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Afternoon light spilled across the road as green-cloaked spearmen galloped ahead, Arthur and his party riding behind at a steady pace.
"We'll need to pass through three concentric walls before we reach the heart of Highgarden castle," one of the green-cloaks explained.
With the escort leading the way, Arthur took his time studying the Reach's capital.
Vivid green, shining gold, and pure white—the three colors Highgarden offered every traveler.
The Tyrell banner was a golden rose on green.
Green banners fluttered from every tower, and the soldiers wore green livery.
Golden roses and flowers of every hue grew wild outside the walls.
Inside, Highgarden was a living paradise, blossoms everywhere.
As for white—the marble castle on the hill and the three ring-shaped white walls protecting it gleamed brighter than the clouds themselves.
The outermost wall encircled the entire base of the hill.
Between it and the second wall lay a meticulously trimmed hedge maze built for entertaining guests and leisurely strolls.
Each successive wall stood higher and thicker than the last, guarded by slender, graceful round towers.
They served defense as well, of course.
White castles were in fashion—the Eyrie and Highgarden both loved the color.
"Poor Whitewalls," Arthur thought with a twinge of regret.
Whitewalls had been so beautiful and luxurious once, until Bloodraven leveled it to the ground.
"Highgarden is truly magnificent—so lovely!" Wylis exclaimed.
"Truly elegant," young Lucas Roote agreed.
The Reach's splendor left Arthur's band of country knights singing praises nonstop.
Compared to Highgarden, Riverrun felt small and provincial, Harrenhal bleak and monstrous.
All younger brothers of the Conqueror, after all—one couldn't blame House Tully alone for falling short.
The power of Highgarden and the fertile Rose Road under Tyrell control was simply on another level.
Highgarden competed with the Eyrie for the title of most beautiful castle in the Seven Kingdoms; its scenery was naturally unmatched.
Wylis, young Lucas, and Rolly had rarely traveled far from home.
Even Arthur's hired knights Lothor and Clarence had never been important enough to set foot inside Highgarden before.
"Grand castle… beautiful castle," Arthur praised aloud.
Highgarden was hardly an impregnable fortress—the hedge maze could be burned to ash in a single night.
This was already the second Highgarden. The first had been put to the torch by the Dornish centuries ago.
During the Century of Blood and the War of a Hundred Kings, in the final years of old, senile Garth X—who left no sons—his son-in-law houses, the Peakes and Manderlys, fought bitterly for the throne, plunging the Reach into ten years of chaos.
The Dornish struck while the iron was hot.
One Dornish king besieged Oldtown.
This king lived long after "Starfire" Samwell Dayne; by then Oldtown already answered to Highgarden.
It was most likely another King of the Reach or a Dayne king.
Another king—from House Yronwood or Fowler—led his army to storm Highgarden, hacked the ancient oak throne to splinters, and burned the castle.
The Dornish looted Highgarden, then set it ablaze. Most of the buildings were reduced to rubble, and they killed the old king.
In the end, Highgarden's steward Ser Osmund Tyrell rallied forty houses, defeated the warring Peakes and Manderlys, and placed a distant relative of the old king—Mern VI Gardener—on the throne.
To thank the rose for its aid, Mern VI gave his youngest daughter to Ser Robert, granting House Tyrell the blood of "Greenhand" Garth.
"Who knows if any fragments of the Gardener oak throne still survive," Arthur mused.
He cared little for Highgarden's scenery; he was far more interested in that legendary throne.
It was said to have been carved from an oak planted by Greenhand Garth himself.
Generations of Gardener kings had sat upon it, carrying at least a trace of Garth's ancient magic.
Unfortunately, it had been smashed and burned—holy relics were probably long gone.
One white wall arch… two white wall arches.
Guided by the green-cloaks, Arthur passed through the hedge maze.
After the second wall came the outer ward of Highgarden castle.
Even here, the residents were either rich or noble.
True smallfolk lived outside the first white wall, along the roads or riverbanks—just like Harrentown—forming what was called Rose Town.
The green-cloaks went the extra mile, escorting Arthur all the way inside the castle, past the third white wall.
Green and white blended into poetry; Highgarden truly was a green paradise.
Gardens, pools, and artificial waterfalls adorned the entire castle.
Stone carvings, fountains, and marble colonnades filled the grounds; grapes and roses climbed walls and statues; ancient buildings were draped in vines.
"Young Master Arthur, our young lords are waiting for you in the rose garden. Would you come? Just you, my lord," a servant in green brocade said politely.
"Only me?" Arthur emphasized.
He could hardly bring his squires and armed knights to a private invitation.
"Yes, my lord," the servant confirmed.
"Go on, Arthur. I'll settle the rest of us," Ser Lucas said.
"Very well," Arthur followed the servant toward the rose garden, wondering what game these roses were playing.
He strode after the Tyrell servant into the garden.
Flowers bloomed in riotous color everywhere, with fountains, artificial pools, and rockeries.
Elegant—truly elegant.
A boy whose shield bore a pair of golden roses was sparring alone against two other boys, also distant Tyrell kin.
"Young Master Arthur has arrived, Ser Garlan," the servant called.
Garlan brightened and stopped his training at once.
"Garlan!" he shouted happily. "I'm so glad you came. Welcome, welcome!"
Arthur studied Garlan—well raised by a steward, indeed.
His manners were warm and genuine.
Compare that to his uncle-by-marriage Hoster's family—the two married Tully daughters were all snooty as peacocks.
Odd bunch. The roses certainly knew how to raise proper children.
"Good day, Ser Garlan. Thank you for your warm welcome. Your training is impressively diligent," Arthur said.
This chubby boy with the baby fat trained so hard—he would be a formidable man one day.
"You laugh at me, but I want to become a master like you," Garlan replied earnestly.
Arthur didn't mind. Garlan's stats were solid enough.
But Arthur himself was a one-of-a-kind stat monster.
Garlan gestured invitingly.
Arthur followed him forward. Many Tyrell kin were relaxing in the pavilion beside the fountain, enjoying blood melons and grapes.
Old Rose—Queen of Thorns Olenna.
A sharp, thin old woman flanked by two sturdy young guards.
Big Rose—scholarly Willas.
Third Rose—the future Knight of Flowers, Loras.
Little Rose—little Margaery, still nestled in her grandmother's arms.
The Tyrells all shared the same brown hair and brown eyes.
Margaery stared wide-eyed at the handsome young knight from afar.
Only Lord Mace and his wife were absent.
"So the honored guest from the Riverlands has arrived—the Bat Knight, shining brightly again in Bitterbridge. How kind of you to visit us flashy roses," the Queen of Thorns opened, her tone already laced with acid.
Acting her age, no one dared talk back.
"Thank you for receiving me, my lady," Arthur bowed elegantly.
"I knew your grandfather, Lord Walter—though we were never close," the Queen of Thorns said. "He was once wealthy and generous. What does he do with himself these days? I hear he's full of resentment."
"He's old," Arthur shrugged. "He misses the past."
Arthur recognized the game at once.
She was probing—just as she would later probe foolish Sansa.
Was House Whent still nursing grudges against Robert?
The Queen of Thorns studied him. "I understand. You must be grieving. We all mourn your lost kin."
"Your grandfather was a good man, but also a failure—and a bitter one," she added sharply.
Arthur put on a righteous expression. "There are no failures here. We are loyal subjects of King Robert. After I left Dragonstone, His Grace even gifted me personally."
"Very well, very well," the Queen of Thorns said, watching his calm demeanor.
This boy was no simpleton. She didn't believe for a second that he was truly content.
By rights, Arthur should have been angry, resentful.
It seemed the young lord possessed not only a knight's courage but a ruler's cunning. He was no mere warrior.
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