The vast procession slowly rolled out of Highgarden.
Crowds lined the roads, gathered to bid farewell.
In an ornate carriage decorated with hundreds of golden roses, "The Rose of Highgarden," Margaery Tyrell, lifted the curtain, waving to the people by the roadside.
Cheers rose up each time she passed; women lifted their children to receive her blessing, men called out her name, entranced by her beauty, and children tossed rose petals overhead until her chestnut curls turned a spectrum of bright colors.
The convoy traveled nearly five miles along the Rose Road before the crowds began to thin.
Margaery lowered the curtain, brushing petals from her shoulders with her maid's help and washing her face with warm spring water.
"Few nobles win the people's love as you do," her brother Garlan remarked with a smile, watching his sister.
Margaery loosened her hair clasp, letting her soft curls fall over her shoulders, and replied with a smile, "Oh, there are far more famous nobles than me. 'The Conqueror' Aegon, Warrior Queen Nymeria, 'The Mirror Shield' Ser Selwyn... Their tales are known everywhere."
"Those aren't the same," Garlan shook his head. "Aegon Targaryen's power came from his dragons, Nymeria's conquests from her spears, and 'The Mirror Shield' is remembered for his strength in defeating a dragon and saving a princess. The people respected them but didn't necessarily love them. Throughout history, there are very few nobles who could win the hearts of the common people without relying on force."
"What about Baelor the Blessed? He didn't use force to earn the people's hearts, did he?"
"'Blessed' Baelor used the Seven's glory, but he was so fanatical that he made many foolish decisions." Garlan's gaze softened as he looked at her. "On this trip to King's Landing, I believe you can charm the people, perhaps even win the kind of love no king on the Iron Throne has ever had."
"Brother, you're making me blush. If someone overheard you, they might think our Tyrell family is full of vain fools."
Garlan laughed heartily and shifted topics, saying, "I had hoped Willas would join us for this journey; it might have cheered him up a bit. But he refused."
Recalling her eldest brother's grievance with Prince Oberyn, Margaery shook her head. "It's better this way; if Willas encountered Prince Oberyn, who knows what would happen."
Garlan let out a dark chuckle. "I wanted Willas to come so he could see Oberyn Martell stand trial and even lose his head."
Margaery shifted uncomfortably on her seat, murmuring, "I'm not so sure I want to see Oberyn convicted…"
Garlan frowned slightly and reminded her, "Margaery, have you forgotten that 'Red Viper' crippled our brother?"
"Of course I haven't. Nor have I forgotten the ages-old grudge between the Reach and Dorne. But… you know, as much as I try to forget, my mind keeps drifting back to that final moment of Lord Jon Arryn's life. I can't seem to shake his last words from my head…"
Garlan nodded solemnly, "I think of it often myself. Lord Arryn was an admirable man."
"Yes," Margaery murmured, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, her brown eyes glistening. "As he died, Lord Arryn expressed his belief that Prince Oberyn wasn't his killer, hoping his death wouldn't provoke even greater conflict. If the king finds Oberyn guilty, it may all be for nothing."
Garlan shrugged. "Guilt is guilt. The Seven won't let Oberyn Martell use the Lord's compassion to escape punishment."
"As for that, I don't quite believe Prince Oberyn is the true culprit."
Garlan looked at his sister in amazement. "Oh, Margaery, how could you think that? You saw how he acted at the banquet. Clearly, he wanted Lord Arryn dead, and everyone believes that."
"Not everyone," Margaery replied with a faint smile. "Lord Samwell doesn't think Prince Oberyn is the killer."
"Oh? And what's his reasoning?"
"After Lord Arryn's body was removed, Samwell quietly told me that if Oberyn truly were the killer, he wouldn't have shown up wearing armor and carrying a spear at the banquet. Why make it so obvious?"
Garlan pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "There's something to that. But Oberyn might be playing at reverse psychology to throw off suspicion. Who else would have the motive or means to kill Lord Arryn?"
"I'm not sure," Margaery replied. "But Samwell suspects it could be the work of a schemer framing Prince Oberyn."
Garlan laughed. "This Lord Samwell does seem like a clever man. But does he know who the real schemer is?"
"He hasn't said."
Garlan spread his hands. "Then he's just pretending to be mysterious, baselessly speculating. The world isn't filled with endless intrigue, and I can't think of anyone present at that banquet who had the motive or means to kill Lord Arryn."
Margaery giggled, "But even Grandmother agrees with Samwell's perspective."
"Grandmother?" The smile faded from Garlan's face.
He dared not easily dismiss Lady Olenna's assessment, knowing that her wisdom had been key in keeping the Tyrells secure in their hold on Highgarden over the past half-century.
After a long pause, Garlan asked, "Did Grandmother say who she thinks might be behind it?"
"No, she seemed uncertain."
"Did she mention what we should watch out for on this trip?"
Margaery tilted her head, a puzzled look on her face. "She said we're here to watch a play."
"A play?"
"Yes, but she didn't elaborate. I think she suspects Lord Arryn's death will have repercussions. If it's truly the work of a schemer, then we might expect more intrigue at Oberyn's trial."
Garlan furrowed his brow, then smiled. "Even if there's a scheme, it's Dorne's concern. Let the Martells worry about it. If Grandmother only wants us to watch, it means Highgarden won't be dragged into it."
Margaery nodded, "Yes, but there's another matter Grandmother's truly troubled by."
"Willas's marriage?"
"Yes." Margaery sighed, "When Lord Alester Florent refused Grandmother's proposal to marry Willas to his granddaughter, I know she was genuinely upset."
"Hmph! I can't fathom why the old man at Brightwater would turn down such a match. Willas might have a bad leg, but he's still the heir to Highgarden. Does Alester think his granddaughter is too good for him?" Garlan slammed his book down. "That old fool wants her for that Caesar Lord, doesn't he?"
But Margaery shook her head. "No, from what I've heard, the young lady is betrothed to Dickon Tarly."
"Dickon? Not his older brother?"
"No, but it's all the same. Grandmother sees it as a blatant rejection of our alliance, and she's concerned that Florent is aiming to ally with the Tarlys of Horn Hill, and perhaps even the Lords of Starfall and of Fallenstar Hall…"
"No wonder she's angry." Garlan frowned and then, as if struck by an idea, asked, "But isn't that Caesar knight someone you personally knighted? Has your charm failed to sway him towards Highgarden?"
Margaery gave him an exasperated eye-roll. "You overestimate my charm, Brother. Though Samwell never mentioned it, I can tell he resented Highgarden's silence during his war with Dorne. That's left a rift I fear may not be easily mended."
Garlan shook his head with a sigh, "Who would have thought that boy could fight like that. I suppose he's a rising power, a second Randyll Tarly. We misjudged him."
With another sigh, Margaery lapsed into silence, her doe-like eyes glimmering with contemplation.
Traveling from Highgarden along the Rose Road toward King's Landing, the Tyrells' procession moved at a leisurely pace, resting at Bitterbridge and Longtable along the way. By the time they reached the capital, twenty days had passed.
"Loras!"
Margaery leaned out of her carriage window, waving excitedly at her third brother as he rode out to meet her.
"Little sister! It's been too long—you look even more beautiful!" Loras Tyrell rode alongside the carriage, where Garlan now poked his head out as well.
"And Garlan, you've grown even… rounder!"
Garlan threw his half-eaten fruit peel at his brother, laughing, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Loras grinned, dodging. "Nothing, nothing—you're just stronger!"
Garlan snorted, "Fine. But we'll spar later and see how well your lance work has held up."
"Gladly!" Loras agreed cheerfully. "Now let's get you all into the city!"
As they neared the city walls, Margaery leaned out again. "Is the king in the city?"
"No," Loras said, his horse keeping pace with the carriage. "He's gone to Winterfell."
"Winterfell?" Margaery's eyes lit with understanding. "To ask Lord Eddard Stark to be Hand of the King?"
"Indeed."
"So, Eddard Stark after all," Margaery murmured, her lips curving into a faint smile. "It seems Grandmother was right—this Northern Wolf is indeed the king's true brother."
(End of Chapter)