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Jaehaerys walked through the camp toward where Rhaenix rested. His dragon's scales glittered like fresh blood in the moonlight, her massive form casting long shadows across the ground. As he approached, she lifted her great head, eyes like molten copper fixing on him. When he reached out to caress her snout, she purred – a sound that rumbled through the earth like distant thunder.
"No matter how many times I see it," Oberyn mused, watching from a few paces back with the other knights, "I still can't quite believe my eyes. A dragon purring like some oversized house cat."
Rhaenix snorted, sending a warm puff of air that ruffled Jaehaerys's dark curls.
"She says you're just jealous," Jaehaerys smirked, then turned to face his father and the Kingsguard. His expression grew serious. "You'll leave for Casterly Rock at first light. Jaime's information about the secret passage should give you the advantage you need."
Oberyn nodded, twirling his spear absently. "The Lannisters never imagined one of their own would give up their secrets. Their pride will be their undoing."
"Speaking of Lannisters," Jaehaerys turned to Jaime, who stood slightly apart from the others, "if you want to save your brother, you need to move quickly."
"Save him?" Oberyn stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
"Ser Jaime will ride for Harrenhal," Jaehaerys explained, running his hand along Rhaenix's scales. "He'll find Tyrion and convince him to change sides before the battle begins."
"And if he can't?" Oswell Whent asked.
"Then Tyrion will likely die alongside his father," Jaehaerys said simply. "I've agreed to spare him and grant him Casterly Rock, with the condition that he marry a lady loyal to House Targaryen. It's more than fair."
Oberyn moved closer to Jaime, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If this is some elaborate trick, if you're planning to betray us..." He left the threat hanging.
"I'll make sure both you and your brother die slowly, painfully, and very creatively," Oberyn finished, dark eyes glinting.
Jaime met his gaze steadily. "Save your threats, Prince Oberyn. I've seen enough of your work to know what you're capable of." A slight smile crossed his face. "Just try not to mess up taking Casterly Rock. It would be embarrassing to have to come save you."
"Your concern is touching," Oberyn replied dryly.
"Time to move," Jaehaerys interrupted, mounting Rhaenix with practiced ease. The dragon shifted beneath him, eager to take flight. "Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell, with me."
The two knights mounted behind him, having grown somewhat used to dragon-riding over the past months; thankfully, the dragon had a saddle for four people, so there was enough space for the three of them.
"Where to, Your Grace?" Ser Gerold asked.
"Highgarden," Jaehaerys replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "I believe Lady Margaery is still waiting for that song I promised her last year."
"Ah yes, when you were still my bastard son," Oberyn laughed. "The poor girl nearly fainted when you sang 'The Dornishman's Wife.'"
"She'll faint for different reasons now," Oswell muttered, causing several chuckles.
"Remember," Jaehaerys called down to Jaime, "you have three days to convince your brother. After that, Daenerys and the northern armies will reach Harrenhal."
Jaime nodded grimly. "Three days to save my brother from our father's madness. It will have to be enough."
"And you," Jaehaerys looked at Oberyn, "try not to kill too many Lannisters. We need some alive to bend the knee."
"You take all the fun out of conquest, nephew," Oberyn grinned. "But very well, I shall try to restrain myself."
"Arthur," Jaehaerys addressed the Sword of the Morning, "keep an eye on both of them. Make sure they don't kill each other before their missions are complete."
Arthur Dayne nodded, though amusement flickered in his violet eyes. "As you command, Your Grace."
Rhaenix shifted impatiently, spreading her massive wings. The sunlight caught them, turning the membrane almost translucent, veins of blood-red running through them like rivers of fire.
Then he leaned forward, whispering to Rhaenix in Valyrian. The dragon reared up, her wings casting the entire camp into shadow.
"Try not to start any wars while I'm gone!" Jaehaerys shouted as Rhaenix launched into the air, her powerful wings sending gusts of wind that had the men below shielding their faces.
"That's rich coming from you!" Oberyn called back, laughing.
They watched as dragon and riders climbed higher into the night sky, Rhaenix's form slowly shrinking until she was just a dark shape against the stars, heading South-West toward the Reach.
"Well," Oberyn turned to Jaime, twirling his spear again, "shall we discuss how not to kill each other for the next few hours?"
"I'd rather drink," Jaime replied.
"Finally," Arthur sighed, "something you both can agree on."
Jaehaerys
The night air was crisp and cold at this height, the land below spread out like a dark tapestry dotted with pinpricks of light from villages and towns. Rhaenix's wings beat steadily, each powerful stroke carrying them closer to Highgarden. While Jaehaerys sat comfortably, almost naturally, his two Kingsguard shifted uncomfortably behind him.
"Seven save me," Oswell muttered as they hit a pocket of turbulent air. "I was meant to fight on the ground, not dance among the clouds."
"You could have stayed with Oberyn," Jaehaerys called back over his shoulder, amusement clear in his voice.
"And miss all this excitement? Never, Your Grace."
Silence fell again, broken only by the whistle of wind and the rhythmic beating of Rhaenix's wings. After a while, Ser Gerold cleared his throat.
"Your Grace, if I may... why did you speak with Robert Baratheon?"
Jaehaerys was quiet for a moment, his hand absently stroking one of Rhaenix's spines. "I wanted to hear his side of the story. Wanted to hear what he would say to me, face to face."
"And?" Gerold pressed.
"And he asked about his children," Jaehaerys's voice hardened. "Asked what I planned to do with them."
"What did you tell him?" Oswell asked.
"I told him the truth. That I would have them killed the same way my siblings were butchered." Jaehaerys's grip tightened on Rhaenix's spines. "That their deaths would be justice for Rhaenys and Aegon, justice that he never sought."
Behind him, both knights stiffened. Oswell looked away, his face troubled but resigned. Gerold, however, straightened his shoulders.
"Your Grace," he began, his voice careful but firm. "I must speak freely."
"When have you ever not, Ser Gerold?"
"The children should be spared."
Jaehaerys's head snapped around, violet eyes flashing dangerously in the moonlight. "Spared?" he growled. "Like my sister was spared? Like my brother was spared? Tell me, Ser Gerold, where was this mercy when the Mountain was smashing my brother's head against a wall?"
"I am not defending those actions," Gerold said steadily, despite the anger radiating from his king. "What happened to Princess Elia and your siblings was an abomination. But killing more children won't bring them back."
"They are not children," Jaehaerys spat. "They are pretenders to my throne."
"Tommen is eight years old," Gerold pressed on. "Myrcella is ten. Whatever their parentage, whatever their claims, they are innocent of any crime."
"My sister was three," Jaehaerys's voice cracked slightly. "My brother was an infant. Where was their innocence when Robert Baratheon smiled over their corpses?"
"And that is precisely why you must be better," Gerold said firmly. "You are not Robert Baratheon. You are not Tywin Lannister. You are not the Mad King. You are Jaehaerys Targaryen, and you must decide what kind of king you want to be."
Rhaenix rumbled beneath them, sensing her rider's turmoil.
"The realm will look to you," Gerold continued. "They will judge your reign by your first actions as king. Do you want them to see justice, or vengeance? Mercy, or cruelty?"
"Sometimes justice looks like cruelty," Jaehaerys said.
"True," Gerold agreed. "But killing children never looks like justice. Not to anyone."
"He's right, Your Grace," Oswell finally spoke up. "I served your grandfather. I watched him burn men alive and call it justice. It's a slippery slope from justice to madness, and it often starts with convincing yourself that cruelty is necessary."
Jaehaerys was quiet for a long time, the only sound the wind and Rhaenix's wings. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"I see their faces sometimes," he admitted. "In my dreams. My sister, my brother. I never knew them, but I see them. See what was done to them. And I wake up wanting to burn the world."
"That's natural," Gerold said softly. "But it's what you do with that anger that defines you."
"And what would you have me do with them?" Jaehaerys asked. "The children? I can't let them live to press their claim."
"Send them to the Faith," Gerold suggested. "Or to the Citadel for the boy. The girl could join the Silent Sisters. There are ways to remove threats without removing lives."
"The realm would see mercy," Oswell added. "They would see a king who can temper justice with wisdom."
"The Faith won't hold them forever," Jaehaerys argued, his voice tight. "The moment I show weakness, someone will try to use them against me. They'll become rallying points for every rebel who wants to challenge my claim."
"And killing them will make martyrs of them instead," Gerold countered. "Which would you rather face - two children bound by holy vows, or their ghosts haunting every decision you make?"
"Better ghosts than pretenders. At least ghosts can't raise armies."
"No, but they can destroy a man from within. You think you'll sleep better knowing you ordered the deaths of children?"
Jaehaerys's jaw clenched. "I'll sleep fine knowing my throne is secure."
"Like Robert did?" Gerold's words cut sharp. "Did he sleep well after your siblings' deaths?"
"That's different-"
"Is it? How?"
"Because they were innocent!" Jaehaerys snapped. "They were true-born heirs!"
"And these children are guilty of what? Being born? Having the wrong parents?"
Rhaenix rumbled beneath them, sensing the growing tension.
"Why do you care so much?" Jaehaerys demanded suddenly, turning to face Gerold as much as he could. "You've never even met them. They're nothing to you."
Gerold was quiet for a moment, the wind whipping at his white cloak. "Jaime Lannister taught me something today."
"What?" Jaehaerys asked, confused by the sudden change in topic.
"He was right," Gerold said heavily. "All those years ago, he was right, and we were wrong." The old knight's voice grew bitter. "I stood outside Queen Rhaella's door while your grandfather raped her. I heard her screams, her pleas. I did nothing because he was the king, and I had sworn an oath."
Jaehaerys stiffened but remained silent.
"I watched him burn men alive. I watched him descend further into madness each day. And I did nothing." Gerold's voice cracked slightly. "We all did nothing, hiding behind our oaths while the realm bled. And then a seventeen-year-old boy did what we should have done years before."
"You're comparing me to my grandfather?" Jaehaerys's voice was dangerous.
"No, Your Grace. I'm begging you not to start down that path. Killing those children won't bring you peace. It won't bring you relief. It will be the first step on a road that leads to places you don't want to go."
"And if I ignore your counsel? If I give the order anyway?"
"Then I will obey, because I have sworn an oath to you," Gerold said quietly. "But I will have failed in my duty just as surely as I failed with your grandfather. Because sometimes the hardest part of serving is telling your king what he needs to hear, not what he wants to hear."
Silence fell between them, broken only by the steady beat of Rhaenix's wings.
Finally, Jaehaerys spoke, his voice low but clear. "You're a good Kingsguard, Ser Gerold."
There was complete silence between the three of them; Rhaenix didn't seem to like the silence as she groaned loudly.
"And what of Joffrey?" Jaehaerys asked. "He's old enough to have chosen his path."
"Joffrey..." Gerold hesitated. "From what I've heard of the boy, he may be beyond saving. But his siblings need not share his fate."
Jaehaerys fell silent again, his thoughts churning like storm clouds. Below them, the lights of a large town passed by, reminding them that Highgarden wasn't far now.
"My father chose love over duty," he finally said. "My grandfather chose madness over reason. Robert chose hatred over healing." He turned to look at his Kingsguards. "What am I choosing?"
"That, Your Grace," Oswell replied, "is entirely up to you. But remember - the choices we make in times of victory often echo longer than the choices we make in times of war."
"Fancy words for a man who looks ready to vomit at any moment," Jaehaerys said, but there was a hint of humor in his voice.
"Well, Your Grace," Oswell chuckled weakly, "we can't all be natural dragon riders. Some of us prefer our feet firmly on the ground where the Seven intended them to be."
Rhaenix banked slightly, causing both knights to grip tighter, and Jaehaerys smiled despite himself. Perhaps there was wisdom in their words. Perhaps there was another way to secure his throne without becoming what he hated.
"We'll discuss this more after Highgarden," he said finally. "Speaking of which..." He pointed ahead where the first hints of dawn were beginning to paint the horizon. "We're almost there."
"Thank the gods," Oswell muttered. "Though I'm not sure which is more dangerous - flying on a dragon or facing Olenna Tyrell in negotiations."
"At least the dragon's intentions are clear," Gerold said dryly.
As dawn painted the sky in pastel hues, Highgarden emerged from the morning mist like something from a song. From their vantage point atop Rhaenix, higher than even the tallest towers of the castle, they could see the full majesty of House Tyrell's seat unfold below them.
"Seven hells," Oswell breathed, momentarily forgetting his queasiness. "I dare say the stomach ache was worth it for this view."
Jaehaerys and Gerold chuckled at their companion's words, but they too were captivated by the sight. The castle rose in concentric rings of pale stone, each wall higher than the last, creating a spiraling ascent to the central keep. The famous towers stretched skyward, their spires gleaming in the early morning light, topped with elegant turrets and adorned with intricate Gothic architecture.
Below the castle walls, the legendary gardens of Highgarden spread out in geometric precision -with perfectly manicured hedgerows, elaborate flowerbeds, and ornate fountains. The gardens were laid out like an enormous green and gold tapestry, sectioned into formal patterns that would be the envy of any castle in the Seven Kingdoms.
A river wound its way past the castle's base, its waters reflecting the light. Stone bridges crossed the water at strategic points, connecting the castle to the surrounding lands. Beyond the gardens, rolling hills stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with orchards and vineyards that made the Reach the most fertile region in Westeros.
"Three rings of whitewashed walls," Gerold observed professionally, "each higher than the last, and those towers could house hundreds. No wonder it's never fallen to siege."
"The gardens alone could feed the castle for months," Oswell added. "Though it seems a shame to trample such beauty with an army."
Rhaenix circled lower, her shadow passing over the magnificent structure. From their height, they could see servants beginning to stir, tiny figures moving about the courtyards and gardens like ants, unaware of the dragon and its riders above them.
"Well, Your Grace," Gerold said, "shall we announce our arrival? I believe Lady Olenna will be quite put out if we keep her waiting for breakfast."
"Indeed," Jaehaerys smiled, guiding Rhaenix toward the largest courtyard. "Let's give House Tyrell a proper dragon's greeting."
Rhaenix's massive shadow swept across Highgarden's courtyard, causing immediate chaos below. Servants scattered like leaves in the wind, their morning routines forgotten as the massive red dragon descended. Her wingspan, nearly blocking out the morning sun, cast a crimson tint on the white stone walls of the castle.
"DRAGON!" The warning bells began to toll, their urgent pealing mixing with shouts and screams.
Rhaenix landed with surprising grace for a creature of her size, her claws carefully avoiding the intricate tilework of the main courtyard. Steam rose from her nostrils, and her red scales gleamed like fresh blood in the morning light. She folded her wings, creating a gust of wind that sent roses scattering from nearby bushes.
Guards poured into the courtyard, their green cloaks billowing, halberds raised - though they stopped short at the sight of the dragon. More importantly, they recognized the white cloaks of the two Kingsguard behind their king.
"Seven save us," a guard captain muttered, dropping to his knee.
The great doors of the castle burst open, and out strode Mace Tyrell, his face flushed from rushing, still pulling on a formal doublet. Behind him came Margaery, far more composed than her father, her eyes widening slightly as she recognized the rider - no longer Jon Sand, but Jaehaerys Targaryen.
"Your Grace," Mace stammered, dropping into a bow. "We... we had no word of your coming."
"That was rather the point, Lord Tyrell," Jaehaerys replied, his voice carrying across the courtyard. He'd grown used to these reactions - the fear, the confusion, the hasty attempts at courtesy.
But it was Lady Olenna who commanded attention as she emerged from the castle, walking steadily despite her age. Unlike her son, she showed no sign of surprise or distress.
"Well, well," she said, eyeing Rhaenix with what appeared to be more curiosity than fear. "The bastard of Dorne returns to us as a dragon. Though I suppose you were never really a bastard at all, were you, Your Grace?"
"Lady Olenna," Jaehaerys inclined his head slightly. "You look well."
"And you look exactly like the boy who sang in our halls and slew the Mountain," she replied sharply. "Though the dragon is certainly a new addition."
Margaery stepped forward then, executing a perfect curtsy. "Your Grace," she said softly, her eyes meeting his briefly before lowering demurely. "Highgarden welcomes you."
Rhaenix shifted behind Jaehaerys, her tail curling around the courtyard's perimeter, causing several guards to step back hastily. Steam continued to rise from her nostrils, and her presence made it clear - this was no mere visit.
"Perhaps," Lady Olenna said, breaking the tense silence, "we should continue this conversation inside. Unless, of course, Your Grace intends to repeat your ancestor's approach to negotiations?"
"That depends entirely on House Tyrell, my lady," Jaehaerys replied coolly. "Shall we break fast together and discuss where your loyalties truly lie?"
Mace Tyrell's face paled slightly, but Olenna merely smiled - a sharp, calculating expression that suggested she'd been expecting this day would come.
"Indeed we shall, Your Grace," she said. "Though I must say, arriving by dragon does rather stack the deck in your favor when it comes to diplomatic discussions."
"It does, indeed." Jae said with a proud smile. "Guest right, my lady," Jaehaerys announced formally. "I would have your bread and salt."
"Of course, Your Grace. We wouldn't want any unfortunate dinner entertainment." Olenna turned sharply to a trembling servant. "Bread and salt. Now. And stop shaking like a leaf - if His Grace meant us harm, we'd already be ash."
A young servant girl approached with remarkable courage, though her eyes kept darting to Rhaenix. The dragon's massive head followed her movement, causing her to nearly drop the tray.
Jaehaerys dismounted gracefully, followed by a significantly less graceful Ser Oswell, whose complexion matched the white of his cloak. The knight swallowed hard several times, clearly fighting his stomach's rebellion against the flight.
"Ser Oswell," Olenna observed dryly, "you look like you've been sampling my grandson's personal wine collection. Do try not to redecorate my courtyard."
"Your... concern is touching, my lady," Oswell managed, steadying himself.
Jaehaerys took the bread and salt, before taking a bite. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Lady Olenna."
"Oh, let's get inside before we all roast in this sun. Guards, lower those weapons before you embarrass yourselves further. What exactly do you plan to do against a dragon with those toothpicks?"
The guards hastily lowered their halberds as the group moved toward the castle entrance.
"The halls of Highgarden remain as beautiful as ever," Ser Gerold commented, his eyes scanning the familiar corridors.
Mace Tyrell, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly jerked to attention. "Gods be good - you're Ser Gerold Hightower!"
"Very observant, Lord Tyrell," Gerold replied dryly. "Though I'd have thought the white cloak might have given it away sooner."
Olenna's laugh echoed through the corridor. "Well, at least my son hasn't lost his talent for stating the obvious. I was beginning to worry."
"Mother!" Mace protested, his face reddening.
Margaery had been watching Jaehaerys intently, and now she gracefully fell into step beside him. "Your Grace, you must tell us what adventures you've had since last you graced our halls. Though I notice you've made quite an upgrade from singing in our feast hall to arriving on dragonback."
"The last time I was here, my lady, revealing a dragon might have caused some... complications," Jaehaerys replied with a slight smile.
"Oh yes, I imagine keeping a dragon in one's pocket would be rather uncomfortable," Margaery said, her eyes twinkling. "Though it might explain why you danced so stiffly at the feast."
"Margaery," Olenna called out, "do try to remember you're speaking to your king now, not the bastard boy who sang for you in the garden."
"Grandmother!" Margaery's cheeks colored beautifully, though her composure remained intact.
"Oh, please. As if everyone didn't notice you going to the garden. Though I must admit, Your Grace," Olenna turned to Jaehaerys, "it was rather clever of you. While Robert's spies were watching for silver hair and purple eyes, you were right under their noses with Dornish clothes and Northern looks."
They entered the castle's main solar, sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows casting colorful patterns across the floor.
"Speaking of clever deceptions," Olenna continued, settling into her favorite chair, "I assume this isn't merely a visit to remind us of your impressive new mount?"
"No, my lady, it isn't," Jaehaerys confirmed, taking the offered seat across from her.
"Good. I do so hate when people waste time pretending. Shall we discuss terms then? Though I notice you've already secured the North and Dorne. Tell me, how does one manage to unite wolves and snakes?"
"Carefully," Jaehaerys answered with a hint of amusement. "Though having a dragon helps."
"Yes, I imagine it does. And now you're here to remind House Tyrell where their loyalties should lie?" Olenna's sharp eyes studied him. "You know, the last time a Targaryen came to negotiate with the Reach, it was Aegon himself."
"The circumstances are somewhat different, Lady Olenna."
"Oh? How so? Apart from you having only one dragon instead of three?"
"Well, for one thing, I already know your grandson's favorite wine, your granddaughter's preferred dancing steps, and exactly how many moves it takes to disarm your master-at-arms." Jaehaerys leaned forward slightly. "I spent weeks in your home, my lady. I know Highgarden's strengths... and its weaknesses."
"Clever boy," Olenna smiled, but it was sharp as a blade. "Though I wonder - did you learn anything about me during your stay?"
"Only that you're quite smart and Lord Tyrell is very lucky to have a mother like you." Jaehaerys said with a smile.
"Ha!" Olenna barked. "Well, at least you're not blind. Very well, Your Grace, let's speak plainly. You want the Reach's support. We have the largest army in Westeros, the food your forces will need, and enough gold to make the Lannisters nervous. What are you offering in return?"
"What makes you think I'm offering anything?" Jaehaerys asked quietly.
"Because unlike your grandfather, you're not mad. And unlike Robert, you're not a fool. You wouldn't have come here alone if you meant to threaten us. Well, not entirely alone," she amended, glancing out the window where Rhaenix's massive form could be seen. "But you accepted guest right. So, let's negotiate like civilized people."
Margaery, who had been quietly observing, spoke up. "Your Grace, surely there's room for alliance rather than conquest? House Tyrell has always been known for its... flexibility in choosing friends."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Ser Oswell muttered, earning a sharp look from Olenna.
"Ser Oswell, do you know why roses have thorns? It's not out of malice - it's survival. House Tyrell has survived the Dragons, the Stags, and now we're watching the Lions tear themselves apart. We do what we must to ensure our house endures."
"And what must you do now, Lady Olenna?" Jaehaerys asked.
The Queen of Thorns smiled again, but this time there was something almost approving in her expression. "That, Your Grace, depends entirely on what you're offering. Though I must say, you've already shown better sense than most. You came to me first. You demonstrated your strength without burning our fields. And you've managed to unite Dorne and the North - something I would have said was impossible a year ago."
"Don't forget killing the Mountain," Margaery added. "That earned you quite a few friends in the Reach."
"Yes," Olenna agreed. "Though I suspect that was less about making friends and more about personal satisfaction. The question is, Your Grace - what do you want from House Tyrell? Besides our obvious martial strength and resources?"
Jaehaerys met her gaze steadily. "I want what Aegon wanted - unity. The realm bleeds from these endless games of thrones. The Lannisters have shown what happens when ambition outweighs honor. I mean to build something better."
"Pretty words," Olenna replied. "But I've heard pretty words before. What makes you different?"
"Because unlike those before me, I've seen both sides of the coin. I've been a bastard and a king, a Dornishman and a Northerner, a servant and a lord. I know what it means to rule, and what it means to be ruled."
A long moment of silence followed his words. Finally, Olenna nodded slowly.
"Well then, Your Grace," she said, reaching for her goblet, "Shall we discuss how the Reach can help you win the war?"
"Tywin Lannister has already lost this war," Jaehaerys stated matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. "He just hasn't accepted it yet."
Olenna's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh? And here I thought the Old Lion was still prowling around Harrenhal, pretending his grandson's crown means something."
"He is. With what's left of his army."
"And what exactly happened to the rest of his army?" Olenna leaned forward, curiosity evident in her sharp eyes. "Last I heard, he had forty thousand men marching towards Dorne."
A cold smile played across Jaehaerys's lips. "They made it to the Snake's Pass. That's where I introduced them to Rhaenix."
"Introduced?" Olenna's eyes narrowed. "Do elaborate, Your Grace. I do so love a good story of military incompetence."
"Tywin thought he could force his way through the only passage into Dorne. He forgot that while the Pass might be the only way through the Red Mountains on foot..." Jaehaerys paused meaningfully.
"Dragons don't need passes," Margaery finished, her voice soft but steady.
"Precisely. Thirty thousand of his men learned that lesson. The remaining ten thousand demonstrated remarkable speed in their retreat to Harrenhal."
Mace Tyrell's face had turned an interesting shade of white, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. The man who had commanded thirty thousand men to their deaths sat before him, calmly sipping wine.
"Thirty thousand men," Olenna mused, seemingly unperturbed. "I don't suppose they all simply decided to lay down their arms?"
"Some did. Most didn't."
"Well, well. And here I thought the days of dragons turning armies into ash were confined to history books." Olenna took a sip of wine. "Though I can't help but wonder why Tywin still draws breath in Harrenhal. Surely one more visit from your scaled friend would end this war rather definitively?"
"Because Highgarden and Casterly Rock requires my immediate attention," Jaehaerys replied. "As for Tywin... someone else will handle that matter."
"Someone else?" Olenna's eyes glittered with interest. "Do tell."
"My aunt and betrothed, Daenerys Targaryen, rides north with the armies of the North and Riverlands. She has her own dragon."
The solar fell silent. Even Olenna seemed momentarily lost for words.
"Two dragons," she finally said. "Well, isn't that interesting? And here I thought the day couldn't get more exciting after one dragon landed in my courtyard." She turned to her son. "Mace, dear, you're looking rather pale. Perhaps you should sit down. Oh wait, you are sitting down."
"Mother, this is hardly the time for-"
"It's exactly the time," Olenna cut him off. "Our guest has just informed us that he has not one, but two dragons, has already destroyed most of the Lannister army, and is apparently collecting kingdoms like some people collect painted plates." She turned back to Jaehaerys. "Though I must say, Your Grace, betrothed to both a Martell and a Targaryen? How very... traditional of you."
"The realm needs unity, Lady Olenna. Old alliances must be renewed, old wounds healed."
"And new ones made, I assume?" Margaery interjected smoothly. "After all, the Reach has always been a valuable friend to the crown."
"Subtle as a brick through a window, granddaughter," Olenna sighed. "Though she's not wrong, Your Grace. The question is, what role do you see for House Tyrell in this new realm of yours?"
"That depends entirely on what House Tyrell wants, Lady Olenna. Though I should mention that time is rather of the essence. My aunt is quite eager to meet Lord Tywin, and I wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
"No, I imagine not. Dragons can be so temperamental." Olenna set down her wine glass. "Well then, shall we discuss terms? Real ones this time, not this delightful dance we've been doing."
"Of course. Though I should warn you - I've learned quite a bit about negotiating from Prince Oberyn."
"Gods help us all," Olenna muttered. "Negotiating with a man raised by the Red Viper. I don't suppose you've picked up his habit of poisoning your weapons?"
"Only my words, my lady."
"Ha! Well, at least you have wit to go with those dragons. So much more entertaining than Robert Baratheon. That man's idea of diplomacy was swinging that hammer of his." She leaned forward.
"As House Tyrell never raised its banners for the Usurper," Jaehaerys began, "and considering our... previous acquaintance, I am inclined to be merciful. House Tyrell will retain its position as Lord Paramount of the Reach."
"How generous," Olenna remarked, though her eyes showed approval. "And what other generous terms does Your Grace offer?"
"Lady Margaery will wed Dickon Tarly, binding your houses together. Their children will be betrothed to one of my future sons or daughters, whether they come from Queen Arianne or Queen Daenerys."
Olenna nodded slowly. "Not quite the crown we might have hoped for Margaery, but a secure future nonetheless. And the Tarly boy is a good match - strong, capable, and not entirely without wit, unlike some young lords I could name."
"Grandmother," Margaery interjected softly, "I am satisfied with this arrangement. Dickon Tarly is a fine young man."
"Of course he is, dear. Though I must admit, I had rather hoped to see you as queen." Olenna sighed dramatically. "But I suppose two queens are quite enough for any king to handle. Particularly when one comes with a dragon."
The door opened then, and Willas Tyrell entered, his cane tapping softly against the floor. His presence commanded attention despite his disability, and his intelligent eyes immediately found Jaehaerys.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing as well as he could. "Or should I say Jon Sand, my fellow hawk enthusiast?"
"Lord Willas," Jaehaerys smiled warmly. "Your red-tailed hawk - how is she faring?"
"Quite well, though I suspect she'd be rather intimidated by your new companion." Willas's eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement. "Is it true? You have a dragon?"
"I do. Rhaenix is currently lounging in your courtyard, probably terrorizing your gardeners simply by existing."
"Fascinating," Willas breathed. "Would it be possible... that is, might I be permitted to see her? Up close?"
"Willas!" Mace exclaimed, looking horrified. "You can't possibly-"
"Oh, do be quiet, Mace," Olenna cut in. "At least one of your children inherited my sense of adventure along with my wit."
Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold exchanged surprised glances. The man could barely walk, yet he wanted to approach a dragon that had just incinerated thirty thousand men.
Margaery's eyebrows rose. "Brother, your scholarly pursuits are admirable, but perhaps studying a dragon at close range might be a bit... ambitious?"
"Knowledge is worth any risk, sister," Willas replied calmly. "Besides, His Grace seems to have her well in hand, and I doubt he'd allow her to harm the family he's just negotiated peace with."
Jaehaerys found himself grinning. "I would be happy to introduce you to Rhaenix. She's quite intelligent - she might even find your curiosity refreshing. Most people just run away screaming."
"Understandable, but hardly conducive to learning," Willas replied. "Though I must ask - does she prefer to be approached from the left or right? I'm afraid my mobility is somewhat limited."
"Gods be good," Olenna laughed. "Here we are discussing the fate of the Seven Kingdoms, and my grandson wants to conduct a scholarly examination of the instrument of our potential destruction. You remind me of your grandfather sometimes, Willas. He too had an unfortunate habit of poking dangerous things with a stick - metaphorically speaking, of course."
"I find that the most dangerous things often yield the most interesting discoveries, grandmother," Willas replied. "Besides, how many maesters can claim to have studied a living dragon up close?"
"None, currently," Jaehaerys confirmed.
"Perhaps we should conclude our political discussions," Olenna suggested, though her tone was more amused than sharp. "Unless, of course, Your Grace prefers academic discourse to matters of state?"
"Both have their merits, Lady Olenna," Jaehaerys replied diplomatically. "Though I suspect Lord Willas and I will have plenty of time for such discussions in the future. Assuming, of course, we reach an agreement here?"
"Oh, I think we can come to terms," Olenna said, her eyes moving between her grandson's eager expression and the king's amenable one. "Though I must say, Your Grace, you have an interesting way of conducting conquest - mixing dragons with scholarly discussion and marriage alliances. Rather more sophisticated than 'bend the knee or burn,' isn't it?"
"The realm has seen enough burning, Lady Olenna. I prefer to build rather than destroy where possible."
"Speaking of building," Olenna said, her tone deliberately casual, "my grandson Willas would make an excellent addition to your Small Council. His mind is as sharp as mine."
"That could be arranged easily enough," Jaehaerys agreed, but his expression suddenly turned grave. The room fell silent.
"There is another matter - the real reason I came to Highgarden today." He paused, his violet eyes falling on Margaery and Olenna. "It concerns Loras Tyrell."
Margaery's fingers tightened imperceptibly on her chair's armrest, while Olenna's usually sharp gaze softened with concern.
"Yesterday, I received word that Renly Baratheon has allied himself with the Golden Company."
"The Golden Company?" Olenna's eyebrows shot up. "What in seven hells are they doing in Westeros?"
"That remains unclear," Jaehaerys replied. "What is clear is that Renly marches toward Harrenhal to join forces with Tywin Lannister. They mean to stand against the dragons."
Ser Gerold scoffed audibly. "Sellswords against dragons? The boy's as foolish as his brother."
"Loras is with him," Jaehaerys continued, his eyes fixed on Olenna. "I would like to know why your grandson rides with a rebel instead of remaining here with his family."
Olenna's face hardened. "Because my stupid grandson was - is - Renly's squire." She shook her head in frustration. "I've sent three ravens already, ordering him to return to Highgarden immediately."
Jaehaerys studied her face carefully, seeing the genuine concern beneath her sharp exterior. "Lady Olenna, I have no desire to see your grandson become another casualty of this war. But if he stands with Renly when my aunt arrives at Harrenhal..."
"I've already dispatched fifteen of our best guards to find him," Olenna cut in, her voice unusually serious. "They have orders to bring him back to Highgarden by any means necessary - even if they have to throw him in a sack and carry him home."
"Mother!" Mace protested.
"Oh, be quiet, Mace. Would you rather see your son burned to ash because he's too stubborn to leave his precious knight?" Olenna turned back to Jaehaerys. "Your Grace, I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to extract that foolish boy from Renly's company."
"I believe you," Jaehaerys said softly. "For his sake, I hope your men find him quickly. Daenerys... she's less inclined to show mercy to those who side with the Usurper's brothers."
"Loras has always been ruled by his heart rather than his head," Margaery spoke up, her voice steady despite her obvious concern. "But he is loyal to family above all else. Once our men reach him, once they explain the situation..."
"The situation being that his choice is between returning home to a prosperous, peaceful future, or becoming a rather crispy casualty of war?" Olenna asked dryly. "Even Loras isn't foolish enough to choose the latter. Though I'd feel better if those guards would hurry up and find him."
"Let us hope so," Jaehaerys said grimly. "Because once the dragons meet on the field of battle, I cannot guarantee anyone's safety - not even for the brother of my newest allies."
Later
In Highgarden's courtyard, Rhaenix lay sprawled in the afternoon sun, her black and crimson scales gleaming like polished obsidian and rubies. The gardeners had wisely made themselves scarce, leaving only scattered tools as evidence of their hasty departure.
Willas moved forward steadily, his cane making soft taps against the stone path. Behind him, Margaery watched with poorly concealed worry, while Olenna muttered, "Seven save me from scholarly fools with more curiosity than sense."
Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell positioned themselves strategically, ready to move at a moment's notice, though both knights knew they'd be useless against a dragon if things went wrong.
"She's magnificent," Willas breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. "The descriptions in the books don't do dragons justice."
Jaehaerys approached Rhaenix, placing his hand on her snout. The dragon purred at his touch, the sound rumbling through the courtyard like distant thunder. "She knows you're curious about her," he said, smiling. "She can sense it."
Willas took another step forward, but Rhaenix's head snapped toward him, a low growl emanating from her throat. The sound made the very air vibrate.
"That's close enough," Jaehaerys warned, placing a calming hand on Rhaenix's scales. "She's protective of me, and she doesn't know you yet."
"Quite alright," Willas replied, remaining perfectly still despite the dragon's warning. "I'm already closer than most maesters have been in centuries. This is... extraordinary." His eyes traced the elegant lines of her wings, the curve of her horns. "She's beautiful."
Ser Oswell's hand tightened on his sword hilt, while Ser Gerold muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
"Beautiful?" Mace squeaked, his face pale. "The beast could swallow you whole!"
"Father, please," Margaery hushed him, though her own eyes never left her brother's vulnerable position.
"Well," Olenna said dryly, "at least if she does eat him, he'll die happy. Though I must say, Willas, only you would look at a creature that just destroyed thirty thousand men and call it beautiful."
"But she is, grandmother," Willas insisted, his scholarly enthusiasm undimmed by the dragon's earlier growl. "Look at the symmetry of her wing structure, the articulation of her joints. The maesters theorized for centuries about dragon anatomy, but seeing it in person..." He trailed off, shaking his head in wonder.
Rhaenix tilted her head, studying the strange human who spoke of her with such genuine admiration. Her growl subsided, though she maintained her protective position near Jaehaerys.
"I think," Jaehaerys said with amusement, "you've managed to intrigue her. Not many humans look at her and immediately start analyzing her wing structure."
"Most humans are too busy soiling themselves," Ser Oswell muttered.
"Your dragon has better taste than most of my dinner guests," Olenna observed. "She can apparently recognize genuine intellectual curiosity when she sees it. Though Willas, dear, perhaps we could continue this discussion from a slightly safer distance? My old heart can only take so much excitement in one day."
"Just a few more moments, grandmother," Willas replied, his eyes still fixed on Rhaenix. "I may never get another chance to observe a living dragon this closely. The way her scales catch the light... it's like watching living fire."
Margaery stepped forward to stand beside her brother. "It is beautiful," she agreed softly, "in the same way a storm at sea is beautiful - magnificent and terrifying all at once."
"A poet and a scholar," Jaehaerys remarked, scratching Rhaenix's scales. "Your family is full of surprises, Lady Olenna."
"Oh, you have no idea," Olenna replied. "Though I'd appreciate it if we could conclude this impromptu dragon study session before my grandson decides to request a riding lesson. He has that look in his eye."
"Grandmother!" Willas protested, though his expression suggested the thought had indeed crossed his mind.
"Don't even think about it," Jaehaerys warned, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Rhaenix only tolerates me on her back, and occasionally my aunt. Everyone else is, as she considers it, unnecessary weight, she tolerates my Kingsguards and family only because she has known them her entire life."
"Sensible creature," Olenna approved. "Now, shall we return inside? I believe we still have some details to discuss, and I'd prefer to do so where there's wine readily available."
Later - Highgarden
The gardens of Highgarden were alive with the sounds of spring. Jae stood with Margaery near the flowering arbor, watching as two children - a servant's boy and girl - played near the stone pathways. Above them, Rhaenix's massive shadow passed occasionally, causing the children to pause and point with wonder rather than fear.
"Look!" the little girl squealed, tugging her friend's sleeve. "The dragon's wing caught the sun! It looked like it was made of rubies!"
"Do you think it can breathe rainbow fire?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with imagination.
Margaery smiled softly at their innocent wonder. "Children see magic where we see weapons, don't they? Even in creatures we've trained for war."
Jae turned to study her face. "Some would say that's naïve."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps they remember what we've forgotten." She gestured to the playing children. "Look how they don't see Rhaenix as the terror of the battlefield. They see him as a marvel, a thing of beauty and wonder. Like how my great grandmother used to say."
The children had started a game now, one pretending to be a dragon while the other played at being a dragon rider. Their laughter echoed across the garden.
"The world isn't a story, Margaery," Jae said quietly, his thoughts turning to Tommen and Myrcella. "Sometimes hard decisions must be made to prevent future bloodshed."
Margaery was quiet for a moment, watching the children play. "Do you know what I've noticed about bloodshed, your grace? It never really ends future bloodshed. It just plants the seeds for more." She plucked a rose, turning it in her fingers. "Each generation carries the scars of the one before it, passing down their hatreds like family heirlooms."
The boy had fallen now, scraping his knee. Instead of crying, he laughed it off, helped up by his friend. They resumed their game as if nothing had happened.
"Look at them," Margaery continued. "That boy fell, but there's no grudge, no thought of revenge. Children don't carry the weight of names and histories until we teach them to. They don't know they're supposed to hate until we show them how."
Jae watched as Rhaenix's shadow passed over the children again. This time they both tried to chase it, their giggles carried on the spring breeze.
"What are you really saying, Lady Margaery?"
She met his eyes directly. "I'm saying that sometimes the strongest choice isn't in what we destroy, but in what we choose to preserve. Those children up there..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "They're not their mother's crimes. They're not even their name. They're just children, like these two here, who still see dragons as magical instead of terrible."
The playing children had drawn closer now, still engaged in their game of dragons and riders.
"My lord!" the little girl called out suddenly, her eyes bright. "Would you like to play dragons with us?"
Before Jae could respond, the boy added, "I can be the dragon this time, and you can be the rider!"
Margaery's laugh was gentle. "You see? To them, you're not the king who can conquer cities. You're just someone who might play dragons with them." She touched his arm lightly. "Sometimes the most powerful thing a king can do is show mercy. It tells a different kind of story - one that might break the cycle instead of continuing it."
Jae watched the children's hopeful faces, then looked up to where Rhaenix circled. The dragon's scales caught the sun again, and he saw her as they did - not as a weapon of war, but as something magnificent and wondrous. He always saw her as a beautiful creature.
"Different stories," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Yes," Margaery said softly. "And the stories we tell today become the truths of tomorrow. The question is, what story do you want the next generation to tell about King Jaehaerys Targaryen?"
The children were still waiting expectantly, their game momentarily paused. In their faces, Jae suddenly saw echoes of Tommen and Myrcella - not as threats to his crown, but as children who might still see dragons as magical things.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, "it's time for a new kind of story."
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