Chapter 33: A Dragon and a Rose

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  Margaery Tyrell sat by the window, knees drawn tight against her chest, the st of blooming roses drifting faintly through the open shutters. Beyond the carved frame of tticework, the Mander River slid along its course, sunlight flickering on the gentle currents. A scattering of willow trees bowed their slender braoward the water’s surface, their leaves swaying in a hush of green and gold. Beyond them, the patchwork fields of the Reach spread wide and peaceful as if the troubles of the realm could not quite breach this pocket of beauty. Yet Margaery felt every ounce of turmoil pressing down on her shoulders.

  She should have been Queen by now. The thought burned behind her eyes as she rested her on her folded arms.

  It was not the best marriage. Her husband liked men, and not just any men, but her brother's. But it was a marriage through which she would have been queen.

  Now here she was, sitting as the or of a deg alliance, left behind after Renly’s death. Her prospects had seemed sht once—Renly’s court, the promises, the pageantry. All gone now, vanished like m mist when the sun rose too quickly.

  Margaery tightened her grip, her nails lightly digging into the rich fabric of her gown. She didn’t believe that Brienne of Tarth had killed Renly. Brienne had adored him and would have willingly died for him, not snuffed out his life. No, the culprit must have been Stannis Baratheon, that humorless stag who, if Brianne's fleeing words were true, deployed sorceries far beyond mortal ken. Likely through that fn priestess Melisandre, so uling with her red robes aive smiles.

  Red priestesses. They seemed to be crawling out of the cracks these days. Margaery’s brows furrowed as she remembered another who she’d entered in Storm’s End. Was her name Nyra? She recalled. Nyra was more beautiful than Melisandre. Margaery recalled her traveling with that Essosi bodyguard and those Dornish Sand Snakes.

  Were they ected somehow? Well, of course, they served the same religion, but were they w together? Were these priestesses part of ser picture she couldn’t see?

  Would Renly have not died if they had captured Nyra that day?

  It was maddening how few answers she had. She was well-educated and clever; she prided herself on it. Yet here she was, a mere pie a game board that shifted too quickly for her to follow.

  Dragons supposedly long dead were now rumored to live again, and dark magic walked the world. Mages—real mages—stirred in the shadows, and noble houses toppled uhe weight of betrayals and broken oaths.

  Renly’s death had unraveled so much. His supporters, those who once cheered and flourished under his banners, had scattered like startled birds. Many had bent the ko Stannis now that Renly’s cause crumbled. But House Tyrell stood in a precarious position. Margaery hated it.

  Her e to Renly had been a strategik, but Stannis already had a wife and no appetite for romantitas. He was as rigid as the steel in the swords he anded. No easy path y open for Margaery to seduce the stag and secure her family’s statioation.

  She was once supposed to be a Queen, but now her family was busy trying to ehat the vassal lords weren't mad.

  She sighed again, a weary exhation that fogged the air before her. Winter was ing. Outside, a breeze stirred the willow branches, scattering the sunlight into restless patterns on the wooden floor. Margaery’s mind drifted with them, trying to piece together a future from the shards of what remained.

  A soft knock rapped at the door, pulling her from spiraling thoughts. Margaery blinked. What's this now? She'd asked that nobody disturb her, so this was important.

  She took a final look at the tranquil se beyond the window, such a trast to the turmoil roiling inside her, and then turned her head. “Yes?”

  “Young dy,” came her handmaiden’s voice, muffled yet polite through the thick oak. “Lady Olenna is waiting for you… with very important guests.”

  Margaery’s heart gave a subtle twist. Important guests? Her grandmother didn’t drop words like that lightly. Guests who warranted calling Margaery out of her brooding?

  She released her legs and stood, smoothing the creases from her gown. Already, her mind shifted into a more trolled persona: the gracious hostess, the poised noblewoman. If nothing else, Margaery Tyrell knew how to smile and charm, listen keenly, and navigate the twisting currents of politics. She inhaled, steadying herself.

  “Yes, I’ll be there soon,” she called, her voice clear but calm. She ran her fihrough her hair, brushing away the lingering daze of solitude.

  ****

  The new meeting room had none of the stiff formality of our earlier enter. Gohe cramped ers and suspicious gres. Instead, we’d settled into a spacious salon bedecked iyrell style—warm greens and golds, floral tapestries on the walls, and plush sofas arranged in a gracious circle.

  The st of fresh blossoms drifted in from the open windows framed by pale curtains. A low table between us offered trays of fruits and delicate pastries.

  How was as though the Tyrells had decided to host this discussion as a pleasant gathering rather than a political duel. Hoeople are.

  Olenna Tyrell sat opposite me, her e resting against a cushioned arm. Her posture was no less regal than before. Still, she indulged in small talk now, making witty remarks about the weather and the Reach’s abundant harvest, occasionally tossile jibes at her own absent son. Garn and Loras stood nearby, and their tensions were no more present, or at least they didn't show it anymore. They managed polite smiles and even a ugh or two when Olenna teased them.

  I maintained an easy grin and accepted their hospitality. At the same time, Kinvara sat by my side and occasionally joihe versation.

  They asked light questions as if we were old friends catg up. They wao know how I had fared these past seventeen years in exile, how I survived after Robert’s Rebellion, and what curiosities I entered in Essos. They listened, feigning or perhaps feeling geerest in my stories of Illyrio’s manse ios, the half-fotten markets I visited. They showed sympathy that was obviously fake toward my hardships when people mocked me, tricked me, and used my family legacy against me.

  I offered ahat were and measured. I spoke of hardship but never begged for sympathy; I hi resourcefulness rather than sorrow. A king couldn't appear to be weak. I painted myself as someone shaped by adversity into a sharper bde, not a broken tool.

  I saw that impressing them with my resilietered now—these people respected strength and ing, not sob stories.

  Partway through a mild jest I made about Essosi s, a servant quietly opehe door to allow someone inside. I looked up, “Ah.” It was Margaery Tyrell.

  She slipped in with that effortless grace I’d seen iV Show—poised like a dancer and lovely as promised. She looked a little less bright than what I'd st seen her in Storm's End, with visible bags under her eyes. The ret days mustn't have been kind to her. Her gown was the soft green of young leaves, her hair arranged in artful coils.

  Outside, birdsong drifted through the window, and the te afternoon sunlight softehe angles of her face, making her seem almost ethereal.

  Olenna’s eyes gleamed, seeing me observe her. She waited until Margaery was close enough to join our circle before turning to me with a smile eoo pleased with itself. “Look at him,” she said tranddaughter, nodding toward me. “Viserys Targaryen, the orue king, and… your to-be husband.”

  Margaery halted, and her eyes widened briefly before narrowing as she gnced from Olenna to me. I felt a prickle of surprise myself, and I spoke up before she had to. “Uh, Lady Olenna? We didn’t talk about this.”

  “Oh, of course, we didn’t,” Olenna replied, brushing aside my protest with a wave of her hand. “This is a gift, a surprise. I’m sure you appreciate it. Look at her, she’s beautiful.” She turned her sharp gaze taery, who had not even aowledged me at first, too busy gaping at her grandmother in astonishment. After a silebeat, Margaery finally met my eyes.

  I offered a polite smile, and she lowered her gaze as if flustered—though I suspected that her mind was whirring like clockwears beh that charmierior.

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  Spoiler

  [colpse]I cleared my throat. “I uand what you mean, Lady Olenna. She is beautiful,” I said slowly, shifting in my seat. Kinvara raised an eyebrow, her presence going a little more attentive now. Meanwhile, Garn and Loras exged quick looks, measuring the implications of this suddehal cim.

  “See?” Olenna said, triumphant. “So it’s agreed? I give you my army and support, and you give me great-grandchildren. A proper heir to the throne. Sounds perfectly reasoo me.”

  I'd seen this ing, so I kept myself easily posed. I let a small chuckle escape; anything too stiff might ruin this fragile rapport. “I’d be lucky to have such a beautiful wife, except there is one plication,” I said. “Remember when I mentioned my alliah Dorne?”

  Olenna’s triumphant face soured slightly. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re eo Arianne Martell,” she said, letting out a theatrical sigh. “No disrespect meant, but that girl’s reputation is hardly pristine. You should have mentiohis before.”

  I shook my head. “We’re not engaged, no. But I have left that optiohe Martells have been very supportive. Given their position, it’s wise not to discard that possibility out of hand.”

  That was a lie. Oberyn and Doran had chosen to support me while knowing Ariaed me. It was only after that did I bed that girl. And I'd beeo Oberyn afterward that I likely wouldn't marry his niece, so he sent his daughters with me. So they wouldn't mind if I ended up not marrying Arianne. But this hag did not o know any of that.

  Olenna’s brows knitted. She tapped a finger on the sofa’s arm, sidering my words. “So if you were to be betrothed taery, you might lose favor with Dorne? You think you hem?” Her skepticism slipped into her tohough she kept her voice measured. “The Tyrells are far strohan the Martells. Why bother appeasing them?”

  I ined my head, aowledging her point. But Kinvara spoke in my stead, “I’ve had this talk with him before. You are powerful, yes. But a true King of the Seven Kingdoms must sider all the Kingdoms. Dorne’s exclusion would fracture the realm. It is a must.”

  I nodded, “I hem included, at least for a time. And as you’ve kindly pointed out, Arianne’s reputation is questionable, making Margaery a far more suitable queen—ohe right moment es. If you know what I mean.”

  I watched Olenna’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. She uood the subtext: publicly, I might not be able to decre Margaery as my future queen until the dust settled. But privately, the promise y there. If I captured the throne, if all went as pnned, why would I choose a less fitting bride over the clever rose before me?

  But at the same time, this woman was a cautious old rose. She might not accept it. It was really a 50/50 situation. She might not agree out of caution, out of spite to make the alliance solid, but she might alsiverusted her granddaughter a lot to seduce me to be loyal. Olenna herself had seduced her husband inte, and she seemed to see herself in her granddaughter. I was sure she felt fident enough in Margaery to seduce the Beggar King.

  So, I couldn't be sure what she'd choose.

  Olenna shifted her weight, and her unease arent in the slight creak of the sofa. “I don’t like this limbo, I'll be ho with you,” she said curtly. “But I do see the sense in your strategy, Prince. Dorne’s cooperation strengthens your cim. But once you’re secure ohrone, you won’t fet the debt you owe Highgarden, will you? The Tyrells shan’t be cheated out of what we’ve earned. Wheime is ripe, Margaery will have the position she deserves. I need your word that Margaery will bear your heir.”

  A fragile silence seemed to settle over the room. I kept my face as sincere as I could manage.

  Heir? Good luck with that. I held back a smile. It’s still months till Stannis’ attack, and by then, not only will my dragon be rge, but even I… heh. I choose whoever I want to have as my heir.

  In truth, once I held the throne, I’d have greater freedom to choose. Margaery was not a bad option, but I didn’t pn to rule for a single geion. A dragon owed y to a rose. But that was a matter for the future. For now…

  “Yes,” I said, log the moment ih a final nod. “You have my word.”

  From the er of my eye, I noticed Margaery’s posture rex by a fra. Although she still looked fused, she trusted her grandmother a lot.

  Kinvara’s gaze flicked between us, calm as ever. Meanwhile, Garn and Loras observed quietly, their expressions muarded than before but not openly hostile. Lady Olenna smiled.

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