[34] Flowers of Highgarden

Chapter 34: Flowers of Highgarden

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The sun hung lower now, its golden light filtering softly through the tall windows of the meeting room, casting long patterns across the polished floor. Olenna Tyrell remained seated in her cushioned chair, her sharp gaze unwavering as it swept over me, Kinvara, and finally, her granddaughter.

Margaery stood poised beside her, the glow of the fading sun catching in her hair, though her expression seemed slightly distant—as if she’d been thrown into deep waters without warning.

“Well,” Olenna broke the silence with a crisp clap of her hands, “I suppose we’ve had enough of sitting and staring like statues. Viserys, dear, you’ve had quite the day, haven’t you? It’s time for a little tour of Highgarden. My granddaughter will show you around, and after that, ” she gave me a meaningful look, “you should rest, clean yourself up, and we’ll meet again for dinner. My son, Mace, should return tomorrow, though I dare say his presence will change little of importance.”

I inclined my head, a polite smile masking the thought that came unbidden: Although the real head of the Tyrells is still Olenna, it’s good to have Mace Tyrell present. There were benefits to formalities, even when everyone knew who held the reins.

Margaery’s smile appeared. It was polished and warm but perhaps a little too tight around the edges. She’d need to train that better.

“Of course, Grandmother,” she said, her voice honeyed as always. Then, after a brief hesitation, she turned her gaze toward Olenna. “But may I speak with you privately first? I… I need a moment.”

Olenna’s thin lips curled upward ever so slightly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. “Oh dear,” she murmured, glancing toward me with a knowing arch of her brow. “I imagine she’s still adjusting to my little surprise earlier. I do hope you understand, Prince. Such… proposals can be a bit much when they’re dropped like a stone into a pond. Especially since her previous marriage ended so poorly.”

“I understand,” I replied smoothly, though I wondered just what Margaery wished to discuss. Olenna didn’t wait for further comment, already turning her attention to her grandsons.

“Well then,” she said, her gaze shifting briefly to Loras before flitting past him like a breeze and landing firmly on Garlan. “Garlan, dear, would you be so kind as to escort your brother-in-law for the time being? Show them the finer sights of our palace—our roses are always worth the admiration, after all.”

Loras stiffened faintly but said nothing. Garlan, who was far more composed and far less dramatic than his younger brother, offered a polite nod. “It would be my pleasure, Grandmother.”

Olenna waved a hand, already dismissing the matter. “Wonderful. Go on, then. I won’t keep the prince waiting longer than I must.”

Kinvara rose gracefully from her seat, crimson robes flowing like molten silk behind her, still wearing her calm smile. “Then I’ll see you later, Lady Olenna,” she said. I also stood, offering Margaery a small nod before following Garlan toward the door.

The last I saw of Olenna was how she leaned toward Margaery, her eyes glinting with quiet mischief as she whispered something low. Whatever the words were, they made Margaery’s expression shift—surprise flickering briefly across her face.

The heavy wooden door closed behind us with a quiet thud, leaving Olenna and Margaery in their private world.

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“…and without food, even the greatest army becomes little more than a starving mob,” Garlan said, his voice steady and thoughtful. “Swords win battles, but grain wins wars, Prince Viserys. At least, that’s what my father always says, even when others scoff at him for worrying too much about harvests.”

“Smart man,” I nodded, considering his words as we walked through the sprawling halls of Highgarden. Garlan Tyrell wasn’t just a knight with a steady hand—he was pragmatic, a rare quality in a world where most Knights equated power with swords alone. He spoke like someone who understood the true weight of leadership, a strength that contrasted sharply with Loras’s brash pride.

“I’m glad you see the vision,” he replied.

“Well, of course, because you’re not wrong,” I replied, glancing at him. “Armies march on their stomachs. Many men with crowns forget that until it’s too late.”

Kinvara, walking beside me, chimed in with her calm voice. “A starving army becomes a desperate one. And desperation? That can kill even kings.” She looked at Garlan with faint approval. “It seems the Reach has wise men among its sons.”

Garlan smiled faintly at that, a humble tilt of his head. “I try to see what others miss, my lady.”

Before the conversation could deepen, soft footfalls echoed through the corridor, and we turned to see Margaery approaching. Her earlier uncertainty seemed to have melted away, replaced with a poise that A-class actresses showed back on Earth. She wore a bright, practiced smile that could disarm kings and charm courtiers, though I wondered how much of it was genuine.

“Prince Viserys,” she greeted, dipping her head in a graceful nod. Her gaze shifted to Kinvara, warm but pointed. “And Lady Kinvara, always a pleasure. Apologies for my delay, but I’ll show you around now, Prince.” Her tone was cheerful. Then she looked at Kinvara and added, “My lady, I’ve prepared a warm bath for you already. I thought you might want to take some time to refresh yourself after such a long journey.”

Kinvara’s lips curled ever so slightly, clearly reading the intent, but she bowed her head with a placid smile. “You’re very thoughtful, Lady Margaery. I’ll take your advice, then. Prince Viserys, enjoy the tour.” She gave me a quick glance, her knowing look saying play the game well.

“Of course,” I replied, watching as Kinvara glided off with a servant who had appeared just in time. The Tyrells’ efficiency in these small details was amusing.

Margaery turned back to me, her expression bright as ever. “Shall we, Your Grace?”

“Lead the way,” I said smoothly.

She turned, and I followed her as she led me deeper into Highgarden. The halls were wide and filled with sunlight. They were lined with tapestries of emerald and gold depicting scenes of blooming roses, flowing rivers, and great battles fought under verdant banners. Each step echoed faintly on the polished stone as Margaery explained the palace’s history with effortless charm.

“The gardens here,” she gestured lightly as we passed an arched window that revealed a sea of colors below, “were designed by my great-grandmother. Every flower was carefully chosen to reflect the Reach’s abundance and beauty.”

I let her words wash over me, taking in the sights she pointed out—a marble statue of Garth Greenhand, carved so finely it seemed to breathe; murals depicting the Tyrells’ rise after the fall of House Gardener; and frescoes of fertile fields stretching into endless horizons.

“These stories serve as reminders,” she continued, her voice melodic. “That the Reach is not just land—it’s life itself. Our crops feed Westeros. Our flowers bloom long after winter comes for the rest.”

Her words, though elegantly spoken, carried an undercurrent of pride. Not arrogance, just facts. I wasn’t lying when I agreed with Garlan’s point about food. I admired that this girl knew her strength. She understood her family’s power, one who wouldn’t hesitate to wield it in the name of ambition.

We stopped near a grand window with an arched frame taller than us. The view stretched out far beyond the walls of Highgarden. It was a mosaic of green fields dotted with villages, their neat lines of crops stretching to the banks of the Mander River. The water gleamed beneath the sinking sun, its reflection rippling like liquid gold.

Margaery’s tone shifted, softening. “I must say, Prince Viserys, I am surprised by you.”

I glanced at her, an eyebrow arching faintly. “Oh? What part? I’ve just been listening, didn’t even say anything profound,” I joked, making her laugh.

She hesitated, her hands delicately resting on the stone ledge. “Well, you seem so… determined. So certain of your path. It’s refreshing to see.” Her voice dropped slightly, more candid now. “And since we’re speaking honestly, I must assure you—Renly and I…” Her gaze remained fixed on the fields below, and then she looked at my eyes. “Our marriage was never consummated.”

I blinked, feigning surprise as if that couldn’t be. “No way,” I said, adding disbelief in my voice. “How could a man hold back from a beauty like you?”

A small laugh slipped past her lips. “Sweet words, but the explanation is quite simple. Because, Your Grace, you’ve been in Essos too long. You wouldn’t know that Renly… preferred the company of men. You can ask around. People know.”

That, I had known, of course. Hearing it from her lips made it more amusing; she was degrading her ex-husband before me in an attempt to appear more likable. How cute. Rather than replying, I stepped closer, closing the distance between us. Gently, I reached out and took her by the waist, pulling her just enough that our bodies nearly touched.

“Well,” I said, my voice low, “for your knowledge, and I think you’ll prefer knowing this, I am perfectly interested in women.”

Margaery tilted her head, her hands pressing lightly against my chest in the gentlest protest. Her smile remained, though there was a glimmer of calculation in her eyes. “That, I’m sure of,” she replied softly. “I suppose I’ll be happy in that regard… but onlyyy… after marriage~.” With that, she pushed herself back ever so slightly, slipping free of my hold like a dancer stepping out of rhythm.

I smirked faintly, holding back the instinct to raise a curious eyebrow. Her attempts are adorable. Would have worked on a different Viserys. Since she’d talked with Olenna earlier, I’d expected her to try to ensnare me, to weave her charms like a net. Instead, she was doing withdrawal play—playing coy, dangling the bait just out of reach. It was a clever tactic that would have worked on the rumored Viserys.

“A pity, but we’re all religious people here, I understand,” I said, making her smile.

Her expression softened again, and for the first time, there was something resembling genuine curiosity in her voice. “Prince Viserys… I heard about your dragon earlier from grandmother. Is it true? She told me not to approach this topic as you might be offended by my doubts, but I think you’re an easy-going man so I’m asking. Do you… do you really have one?”

I revealed a slow smile. She wanted to see my power—to glimpse the living myth that set me apart. Instead, I leaned closer and whispered, “After marriage.”

Her smile faltered momentarily, her lips parting in surprise, and then she quickly composed herself, giggling. “...Well played.”

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