Columns of smoke from the cooking fires in King Aegon's camp could be seen from several miles away. Thick and numerous, they rose straight into the sky before leaning slightly in the same direction under the pull of the wind, as if a crooked forest of giant white trees had sprouted along the Blackwater River. The entire sky above the southern bank of King's Landing was shrouded beneath their pale, towering canopies.
Laughter, drums, flutes, zithers... all kinds of sounds drifted across the frozen river and snow-dusted fields, spreading in every direction. Vague and indistinct, like the buzzing of a hive or the murmur of a distant sea, they became the background noise of the world.
Nearly fifty thousand soldiers were gathered here. Along with the merchants who came to trade, camp followers, and laborers conscripted from nearby villages, it was a camp of sixty to seventy thousand people. The last time Westeros had seen such a massive military assembly was during the days of King Robert, when the armies of the Six Kingdoms gathered to suppress the League of the Righteous in the Vale.
Yet what was happening in this enormous camp was not training or preparation for war, but a wedding.
A wartime wedding—meant to announce to the world the union of House Tyrell and House Targaryen, to publicly declare the alliance between Aegon VI and the Reach, to boost the morale of troops who had grown listless from prolonged encampment, and even more so, to display strength to Daenerys across the river and to Stannis trapped within King's Landing, shattering their morale.
---
The groom wore a crown of soft golden dragon heads and a long coat of red and black velvet, with the Targaryen three-headed red dragon emblazoned on his chest. He had the classic Valyrian features. With his dignified attire and the legendary sword Blackfyre hanging at his waist, he looked not only heroic and noble, but also dispelled many of the rumors questioning his identity.
As for the bride, she was draped in a magnificent gown of green and gold. The hem was adorned with countless tiny flowers outlined in silver thread and beadwork, both pure and graceful. Though she could not rival the most beautiful woman in the world, she was more than qualified to be the green leaf that made the red flower stand out.
The couple—or rather, the betrothed—stood atop a temporary high platform, facing the Archbishop presiding over the ceremony. Wearing a crystal coronet, he made the pair look every bit the perfect match.
Yes, it was indeed the Archbishop himself officiating the wedding. Of course, the old man had not sprouted wings and flown out of King's Landing. Back when Stannis had taken the Iron Throne, refusing the Faith's coronation and anointing while openly declaring his allegiance to the Lord of Light, the Faith of the Seven had moved its headquarters from King's Landing back to the Starry Sept in Oldtown in protest. A month ago, after news of humanity's great victory against the White Walkers spread from the North, Lord Tyrell had written to Leyton Hightower, requesting that he invite the Archbishop to the Blackwater front.
At the time, the plan had been for the Faith to crown Daenerys, symbolizing the people's recognition of her legitimacy and extending the Reach's goodwill toward her. But to everyone's shock, Daenerys rejected her nephew's identity and gave up the chance to win over the Reach, a force that could have shifted the balance of the war.
The Reach lords were overjoyed, but the Archbishop's workload suddenly multiplied. Two days ago, he had overseen Aegon's coronation and personally placed the crown on his head. After only one day of rest, he was now rushing to officiate his wedding. Before the Father and the Mother, he would lead the King and Queen in reciting the seven vows, receiving the seven blessings, and exchanging seven promises.
The ritual was not particularly taxing in itself, but for a man of his age and bulk, having to stand for long stretches while fully robed and wearing the massive coronet made it clear why he was drenched in sweat and looked as if he might collapse at any moment.
White steam continuously rose from the Archbishop's head. From afar, it lent him an almost sacred air of inviolability. But Margaery was in no mood to pay attention to the strange and almost comical sight. With a graceful and warm smile, she moved through the ceremony with practiced ease, but her mind was elsewhere.
She was thinking about Aegor's undisguised insult and teasing that day. Not because she was too petty to let it go, but because she kept wondering: What had given that man the audacity?
If something seemed off, it probably was. Something she had missed or overlooked was surely in play.
Although House Tyrell was sometimes subtly looked down upon among the great houses, they had always been well connected with the lower lords and common folk. As a core member of the family, Margaery naturally benefited from this and was well-informed.
Yet, based on all the messages she had received—favorable, neutral, and otherwise—there had been no signs of the Vale or the Westerlands sending troops to aid Daenerys. Instead, she had received vague reports from the North and Riverlands suggesting that the Gift Army possessed a powerful siege weapon, apparently linked to "powder." Aegor had used it to take Winterfell and subdue the North, then moved south to capture Seagard and pacify the Riverlands.
That was valuable intelligence. It explained why Aegor dared to attack fortified King's Landing with only twenty thousand men. But it didn't explain why he would deliberately provoke the Reach.
Unless that weapon wasn't just for siege, but also effective in open battle.
That thought tightened Margaery's nerves. It was the only explanation that made sense of everything.
But what kind of weapon could make up for the massive disparity between twenty thousand and fifty thousand troops, especially when both forces were made up of elite soldiers with similar quality?
The Rose of Highgarden gently furrowed her brows. She was completely at a loss. Communication in this age was painfully slow. Even if she sent people to investigate how Aegor had taken Winterfell and Seagard, a full exchange of inquiry and reply would take at least ten to fifteen days. Meanwhile, the battle outside King's Landing could erupt at any moment.
She racked her brain, trying to recall any overlooked detail, any clue that might lead to the truth.
Then, as if touched by the gods, she remembered something seemingly trivial she had ignored: On the day Aegor arrived outside King's Landing and did not receive her immediately, while she was left waiting near Blackwall Keep, she encountered Neil of Rosby. From him, she learned of Aegor's movements. Upon arriving at the Industrial Park, his first stop had been the saltpeter warehouse.
At the time, she had merely felt a little slighted by Aegor's neglect and had focused on intercepting him for a conversation, not paying much attention to what Neil said. But in retrospect, the matter seemed suspicious. The Night's Watch had always claimed that saltpeter was critical in their fight against the White Walkers, and the entire realm believed it. Neil had mentioned in passing that even when Aegor was still at the Wall, he frequently sent letters south to inquire about saltpeter production and storage in the Industrial Park. As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, that concern made sense while the White Walkers were still a threat.
But now, with the White Walkers defeated and destroyed, the fact that he still prioritized inspecting saltpeter upon arriving outside King's Landing was strange.
Either he was completely irrational and couldn't distinguish what was important, or—that substance was the very foundation of his confidence in helping Daenerys reclaim the Iron Throne and challenging the entire Reach.
The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning through a darkened sky. Margaery felt she had grasped the heart of the matter. Although a few puzzle pieces were still missing, she had the feeling she had stumbled upon the core secret. Solving the rest was only a matter of time.
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"Margaery? Margaery!"
Just as the young woman felt excitement at her discovery, the surrounding noise grew louder. Her father's familiar voice calling her name pulled her back to reality. The Archbishop had finished the previous rites and ordered the hymns to begin. The groom was now changing the bride's cloak.
(To be continued.)
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