Highgarden.
The most fertile land on the continent of Westeros was currently bathed in the golden sunlight of high summer.
There was no biting chill of the North here, nor the foul stench of King's Landing. There was only the fragrance of roses and vines.
Bees buzzed among meticulously pruned flower beds, and fountains sprayed a cooling mist into the courtyards.
Everything appeared so peaceful, wealthy, and vibrant.
The Lord of House Tyrell, Mace Tyrell, reclined contentedly on a chaise lounge cushioned with velvet, savoring a purple grape just plucked from the vine.
His fleshy face beamed with a self-satisfied smile, as if the peace and prosperity of the entire Seven Kingdoms were solely due to Highgarden's generosity.
A maester hurried through the garden, interrupting this leisure.
"My Lord," the maester said, presenting a roll of parchment sealed with wax. "A raven from King's Landing."
Lord Mace sat up unhurriedly, took the letter, and clumsily broke the wax seal with his sausage-like fingers.
When he read the contents, his small eyes instantly lit up, and his breathing quickened.
"Quick! Go invite my mother, Margaery, and Loras here immediately!"
...
Moments later, within the rose gardens of Highgarden, the core members of House Tyrell sat around a white marble table.
The table was laden with exquisite pastries and chilled fruit wine, yet no one was in the mood to enjoy them.
Mace Tyrell smoothed the letter out on the table, the excitement on his chubby cheeks barely contained.
"A personal letter from Tywin Lannister!"
He announced, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.
"He has extended an olive branch to House Tyrell!"
"He says that King Joffrey is not yet betrothed and intends to wed our Rose of Highgarden."
Lord Mace turned his gaze to his stunningly beautiful daughter, Margaery.
"My daughter, you shall be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"
He then looked at his handsome son, Loras, the young man hailed as the Knight of Flowers.
"He also proposes that Loras wed Cersei."
"If this comes to pass, House Tyrell will be completely merged with the Lannisters and the Iron Throne of House Baratheon!"
Resistance flickered in Margaery's eyes, but she feigned delight to gauge her father's attitude.
Becoming Queen had been her dream since childhood.
But she had many choices now; there was no need to commit too early.
Loras, however, frowned slightly and remained silent.
Marry Cersei Lannister?
That woman famous for her jealousy?
And if he married Cersei, what of his Renly?
A trace of revulsion rose in his heart.
"What a generous proposal!"
Lord Mace didn't notice his son's mood at all.
He waved his arms, as if he could already see the banner of House Tyrell flying over the Red Keep.
"Lannister gold, combined with the granaries and armies of the Reach!"
"Who in all of Westeros could possibly contend with us?"
"Oh, is that so?"
A voice, aged but laced with biting sarcasm, rang out.
The Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne—Margaery's grandmother—was using a small silver pick to methodically spear a piece of melon.
She didn't even look up at the letter.
"My dear fool son, have you forgotten there is a fire-breathing dragon in the North?"
The smile froze on Lord Mace's face.
"Mother, Lord Tywin is the Hand of the King. Everyone knows he represents the will of the Iron Throne."
"Hand of the King?"
Lady Olenna finally raised her eyes, her gaze cloudy yet sharp as she looked at her son.
"You mean that old man who hid inside Casterly Rock counting his gold dragons during the Battle of the Trident, not daring to send troops until Robert's warhammer smashed in Rhaegar's chest?"
"What use is he?"
"That boy Lynn took the Vale and the Riverlands in just a few months, turning the North upside down in the process."
"And your so-called Hand of the King, the 'Lion' who publicly claimed to support Lynn, didn't dare send a single soldier to aid him?"
Lady Olenna put down the silver pick and wiped the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief.
"He is no lion, Mace."
"He is a viper hiding in the shadows."
"He is playing nice with us now not out of generosity, but because he is afraid."
"He is afraid that the dragon from the North will march south and melt that chair made of swords into a puddle of iron."
Sweat beaded on Lord Mace's forehead.
"But... Mother, it is the Queenship!"
"House Tyrell has waited so many years..."
"A Queenship shackled to the Lannisters?"
Lady Olenna sneered.
"You think marrying Margaery off makes her a Queen?"
"No, she would just be another chain Tywin Lannister uses to control that little mad dog, Joffrey."
"As for Joffrey," Olenna turned her gaze to her granddaughter, Margaery. "Have you heard the story of Sansa Stark, my dear child?"
"I heard that poor girl suffered endless humiliation in King's Landing. Someone mocked her in front of everyone."
"If not for Lynn, she would have crawled back to the North with her tail between her legs."
"And the one who humiliated her was your so-called future husband."
"Joffrey has the Targaryen madness paired with Lannister cruelty."
"Are you certain you can handle such a beast?"
Margaery stood up, walked to her grandmother's side, and gently refilled her cup of fruit wine.
"Grandmother," her voice was soft but firm. "You are right."
Lady Olenna looked at her beautiful, ambitious granddaughter. Seeing that she wasn't blinded by the title of Queen, a glint of approval flashed in her eyes.
She was very much like Olenna in her youth.
"Good."
"It is good that you can see clearly."
Lady Olenna changed the subject.
"But have you considered, even if you successfully control Joffrey, what then?"
"You would control a puppet."
"The one pulling the strings is Tywin Lannister."
"And right now, the balance of Westeros is no longer decided by the King alone."
Lady Olenna's finger tapped lightly on the table.
"Lynn."
"He has a three-headed dragon."
"He has a legion of giants."
"In less than a month, he brought House Arryn and House Tully to their knees."
"In the same amount of time, he made the entire North submit, uprooting a cancer like the Dreadfort root and branch."
"Do you think such a man cares who the Hand of the King is, or who the Queen is?"
"What you would get is merely a title."
"When your status is not secured by power, everything is just smoke and mirrors."
A long silence fell over the rose garden.
The excitement on Lord Mace's face had long faded, replaced by gravity.
Loras remained silent, but his expression grew complex.
Yes, Lynn.
The man who had risen like a comet, declaring his existence to all of Westeros in the bloodiest, most direct way possible.
The traditional rules of the Game of Thrones seemed pale and powerless before his overwhelming force.
"Tywin Lannister wants to strap us to his crumbling war chariot to fight a true dragon," Olenna pointed out the core of the problem mercilessly.
"If we win, we are heroes, but we will live forever in his shadow."
"If we lose, the roses of Highgarden will be burned to ash by dragonfire."
"He has a fine plan, trying to play us for fools."
Speaking of fools, Olenna glanced at her son. The implication was obvious.
"Then... then what should we do?"
Lord Mace, seeing the warning in his mother's eyes, panicked and habitually sought her answer.
Lady Olenna didn't answer immediately.
She looked at the letter from King's Landing on the table, then at the endless sea of roses in the distance.
House Tyrell's words were "Growing Strong."
Like the vines of this land, they knew how to assess the situation, knew how to cling to the strong. Only then could they prosper for thousands of years in this cruel land of Westeros.
Now, it was time to make a choice.
Cling to the Lannisters, an old tree that looked tall but whose roots were shaking?
Or embrace the fire of Lynn, which looked dangerous but was full of infinite possibility?
After a long time, Lady Olenna slowly stood up.
"Mace."
"Yes, Mother."
"Write back to Tywin Lannister immediately."
Lady Olenna's voice brooked no argument.
"Tell him we are honored by his proposal."
"Tell him the Rose of Highgarden is proud to unite with the Lion."
"Use flowery language. Be humble."
"Cersei and Loras can meet."
"As for Margaery, do not give a definite answer."
"Say that Margaery's marriage requires time to prepare. We need to consult the stars for an auspicious date, we need to prepare the most magnificent dowry."
"In short, stall him."
Lord Mace nodded repeatedly.
Stalling—that was something he was good at.
Loras, however, was anxious.
"I don't want to marry Cersei!"
A trace of helplessness flashed in Olenna's eyes.
"Loras, do you intend to perform your sword-swallowing act for the rest of your life?"
"Do you know what they say about you?"
"They say you are prettier than Cersei, and handle a sword better than any man."
"You've been stabbing Renly Baratheon in the back for years, and he's still alive—truly impressive swordsmanship."
Loras's face went red, then white.
Clearly, he had heard these rumors too.
"So, marrying Cersei isn't a bad thing. At least it sets things straight."
"You've made too many mistakes. I won't have House Tyrell shamed because of you alone!"
Loras fell silent, though his heart was heavy with annoyance.
He wanted to go find Renly.
"And then?" Margaery couldn't help but ask.
"I don't mean about Loras."
Seeing the question in Olenna's eyes, Margaery added quickly, afraid her grandmother would misunderstand.
Lady Olenna looked at her favorite granddaughter.
In those weather-beaten eyes, a light shone that had never been there before—the madness of a gambler.
"And then," she said, punctuating every word.
"You, my dear granddaughter, the fairest rose in Highgarden..."
"You are going to the North."
"What?!"
Mace, Margaery, and Loras exclaimed in unison.
"Mother! Are you mad?!" Lord Mace lost his composure.
"To the North? That frozen hellhole? Sending her into the trap? Serving herself up on a platter?"
"Shut up, you hopeless idiot!" Olenna snapped.
"Do you think hiding in Highgarden will keep danger from knocking at our door?"
"Since we've played the fence-sitter, Lynn is likely already dissatisfied with us. We must show sincerity."
Olenna turned her gaze back to Margaery, her voice softening considerably.
"You need to go see with your own eyes what that dragon really looks like."
"See if his so-called method of preserving grain is real..."
"And ask him personally what he wants."
"What Tywin Lannister can give us is nothing but a false title of Queen."
"But if we can help a true dragon ascend the Iron Throne..."
Lady Olenna didn't finish the sentence, but the unspoken words made Margaery's heart pound wildly.
Helping a dragon... ascend the Iron Throne.
Then what would she become?
"Grandmother," Margaery took a deep breath, the fire of ambition burning bright in her beautiful eyes.
"I understand."
Lady Olenna nodded with satisfaction.
She knew this was a massive gamble.
Betting the entire future of House Tyrell.
But she knew even better that in this era where dragons had reappeared, to grow strong, one had to be a vine that knew how to climb.
But sometimes, you must choose who to wrap around.
Even if it is a raging fire that could burn you to ash.