useful, and would bring their cousin nothing useful.
Moreover, how could her brother have known of their cousin's existence, far beyond the shores of Essos?
Was it even real, or was Quentyn playing with her as he had already done before? Was he trying to destabilize her, to make her reconsider her match with Willas Tyrell? Was her brother jealous, or was it fear, fear that her husband would be powerful enough to challenge his position?
She perished the thought repeatedly, but these thoughts came back to haunt her every time she pushed them away. There were too many questions, for too few answers.
Aegon Targaryen. Alive and well. How? A sliver of proof, all on a short piece of paper that could have been forged for all she knew.
Damn it all to the seven hells. She wouldn't think about this for the moment.
"What are you planning?" Tyene's voice drew her out of her endless questioning.
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