The maze stretched deep and secretive.
Purple beech, boxwood, and holly formed dense, orderly hedgerows, adorned with roses both wild and cultivated—damask, gallica, and alba—adding touches of eternal spring to verdant walls.
The walking paths twisted in countless configurations.
After proceeding straight for some distance, the crossroads they encountered offered bewildering choices.
Straight ahead rose a wall of golden roses. Should one wish to pluck a favorite bloom, one must remember that sharp thorns lay hidden beneath layers of lush green vines.
To the left curved an arc, its view blocked by living walls of green. Where might it lead?
To the right wound a serpentine path that swayed back and forth. One could see only three corners, each bend revealing an increasingly wide arc, while more distant reaches remained equally hidden in verdant shadow.
Clop, clop, clop.
The white destrier moved with delicate steps across soft, grass-carpeted ground, approaching the golden rose wall.
A hand touched the most exquisite bloom. Silently, branches and leaves stirred with joy, sending the entire wall of golden roses to embrace this chosen flower.
Surrounded by countless kin, the rose broke free from the floral wall's constraints, drifting gently downward with its companions in attendance.
It settled into Joffrey's palm.
And was then presented to the beautiful maiden, for her delight and enjoyment.
"It resembles a tiny seven-tiered cake."
Margaery giggled melodiously, stroking the smooth petals of the rose crown.
This self-constructed diadem proved extraordinarily gorgeous, boasting seven full layers. Nothing but golden roses could be seen, the lush green branches and leaves completely hidden within that aureate splendor. More remarkable still, every petal remained perfect and unblemished.
Joffrey lifted the floral crown and placed it upon the maiden's head, where it merged seamlessly with her golden coronet.
The girl smiled until her eyes became crescents.
"Very well, I accept your offering. In exchange, make a request of the flower fairy, mortal king."
"Oh, beauteous flower fairy," Joffrey slipped smoothly into the role.
"Highgarden's plant maze lives up to its storied reputation. I find myself truly confounded—which path should I take? Pray, flower fairy, grant me your guidance."
He glanced left and right with theatrical anxiety.
Margaery blinked with feigned solemnity. "The flower fairy knows all secrets. Then let us take this path."
Her finger traced a circle before pointing rightward. "A fountain lies ahead—its waters are the sweetest, cleanest, and most thirst-quenching in all the realm."
That direction led closest to the maze's exit, right beside the second wall.
Joffrey captured the girl's pale little hand, drawing back that mischievous finger. "Indeed? A spring that even the flower fairy remembers fondly must be worth tasting."
"Mortal king, hearing you speak thus, I find myself growing thirsty as well." Margaery licked her lips, pink tongue making a delicate circuit.
"Make haste, mortal king. The flower fairy's guidance shall never disappoint you."
Margaery twisted playfully within his embrace, urging him forward.
Wonderful sensations emanated from her movement—pressure just sufficient to stir the heart, fragrance spreading to make Joffrey restless with desire.
Were this physical form not a magical construct, he might have plucked this Highgarden rose upon the instant.
"We shall heed the flower fairy's wisdom."
He flicked the reins, and the white destrier beneath them immediately stepped rightward.
The maze shifted and flowed gently behind them.
Verdant paradise filled their vision. Flowers bloomed on every side, all nature competed in flourishing abundance, full of vitality with beautiful lines both orderly and natural.
"Worthy of being the most beautiful castle in all Westeros," Joffrey observed with leisurely appreciation.
Margaery smiled gently. "Do all in the Seven Kingdoms think so? Setting aside all else, the knights of the Vale have always praised House Arryn's Eyrie most highly."
Joffrey remained firm. "You are too modest, far too modest. Highgarden surpasses all others."
The Eyrie, perched at such heights, proved utterly hostile to those who feared such elevations, not to mention its harsh climate—completely uninhabitable during winter months. How could it compare to dwelling within a garden castle?
Joffrey had once contemplated moving the capital to Highgarden.
Though King's Landing's position was not particularly poor—situated at the Blackwater Rush's mouth, with Blackwater Bay providing maritime defense and convenient routes across the Narrow Sea—its strategic value both politically and militarily lacked sufficient prominence to control the Seven Kingdoms directly.
Regarding foreign invasion, King's Landing lay too far from the northern Wall, making troop and supply transport consume vast resources that proved difficult to sustain.
For internal control, the North and Vale possessed treacherous terrain forming self-contained units, Dorne stretched distant, and the central cities of the Westerlands and Reach lay far across the continent. King's Landing's deterrent effect reached only half the realm's expanse.
For Joffrey, such limitations proved obviously unsatisfactory.
Since geographical position could not be altered, Highgarden and other castles came under his consideration.
Winterfell was naturally excluded first. Remote from the Seven Kingdoms' economic and political heart, sparsely populated, cursed with harsh climate, and possessing the shortest strategic safety margin, it was utterly unsuitable as a central capital.
The Eyrie faced similar exclusion.
The Vale's economic center—Gulltown—received momentary consideration before ultimate abandonment.
Like White Harbor, Storm's End, Gulltown, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, Gulltown hugged the coast with convenient sea transport, yet proved difficult for controlling the overall situation, its geographical position even more deviated from center than King's Landing.
After excluding coastal strongholds, the Twins and Riverrun—controlling the Trident's flow—also proved unsuitable. These places could command only the Riverlands' extent, and the dense river network's fragmented terrain hindered land traffic.
Every castle in Dorne lay beyond consideration.
Dorne, covered in deserts with scorching climate, was not only economically backward with difficult transport, but its people remained unruly—many descended from Rhoynar stock with weak cultural identity, never directly governed by the Iron Throne, much less suitable for capital status.
Should the Long Night descend immediately, terrible cold waves invading most of Westeros and making hot Dorne the survivors' hope, then capital relocation there might merit consideration.
But presently, Dorne remained the Seven Kingdoms' frontier, similar to the North's situation.
Thus only two candidate locations remained: Highgarden and Harrenhal.
From Highgarden, the Reach, Dorne, and Westerlands all fell within control's scope, the Crownlands and Riverlands could not defend themselves, and the western Sunset Sea also lay within grasp.
Harrenhal's position sat closer to the continent's center, located between Westerlands, Vale, Riverlands, and Crownlands, adjacent to the Gods Eye, near Crackclaw Point, and controlling the Narrow Sea would prove untrouublesome.
How should he choose?
Joffrey had reached no decision yet. However, such matters were impossible this year at minimum. He possessed abundant time for thought, sufficient opportunities for observation, analysis, and action.
Like today's reconnaissance.
Joffrey's eyes grew profound as he stared ahead, as if seeing through the maze's layered green walls to observe everything transpiring within Highgarden's heart.
"Flower fairy, grant me further guidance before evening falls."
Margaery turned with curious inquiry. "What of after evening?"
Joffrey smiled with subtle meaning.
"Then comes serious business."