Highgarden.
Walking through the garden brimming with golden roses, Dickon Tarly adjusted his collar for the seventh time.
The butler leading the way noticed the young man's nerves and smiled to reassure him.
"Ser Dickon, there's no need to be so tense. This isn't an official meeting. The lord is away; only Lady Olenna and the ladies of House Tyrell are here for afternoon tea."
Hearing this only made Dickon feel even more anxious.
He'd honestly rather be facing Lord Mace Tyrell than the so-called "Queen of Thorns," Lady Olenna, whose gaze always seemed to prickle like a thorny rose.
It would be much better if Father were here too.
The thought crossed his mind as he walked.
They passed a practice yard, where Dickon saw about a dozen men training. Among them, he quickly recognized Ser Garlan Tyrell, the second son of House Tyrell, who was wielding a shield adorned with a golden rose while fending off three opponents.
Dickon felt his heart race, eager to test himself against such a skilled knight.
But he remembered his purpose here and restrained himself.
With a sigh, he tore his gaze away and followed the butler forward.
They crossed a small ornamental bridge and arrived at a spacious pavilion, where a group of ladies were chatting over tea.
Dickon forced his smile to appear natural, nodding to acknowledge the glances directed his way.
"Ser Dickon!"
He turned to see the beautiful lady of House Tyrell, Margaery Tyrell, smiling as she approached.
Clad in a green silk gown with a rose pendant made of golden threads, her brown eyes sparkled with warmth, making it difficult for him to meet her gaze.
"Lady Margaery," he greeted, quickly lowering his head.
She's stunning.
He felt his cheeks flush.
No, I represent Lord Tarly, and House Tarly…
The young man took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
"Come along, Dickon. My grandmother has been waiting for you, and we have a big surprise to share."
"A big surprise?" Dickon, puzzled, followed Margaery to the head of the table, where the elderly Lady Olenna sat.
"Take a seat, child," Lady Olenna gave him a brief smile. "You must be wondering why we invited you to join us for tea."
Dickon awkwardly perched on the edge of his chair. "I assume it's related to this big surprise Lady Margaery just mentioned?"
"Indeed. We've just received word from the Eagle's Eyrie—your father and brother defeated the Dornish at Starfall."
"Really?" Dickon's excitement was barely contained as he almost sprang from his seat.
"Yes," Margaery placed a plate of cheese before him and poured him a cup of herbal tea, adding, "They crushed nearly twenty thousand Dornish! It's a victory of a kind we haven't seen in years."
Dickon's breath quickened.
At that moment, he wished he could be there at Starfall, charging alongside his father and brother.
"Sometimes, I do envy Randyll Tarly," Lady Olenna sighed, "for having two such accomplished sons."
Dickon responded quickly, "Your children are remarkable too, my lady…"
"Hah!" Lady Olenna scoffed, "Do you think I don't know my own son's faults? Sometimes I feel like taking a large wooden spoon to his head and cramming wisdom into that thick skull."
Dickon's smile grew more forced, uncertain of how to respond.
"Grandmother," Margaery interjected to ease his discomfort, "mind your words, or Ser Dickon might think we're an odd lot."
"He'll think we're delightful," Lady Olenna turned her sharp gaze to Dickon. "Isn't that right?"
Dickon nodded hastily.
He was about to offer some kind words about Lord Mace to smooth things over, but before he could speak, Lady Olenna continued,
"Besides, I speak nothing but the truth. My son's a fool, as you all like to call him 'Lord Puff Fish,' don't you? I think he should adopt a blowfish as his personal sigil, crown it, and then he'd be quite satisfied.
"And don't get me started on his father. Yes, I'm talking about my dear husband. I love him; he's kind-hearted and skilled enough in bed, but he's thick as a brick."
Dickon felt a wave of dizziness.
Lady Olenna's words were blunt and biting, making him blush and setting his pulse racing. Her rapid-fire speech overwhelmed him, like a flood he couldn't escape.
In his confusion, he suddenly heard her turn to him and ask, almost out of nowhere:
"By the way, I heard that many say your brother used to be a fool too. Is that true?"
"My brother was indeed rather…" Dickon caught himself and shut his mouth.
How could he speak ill of his brother in front of others?
He silently scolded himself for nearly slipping up.
"What was your brother like?" Margaery asked with a smile that seemed like a field of summer flowers, making his head spin even more.
"My brother… he…"
"Don't be shy, child," Lady Olenna patted his hand with her withered fingers. "Nothing said here will go beyond these walls, you know. I'm just as quick to call out my husband and son. Say what you will; nearly everyone in this world is a fool. No shame in admitting it."
Left with no choice, Dickon finally confessed, "My brother isn't slow, really. He just… used to dislike fighting and refused knight training, which often made my father angry."
Lady Olenna's eyes glinted as she smiled again. "You came from Brightwater Keep, didn't you?"
"Yes, my lady."
"And how is that old fellow Alester Florent?"
"My grandfather is in good health. Thank you for asking."
"I imagined so." Lady Olenna resumed her sharp tone. "You know, it's often the grouchy types who live the longest. People like Alester—and myself—always speak our minds and never let things stew. But I'm sure he's griped about House Tyrell plenty, hasn't he?"
Dickon shook his head fervently.
Lady Olenna snorted, clearly not believing him. "Oh, please. I've heard him go on countless times about how House Florent's bloodline goes back to 'Florys the Fox,' the daughter of 'Garth Greenhand,' and how they're more connected to the Gardener Kings than House Tyrell, so they should have inherited Highgarden, not us…"
Dickon's head began to spin again.
He realized that the back of his shirt was now drenched with sweat. Just a brief conversation with Lady Olenna was more exhausting than a battle.
In his daze, he vaguely heard her suddenly shift topics again:
"What terms did your father offer House Florent to secure their support this time?"
"My father promised that my brother would…" Dickon trailed off, realizing he'd almost let something slip.
"Promised him to whom?" Margaery asked with that same bright smile.
Dickon lowered his gaze, avoiding her eyes.
"Is it Elora Florent?" Lady Olenna said, smirking.
Dickon quickly raised his tea to his lips, using the cup to shield his face.
But hiding anything from the "Queen of Thorns" was a futile endeavor. Lady Olenna's shrewd eyes softened as she murmured,
"It seems I was right. Well, congratulations are in order. House Tarly will be bound even closer to House Florent."
Dickon, unsure of how to respond, flushed a deep shade of red, his face as bright as a ripe pomegranate.
"My lady, I… I need to, uh… excuse myself…"
Lady Olenna looked at the poor young man, chuckling softly. "Very well, go on."
Dickon stood, bowed quickly, and made his escape.
(End of Chapter)